Lucy was the first to discover. Of course she was, she had always been the first. The first to discover Narnia, the first to discover Aslan, the first to keep faith, constantly and steadfast. She found His name when she attended a church service. She was still mourning the loss of Narnia, mourning the knowledge that she would not return when she heard the pastor speak of sacrifice, of love, of Jesus’ death and resurrection. She heard him read about the darkness that fell over Israel when Jesus was hanging on the cross and she remembered her adventures in Narnia. She remembered the sadness, the intense and overwhelming pain when she had seen Aslan, his mane cut and his body lifeless on the stone table. But she also remembered the light and the joy when He returned, and she remembered His soft voice, the words He had spoken before she left Narnia for good: “I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name.” Lucy had discovered that name, and she treasured it inside her heart.
Edmund had been second. He had never truly felt at home in his world, missing Narnia each day. He dreamt about the gardens of Cair Paravel, banks of the Great River, the Mountains of the North and all the creatures living in the Great Western Woods. And occasionally, he dreamt about the White Witch. Those days, he rose early and could be found wandering around in the forest surrounding his school, looking for life that wasn’t there. One morning, after a particularly realistic nightmare in which the White Witch rose again, with him by her side, he woke up to find his dorm mate up as well, reading a heavy book. They talked, and Edmund heard the story of forgiveness. He felt a warm glow in his heart, but he did not fully understand why until later, when he picked up the old Bible his father had given him. The glow in his heart had been the feeling of home.
Peter discovered last. His calm mind and sturdy heart had not forgotten Narnia, he never could, but life forced the memories in the back of his mind. It was during the wedding of one of his closest friends when he discovered Aslan’s name. His youngest siblings had told him of their adventures with Caspian, and Lucy had told him of Aslan’s last words to her. When the officiator spoke of loyalty and bravery, of God’s everlasting love, Peter realised who Aslan was. It was only weeks before the ghost of a dethroned King appeared in the living room, and only weeks before the train crashed and he saw Aslan again.
Susan did not discover it at all. She grieved for her siblings, locked herself up from the world until she met her consolation in the form of a lovely young and caring man. Susan grew up, again, but she did not remember the first time she did. She got married and raised her children. She went to church each Sunday but she never linked the words she heard there to the Lion she once knew but had forgotten. Narnia had lost a friend, and one throne in Cair Paravel stayed empty. Aslan and the Kings and Queens of Narnia waited, patiently. Even though she might have forgotten Narnia, and even though she guarded her heart, she was after all Queen Susan the Gentle of the radiant Southern Sun. And, as it is said, once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia. One day, the lost Pevensie sister would return home, where she belonged.