Well, I feel special. The first Song of Albion fic. Woo hoo!

Well, this is just a little something that my brain cooked up. 'Cause I'm sure it was not all flowers and butterflies for our dearly loved Lewis. So yeah. I hope you enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: Ah don't own the Song of Albion trilogy. If I did, there'd be quite a few more books.

Sometimes, he cries.

It isn't very often. He is still that strong, stoic warrior that returned from the otherworld after being stabbed. He is still manly and firm and Llew, but sometimes, once in a while, it is too much to bear. Even for him.

Usually it happens on a day when the memories have come crowding back to him like an army of bricks, crushing his soul with the burden of happy times never to take place again. The public, taking to his books like ants to a picnic, continuously probe him for interviews and appearances, autographs and photos. And yet they don't realize how true the books are. When he attempts to explain how real they are, the foolish people brush him off as 'extremely in touch with his books'. One reviewer had the audacity to describe him as 'living in his own world; a remarkable man, with a fascinating penchant for remarkable fairytales'. Those are the days where he feels like giving up, giving in. Those are the days without hope. The days without future. Those are the says where he cries.

It is most certainly not a regular occurrence. It usually happens once every four to five months. But it is enough to rip his heart open, leaving it raw and torn, until the next time.

Susannah, who often spends the night at what was previously Nettle's, now Llew's, flat, awakes in the middle of the night. She sits up, her head still slightly groggy, and trains her ears to a rough, grating sound. It comes from a room a few doors down the hallway. Akin to barking, it twists her heart within her to hear it. Sliding out from beneath the warm covers, she reaches out to pull a silk robe from where it is draped over a wooden chair. She jerks it on over her tank top and fluffy pajama bottoms, ties the silk, and exits the room. Following the sound, she pauses outside a room with a brown, wooden door. There is a Celtic pattern of twisting interconnecting lines carved around the edge, heavily reminiscent of the departed professor. Her hand hovers over the brass handle. From the inside comes the grating sobs. She breathes in deeply and soundlessly turns the knob. The door opens quietly, leaving her to take in the sight of Lewis.

He sits on the side of the bed, his face held in her head, elbows resting on his knees. His back convulses and jerks with each sob, each gasp for breath as the tears come pouring down his face. A small puddle of saltwater has collected on the floor beneath his huddled body. His hair sticks up in tufts, like he has run his fingers through it multiple times. He looks like a wreck.

She watches him for a few minutes, calmly, though her heart is sinking within her to see him as such a mess. After observing, she slowly moves towards him. Her bare feet pad along the floor until they come to a stop at his bed. She sinks down and sits beside him, putting a cool hand on his tee-shirt clad shoulder. He tenses and halts his tears for a few moments, tilting his tear-stained head to look at her. She rubs his shoulder and sighs. "It's okay," she whispers.

He rests his shoulder against her bicep. His closed eyes leak teardrops, spilling them over his cheeks slowly. He shudders and his shoulders heave. "I-I-" he stammers, unable to form the thoughts. "I can't-"

"Shh," she hushes him, pressing her calming lips to the top of his head. It is a completely nonromantic gesture, simply for the purpose of helping him be still. "It's okay."

"How do they not understand?" he whispers, hiccoughs interrupting his question. "How can they be so blessed and yet not see what's in front of them?"

Susannah pauses before answering. "I don't know," she murmurs. "I don't know why no-one sees, or why these things happen. But it's our job to make them see."

"I can't do it," he answers, a raw edge coming into his voice. "I can't, I need T-Tegid, and G…Goe…" His voice trails off and he closes his eyes once more.

"Shh," Susannah hushes him again. "Yes you can. You have me, and I'll never leave."

"I might…" Lewis answers, a humorless, barking laugh entering his voice. "I seem to have a habit of doing that."

"Don't you say that," Susannah snarls at him. She tips his head up to meet her eyes. "You didn't choose to leave. You were taken. It was Simon's" -her lips curl around the name of her former boyfriend- "fault, and he ripped you away. It was not your fault. Do you understand me? It was not your fault." Her voice has taken an almost savage tone. Tears pinprick her eyes, to think of what he must endure. Alone and separated from his friends and family, he is stranded in a world he no longer belongs in. and she has a feeling he never will.

Lewis takes a shuddering breath. "I almost…I almost want to forget it all," he confesses. "Anything would be better than this." He grimaces and looks away, pain written across his features. "My heart is breaking, Susannah, breaking, and I can't stop it." He waits for a moment, emotion clogging his throat and stopping his voice, so she waits as well. "Would it not be better to forget it?" he wonders aloud. "Have they even forgotten me?"

She shakes her head and enfolds him in a hug. "To feel pain is to live," she answers. "To remember is better than to not have been there at all. You have them, here" -she lays a hand over his heart- "and they'll never leave you. And," she finishes, "they will always, always, remember you."

Lewis shudders, exhales slowly, and scrubs his hand over his fatigued eyes and tearstained cheeks. Running his hand through his hair in a tired-frustrated way, he whispers a whole-hearted "thank you."

Susannah smiles and rubs his shoulder once more. "Anytime." She means it.

And she stays with him until dawn.

Sigh. Poor Lewis. Please review!

Ha! Fun fact. My name is Susannah.