Title: Shoot for the Moon
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Rating: General
Length: 650 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Set during The Silver Chair
Summary: "Are there any stories about how the sun and moon came to be?" Jill asked one night as she and Scrubb huddled against each other in the meager shelter of a low hill's lee.


"Are there any stories about how the sun and moon came to be?" Jill asked one night as she and Scrubb huddled against each other in the meager shelter of a low hill's lee.

Across their tiny fire, Puddleglum tipped his head back to study the extravagant glitter of stars that draped and swirled in constellations Jill was only starting to learn, sucked thoughtfully on his pipe, and said, "Not as such. They were born the day Aslan sang the world to life, same as everything else, and I daresay it's all been downhill since then. One day they'll crash down and smash or burn us all, most likely."

"That's not how any of--" Scrubb began to protest, but then subsided with a huff. "I mean, that's not how things work in our world, but Narnia has edges and stars that are people, so I suppose the sun and moon might as well be different too. I wonder what they're made of here? Does this moon cast its own light?"

"Of course. It's a tired old moon, but even so, a moon that can't cast light sounds like shoddy workmanship," Puddleglum said. "I don't think I'd care much for your world."

"Our moon shines!" Jill assured him. "It's only that the light is reflected from our sun, and the reason it shifts from new to full and back is our world's shadow cutting off parts of that light. Why does your moon have phases if it make its own light?"

Puddleglum shrugged. "You'd have to ask the stars. Nobody else has been high enough to take a look, and very sensible of us all to keep our feet on the ground. The centaurs might have ideas, but prophecy is a chancy business and not for ordinary folk. We can predict disasters well enough without telescopes and charts."

Jill privately thought that centaurs might be more accurate than Puddleglum, who had so far predicted scores of minor disasters that they'd avoided through the application of common sense, but she held her tongue.

"I'd like to visit the moon," Scrubb said. "I met two stars the last time I was in Narnia, so it feels as though there ought to be a way to get into the sky. Wouldn't that be something, Pole? To say we'd been to the moon -- and long before anyone finds a way to get to our own moon, no matter what Mr. Verne wrote or what people say might be done with rockets."

Jill studied the unfamiliar patterns of light and shadow on the waxing face of the Narnian moon. What would it be like to walk on ground that shone with its own light? To wade through rivers of moonbeams, to cup them in her hands and drink? To look up and see the whole of the Narnian world above them in the sky? To travel among stars that were people who sang and fought and loved?

People who had families -- children, and grandchildren -- and who could die and spark a chain of tragedy that was still tangled around Narnia's throne to this day.

"It would," she agreed. "But not until we get Prince Rilian back home. Let's not get distracted and muff more of the Signs."

Scrubb sighed. "You're as much of a wet blanket as Puddleglum."

Jill dug her elbow into his side. "You take that back!"

"We'll most likely all have wet blankets by morning," Puddleglum put in as Jill and Scrubb fought an abbreviated war under their shared pile of blankets. "If it doesn't rain, there'll certainly be heavy dew or frost. Best get some sleep while we're dry."

Scrubb sighed again. "All right. Give me back my half of the blankets, Pole."

Jill grudgingly withdrew her knee and let him tug the blankets over to his side of their huddle. "Good night, Scrubb."

She dreamed of braiding moonbeams through her hair.