a/n I was listening to a sad song, it reminded me of Will and Lyra and I guess this is the product. It may give some closure. Personally, I still want to cry. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own His Dark Materials

Once More

Final arrangements had been made, papers had been signed. All his possession passed onto his children. He had met his grandchildren, properly, and they had met him.. His wife had died years ago, before the grandchildren, but they had lived happily together for twenty five years. He had had children with her and he had, really, loved her. He had been happy, and he had kept his word, but he had never, even for a single second, ever, forgotten she who was most important in his life, most important in his existence.

He loved her, with every single part of himself, every cell, every atom. Never had he forgotten, she, the girl— women, now, old lady even, that held his heart completely.

William Perry was ninety five years old when he died. It had been sudden, painless, and in the comfort of his own home. He had been sitting lazily in his cushioned chair. The television had been turned off, and the windows were open, light from the summer sun pouring into the room. On a shelf, hidden from view, sat an old wooden box, filled with the shards of a very peculiar knife. And as quickly as life had come to him, as quickly as he had fallen in love, as quickly as his heart had been broken so many years ago, his life came to an end.

His last thoughts, of golden curls and a sun drenched prairie. And the world shifted, so quietly he hardly noticed, like he had been forced through an invisible veil of water. His surroundings were the same, but eerily different, and he knew he had gone to the world of the dead.

Kirjava was nowhere to be found, he realized with a small pang, but he knew, possibly more than any other, what was going on, what would happen. His next thoughts were of that girl he loved so much, for so many years. A strange lightness filled him, standing up, he knew that all he need do was wander. And right out his door, he walked, not looking back.

The surroundings around him became dimmer, he knew he was forgetting, he knew it wouldn't be long. He realized with a start, more so than he should have as this was not his first time through the world of the dead, that walking besides him, a figure in dark cloths, was his own death.

As the scenery changed, he let his death guide him, seeing others like him, mostly old, some young. All going to the same place, all headed to the boat man, to take them across the river, to the land of the dead.

He remembered, as clear as day, that first awful trip. How she had clutched onto him, as her poor Pan was ripped away, and he, to his own surprise, undergoing a similar torture. The pain had been nearly unbearable, and looking through his clouded memory now, it surprised him how acutely he could still feel that pain.

All the while, as they walked together, his death said nothing. With him since his birth, his death knew more about his often silent disposition, perhaps, than even he did. His death didn't speak a single word, as none were necessary, Will had walked this path before.

They reached the town, that wretched place where they made the living wait for their own deaths. Will wondered if there were any others left there now. The angels had closed all windows, natural and those made by the Subtle Knife. No poor souls would innocently wander into the world of the dead before their time. Just as he could never accidentally wander into her Oxford. But how he had wished it was so.

Approaching the dock, he turned to his death, a smile, ever so small, on his face. He gave a curt nod, and his death returned the gesture before disappearing. Will wondered where his death would go now, where all deaths go once they have done their jobs. But the thoughts were fleeting, and he was brought back to the present, by the arrival of the boat.

He approached it steadily and was about to climb in when from behind him he heard quick, lively footsteps. Too lively, perhaps, to be in the world of the dead. He turned, on instinct. He had never lost his instincts, even in old age. And then he saw her, older, so much older, but very much the same. The same light eyes, same bright smile, same ease with which she held herself. He knew it was her. He knew it was Lyra.

He moved towards her, with a speed and grace which he had not possessed for many years now. He waned to embrace her, to hold her to him, and will away the years that they had been apart. To kiss her and tell her how much he loved her, how much he missed her. He wanted to tell her that everything would be alright now. He could see the bittersweet happiness in her eyes, shining through the scars and the pain. A happiness radiated off her now, hitting him in waves, making him giddy.

But William Perry was speechless. He approached her, now, slowly, starting to pull her into a hug. But his arms went right through her. A cruel fact of death, perhaps the last harsh reality they would have to face together.

She just smiled. Tears welling in her eyes and her shoulders shaking, uttering to him, "Oh, Will". He smiled back, shaking his head in disbelief.

"One more time than, Lyra Silvertounge?" He asked her gesturing to the boat behind them, she nodded her head through the tears, and they walked, side by side, as close and far as they has been every midsummer's day for nearly a century.

a/n I hope you liked it. Review!