milliways_bar | (no subject)

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In one of the more shadowed corners of the bar something stirs, tawny-gold fur catching the light.

It is a Lion, head coming up off his forepaws, solemn golden eyes watching the patrons as they pass by.

Aslan has been here for quite some time.

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"........................"

He's never heard that voice before, not in all his life; but he knows that voice, the way he knew grass and trees and the fearless open sky- all the things he'd lost.

And he knows that face, and those words-

The blankets he was carrying drop from his suddenly nerveless fingers.

Aslan knows him, as well, and his voice is gentle when he speaks.

"Come closer, child, and be at peace. Here you have been given the gift of time. I do not doubt you will use it well."

Gavroche had told him Caspian was here, and the Pevensies, but- but-

There is really nothing of thought to it. If you asked him what happened between that first moment and now, he would not be able to tell you. Quinn's only sure that he lowered his head at the words, and when he looked up again, he was standing in front of the great Cat trying to quiet the trembling in his hands.

"It's so much,", he finds himself saying, and whether he means the strangeness of this place or the magnitude of the gift or the responsibility his people put on him, he doesn't know. All of it, probably, and then some.

"And so it is."

Aslan's voice is quiet, golden eyes full of sorrow and love in equal measure. He lifts his head, then, and whether he has grown larger, or whether the shadows hid his true size, it matters not.

His face is level with Quinn's, and his breath is sweet, cinnamon and nutmeg and hot gingerbread on a cold morning. His tongue flicks out, once, rasping gently against Quinn's forehead.

"You have borne it well, my son. Do not doubt yourself now."

It ought to surprise him, or scare him, or- or something- but that's not how these things work, is it? The Lion is exactly, exactly as he ought to be...

And there's so much more to go, he thinks, and he knows Aslan knows that part too.

At the touch of the Lion's tongue something cracks in him- not breaks, not entirely, but gives way just enough. He closes his eyes involuntarily, but it's not enough to stop the burning; the tears have been a long time building-

( you're standing on ground where I've buried hundreds )

They couldn't all come now without destroying him, but they've begun.

Aslan licks gently at Quinn's face, wiping away the tears as they fall.

Then he noses lightly at the man's shoulder, mane rough and warm against his face. It carries with it the heady smell of lilacs in summer.

"Hush, child, and rest easy. I am with you, now."

Quinn nods, gulping, pulling himself together as the air comes back to him. One of his hands may end up tangled in that mane; he doesn't know, he's not paying attention.

"Thank you," he says, when he has the use of words again.

"You are always welcome."

Always.

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