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(no subject)
Jul. 12th, 2007 08:50 pmYou may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away among mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the window there may have been a lookingglass. And as you turned away from the window you suddenly caught sight of that sea or that valley, all over again, in the looking glass. And the sea in the mirror, or the valley in the mirror, were in one sense just the same as the real ones: yet at the same time they were somehow different deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know. The difference between the old Narnia and the new Narnia was like that. The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more. I can't describe it any better than that: if ever you get there you will know what I mean.
It was the strangest thing, dying. For Susan Pevensie Evans, it was slipping from a dream of Narnia into the actual place. She didn’t recall much, actually, aside from the sound of wings and then the heat of an unsullied sun on her wrinkled skin.
When she’d gone to sleep that night, the date was July 15, 2007. She was a grandmother of seventy-nine years. And now, with every step on the green grass of the home of her heart, each of those seventy-nine years was rolling away, along with the aches and pains, the hurts and sorrows gathered within that time.
Further up and further in.
They would be here. Her family. Her beloved family.
And they went through winding valley after winding valley and up the steep sides of hills and, faster than ever, down the other side, following the river and sometimes crossing it and skimming across mountainlakes as if they were living speed boats, till at last at the far end of one long lake which looked as blue as a turquoise, they saw a smooth green hill. Its sides were as steep as the sides of a pyramid and round the very top of it ran a green wall: but above the wall rose the branches of trees whose leaves looked like silver and their fruit like gold.
Lucy, Edmund, Peter, Mother, Father, Caspian, Eustace, Tirian, Rillian, Jill, and oh, she hoped, her son Edward Peter Evans, who’d been lost in a helicopter crash over a Cambodian jungle. They would be there, and she would be with them, to wait in turn for her loved ones to join her.
It still seemed to be early, and the morning freshness was in the air. She felt as if Aslan had breathed his warm, sweet breath upon her, and she was running now, running up the hills to the place where she belonged, the place she’d earned from a long life led well.
They charged straight at the foot of the hill and then found themselves running up it almost as water from a broken wave runs up a rock out at the point of some bay. Though the slope was nearly as steep as the roof of a house and the grass was smooth as a bowling green, no one slipped. Only when they had reached the very top did they slow up; that was because they found themselves facing great golden gates. And for a moment none of them was bold enough to try if the gates would open. They all felt just as they had felt about the fruit "Dare we? Is it right? Can it be meant for us?"
But while she was standing thus a great horn, wonderfully loud and sweet, blew from somewhere inside that walled garden and the gates swung open. She slowed, beaming, and she appeared both old and young at once, her inner beauty shining forth as once her outer beauty had done.
It was the strangest thing, dying. For Susan Pevensie Evans, it was slipping from a dream of Narnia into the actual place. She didn’t recall much, actually, aside from the sound of wings and then the heat of an unsullied sun on her wrinkled skin.
When she’d gone to sleep that night, the date was July 15, 2007. She was a grandmother of seventy-nine years. And now, with every step on the green grass of the home of her heart, each of those seventy-nine years was rolling away, along with the aches and pains, the hurts and sorrows gathered within that time.
Further up and further in.
They would be here. Her family. Her beloved family.
And they went through winding valley after winding valley and up the steep sides of hills and, faster than ever, down the other side, following the river and sometimes crossing it and skimming across mountainlakes as if they were living speed boats, till at last at the far end of one long lake which looked as blue as a turquoise, they saw a smooth green hill. Its sides were as steep as the sides of a pyramid and round the very top of it ran a green wall: but above the wall rose the branches of trees whose leaves looked like silver and their fruit like gold.
Lucy, Edmund, Peter, Mother, Father, Caspian, Eustace, Tirian, Rillian, Jill, and oh, she hoped, her son Edward Peter Evans, who’d been lost in a helicopter crash over a Cambodian jungle. They would be there, and she would be with them, to wait in turn for her loved ones to join her.
It still seemed to be early, and the morning freshness was in the air. She felt as if Aslan had breathed his warm, sweet breath upon her, and she was running now, running up the hills to the place where she belonged, the place she’d earned from a long life led well.
They charged straight at the foot of the hill and then found themselves running up it almost as water from a broken wave runs up a rock out at the point of some bay. Though the slope was nearly as steep as the roof of a house and the grass was smooth as a bowling green, no one slipped. Only when they had reached the very top did they slow up; that was because they found themselves facing great golden gates. And for a moment none of them was bold enough to try if the gates would open. They all felt just as they had felt about the fruit "Dare we? Is it right? Can it be meant for us?"
But while she was standing thus a great horn, wonderfully loud and sweet, blew from somewhere inside that walled garden and the gates swung open. She slowed, beaming, and she appeared both old and young at once, her inner beauty shining forth as once her outer beauty had done.
(no subject)
May. 16th, 2007 08:30 pmWhen one is getting married in a month, one has a great deal to do. This explains why Susan hasn't been back to Milliways or the House of Arch in nearly two weeks.
She tried to find the door a few days ago, but after opening her bedroom closet door two or three times, and trying a others in the house as well, she was not given entrance. She thought it odd, but she and Clive had dinner reservations that night. They had such a lovely time that she put it out of her mind.
