A Song for the Stars, for lauraandrews
Title: A Song for the Stars
Author: wingedflight21
Recipient: lauraandrews
Rating: K
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Vague references to Last Battle and Silver Chair.
Summary: Star showers have always boded well for Narnia’s future. An AU of the Last Battle.
Author’s Note: Thank you so much to my betas, [redacted] and [redacted]!
A Song for the Stars
+
One, a dazzling streak of light here and gone in the blink of an eye. You tip back your head, breathing in the fresh scent of grass and scanning the sky even though the shooting star has already vanished.
“And so it begins,” Eustace intones. You smirk, elbowing his ribs. He yelps and pinches your arm in retaliation.
The rest of the stars are winking in and out of focus, teasing you. A dark shape blinks across your line of vision; you flinch before realizing it is only a bat.
In the distance, you hear the honk of a car horn. The sound hovers heavy in the night air before fading to the familiar hum of the crickets. Eustace sighs, shifting position. His arm brushes against your own as he settles back against the grass.
“Glad you’re here,” you whisper.
“Mmhm,” he responds.
A second star shoots across the sky.
+
Eustace told you once that the stars of this world are nothing more than burning rocks. It’s hard to believe, when they look just the same as Narnian stars glimmering in the sky above.
Lucy tells tales of a retired star at the end of the world. Rilian’s mother had been the daughter of that star, and even Tirian carried the glow of his ancestors in his veins. When you close your eyes, you can still remember the shock of the king’s silver-tinted blood gleaming against your dark skin as you pressed down hard on his wound and prayed. Later, when his wound scabbed silver, you found him in the healer’s tent telling tales of his ancestors’ dances through the sky.
Even now, these stories seem more real to you than the theory of rock debris falling through the heavens. You won’t say this, though; Eustace would launch into another scientific lecture if you admitted such a thing.
+
An especially bright streak flashes above and, almost involuntarily, you lift your hand to point it out. The star is already gone, leaving an absence of light in its wake. Your hand hovers in the air until you jab suddenly to the right at the sight of another star.
“Three,” whispers Eustace under his breath. He stretches his own arm up and it bumps against your wrist. Your fingers entwine. It’s still strange how different his hand feels now that the scars and calluses of battle are gone, leaving only the soft skin of an English schoolboy.
Overhead, the sky continues its show of lights. You tighten your grip in excitement as another two stars arc overhead in parallel lines.
“Four, five,” murmurs Eustace, and squeezes back.
+
The scream of battle had been ringing in your ears as the arrow trembled against the bowstring. You’d had to lower your weapon and take a breath before your arms felt steady enough to sight the shot. A Calormene, briefly unprotected; a hyena leaping toward Tirian; a dwarf about to shoot his own arrow into the fray. All the lessons Susan had taught you at the archery range so long before had melded into the instinctive twang-and-zipp, twang-and-zipp.
And then the Calormene captain managed to cut through Tirian’s defence. You loosed another arrow that missed and could only watch helplessly as the warm, glowing blood blossomed across Tirian’s skin.
And as he collapsed, the lights in the sky above began to drift. They moved slow at first, and in great sweeping circles. Then faster darting specks shot across the wide expanse in a great spectral shower.
The stars had begun to dance.
+
Light spreads across the grass as the back door to the house opens. You hear the brief chatter of conversation from inside, which stops as suddenly as a radio when the door closes again. The steps creak and Eustace twists around to see who it is.
“Oh. Hello, Susan,” he says.
You sit up stiffly, pulling your hand away from his. When you turn, Susan is standing on the bottom step, her violin and bow clutched tight in one hand.
“It’s hot inside,” she explains shortly. “And too loud to practise properly.”
You feel uncomfortable around her, the heated words of your last argument still ringing loud in your memory. “We’ve been watching the stars,” you explain, gesturing to the sky.
Eustace adds, “I’ve managed to count six meteoroids so far.”
Susan watches you both before nodding slowly. “You’ll catch cold if you lie on the grass too long.”
“We brought a blanket,” you tell her.
She nods again and takes a breath. “I need a break from the chaos,” she says. “Do you mind if I join you both?”
Neither of you can think of a reason to protest. She takes a seat on the bottom step, laying her violin carefully on the wooden slats beside her. After a moment of awkwardly waiting for Susan to continue to speak, you lie back down on the blanket. Eustace remains sitting upright beside you, his hands splayed out behind him as support as he gazes upward to the sky.
