A/N: A day later than I'd hoped, but the completion of this fic. Happy Easter!

My Soul Can Reach

Chapter Eight: Jill

"I shall but love thee better after death."

~ Sonnets from the Portuguese, XLIII, Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Jill Pole knew plenty about broken promises. She knew about being unwanted and unnecessary, too plain, too young, too useless to keep around. There had been no need for a third child, not with two all the way grown and married, and it wasn't that the Poles didn't love their youngest, but she hadn't been at all a part of their plans. The Experiment House was supposed to be the most modern of schools, but to Jill it was a place to be banished out of the way, like the shelf for the bust from Cousin Margaret that neither of her parents cared to look at, but couldn't give away for reasons of diplomacy.

Perhaps it wasn't fair, but sometimes it felt that way, especially on holidays, sitting with Grandmother Mabel with her musty room and faded housedress, and listening to the old woman tell stories in her creaky, too loud voice, while her parents were busy with one to do or another.

After the shakeup at the Experiment House when the Head was promoted off to a board somewhere and several of Them were removed from school for excessive nerves, the House improved to more of an ordinary awful than the misery it had been. A few of Their hangers on remained, including one girl who had absolutely delighted in carrying tales to Pennyfeather and poking fun at Jill's skinniness. There was brief talk at home about finding another institution, that perhaps the school was a bit too modern and experimental, but Eustace had urged her to insist on staying ("Well, ask, I mean, Pole. I suppose He wouldn't care for us making a fuss about it, but you're the only one who's been there. The only one here, I mean, and I've got to have someone to talk to sometimes. Plus, you've got to meet the others.") Which wasn't quite flatteringly put, but Eustace would never be a flatterer, and Jill got the sense of it.

She approached her parents nervously, at first, but there was a bit of a draft and a scent that reminded her a bit of the wind that blew over the clifftops at the end of the world, and she remembered charging into the fray with Eustace and Caspian amid a mighty roar, and her back straightened. The Poles weren't too anxious to find another school if their daughter was content where she was, and Jill was glad to stay, but she thought she would have been all right if she'd had to leave. There were letters, after all.

And maybe she hadn't been necessary in Narnia, after all, causing Scrubb to fall off the cliff and not recognize his friend and fretting with fear of the dark, but she'd been wanted.

###

And not just by Eustace. After being informed of their adventure, Lucy Pevensie sent enthusiastic letters and Susan sent a warm ones, and they both invited Jill to visit during the Christmas holidays alongside Eustace, where they promptly insisted on a retelling of the quest to find Prince Rilian and a report on King Caspian's reign ("Because Eustace really doesn't know how to tell a story properly.")

Eustace didn't, Jill had to agree, but he'd said enough about his cousins, and the Narnians had said more, so that the idea of being introduced to the kings and queens of old was rather intimidating. Her wariness lessened, however, at the first embrace of Lucy, who insisted on being best friends despite the three years between them and the smiles of Susan, who offered to help her freshen up after her journey and interspersed advice on archery with hair maintenance like the older sister Jill had always wished for from the one she rarely saw. The nervousness returned a bit when the young men arrived home from school, but vanished entirely as the blunted blade touched her shoulders in token of approbation. High King Peter managed to be jolly and solemn at the same time, and King Edmund sharp and bracing, and the whole atmosphere of the crowded little house was that of a fierce, dangerous joy that put Jill in mind of those same cliffs.

"You never know," Lucy said of when they would go back. So Jill took to training. She learned archery in school and won a prize thanks to Susan's tutelage. She joined the Guides to learn woodcraft, and was flushed with pride when Peter said she was the best of them

Susan's archery lessons were some of the last contributions of the Gentle Queen, as the older girl became busier and busier with other things. Jill missed the warmth that had welcomed her to Finchley when an invitation to a shooting competition (though nothing like you had back in Narnia) was rebuffed. "I'm sure you'll do very well, dear, but I must keep this engagement."

For a few moments, Jill was back to being unwanted and unnecessary again until Lucy and Eustace's indignation on her behalf warmed her.

When she found a younger Guide crying because her bow string had snapped her fingers, Jill passed on Susan's advice. Probably some part of the Gentle would appreciate it someday, and perhaps He would, as well. It felt good.

###

Jill and Eustace were the only ones who could go. Boarding the train, she almost felt worthy of Dame Jill of the Noble Order of the Table (Edmund had won an argument Jill only half understood back in Finchley).

After Puzzle's rescue-Jill refused to call it a capture-Eustace agreed, but by that time she was too focused on comforting the sweet thing. Jill knew what it was to make a muddle of things, and it seemed only fair to offer the poor, confused Donkey a second chance.

She tried not to think much on the march to Stable Hill with the others. Talk of old Narnian tales and the beautiful scenery kept her mouth occupied, but her mind kept returning to dear old Puddleglum (How long did Marshwiggles live, anyway?)

I'm going to live as much like a Narnian as I can, even if there isn't any Narnia.

She kept the words in mind as she saw the horses fall and then Eustace. Eyes wet (but bowstring dry), she didn't see the ambush coming until her bow was knocked from her hands, and she was dragged past the torches towards the darkness of the stable door.

...live or die, Aslan will be our good Lord...

And then she was through.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light.