Today she's tried nearly every door in the house. No luck. She frowns, sitting on her bed, wondering why on earth she can't find the access to that magical place and her family. The doorbell rings and she goes downstairs.
Clive is at the door, grinning.
"Darling!" she says, kissing him on the cheek. "You look like the cat who got into the cream."
"I've a surprise," he says, and steps aside for her to see the Ford Anglia parked at the curb.
"You didn't! Oh, Clive," Susan cries, laughing.
"Fancy a ride?"
She squeezes his hand. "Oh yes. Let me grab my coat." She hurries back into the house for it, and she has one fleeting thought of Lucy, Edmund, and Peter.
'I'll try again tomorrow,' she thinks and then hurries out to her fiance.
Tomorrow will come, and then the next day, and then the next. The doors will not open for Susan then either.
She tried to find the door a few days ago, but after opening her bedroom closet door two or three times, and trying a others in the house as well, she was not given entrance. She thought it odd, but she and Clive had dinner reservations that night. They had such a lovely time that she put it out of her mind.
Today she's tried nearly every door in the house. No luck. She frowns, sitting on her bed, wondering why on earth she can't find the access to that magical place and her family. The doorbell rings and she goes downstairs.
Clive is at the door, grinning.
"Darling!" she says, kissing him on the cheek. "You look like the cat who got into the cream."
"I've a surprise," he says, and steps aside for her to see the Ford Anglia parked at the curb.
"You didn't! Oh, Clive," Susan cries, laughing.
"Fancy a ride?"
She squeezes his hand. "Oh yes. Let me grab my coat." She hurries back into the house for it, and she has one fleeting thought of Lucy, Edmund, and Peter.
'I'll try again tomorrow,' she thinks and then hurries out to her fiance.
Tomorrow will come, and then the next day, and then the next. The doors will not open for Susan then either.
(no subject)
Feb. 6th, 2007 09:37 pmShe holds Amy's hand as they walk through the front door of Milliways and into Susan's house. They step into her bedroom through her closet.
"Well, here we are. This is my bedroom. Lucy and I used to share it when we were small, but it's been all mine since I was fourteen."
Her room is painted a soft yellow. The bedspread is of white lace, which matches the curtains. A neatly-organized vanity with a round mirror graces one wall, and a wardrobe the other. On her bedside table are two framed photos. One is of her family, and one is of Clive.
"We needn't stay here, but I do rather like my room."
"Well, here we are. This is my bedroom. Lucy and I used to share it when we were small, but it's been all mine since I was fourteen."
Her room is painted a soft yellow. The bedspread is of white lace, which matches the curtains. A neatly-organized vanity with a round mirror graces one wall, and a wardrobe the other. On her bedside table are two framed photos. One is of her family, and one is of Clive.
"We needn't stay here, but I do rather like my room."
(no subject)
Jan. 17th, 2007 08:45 pmThe Questionnaire
What's the worst thing someone could do?
Hurt and kill others.
What's the worst thing someone could do to you?
Betray me.
What's the worst thing that could happen to you?
I'd say losing your entire family in one fell swoop would be a low.
What's the worst thing someone could say about a person?
I should think that spreading malicious lies would be the worst thing.
What's the best thing someone could say about a person?
That they are true, dear friends
Are men and women basically different?
Yes.
Which is better, to be a woman or to be a man?
Men get to do much more than women, so I suppose I'd say a man.
What can men do that women can't do?
Fight battles. Hand-to-hand combat, I mean.
What can women do that men can't do?
Become mothers.
Is it possible to change genders?
I should think not.
How old is old enough to have sex?
You should be married.
Is it wrong to have sex if you're unmarried?
I think it is, yes.
Is it wrong to have sex with someone other than your spouse if you're married?
Indeed yes.
Is it wrong to have sex with a person of the same gender?
I knew a few fellows who liked each other, but I'm not sure it's really the right thing.
Is it wrong to have sex with a person of a different race (or a different intelligent non-human species)?
I suppose not?
Is it wrong to have more than one sexual partner at the same time?
*blushes* Oh dear. Yes.
Is it wrong to have sex with someone you don't love?
Yes. Oh, yes.
What are the responsibilities of a mother toward a child?
To love the child more than anything else.
What are the responsibilities of a father toward a child?
To care for and provide for the child.
What are the responsibilities of a child toward a parent?
To love and honor the parent.
Which should be more important to you, your parent or your child?
I suppose my child.
Which should be more important to you, your parent or your spouse?
I hate making these choices.
Which should be more important to you, your child or your spouse?
No, this isn't a fair question. I shan't answer.
Is it wrong to have a child if you're unmarried?
It is, yes.
Is abortion wrong?
Oh heavens, yes.
Is contraception wrong?
Between a husband and wife, no.
Is there one true religion?
Yes.
Does a deity or deities exist?
Yes.
How important is it to believe in a deity or deities?
Very, very important.
How important is it to actively practice your religion?
Very important.
Does magic exist?
Yes.
Is practicing magic wrong?
Magic like the Witch's, yes.
Is killing always wrong?
Yes.
Is war always wrong?
Sometimes wars must be fought.
