Lucy is named after Grandmother Garner, who died when Lucy was seven.

Lucy has always liked her name, and she doesn't mind that she was named after her. She cannot remember very clearly, but she has memories of sitting in Grandma Garner's soft lap, smelling the heady scent of her lavender perfume and her brightly patterned summer dresses, playing around with the beads of a necklace around her neck.

Those memories make her feel warm and pleasant, for some reason.


Looking back, Lucy doesn't know why she was so scared when she first saw Mr. Tumnus.

He was the nicest Faun you could ever met, Lucy thinks. He was bright, warm and very friendly. His endless scarves were always a subject of interest for Lucy. When Lucy asked Mr. Tumnus why he liked scarves so much, he had answered, 'Why, because they keep me warm, my dear Queen!' like it was the most sensible thing in the world.

Mr. Tumnus is the best friend you could ever have.


Peter had talked to her quietly about Susan, when she was the last of them to see Aslan when they were crossing the gorge.

'You don't supposeā€¦ she's losing faith?' Peter had whispered, fingers twisting uncomfortably. Lucy told Peter firmly that Susan certainly was not losing her faith in Narnia, and that Peter was mistaken.

Maybe that's why it hurt so much when Susan told Lucy that Narnia was nothing but child's play, an imaginary game that Susan refused to engage in.


Lucy hates to admit it, but she is jealous of Susan.

Her older sister was the one everyone always looked at first, admiring her beauty and her poise. She had the beauty and the brains, and Lucy was jealous.


It was an ugly word, and Lucy feels so ashamed of feeling that way. She couldn't get rid of it, though. Even in Narnia, Susan's suitors were abundant; they came in crowds and didn't leave until Susan absolutely insisted. Lucy didn't want to get married, but the attention would be nice.

Lucy had confided in Peter once, about this. Peter had looked absolutely flabbergasted, and told Lucy, 'You're beautiful too, Lu. In your own way.'

And that made it all better.


Watching Aslan being sacrificed was the hardest thing Lucy ever had to do.

Terror gripped her heart, and it took all of her willpower not to rush up to the Stone Table and rip that icy scepter out of her cold hands. But what could she do? She was just a little girl, utterly helpless against the cold fury of the White Witch.

Lucy wasn't known for her temper, but a raging ball of anger formed in her heart when all those horrid creatures cut Aslan's beautiful, beautiful fur off, shucking it on the ground. Aslan had looked horribly vulnerable without His fur; it made Him look smaller, somehow. At first Lucy thought wildly that surely Aslan wouldn't die, all of Narnia still needed Him.

The scepter to His heart felt like a deep jab in her own.


Lucy loves her magic cordial.

She loves that she has the power to heal people, to see their expressions of relief when they find out that they aren't dying just yet, when they realize that their numerous cuts and bruises are no more. It warms Lucy to her core.


The Magician's Book.

The pictures depicting her beauty if she had uttered the spell were completely enchanting, and Lucy was so very tempted to say the spell. After she closed the Magician's Book, she was rather appalled at herself. Did her jealousy really run that deep? How could she be jealous of her own sister? Lucy had been extremely troubled by this ever since.

And that spell! The one that enabled you to hear what your friends were saying about you. Lucy didn't know who she hated more; herself for casting it in the first place or Marjorie for saying that about her. It wasn't until much later, in London after Lucy hadn't spoken to Marjorie for a month, that it occurred to Lucy that Marjorie might have only said that so Anne wouldn't bother Marjorie anymore.

She never got to ask Marjorie what really happened.


Lucy loves watching merpeople twist and turn in the water, their ethereal bodies glittering in the sweet water, tails flicking in and out, breaking the calm surface of the sea. It was mesmerizing, watching them.

Sometimes, in the dead of the night, when there were only a precious few patrolling the decks of the Dawn Treader, Lucy would creep out and sit on an empty barrel, occasionally reaching down a hand to touch their slick bodies, fingers distorted beneath the crystal clear water. They would sing in return, and it was the sweetest sound in the world.


Seeing King Tirian suddenly appear when they had just finished dinner sent an almost painful leap of hope into her deadened heart. Was this a sign? Would they return to Narnia again?

She didn't exactly hate London, but she missed Narnia so much. Lucy knew it was selfish of her, but she would gladly leave her parents in London if she was offered a chance to return to Narnia.

Lucy tried to convince Susan, but she simply didn't want to listen. She had been so very frustrated with her then. What was wrong with Susan? Why did she find it so hard to believe again? Was Narnia really that repulsive to her?


Even so, Lucy always knew that Susan would return, in the end. Days seemed to melt by in Aslan's country, and before she knew it, Susan was running up the hill in their direction, looking the way Lucy always remembered her to be: lipstick-less lips and naturally rosy cheeks. Reepicheep, Caspian, Rilian and all the other Narnians were cheering her name, welcoming Queen Susan the Gentle back into their midst, already forgiven.

Lucy was the first one to hug her. She wrapped her arms tightly around her long-lost sister, who had made it to Aslan's country in the end. Then Susan spoke, whispering tearfully in her ear:

'I've missed you.'