+
Roonwit told you later that star showers always boded well for Narnia’s future. Usually, it would be as simple as predicting a plentiful harvest or a mild winter. During the Skirmish of Stable Hill, however, more stars had danced than anyone could remember. And with their dance, the tides of battle had turned in Narnia’s favour.
Eustace had complained that it didn’t make sense that the actions of stars could foretell the events of an entire country. You had wondered if Aslan danced among them as easily as he walked the earth. Tirian told you that he’d felt the pull of his blood that night and thought, perhaps, that his kin had felt his silent call for aid even as his blood licked the edge of the Calormene’s scimitar.
“Blood doesn’t call for help,” Eustace had retorted, but you thought maybe Tirian was right.
+
It is only after Eustace has fallen back to lay beside you once more that Susan speaks again. “Was Narnia still beautiful?”
You are too surprised that she would even speak of that other world to answer. It is Eustace who replies, “Different, but still wild and free.”
“Good,” she says, and when you tip your head all the way back, you see that she rests her chin in her hands. Her instrument still lies on the step at her side.
“Your archery lessons came in handy,” you tell her.
“Good,” she says again, her satisfaction more evident this time.
Another star stretches across the sky and all three of you gasp at its brightness. Two more appear, one after the other, and Eustace adjusts his count beneath his breath.
The whole of the sky lies open above you, a wonder of winking specks and dancing lights. It occurs to you that maybe it doesn’t matter how stars manifest in either world, that maybe they are the same thing in the end.
“Why don’t you play your violin out here for us?” you ask at last.
Susan runs a finger along her bow. She lifts the violin to her lap and plucks at all the strings, slowly tuning. At last, she raises the instrument to her shoulder and plays a long, solemn note.
“It can be just as beautiful here,” she says, so soft that she might not have meant you to hear. And then, with the inherent grace you’ve always known, she draws her bow to play a song for the stars.
+
Original Prompt that we sent you:
What I want: I'd love anything with Eustace and Jill (either romantic or non-romantic). Eustace and his mother after VDT or SC, Eustace and his father after VDT or SC. Another lovely thing would be a short AU (or long if you're up to it!) set in Narnia where the last battle doesn't end the world. Also, in my own head-canon Susan takes up playing the violin in our world. It would be awesome to see something centering around or including that. Have fun and pick whatever jumps out at you :D
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: If it's a Eustace and Jill fic, it would be fun if they learned sign language together.
Author: wingedflight21
Recipient: lauraandrews
Rating: K
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Vague references to Last Battle and Silver Chair.
Summary: Star showers have always boded well for Narnia’s future. An AU of the Last Battle.
Author’s Note: Thank you so much to my betas, [redacted] and [redacted]!
A Song for the Stars
+
One, a dazzling streak of light here and gone in the blink of an eye. You tip back your head, breathing in the fresh scent of grass and scanning the sky even though the shooting star has already vanished.
“And so it begins,” Eustace intones. You smirk, elbowing his ribs. He yelps and pinches your arm in retaliation.
The rest of the stars are winking in and out of focus, teasing you. A dark shape blinks across your line of vision; you flinch before realizing it is only a bat.
In the distance, you hear the honk of a car horn. The sound hovers heavy in the night air before fading to the familiar hum of the crickets. Eustace sighs, shifting position. His arm brushes against your own as he settles back against the grass.
“Glad you’re here,” you whisper.
“Mmhm,” he responds.
A second star shoots across the sky.
+
Eustace told you once that the stars of this world are nothing more than burning rocks. It’s hard to believe, when they look just the same as Narnian stars glimmering in the sky above.
Lucy tells tales of a retired star at the end of the world. Rilian’s mother had been the daughter of that star, and even Tirian carried the glow of his ancestors in his veins. When you close your eyes, you can still remember the shock of the king’s silver-tinted blood gleaming against your dark skin as you pressed down hard on his wound and prayed. Later, when his wound scabbed silver, you found him in the healer’s tent telling tales of his ancestors’ dances through the sky.
Even now, these stories seem more real to you than the theory of rock debris falling through the heavens. You won’t say this, though; Eustace would launch into another scientific lecture if you admitted such a thing.
+
An especially bright streak flashes above and, almost involuntarily, you lift your hand to point it out. The star is already gone, leaving an absence of light in its wake. Your hand hovers in the air until you jab suddenly to the right at the sight of another star.
“Three,” whispers Eustace under his breath. He stretches his own arm up and it bumps against your wrist. Your fingers entwine. It’s still strange how different his hand feels now that the scars and calluses of battle are gone, leaving only the soft skin of an English schoolboy.