How old is old enough to fight in a war?
You can be very young to fight in war. Peter was only 12.
Is rape always wrong?
Yes, of course it is.
Is torture always wrong?
Yes.
Is theft always wrong?
If you're hungry and steal bread, that's not the same as stealing valuables. So no.
Is slavery wrong?
Yes.
Is lying wrong?
Yes.
Is swearing wrong?
I'd not say it was wrong so much as it was uncouth.
What's the worst thing someone could do?
Hurt and kill others.
What's the worst thing someone could do to you?
Betray me.
What's the worst thing that could happen to you?
I'd say losing your entire family in one fell swoop would be a low.
What's the worst thing someone could say about a person?
I should think that spreading malicious lies would be the worst thing.
What's the best thing someone could say about a person?
That they are true, dear friends
Are men and women basically different?
Yes.
Which is better, to be a woman or to be a man?
Men get to do much more than women, so I suppose I'd say a man.
What can men do that women can't do?
Fight battles. Hand-to-hand combat, I mean.
What can women do that men can't do?
Become mothers.
Is it possible to change genders?
I should think not.
How old is old enough to have sex?
You should be married.
Is it wrong to have sex if you're unmarried?
I think it is, yes.
Is it wrong to have sex with someone other than your spouse if you're married?
Indeed yes.
Is it wrong to have sex with a person of the same gender?
I knew a few fellows who liked each other, but I'm not sure it's really the right thing.
Is it wrong to have sex with a person of a different race (or a different intelligent non-human species)?
I suppose not?
Is it wrong to have more than one sexual partner at the same time?
*blushes* Oh dear. Yes.
Is it wrong to have sex with someone you don't love?
Yes. Oh, yes.
What are the responsibilities of a mother toward a child?
To love the child more than anything else.
What are the responsibilities of a father toward a child?
To care for and provide for the child.
What are the responsibilities of a child toward a parent?
To love and honor the parent.
Which should be more important to you, your parent or your child?
I suppose my child.
Which should be more important to you, your parent or your spouse?
I hate making these choices.
Which should be more important to you, your child or your spouse?
No, this isn't a fair question. I shan't answer.
Is it wrong to have a child if you're unmarried?
It is, yes.
Is abortion wrong?
Oh heavens, yes.
Is contraception wrong?
Between a husband and wife, no.
Is there one true religion?
Yes.
Does a deity or deities exist?
Yes.
How important is it to believe in a deity or deities?
Very, very important.
How important is it to actively practice your religion?
Very important.
Does magic exist?
Yes.
Is practicing magic wrong?
Magic like the Witch's, yes.
Is killing always wrong?
Yes.
Is war always wrong?
Sometimes wars must be fought.
How old is old enough to fight in a war?
You can be very young to fight in war. Peter was only 12.
Is rape always wrong?
Yes, of course it is.
Is torture always wrong?
Yes.
Is theft always wrong?
If you're hungry and steal bread, that's not the same as stealing valuables. So no.
Is slavery wrong?
Yes.
Is lying wrong?
Yes.
Is swearing wrong?
I'd not say it was wrong so much as it was uncouth.
(no subject)
Feb. 25th, 2006 09:52 pmSusan sat before her vanity, applying her cosmetics in the meticulous way she always did. Just so much powder, just so much rouge in just the right place to highlight her cheeks without looking painted, just enough mascara to fill out her already lush lashes.
She was going to Milliways. Lucy was busy with Caspian, Edmund was busy with Kitty, and Peter was busy with his thoughts. Susan intended to not be lonely one more evening in her room.
Ignoring the fact that she'd promised herself she'd return to London today to attend to her parent’s house - she liked to go there every now and again to dust and air out the rooms - she brushed her black hair and arrange it just so.
She also chose to ignore her tentative plans for returning to London more permanently for just a little while longer. She thought she might go back to live or work they are part of the time, but then she'd been ill and then she'd thought of more excuses to stay in the same place.
However, she'd felt a call of late, and she didn't like it. It reminded her too much of the call Alain had spoken of before he left for the Clearing. Hers was not a call to eternal peace. She felt the tug of life passing her by.
Pushing the troubling thoughts away, she rose to take her royal blue gown out of the wardrobe. It was a beautiful gown, identical to one of her favorite Narnian dresses. The blue would bring out her eyes and flatter her pale skin, and tonight she wanted to look as lovely as she could.
The King of the Enchanted Forest had turned her head, and Susan, ever the romantic, had rushed to the end of her own fairy story. She opened the doors of the wardrobe, her thoughts dancing in a swirl of hope and yearning.
Looking back at this night much later, Susan knew it was the wardrobe that did it. Or more specifically, the sound of her fist rapping the back of the wardrobe, something she always did without even thinking.
She drew back her hand from the back wall of the wardrobe. Staring at the beautiful gown, she was knocked out of her reverie. ‘What are you doing, Susan?’ she asked herself.
She was looking for Narnia, that’s what she was doing. She was always hopelessly searching for that which she had lost. It struck her then how very much she was hiding in this enchanted house.
