Aslan woke. He was nowhere, no dark, no light, no reality. He had died, the Witch had killed him, stabbed him through the heart and yet again he woke. Aslan, of course, knew what he was doing, and it was all going to plan. The only problem was that he had woken too soon, he was only to wake at dawn.

He rolled over onto his paws- and fell. Where were they? The strength of his feline legs were gone replaced with skinny tree trunks. With (What were they?) paddles at the end. He growled, but the sound that emerged was more of a wail. He felt weak. So very, very weak.

He closed his eyes and listened to his heart beating. It was the same steady drum, and the same darkness that covered his vision. He relaxed, accustoming himself to this new weakness. It was not painful, just... different.

Slowly he opened his eyes and moved his upper paws to gaze at them. They were furless and had long claws, only the claws weren't sharp they were soft. Each was tipped with a tiny shield that shone in the imagined light of the endless abyss.

He believed they were called... Hands... He'd gazed at the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve wondering at the power that these strange spiders seemed to possess. He stared in fascination at the soft, furless sheath that covered his muscles and bones. It was a light golden-brown colour that shone as if lit from within.

He glanced down to his new hindquarters and the skinny tree trunks there. He flexed them lightly and could feel the potential power in them. Slowly he rose from his position on his rear, using his hands and the muscles in his hind legs to straighten up into a standing position. The power in his veins was soon realised, the power to do what he wanted, the power to go where he wished. A surge of feeling similar to when he hunted engulfed him. He could do anything. He was human.

He blinked. Human, yes that's what he was, like the little ones that had wandered into his world through the wardrobe.

Human; he said it aloud, testing the word. His voice was smooth yet gruff, soft and full of power all at once. He revelled in the feeling.

A glint from the corner of his eye caught his attention. He moved toward it, feeling his muscles, ligaments and bones all working together like clockwork to reach his minds destination. He reached the object. It was a crown, lying on the... ground, whatever it was, the crown was lying on it.

It shone up at him, inviting his curious hands to pick it up. He did just so. He straightened his spine and studied the object in his hands. It was made of pure gold with green gems embedded in its lustrous surface. He marvelled at the beauty of the intricate metalwork that formed the band. The pattern was one of entangled thorns, the green gems shining through gaps in the knot work. This was not something from his kingdom, where the dwarves were the main dealers of ores and metals.

This was ethereal. Perfection of sorts. Aslan saw that in the shine of the crown a youngster's face stared up at him. Its skin was the same shade his own arms (he had come to the conclusion that these strange appendages were called arms) were, a brown gold. His features were sharp and he had a large pair of emerald eyes that were half covered by a shock of tawny gold hair. Aslan stared at his own reflection. This boy was him. He knew now. He had to go back, it was time. He raised the crown and placed it on his head.

The thorns bound him and he returned to his kingdom.