A/N: I was inspired to post this after watching the Perseids meteor shower last night. Nothing gets you contemplating like looking at stars. This takes place after Lucy's 16th birthday in England (which is March 20th in my head, in case you were wondering). The gift she refers to is the copy of The Little Prince Edmund sent her because it reminded him so much of his nephew, her son Lucien. Let me stress that even though Lucy calls Lucien 'our boy' to Edmund, that's only because they were both close to him. There is no incest here. I think all the necessary information is in the story; if you're at all confused you can check my profile where there's a more in depth synopsis, or you can feel free to message me. PS - If you haven't read The Little Prince, it is a magnificent story. Makes me cry every time. I've included the quotes that were most apropos to this story below. Sorry if they're long, but they're well worth the read.

If a little man appears who laughs, who has golden hair and who refuses to answer questions, you will know who he is. If this should happen, please comfort me. Send me word that he has come back.

o0o0o0o0o

Tuesday, 4th May 1948

Dearest Ed,

I dreamed of him last night, our little boy. I don't know what it is exactly that made me think of him. It might have been the group of first years' I passed yesterday afternoon squealing over a snake in the grass. I smiled to myself then, thinking how Lucien would have run to see. It may also have been your present, which I have been carrying around with me for the past month and a half. Several of my teachers and nearly all of my friends have found me poring over it at various times. Of course the teachers all tell me to put it away, but my friends have all asked me about it, why it makes me sad. It's hard to explain to them that though I'm crying I'm not really sad, I just need some sort of outlet for all the memories that well up inside me. And of course I can't explain to them what those memories are, for how can I tell someone that you remember a baby kicking inside me and the pain of childbirth when supposedly I have never known the touch of a man?

So I only tell them that it is a very moving story which my brother sent me. Then of course they want to know which brother, is it the handsome one? Marjorie Preston goes around with some very silly girls this term, and whenever they hear me talk about my brothers they examine the pictures on my bureau and fight over who is most handsome. If you care, you're generally winning, though there are a few who make a strong pull for Peter. But you don't really care, do you? You may have once upon a time, but not anymore. I guess the admiration isn't important when you've had true love. I feel that way myself. I had Corin, and I wanted Caspian, and I can't imagine ever bothering about some boy. I'll always be thinking of my boy.

But I wrote to you to tell you about the dream! I get so easily distracted; once I pick up a pen I want to tell you absolutely everything that's crossed my mind since we last spoke. You're my only confidante and my best friend. But I know you will also want to remember our little blond prince, so let me tell you my dream. You know that my dreams are more memories than imaginings. In Narnia I would dream of the strangest, most far-off things, but here it is all memories. If I were to tell anyone, they would think my life was a fantasy, but you and I know it's real.

We were all eating dinner, the whole family. The laughter at the table came in a constant flow, like a babbling stream, and you and Peridan were pouring out jokes with your wine. And of course, Lucien was holding court with you. He was fighting to be part of the conversation and make his voice heard, coughing when he strained his throat. The children were all younger; Lucien could not have been more than eight or so. And I can hear his voice, his airy little lisp as he waved his fork around in the air.

He was talking at length about all he had read and learned that day. There was quite a catalogue, and poor Corin was trying desperately to follow his son's wandering thoughts. Occasionally Lucien would pause in his monologue and say to him, "Don't you think, Daddy?" And Corin's head would bob up and down, and I could see him praying that Lucien wouldn't ask him to expand on this opinion. Poor Corin—he loved Lucien so, but he didn't always understand him. I say poor Corin, but really that's something I admire about him, that he can love someone so deeply even when they are a complete mystery to him.

Peter left the table, and that signaled the end of dinner. All the others trickled away, but Lucien had as usual done far more talking than eating, and continued to do so until you and Peridan slipped back to your room while I stayed and tried to coax him to eat a few bites of vegetables. Of course Lucien looked at these with distaste; there were far more pressing issues.

"Mama," he asked, "What are the stars made of? And how far away are they?"

"I don't know, Lucien," I admitted. I learned early on it was better to admit not knowing that to face a barrage of questions and have to admit your weakness anyway. Lucien did not tolerate made up answers. "What do you think?"

He tapped his chin, staring off thoughtfully. "Maybe they are silver, and the sun shines from underneath the earth at night and lights them up. Silver and diamonds. Sometimes I can see Aunty Susan's ring winking from across the room."