Turning to face the mirror, she didn’t see Queen Susan the Gentle in her reflection. She didn’t see Susan, the cold, broken-hearted model she’d been before coming to Milliways. She saw Susan Elizabeth Pevensie, perhaps for the first time since she was a girl.
She couldn’t ignore the call. She couldn’t be a real Queen any longer. It was time to set aside enchantments and magic, and be practical, though the very thought broke her heart anew. She’d had a brief respite here, and she needn’t leave for good. Her family was still part of her life, after all, and she’d not turn her back on them ever again.
But Susan Elizabeth Pevensie knew she must go to London today. Kings, of Enchanted Forests or not, were not in her future.
Her throat tight, and her eyes prickling with tears, she reached to the far corner of the wardrobe to take out the Dior dress she’d worn when she arrived at Milliways. Time moved oddly in London – she didn’t think the dress would be too out of style yet.
She dug out the undergarments she’d need – the garter belt, the filmy hose, the stiff bustier, the stiff, scratchy crinoline – and girded herself in them as if going to war. The dress became silken armor as she pulled it over her head. As she slipped into her stiletto heels, she didn’t quite manage to stifle a sob. She was going to war, in a way, or at the very least, into a battle to be the person she had to be.
There had to be a reason she wasn’t on the train that day. Her life had been spared. Even though she’d be alone in that frightening world, it was where she belonged and there were things she must do.
If she cried her mascara would run, and that simply would not do. She held a handkerchief in her hand with a grip much like that of a knight's on the pommel of a sword, dabbing in an expert way at the tears every few moments. Susan was no stranger to not allowing her mascara to run. She placed an extra handkerchief in her purse, just in case.
She took one more look in the mirror. She thought of a porcelain doll she’d had once, that had shattered to pieces when dropped. For a moment she reconsidered. Maybe she didn’t have to do this. Maybe she could pretend she was as dead to the world as her family was. Then she thought of Aslan’s fur under her hands, and she knew. She knew what she must do and she knew she had the strength to do it.
With a shaky intake of breath, Susan stepped through her room’s painting, into the front gallery, and on to Milliways. She made straight for the front door, not looking to see if friends, new or old, were there.
When she walked through the door, she found herself in her parent’s parlor.
‘No,’ she thought. ‘In my parlor.’
She was home, and oh, it hurt so.
The partner was dim the curtains closed to the sunlight. White sheets covered the chairs, and she pulled the one from her mother’s favorite arm chair away. Sitting down heavily, she tilted back her head, stared up at the ceiling, and tried not to cry.
She was going to Milliways. Lucy was busy with Caspian, Edmund was busy with Kitty, and Peter was busy with his thoughts. Susan intended to not be lonely one more evening in her room.
Ignoring the fact that she'd promised herself she'd return to London today to attend to her parent’s house - she liked to go there every now and again to dust and air out the rooms - she brushed her black hair and arrange it just so.
She also chose to ignore her tentative plans for returning to London more permanently for just a little while longer. She thought she might go back to live or work they are part of the time, but then she'd been ill and then she'd thought of more excuses to stay in the same place.
However, she'd felt a call of late, and she didn't like it. It reminded her too much of the call Alain had spoken of before he left for the Clearing. Hers was not a call to eternal peace. She felt the tug of life passing her by.
Pushing the troubling thoughts away, she rose to take her royal blue gown out of the wardrobe. It was a beautiful gown, identical to one of her favorite Narnian dresses. The blue would bring out her eyes and flatter her pale skin, and tonight she wanted to look as lovely as she could.
The King of the Enchanted Forest had turned her head, and Susan, ever the romantic, had rushed to the end of her own fairy story. She opened the doors of the wardrobe, her thoughts dancing in a swirl of hope and yearning.
Looking back at this night much later, Susan knew it was the wardrobe that did it. Or more specifically, the sound of her fist rapping the back of the wardrobe, something she always did without even thinking.
She drew back her hand from the back wall of the wardrobe. Staring at the beautiful gown, she was knocked out of her reverie. ‘What are you doing, Susan?’ she asked herself.
She was looking for Narnia, that’s what she was doing. She was always hopelessly searching for that which she had lost. It struck her then how very much she was hiding in this enchanted house.
Turning to face the mirror, she didn’t see Queen Susan the Gentle in her reflection. She didn’t see Susan, the cold, broken-hearted model she’d been before coming to Milliways. She saw Susan Elizabeth Pevensie, perhaps for the first time since she was a girl.
She couldn’t ignore the call. She couldn’t be a real Queen any longer. It was time to set aside enchantments and magic, and be practical, though the very thought broke her heart anew. She’d had a brief respite here, and she needn’t leave for good. Her family was still part of her life, after all, and she’d not turn her back on them ever again.
But Susan Elizabeth Pevensie knew she must go to London today. Kings, of Enchanted Forests or not, were not in her future.
Her throat tight, and her eyes prickling with tears, she reached to the far corner of the wardrobe to take out the Dior dress she’d worn when she arrived at Milliways. Time moved oddly in London – she didn’t think the dress would be too out of style yet.
