Happy Christmas to Susan
She 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.