“The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen.”
~G.K. Chesterton
Of course it didn’t end there. That was merely the beginning. For the Gentle Queen to be made, the self-centered belle must be unmade. Or as Susan later read, crucified. And that death of suffocation held both length and pain; but “this way went the Crucified,” and where He went, she followed.
Even if the path was so, so lonely. Even when all she wanted was nothing more than Aslan near her, His voice speaking to her, and the safety of Him. But He remained invisible, and Susan felt alone.
She found queens often were alone, even lonely; that though her first reign was as one of four, the choices she’d made had consequences, and one of those was that this time she ruled alone. No High King and older brother, no Judge and far-seeing companion, no Valiant smile to rule with her. But she had the memory of the Lion’s words.
Particularly “Courage, dear heart.” He’d said it to Lucy, but Susan held the memory of the meaning and voice close. And she knew courage was something He gave; once He’d breathed on her and asked if she was brave. She had told Him a little, and she was finding that a little was enough. Even for the lonely, for the forgiven, a little was enough.
The smallest seed was enough for Him to grow into a queen.
So a Queen He made her.
Mary, James, and the others were the beginning, the ones who stayed, the ones who looked to her for guidance and help, the ones who leaned on her strength. And she began to realise her rule, though heavy when they gave her their hurting hearts, their scarred pasts, was a help as well. When she told Kenneth she believed in a God who fought evil and won, she remembered it was true. When she spoke with Alice about pain and told her God held their lost siblings, it was easier to believe it herself.
And by strengthening their hearts, her own was no longer alone. Walks, talks, dances, meeting for tea in a shop not far from where Edmund studied, meeting Edward’s friends, many of whom knew Edmund, brought her back to seeing how much life abounded, even after death. Eventually (it took time) going where Lucy and her mother served and serving as well. She cried each time, at the beginning, when someone thanked her and asked if she was the sister Lucy had spoken so much about once, when they told her that her whole family must have been beautiful. But she found the beauty lasted, even beyond their deaths, in the lives they’d poured their beauty into. And the grief in her face helped her ease the grief in their legacy, for the hurting saw she was like them. Only, because of Aslan’s work, she was both beautiful and courageous in her grief, in the quiet, gentle way she brought them tea and listened to them, the way she noticed what they needed, and in the way she was neither angry nor bitter. She grieved, but only grieved. And for a moment that was a picture of her lifetime, they saw that grief itself could be beautiful.
Years passed that way, and still grief refined her, and she learned the gentleness that the broken can learn. The one that offered help in a way that bypassed pride with a gentle “me too,” and showed the hand reaching to offer help was also broken. She found the hand helping her was pierced.
And under her guidance, many who had lived life but laughed at death learned of the piercing beauty of grief. And she saw, and acknowledged that her God was good.
But she was still so lonely. There were none left but her who remembered Narnia; none who longed for it more as they were remade into one who ruled it, longed for its specific mountains, the sound of its rivers with the calls of talking birds intertwined, the stars that lived and danced and watched those who looked up at them. Many friends said she’d left too many roots in America to be completely at home again; she smiled (no longer a fake smile), and let them think so. A smile, because she remembered her real home, and her hope that her siblings somehow made it there. And were waiting for her, a forgiven traitor, and a remade queen.
She hoped the wait was shorter for them than it was for her.
And one day she found out it was. One day, with another accident (a car this time), one day when she found out why Lucy smiled.
Because the pain was intense, for minutes, as the Gentle Queen struggled to breathe, as she closed her eyes and begged Aslan for help. She heard her name called repeatedly, but it grew softer and softer, and she opened her eyes at the quiet.
And the light, light she’d seen once before at dawn and a Lion’s resurrection, flooded her eyes, almost blinding her to the source.
Oh, Aslan.
She was home. Even though breath-stealing pain continued for a few minutes more, seeing the golden glory and the gentle eyes gave her more courage than she had ever asked for.
Then His nose touched her forehead, and the pain fell away, and she rose and looked at Him.
“Well done, daughter.” The voice that made the earth shake was so, so gentle, even as her eyes filled, though she laughed. That accolade was more than she’d ever expected to receive, and she curtsied, and then wrapped her arms in his mane. It was so good to be home.
“Come,” she heard him say, feeling it reverberate through his body. “There are others waiting for you; they came down from the mountain to meet you.”
She turned—and she was no longer in London. It was green, and before her were the mountains she had longed for—only more real, as others had said before her, more like home—the place she had been longing for even before her siblings had died.
Aslan had brought her to Narnia.
And a few meters away were nine glorious people, their faces were as much a part of her heart as Narnia itself.
And each of them were smiling with a joy untarnished by grief, a joy that rang through the air like laughter, and one of the queens opened her arms.
It was Lucy. Running, calling each other’s names, both queens met and held each other; seconds later Edmund spun her around and hugged her as well, Lucy’s arms falling to her waist; Peter’s arms enveloped all three. They were laughing, their names were spilling from Susan’s lips, Peter’s hand soothed her hair, and Edmund thanked Aslan in a low voice. It was relief, it was joy, it was home, it was life. They stayed that way, holding each other, till someone cleared his throat.
Turning with grace, the gentle queen saw Eustace grinning, Jill beside him dancing impatiently, and the Professor and Aunt Polly smiling behind them. And further than that, her own parents waited, the inborn courtesy they had taught Susan holding them back till the seven friends had met. Their own meeting came after, and Susan wept with joy to see her father healed, war no longer his home and his leg no longer metal, and her mother unshadowed by the grief she had known; there was no darkness in Aslan’s country.
When all had met, and cried, and laughed, they turned to the one who had brought them all home, and thanked Him, and He Himself walked with them towards the mountain, words spilling from Lucy’s lips as she told her sister all that waited for her above, further up and farther in, all the joy, all the people, all of Aslan’s own, called to a place forever home. And the joy in Lucy’s voice was so deep it gave joy to them all in her joy of her sister, and Peter led them with the steps that walked forward even while his eyes glanced back at them, and Edmund, who had also known what it was to be completely forgiven unpardonable sin, walked with Susan and held her hand.
And so ones who had once been and would never again be traitors followed their Lion, for He made them always king and queen, and He led them home.
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