She dug out the undergarments she’d need – the garter belt, the filmy hose, the stiff bustier, the stiff, scratchy crinoline – and girded herself in them as if going to war. The dress became silken armor as she pulled it over her head. As she slipped into her stiletto heels, she didn’t quite manage to stifle a sob. She was going to war, in a way, or at the very least, into a battle to be the person she had to be.
There had to be a reason she wasn’t on the train that day. Her life had been spared. Even though she’d be alone in that frightening world, it was where she belonged and there were things she must do.
If she cried her mascara would run, and that simply would not do. She held a handkerchief in her hand with a grip much like that of a knight's on the pommel of a sword, dabbing in an expert way at the tears every few moments. Susan was no stranger to not allowing her mascara to run. She placed an extra handkerchief in her purse, just in case.
She took one more look in the mirror. She thought of a porcelain doll she’d had once, that had shattered to pieces when dropped. For a moment she reconsidered. Maybe she didn’t have to do this. Maybe she could pretend she was as dead to the world as her family was. Then she thought of Aslan’s fur under her hands, and she knew. She knew what she must do and she knew she had the strength to do it.
With a shaky intake of breath, Susan stepped through her room’s painting, into the front gallery, and on to Milliways. She made straight for the front door, not looking to see if friends, new or old, were there.
When she walked through the door, she found herself in her parent’s parlor.
‘No,’ she thought. ‘In my parlor.’
She was home, and oh, it hurt so.
The partner was dim the curtains closed to the sunlight. White sheets covered the chairs, and she pulled the one from her mother’s favorite arm chair away. Sitting down heavily, she tilted back her head, stared up at the ceiling, and tried not to cry.
(no subject)
Jan. 6th, 2006 08:35 pmSusan walks into the stables, her wool cloak cape tightly around her. She's been looking for Lucy.
And she finds her.
"Hello, Lu."
Susan is worried. Not about what you might think, but she is fretful nonetheless.
And she finds her.
"Hello, Lu."
Susan is worried. Not about what you might think, but she is fretful nonetheless.
Happy Christmas to Susan
Dec. 25th, 2005 11:44 amShe had wanted a jolly Christmas, and as she readied herself for bed on Christmas Eve, it seemed she had it. Oh, Peter was being distant as had been the case for months, but she was happy, and Lucy and Edmund were happy. They were a family again, and though she might have melancholy moments, on the whole, she was enjoying herself.
But she still felt a queer emptiness within her. She had no idea how to fill it, and she often feared it would always be there, no matter how close she became to her family. There was a void within her, and she had helped grow it over years of denying that which had once filled her with joy. She certainly didn’t wish to dwell on such hopeless matters as this, not on Christmas Eve, so she pushed them from her mind. Sighing, she climbed into bed, warmed by the thick quilts and fell quickly to sleep.
Susan Pevensie, once a Queen of Narnia, sank into dreams.
She was surrounded in silk, and the windows of her chamber were open, letting in the deliciously cool sea breeze. It had been hot earlier, but it was now perfect sleeping weather. The room smelled of lavender, and crickets could be heard chirping away in the gardens beyond the windows. Susan lolled back, stretching and sliding into the luxurious fabric.
And then she heard it. A cry in the wilderness… had it been a child?
Her child, the dear babe who'd slipped from her womb - had he cried, had he been cold and alone?
She arose from her bed, and glided to the window on dream feet.
It was dark. No candles or torches flickered in the all of the vast expanse of Cair Paravel. She peered out into the darkness, searching.
There it was again, from far far away… from Aslan’s How? Or farther?
It wasn’t a child’s cry, though. It was a lion’s roar.
Susan’s flesh prickled. Aslan… but he hadn’t come back to them. Not while she was queen the first time. Now he would never come to her again. She turned to run back to the bed, to fling herself upon it and cry for all she’d lost when she’d lost him.
Aslan had left her when she’d renounced him as part of children’s games, when she took more interest in lipstick and nylons than in that which formed her. She would never know the feel of his mane under her fingers, that silkiness more appealing than the finest of fabrics known to royalty.
She ran and found herself running up the aisle of the parish church in which she’d grown up.
Peter held one of her hands, and in the other she clutched a wooden lamb. It was Christmas Eve and the eldest Pevensies had been chosen, along with other five, six, and seven-year-olds, to bring the nativity set figurines to the front of the church.
She wore red velvet and patent leather, and she shivered with excitement. The church was drafty with the chill wind seeping through the dark stained glass windows, but Susan didn’t notice. The candles lit the church so brightly that the winter was held at bay as the lights filled the darkness.
They passed her parents and little Lucy, who smiled and waved, and Edmund, who did not. And then they were there, in front of the big wooden crèche. Susan could smell the fresh, evergreen garlands which decorated the altar space.
She heard a cry. The lamb in her hand bleated, and she stared down at it in surprise. As she looked, she saw it wasn’t a lamb at all - it was a lion!
Susan looked up again, and she was in her bedroom. Aslan stood before her, resplendent, and the air smelled of Narnian spring.
She knelt down, overjoyed yet afraid.
Aslan… and then she felt his mane under her hands, and she heard the low rumble of his voice.
“Arise, child, and begin again.”
She did, feeling wobbly in her high heels. He breathed on her, and that warmth filled her, and melted the coldness and fear within her.
