(Untitled)

[treading_dawn]

The night is cool and clear, stars twinkling above, reflected cleanly in the lake below.

And in that soft light there is another light, brighter, if more contained.

The Lion is here, pacing out of the forest.

There is something solemn about him tonight.

Solemn, and perhaps a little sad.

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[called_lioness]

If there's a Lion, there's likely a lioness, but she certainly doesn't feel like one, sitting with her knees pulled as tightly as she can by the lake and sobbing against them.

And she's crying for Aslan, and she's crying for Caspian, and she's crying because she's selfish and doesn't want to see it again, and it's always the same, even when the details are different.

[called_lioness]

Her eyes close as she leans against him and tries to just breathe and not think.

"It's very hard to watch."

[treading_dawn]

"I know, dearest. I know. But for now you do not have to."

His breath matches hers, sides rising and falling in time.

"And never alone."

[called_lioness]

Her own breathing slows, and evens, and she finally says, "I'm sorry," for all she meant it when she said it.

[treading_dawn]

"You need not be."

Those great golden eyes are still solemn, two tiny suns glowing against the night.

"It has been a diffcult night for you, and the morning may be worse yet. But while this is not my country, you and yours are still of Narnia, and I have always protected those who are willing to follow me."

It is less promise than reminder, in its way.

[called_lioness]

She smiles, a little, at that, and murmurs, "I know," which is something, at least. Maybe not as much as she'd like, but something.

[treading_dawn]

There is a softly rumbling purr from Aslan's direction, deep and comforting.

"This, too, shall pass, Lucy. You need only hold hard to your courage, and your faith, and your heart."

[called_lioness]

"It can't pass quickly enough for me," wryly.

But it will.

[treading_dawn]

"Nor for me, daughter. Not this time."

Far behind the words is the faintest rumbling of a growl.

Aslan, you see, has little love for witches of a particular type.

[called_lioness]

Nor does Lucy, and she finds the rumble a comfort, in truth.

"Someday, will you explain the whys to me?"

[treading_dawn]

"I look forward to that day, Lucy."

He nuzzles her cheek gently, fur soft and warm.

"It will not be so long in coming. Not as I reckon things."

[called_lioness]

"All times are soon?" she murmurs with a smile.

[treading_dawn]

He rumbles a quiet laugh.

"I have learned to cultivate some degree of patience. Though it was not so arduous a task."

This might translate to 'yes'.

[called_lioness]

"I wish I had some of it. Waiting is hardest." Wistfully, as she combs through his mane with her fingers.

[treading_dawn]

"You are right. But waiting alone is worse."

Far better to be spared that, if possible.

"And you will not be waiting long."

This, now--this is a promise.

[called_lioness]

Good news or bad, it's something she's grateful for.

"Not alone, no," she agrees quietly. And no one else will be, if she can help it, either. "Thank you."