"Maybe, but I would like to think they are warmer than just cold trinkets. Have a bite of vegetables, dear," I answered.

He wrinkled his nose at his vegetables and speared a single green bean which he chewed with distaste. If only he would learn to daydream and eat! "That is true. But what is warm and living but also shining?"

"Fireflies?" I suggested, salting his vegetables so they seemed a touch more appealing.

He giggled. Wasn't Lucien's giggle the loveliest sound? It was always so unexpected but so bright. "Mama! Do you mean to say that there are thousands of fireflies just up in the sky?"

"Perhaps," I shrugged. "It's not any less possible than diamonds."

Lucien tapped his chin with his fork, and I followed the utensil with my eyes, praying he would pick up some food with it instead of tracing in midair. He caught me looking and dangled it in front of my eyes. "Am I hypnotizing you, Mama?" he asked, smiling wickedly. He had a wicked, teasing sort of half smile which made him look exactly like you.

I grabbed his hand in mine. Even as a boy of eight, his hand was still substantially smaller than mine. "No!" I cried. "I am waiting for you to eat some vegetables!"

He shook his head. "Oh Mama," he said, shaking his head but deigning to have a bite. "Don't you wonder about the stars?"

"I wonder about how they got their names, I suppose," I conceded, scratching his ear.

He shied away and swatted at my hand, gurgling in his little growly, pleased voice. "Mama! I really want to know!"

I leaned over and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. "I know you do, my darling, but I don't know myself."

"Then can't I ask uncle?"

"Not until you finish your dinner!" I cried in both affection and exasperation.

He dragged his eyes and his thoughts back to earth and sighed as he surveyed the unappetizing offering of cold vegetables before him. I waved the servant over and quietly commanded something slightly more tempting. A moment later a mouth-watering cataract of fruit appeared before him, but he only picked languidly at a couple of grapes. "Uncle likes to drink…wine…tea."

"Yes. But he likes pudding too. And Daddy loves to eat."

He turned to me and raised an eyebrow. "And you?"

I shrugged, and he laughed again, deliciously. "You see, Mama! You're like me!"

"Only with more sense! At least I realized that if I ate I would get to leave the table," I teased him, tickling his neck.

"Maybe I don't want to leave the table," he answered slyly. "Maybe I like the company."

"Sillier still," I replied fondly, stroking his jaw and cupping his chin with one caress. "You could have my company anywhere. I'll always be with you."

He changed the subject rather abruptly, as he arranged the fruit so it was all symmetrical in the bowl. I think tidying was a nervous habit for him. "Do you think it's possible to travel to the stars?" he asked after a moment's fussing with a pear that refused to balance.

"I'd like to think so, but I think that people can only fly if they live in Illyricum," I replied. I chose a peach for him and he took it absently, rubbing the fuzz against his lips before taking a bite.

"And do you think the stars can see us?" he asked, wiping the juice off his chin. "Would it be lonely to be a star?"

I neatened his hair. "What are you trying to say, Lucien?" The best way to handle his mysteries was to address them with a question, I found.

"I think one day I might be living among the stars," he said softly, putting the peach aside.

At first I thought he meant he would make a voyage, somehow invent a machine that would take him to the stars. But then I took in the transparent color of his skin, the lacy blue veins at his temple. I knew where he thought he was going, and in my head I repeated that fierce mantra I had taken up when he was first ill as a baby. "You will live. You will."

He glanced at me and covered my hand with his. "But what if I am with the stars and I can see you? Then I know you'll always be there."

I hugged him fiercely, holding him to me tightly, as if he were a baby. "That's not good enough," I said. "I need you here, my little one. It's not time to let go yet."

Lucien nodded, and slowly he ate his way through a plate of fruit.

Edmund, now I think—what if Lucien was right? What if he is with us even now? My little boy with his pale curls. I ache to hold him. I long to hear his laugh. But I would rather miss him as though a limb was cut off than to never have known him at all. We've been blessed, Edmund. Tonight I'm looking at the stars out my window and letting the breeze ruffle my hair and I will think of my little boy whose head was in the stars too. I love you Ed, my brother, and I'm so glad there is someone who shares my memories of him.

All my love,

Lucy xx