She woke up.
The room smelled of flowers. With a slightly startled smile, she looked about her, and she felt the change. That aching emptiness had been filled.
She was loved, by her family and by Aslan, who would always be in her heart. She could make up for time lost, mistakes made, and pain suffered. She could forgive herself. She could begin again.
Giggling, but with tears trickling down her cheeks, she bounded out of bed. As she dressed, she hummed "Joy to the World". It was going to be a happy Christmas indeed.
But she still felt a queer emptiness within her. She had no idea how to fill it, and she often feared it would always be there, no matter how close she became to her family. There was a void within her, and she had helped grow it over years of denying that which had once filled her with joy. She certainly didn’t wish to dwell on such hopeless matters as this, not on Christmas Eve, so she pushed them from her mind. Sighing, she climbed into bed, warmed by the thick quilts and fell quickly to sleep.
Susan Pevensie, once a Queen of Narnia, sank into dreams.
She was surrounded in silk, and the windows of her chamber were open, letting in the deliciously cool sea breeze. It had been hot earlier, but it was now perfect sleeping weather. The room smelled of lavender, and crickets could be heard chirping away in the gardens beyond the windows. Susan lolled back, stretching and sliding into the luxurious fabric.
And then she heard it. A cry in the wilderness… had it been a child?
Her child, the dear babe who'd slipped from her womb - had he cried, had he been cold and alone?
She arose from her bed, and glided to the window on dream feet.
It was dark. No candles or torches flickered in the all of the vast expanse of Cair Paravel. She peered out into the darkness, searching.
There it was again, from far far away… from Aslan’s How? Or farther?
It wasn’t a child’s cry, though. It was a lion’s roar.
Susan’s flesh prickled. Aslan… but he hadn’t come back to them. Not while she was queen the first time. Now he would never come to her again. She turned to run back to the bed, to fling herself upon it and cry for all she’d lost when she’d lost him.
Aslan had left her when she’d renounced him as part of children’s games, when she took more interest in lipstick and nylons than in that which formed her. She would never know the feel of his mane under her fingers, that silkiness more appealing than the finest of fabrics known to royalty.
She ran and found herself running up the aisle of the parish church in which she’d grown up.
Peter held one of her hands, and in the other she clutched a wooden lamb. It was Christmas Eve and the eldest Pevensies had been chosen, along with other five, six, and seven-year-olds, to bring the nativity set figurines to the front of the church.
She wore red velvet and patent leather, and she shivered with excitement. The church was drafty with the chill wind seeping through the dark stained glass windows, but Susan didn’t notice. The candles lit the church so brightly that the winter was held at bay as the lights filled the darkness.
They passed her parents and little Lucy, who smiled and waved, and Edmund, who did not. And then they were there, in front of the big wooden crèche. Susan could smell the fresh, evergreen garlands which decorated the altar space.
She heard a cry. The lamb in her hand bleated, and she stared down at it in surprise. As she looked, she saw it wasn’t a lamb at all - it was a lion!
Susan looked up again, and she was in her bedroom. Aslan stood before her, resplendent, and the air smelled of Narnian spring.
She knelt down, overjoyed yet afraid.
Aslan… and then she felt his mane under her hands, and she heard the low rumble of his voice.
“Arise, child, and begin again.”
She did, feeling wobbly in her high heels. He breathed on her, and that warmth filled her, and melted the coldness and fear within her.
She woke up.
The room smelled of flowers. With a slightly startled smile, she looked about her, and she felt the change. That aching emptiness had been filled.
She was loved, by her family and by Aslan, who would always be in her heart. She could make up for time lost, mistakes made, and pain suffered. She could forgive herself. She could begin again.
Giggling, but with tears trickling down her cheeks, she bounded out of bed. As she dressed, she hummed "Joy to the World". It was going to be a happy Christmas indeed.
(no subject)
Dec. 3rd, 2005 10:52 pmIn one fluid motion, Susan nocked the arrow into the bow, raised it, aimed, and fired. The arrow flew to its target - the bulls eye at the end of the courtyard sidewalk.
It was early morning, and she stood in grass still wet with dew. The wetness would ruin the hem of her gown if she did not brush it out immediately upon returning inside. The gown was hunter green, long and flowing, much like one of her favorites from her days in Narnia. She'd sewed it herself, but she only wore it for archery practice.
She worried she oughtn't do this, this dressing up. It was yet another way for her to keep pretending to be someone she wasn't.
The next arrow went wide of the target, a most unusual thing for her.
She was no longer Queen Susan the Gentle.
She was no longer Su Pevensie, absorbed in nylons and lipsticks and invitations an dreams of America.
She was no longer Susan Pevensie of London high society.
Who was she, exactly, and what was she meant to do?
She was in hiding in this lovely, magical house, with her dead family. She knew this. And yet, she didn't want to leave, not really. She was happier now than she'd been in... well, since she'd been in Narnia.
It would be Christmas soon, and Susan loved Christmas. She always had. Even in the past few years, it had been a jolly time, what with the parties and goodwill (even if it was only for a short time) and kisses stolen under the mistletoe. And the presents...
