It wasn't like this was impossible. People showed up to Goodland all the time. They even showed up when they were away from the New York City landscape in places whether they were fictional or real. But seeing Eliot standing next to the fucking lamp post in fucking Narnia was almost too surreal and like this was some sort of otherworldly trick that would disappear as soon as the snow did and they traded talking creatures back for the ostriches.
"Eliot," he repeated again but this time without the question. He dropped his hands to his sides, the map in his hand long forgotten. He smiled a little, one of those half smiles that he did whenever he was unsure about something that might have been a something good. Because this was good, right? Eliot was here. Even if he wasn't sure if it was going to last because, face it, the good rarely ever did.
Quentin stepped forward several steps but slowed as he got closer. He'd been in Goodland for the better part of a year now, and it was even months longer than that since he'd seen the real Eliot. The Monster that had followed him around wore his face, but it wasn't him. There had been the handful of memories he'd seen that included his and Alice's time on top of that mountain in Fillory, but this was different. This was seeing him face to face.
"You're-.. God, I can't believe you're actually..." He knew Eliot had to be confused as shit right now, but in that moment Quentin didn't care. He took the step forward and pulled Eliot into a tight hug. "Fuck, Eliot, it's good to see you."