A/N—Okay, so this is a new idea I got. Contains SPOILERS for The Sorceress, by Michael Scott. But first things first…
Disclaimer: Michael Scott owns everything! I own nothing. Nothing…nothing…
Summary: A what if? story. What if Will had been more exhausted by the conjugation?
P.S. Anyone get the Latin pun?
Please read/review!
Conjugate and Decline
Palamedes wasn't ready for the sudden halt. Will stopped mid-sentence, and his drain on Palamedes' aura ended like a wire shorting out. The sudden rush of power as his aura flooded back into his body made Palamedes stagger, and for a split half-second he couldn't see—couldn't hear—he could literally taste the cloves and the lemon and the bitter peppermint. His vision cleared and he saw Will crumple, his hands slipping from the rim of the barrel as he fell towards the ground. Palamedes spun sideways, catching Will, and he braced himself for the draw on his aura.
It never came.
"Will…?" Palamedes sank slowly to the ground, trying not to jostle Will. "Will?"
The Bard whimpered softly, shifting ever so slightly as Palamedes settled him.
"More?" he murmured, struggling to open his eyes. Palamedes felt Will's aura spark, and he grabbed the Shakespeare's shoulders, nearly shaking him in his fear.
"No!" he snapped, his voice loud and taut. "No, no more. Enough. You've done enough!"
Will's glazed eyes cleared for a moment, and he nodded his understanding before slumping against Palamedes, unconscious.
His Awakened senses picked up the twins' shocked gasp, and he heard the door creak open a little more as one of them—Sophie, judging by the faint odor of vanilla—stepped out.
"Get back in the car, girl!" Flamel snapped, stepping forward to shove her back towards the taxi. "We'll be there in just a moment."
"No, we won't," Palamedes said, standing, carefully gathering Will into his arms. He tried to ignore the way Will's limp form offered no resistance—millions of limp bodies, all limp as he held them, weeping over friends and family and fellow knights—
Palamedes shoved the past aside and looked down at Will, searching for a glimmer of hope. Will's pale features offered none.
The Alchemyst's face turned hard as he demanded, "And why not?"
"We're not going to Stonehenge," Palamedes answered, turning back towards the shack. "We're not going anywhere." He called his aura to life, mentally feeding it into Will's prone form.
It rebounded back inside of him, making his stomach twist, rebuffed by Will's body.
Inert immortals, frozen, comatose, unable to recharge their auras, bodies refusing to accept the aid of another…immortals, lost forever…trapped by their dying auras…
His horror made him stumble, and he crashed to his knees—felt Josh take Will from his arms—
He buried his face in his hands and wept.