”Susan, Eve’s Daughter,” said Father Christmas. “These are for you,” and he handed her a bow and a quiver full of arrows and a little ivory horn. “You must use the bow only in great need,” he said, “For I do not mean for you to fight in the battle.”
No, she wasn’t meant for battles. She was meant for looking lovely and finding a kingly husband and raising a fine family. As queen, she’d yearned for that future. She daydreamed of the joys of hearth and home, and named the children who’d not been born.
Then she’d no longer been a queen; she’d been plain old Su, but she still enjoyed looking lovely, and oh, how she’d longed for that white dress and veil and the ring sparkling on her finger.
For a few fleeting months, she’d had that within her grasp, or so she’d thought.
That had been nearly three years ago, and she’d tired to bar the thought of her knight in tarnished armor and the little one who’d lived within her for too short a time.
She looked forward to this Christmas with her family. But lurking at the back of her mind, as it often did these days, was the wish for a family of her own. Not that she didn't love her siblings, but they were dead. They were here now, but would they be forever? Or would they fade and pine for Aslan's Country, as Alain and his friends had done? The thought saddened her, but it didn't make her so sad she could not imagine it. It was the natural order of things.
She'd received a great gift finding her family in this place. But there were realities she must face.
She would age - they would not.
She could bear life - that was beyond them now.
She yearned for life, for that which she might bear and for that which she might live.
Susan set down her bow and walked to the target. Practice was over; she'd lost her focus.
She'd lost many things since she tumbled out of the wardrobe, a woman in a girl's body. In the past months, she'd gained more than she'd dreamed possible, and where she once had been empty and bitter, gentleness flowed and filled her again.
There would come a time when she'd have to stop hiding. But perhaps not yet. This Christmas would be the jolliest in years.
Arrows back in their quiver, Susan returned her family apartments in the House of Arch with a soft smile on her face. Tea and porridge would be just the thing about now.
It was early morning, and she stood in grass still wet with dew. The wetness would ruin the hem of her gown if she did not brush it out immediately upon returning inside. The gown was hunter green, long and flowing, much like one of her favorites from her days in Narnia. She'd sewed it herself, but she only wore it for archery practice.
She worried she oughtn't do this, this dressing up. It was yet another way for her to keep pretending to be someone she wasn't.
The next arrow went wide of the target, a most unusual thing for her.
She was no longer Queen Susan the Gentle.
She was no longer Su Pevensie, absorbed in nylons and lipsticks and invitations an dreams of America.
She was no longer Susan Pevensie of London high society.
Who was she, exactly, and what was she meant to do?
She was in hiding in this lovely, magical house, with her dead family. She knew this. And yet, she didn't want to leave, not really. She was happier now than she'd been in... well, since she'd been in Narnia.
It would be Christmas soon, and Susan loved Christmas. She always had. Even in the past few years, it had been a jolly time, what with the parties and goodwill (even if it was only for a short time) and kisses stolen under the mistletoe. And the presents...
”Susan, Eve’s Daughter,” said Father Christmas. “These are for you,” and he handed her a bow and a quiver full of arrows and a little ivory horn. “You must use the bow only in great need,” he said, “For I do not mean for you to fight in the battle.”
No, she wasn’t meant for battles. She was meant for looking lovely and finding a kingly husband and raising a fine family. As queen, she’d yearned for that future. She daydreamed of the joys of hearth and home, and named the children who’d not been born.
Then she’d no longer been a queen; she’d been plain old Su, but she still enjoyed looking lovely, and oh, how she’d longed for that white dress and veil and the ring sparkling on her finger.
For a few fleeting months, she’d had that within her grasp, or so she’d thought.
That had been nearly three years ago, and she’d tired to bar the thought of her knight in tarnished armor and the little one who’d lived within her for too short a time.
She looked forward to this Christmas with her family. But lurking at the back of her mind, as it often did these days, was the wish for a family of her own. Not that she didn't love her siblings, but they were dead. They were here now, but would they be forever? Or would they fade and pine for Aslan's Country, as Alain and his friends had done? The thought saddened her, but it didn't make her so sad she could not imagine it. It was the natural order of things.
She'd received a great gift finding her family in this place. But there were realities she must face.
She would age - they would not.
She could bear life - that was beyond them now.
She yearned for life, for that which she might bear and for that which she might live.
Susan set down her bow and walked to the target. Practice was over; she'd lost her focus.
She'd lost many things since she tumbled out of the wardrobe, a woman in a girl's body. In the past months, she'd gained more than she'd dreamed possible, and where she once had been empty and bitter, gentleness flowed and filled her again.
There would come a time when she'd have to stop hiding. But perhaps not yet. This Christmas would be the jolliest in years.
Arrows back in their quiver, Susan returned her family apartments in the House of Arch with a soft smile on her face. Tea and porridge would be just the thing about now.
(no subject)
May. 7th, 2005 02:28 pm*Susan had a lovely lie in that stretched into a lazy morning. She is enjoying the company of her sister, despite all of the equally disturbing and wonderful events that have occurred since she walked through the door and found her family again.
She is lounging on the bed in a quilted robe procured from the bar. She can't remember the last time she felt at such ease.*
This bar, it can provide anything, can it? I mean to say, this robe is divine - I should think if it could give one a robe, it could give one anything.
