FairerStillTheMoonlight

by Val Evenstar

******************************

Peter

******************************

Tears fall from my face, raindrops from the cloud of sorrow gathered around me. I stare at the picture, so real and lifelike. It shows a young man in his scholarly robes, smiling gravely as he holds his diploma.

He’s my brother, and he’s dead.

I can see him now, just as he was on that day – face full of a noble gladness as all his dreams came true. He graduated with top honors from Oxford, and all of us – family, friends, classmates – had been so happy for him.

I’ll always remember him this way.

Tears blur my eyes, and suddenly the picture changes.

He’s a young man still, but a golden crown now rests upon his dark head; there’s a shining sword in his hand.

I gasp.

This is my brother of long ago – Peter, the High King of Narnia.

I swallow back bitter, bitter tears as memories so long forgotten flood my mind.

Peter, defeating the wolf.

Peter, crowned King by the Lion himself.

Peter, lying bloody and still on the field of battle, his still bright eyes trying to tell me that it will be all right.

Peter, riding his stallion into Cair Paravel, victory riding in from the North.

Peter, dancing with the fauns under the Narnian sky.

Peter, my king and my brother, a warrior through and through, a wise man of courage who sought justice and truth.

Peter dead.

I sob, looking at the portrait of the university graduate, seeing even there a echo of a long lost land.

All I can hope is that, wherever he is, it’s some place like Narnia.

Because now I know that I will always remember him as he was then – High King of a magical land.

******************************

Edmund

******************************

Narnia shaped Edmund more than any of us. I remember the way he was that summer, before we went to Professor Kirke’s. He’d been to boarding school for the first time that year, but it hadn’t helped much. With Dad away at the war and Peter at a different school, Ed just became… well, a bit unbearable.

It hurts to think of such things, now. Because that’s not who Edmund is – was…

I thought I’d run out of tears already. I had no idea that it could hurt this much.

Aslan changed Ed. He’d changed all of us, and here I am, just pushing his sacrifice under the rug for years, never giving it a second thought until now, when everything’s been taken away from me.

Tears of piercing guilt and sorrow fall on the picture in my hand.

It’s Edmund in one of his favorite places – the university library. He’d gone there to study law. We’d all wanted him to become a great judge someday, and I know he’d harbored the same hope.

I was so foolish to forget that that dream had already been fulfilled.

He was King Edmund the Just, the passionate defender of justice. That was what he’d learned at the Stone Table, what had altered him forever. He’d carried it back with him, through the wardrobe, into a world that so desperately needed it.

Is this justice, Ed? I think angrily. Is it fair, to have you and all my family killed onthe same day? None of you deserved to die. Except maybe me…

His words from countless discussions, both in Cair Paravel and our dining room, come back to me: “There’s more to it than that, Su. You see, there was a plan, all along…”

I close my eyes, praying that he is right.

******************************

Lucy

******************************

 

I remember when we were visiting our cousins in Buckinghamshire, when Lucy was only six. She had taken us to the garden right away. It was summer, after all, and had always been her favorite season, full of flowers blooming and heather thick on the hills. We’d left our parents and the boys to do the usual business of catching up with the relatives – the cousins were mostly boys anyhow – and ran away to auntie’s well-kept flower beds.

It was a beautiful day, and the wonders of the blossoms overwhelmed us. For a while we wandered through the garden, blissfully drinking in the sights and smells.

Then Lucy saw something and ran over to it. “Oh, Susan!” she said, “Look.”

Her eyes were full of tears, and I rushed to her side, not knowing what had happened.

“Look,” she repeated, holding her gently cupped hands up to me. I saw a tiny white flower there, that I knew was one of her favorites. It was just beginning to bloom, but it had already been crushed by a careless passerby.

“But it was so young to die,” she’d said, confused.

She was so young, not quite yet the beautiful woman she would’ve been. I turn my head aside, not wanting my tears to wet the photograph. It shows my Lucy, my sister, my blossom, holding a small white flower, as she’d so often done in this world or another.

******************************

Susan

******************************

And what of me?

My family is gone, taken from me in one cruel blow of fate.

What will I do now? How can I go on?

I stare at the portraits on my dresser. I’m the only one left.

Father, Mother, Peter, Edmund, Lucy, even Eustace, Jill, Professor Kirke, and Aunt Polly – all gone.

Forever.

I see other pictures there, too – my friends from school, and Johnathan – dear Johnathan!

I pick up the picture and run my finger over the print of his handsome face. I know he’s outside now, waiting for me to come out, wanting to whisper words of comfort and love in my ear.

But how can I let him? What could he do? He never really knew my family – no one did. He knew Peter as a classmate, not as High King. He knew Edmund as a friend, not as the wise counselor and ruler of Narnia. He knew Luce as a younger sister, not as the valiant, truth-seeking Queen that she was.

And he knows me as Susan Pevensie. Does he really know me as I am?

I cry as I remember who I was, once upon a time.

I was Queen Susan the Gentle, yet I was not afraid to use my bow in battle, for the sake of my family and friends. I was loved by my countrymen, and I loved them too.

What happened to me?

I know, deep down inside.

I stopped believing.

I lost faith in miracles, in magic, in Narnia, and even in Aslan himself. I couldn’t accept that it had all been real.

But now I have to.

I can’t believe that they’re dead and gone. I know they’ve gone somewhere – because I know Aslan couldn’t have let this happen without a reason.

I have to believe.

As I look at the portraits on my dresser, the faces blur beneath my tears.

But now they are tears of joy.

I know they’re with Aslan. I can feel his Lion’s strength entering my veins.

I am Queen Susan of Narnia, and suddenly – for the first time in a very long time – I want to go back there.

To touch the Lion’s mane and tell him thank-you.