Overhead, the sky continues its show of lights. You tighten your grip in excitement as another two stars arc overhead in parallel lines.
“Four, five,” murmurs Eustace, and squeezes back.
+
The scream of battle had been ringing in your ears as the arrow trembled against the bowstring. You’d had to lower your weapon and take a breath before your arms felt steady enough to sight the shot. A Calormene, briefly unprotected; a hyena leaping toward Tirian; a dwarf about to shoot his own arrow into the fray. All the lessons Susan had taught you at the archery range so long before had melded into the instinctive twang-and-zipp, twang-and-zipp.
And then the Calormene captain managed to cut through Tirian’s defence. You loosed another arrow that missed and could only watch helplessly as the warm, glowing blood blossomed across Tirian’s skin.
And as he collapsed, the lights in the sky above began to drift. They moved slow at first, and in great sweeping circles. Then faster darting specks shot across the wide expanse in a great spectral shower.
The stars had begun to dance.
+
Light spreads across the grass as the back door to the house opens. You hear the brief chatter of conversation from inside, which stops as suddenly as a radio when the door closes again. The steps creak and Eustace twists around to see who it is.
“Oh. Hello, Susan,” he says.
You sit up stiffly, pulling your hand away from his. When you turn, Susan is standing on the bottom step, her violin and bow clutched tight in one hand.
“It’s hot inside,” she explains shortly. “And too loud to practise properly.”
You feel uncomfortable around her, the heated words of your last argument still ringing loud in your memory. “We’ve been watching the stars,” you explain, gesturing to the sky.
Eustace adds, “I’ve managed to count six meteoroids so far.”
Susan watches you both before nodding slowly. “You’ll catch cold if you lie on the grass too long.”
“We brought a blanket,” you tell her.
She nods again and takes a breath. “I need a break from the chaos,” she says. “Do you mind if I join you both?”
Neither of you can think of a reason to protest. She takes a seat on the bottom step, laying her violin carefully on the wooden slats beside her. After a moment of awkwardly waiting for Susan to continue to speak, you lie back down on the blanket. Eustace remains sitting upright beside you, his hands splayed out behind him as support as he gazes upward to the sky.
+
Roonwit told you later that star showers always boded well for Narnia’s future. Usually, it would be as simple as predicting a plentiful harvest or a mild winter. During the Skirmish of Stable Hill, however, more stars had danced than anyone could remember. And with their dance, the tides of battle had turned in Narnia’s favour.
Eustace had complained that it didn’t make sense that the actions of stars could foretell the events of an entire country. You had wondered if Aslan danced among them as easily as he walked the earth. Tirian told you that he’d felt the pull of his blood that night and thought, perhaps, that his kin had felt his silent call for aid even as his blood licked the edge of the Calormene’s scimitar.
“Blood doesn’t call for help,” Eustace had retorted, but you thought maybe Tirian was right.
+
It is only after Eustace has fallen back to lay beside you once more that Susan speaks again. “Was Narnia still beautiful?”
You are too surprised that she would even speak of that other world to answer. It is Eustace who replies, “Different, but still wild and free.”
“Good,” she says, and when you tip your head all the way back, you see that she rests her chin in her hands. Her instrument still lies on the step at her side.
“Your archery lessons came in handy,” you tell her.
“Good,” she says again, her satisfaction more evident this time.
Another star stretches across the sky and all three of you gasp at its brightness. Two more appear, one after the other, and Eustace adjusts his count beneath his breath.
The whole of the sky lies open above you, a wonder of winking specks and dancing lights. It occurs to you that maybe it doesn’t matter how stars manifest in either world, that maybe they are the same thing in the end.
“Why don’t you play your violin out here for us?” you ask at last.
Susan runs a finger along her bow. She lifts the violin to her lap and plucks at all the strings, slowly tuning. At last, she raises the instrument to her shoulder and plays a long, solemn note.
“It can be just as beautiful here,” she says, so soft that she might not have meant you to hear. And then, with the inherent grace you’ve always known, she draws her bow to play a song for the stars.
+
Original Prompt that we sent you:
What I want: I'd love anything with Eustace and Jill (either romantic or non-romantic). Eustace and his mother after VDT or SC, Eustace and his father after VDT or SC. Another lovely thing would be a short AU (or long if you're up to it!) set in Narnia where the last battle doesn't end the world. Also, in my own head-canon Susan takes up playing the violin in our world. It would be awesome to see something centering around or including that. Have fun and pick whatever jumps out at you :D
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: If it's a Eustace and Jill fic, it would be fun if they learned sign language together.