She is lounging on the bed in a quilted robe procured from the bar. She can't remember the last time she felt at such ease.*
This bar, it can provide anything, can it? I mean to say, this robe is divine - I should think if it could give one a robe, it could give one anything.
(no subject)
May. 7th, 2005 08:56 amSusan wakes from her sleep to find herself in a dark, unfamiliar room. She is startled for a moment, but then she feels Lucy beside her and remembers where she is. If she's awake from sleep, then she can't be in a dream. This is real.
Her sister and her brothers are dead and yet they live. Susan believed in such miracles once.
She believed in many things, once. Tonight she let herself begin to believe once again.
Tonight she let herself be closer to her family than she'd been in years.
They still don't know, though, about the secrets she holds close to her. The secrets that nearly ruined her life at age eighteen.
She'd moved out of their family home then, sharing a flat with two other girls. Her looks and taste soon led her into a fast, decadent world in which a girl could be paid well just for dressing up and looking pretty for fashion presentations and private showings of designer collections. She was soon swept into London society and she was treated, she thought, as the queen she'd once been.
Henry, Lord Winthrop, had been one of the first to notice her beauty and grace. He was young and dashing, and Susan was too naive to know he was also a hunter, and she his quarry. She'd always loved being pursued by handsome men. In Narnia she'd had suitor upon suitor, and she entertained each one. She wasn't false, and she never acted in an inappropriate way, aside from sweet, stolen kisses and caresses from her favorites.
She ought to have remembered Prince Rabadash. Being estranged from her family, there was no one there to protect her honor when Henry seduced her.
He promised her marriage to get her into his bed. Susan discovered to her great horror that his promises were lies. He grew tired of her soon after, discarding her to run after the next pretty young thing to come along.
When she told him she was with child - his child - he laughed. He gave her money "to take care of it". Susan threw the money to the floor and walked away, knowing she was disgraced and her new life over before it had a chance to begin.
Susan had always hated killing. Abortion, though she knew in theory that such a thing existed, had never crossed her mind.
A few days later, as she tried to figure out what she would do when she started showing - there was no way she could return home to the shame and disappoint that would surely be waiting for her - she miscarried.
As she lies in this strange bed, the tears flowing freely and silently from her eyes, she still grieves for her lost child. She grieves for all that has been lost and might still be so.
She'd told Alain, the quiet, kind man she'd met before she'd seen Lucy and the others, that she hadn't called upon the Lord Christ in years.
Now, as she allows herself to remember Narnia and Aslan - dear Aslan, his soft fur under her fingers, the peace he brought - her heart opens and she speaks to God as she once did so freely.
"Please..."
She doesn't quite know what she's pleading for. She doesn't know if she's even got the right to plead. She prays just the same, her eyes staring up at the dark ceiling.
"Please?"
Her sister and her brothers are dead and yet they live. Susan believed in such miracles once.
She believed in many things, once. Tonight she let herself begin to believe once again.
Tonight she let herself be closer to her family than she'd been in years.
They still don't know, though, about the secrets she holds close to her. The secrets that nearly ruined her life at age eighteen.
She'd moved out of their family home then, sharing a flat with two other girls. Her looks and taste soon led her into a fast, decadent world in which a girl could be paid well just for dressing up and looking pretty for fashion presentations and private showings of designer collections. She was soon swept into London society and she was treated, she thought, as the queen she'd once been.
Henry, Lord Winthrop, had been one of the first to notice her beauty and grace. He was young and dashing, and Susan was too naive to know he was also a hunter, and she his quarry. She'd always loved being pursued by handsome men. In Narnia she'd had suitor upon suitor, and she entertained each one. She wasn't false, and she never acted in an inappropriate way, aside from sweet, stolen kisses and caresses from her favorites.
She ought to have remembered Prince Rabadash. Being estranged from her family, there was no one there to protect her honor when Henry seduced her.
He promised her marriage to get her into his bed. Susan discovered to her great horror that his promises were lies. He grew tired of her soon after, discarding her to run after the next pretty young thing to come along.
When she told him she was with child - his child - he laughed. He gave her money "to take care of it". Susan threw the money to the floor and walked away, knowing she was disgraced and her new life over before it had a chance to begin.
Susan had always hated killing. Abortion, though she knew in theory that such a thing existed, had never crossed her mind.
A few days later, as she tried to figure out what she would do when she started showing - there was no way she could return home to the shame and disappoint that would surely be waiting for her - she miscarried.
As she lies in this strange bed, the tears flowing freely and silently from her eyes, she still grieves for her lost child. She grieves for all that has been lost and might still be so.
She'd told Alain, the quiet, kind man she'd met before she'd seen Lucy and the others, that she hadn't called upon the Lord Christ in years.
Now, as she allows herself to remember Narnia and Aslan - dear Aslan, his soft fur under her fingers, the peace he brought - her heart opens and she speaks to God as she once did so freely.
"Please..."
She doesn't quite know what she's pleading for. She doesn't know if she's even got the right to plead. She prays just the same, her eyes staring up at the dark ceiling.
"Please?"
