Of Family Matters
By Zeionia a.k.a. Disturbed
Will took a slow, deep breath. In the next room he could hear his family laughing and talking over the sound of the radio. Everyone was home this Christmas, and ten happy people produced a surprisingly loud racket. Will took another calming breath. He did not feel very calm. Breathe. He was sixteen years old. He was an Old One. He had faced the forces of Dark without flinching. All he had to do now was walk into a room full of people who loved him and talk.
I can't do this, he thought desperately.
A fierce bout of laughter rattled his senses like an exploded shell. They were so loud, so happy. If he went through with his plan, would they ever be so happy again? Will could not afford to entertain such macabre notions otherwise he could never move forward. Taking one final breath, not unlike a diver before the plunge, he steeled himself and moved. For one blessed moment, everything was the same as it always had been. Then Barbara caught sight of him hovering in the doorway.
"Is something wrong, Will?" she asked. "You look awful."
The rest of his family looked at him then. Mom and Dad, all five brothers, three sisters, all of them wore the same look of concern. There was no mystical weight pressing down on him this time. No threat came from so many people thinking about him now. But he felt heavy all the same. A small voice from one dark corner of his mind told him he was afraid. He told himself that the mind of an Old One had no dark corners and stepped fully into the room.
Aloud he said, "I have something to tell you."
To his utter astonishment, they all relaxed. James even had a small grin on his face that grew larger at Will's stunned expression.
"Look, Will, I'll tell you the same thing I told Robin when he came out. Don't hit on any of my friends and we'll be fine," he said.
Someone chucked a pillow at James' head. Will had a sneaking suspicion that Paul was responsible. Their brilliant, talented brother defended his twin with a staunchness of heart that knights of old could envy. Will felt his own heart stutter. His faint hope that they already knew—impossible, but he was magic, was anything truly impossible?—died a vain-glorious death in his breast.
"It's not that," Will said quickly.
Just as quickly, the tension returned and intensified. James was frowning at him instead of smiling. Gwen poked their oldest brother in the shoulder. Stephen clicked off the radio, so they all could listen. In the new found silence, Will could barely find the strength to breathe.
"You didn't knock-up some girl, did you?" asked Max.
"Or kill someone?" asked Mary.
Will shook his head. Their attempts at levity did nothing to free the stranglehold terror had taken on his throat. The words refused to come. Will's father looked into his eyes. The all-too-human emotion of Roger Stanton met the cool, bright knowledge of an immortal mind in that gaze.
"Tell us what's happened, Will."
The story poured from Will's mouth. He had spent ages agonizing over the right way to tell it so that his family would still accept him when he had finished. Instead he gave them a chaotic flood of rushed words and garbled phrases. He spoke of his birthday, the beginning of his quest, or at least the beginning they would understand. His first meeting with the Rider. His birthday gift from Stephen which was the head of Herne the Hunter. How the old tramp they rescued was really the Walker. The thwarted attack on the church and the unnatural winter, the crows, their mother's injuries. Traveling through time at Huntercombe Hall. Mary's capture and rescue. Finding the Six Signs and, with the help of the Circle, turning back the Dark.
But Will didn't stop there even though he could see the horror growing on his family's faces. He spoke of Cornwall and meeting Tethys. Relying on human—and the way he said human made them all flinch—children to battle the Dark. His illness and memory loss. Meeting Bran, the Pendragon, son of King Arthur. The fire on the mountain. The defeat of the Grey King. Then it was the Drews and Bran together. The afanc at Bearded Lake. The beautiful and forever Lost Land. The Last Battle and the Silver on the Tree. He told them of John Rowland's choice, Bran's decision, and the departure of all the Old Ones but for the Watchman of the Light.
Finally he fell silent and looked at them with tear-bright eyes.
"That's quite a story, Will," demurred his father.
Something in Will's heart quailed, and the threatening tears began to trickle down his cheeks. They couldn't choose if they didn't believe him. He raised his hand, fingers spread wide, and spoke a word.
Fire burst to life in the hearth. It flickered green, gold, and purple, lapping at the edges of the fireplace. Heat washed over the room so that Mary and James, who were sitting closest to the fire, pulled away to prevent being scorched. Will lowered his hand and the magical flame disappeared. The hearth was cool to touch and the logs showed not even a trace of ash.
Almost as one, his family swiveled their heads to stare at him. The shock and fear he saw tore at his heart. Holding back a sob, Will fled to his attic sanctuary.
In the den, the Stanton family sat in stunned silence each person thinking his own private thoughts. The clock on the mantle struck twelve and filled the dead air with noise. It was Christmas morning.
"I remember that day at the church," said Paul. "It was cold and terrible. The poor Father tried to perform an exorcism. They just stood there and watched then decided it was too much for him and sent the Dark on its way. How could I have forgotten?"
"I knew once before," said Stephen. "Or I almost did. But Will made me forget."
Mary burst into tears. Her memories suddenly filled with a dark ride on a stormy winter night. Quicker than a heartbeat, Alice Stanton gathered her youngest daughter into her arms and rocked her gently. Sensible Gwen passed over a box of tissues, and they waited for Mary to cry herself out.
"Why did he tell us?" asked Barbara. "If he hadn't, why, I would've never known he was anything but Will."
"He wanted us to accept him," said Robin instantly. "We're his family. He didn't want to hide a secret like that."
Max smiled weakly. "He did look just the same as you did when you told us you were into men. Just a matter of scale, I guess."
"I always wondered why Will thought he had to look after me," said Mary through her sniffles. Her voice was thick and raspy, but she continued, "It was weird for the baby to look after me. But there were nights when I had bad dreams and Will was suddenly right there for me to talk to. He never made me feel silly or childish. He waited for me after school, so I wouldn't have to walk home alone in the dark. Guess it makes sense now though."
James pushed himself off the floor. "That's it. I'm going to go get Will. You all be not depressing when we get back."
James tromped up the stairs with all the grace of an elephant. Downstairs the family could feel him stomp across the landing to the attic. There was the muffled sound of conversation then James was back, tugging a pale-looking Will along behind him. James plopped to the floor in his usual fall fashion then pulled Will down beside him. Stephen reached out and mussed Will's hair. The youngest Stanton lost some of the sickly green tinge that haunted his face.
"So," said James, "seeing how you're inside and outside of time and all that, you wouldn't happen to have the winning lotto numbers for the next decade or so, would you?"
"James!" scolded Mrs. Stanton.
Will managed a half-strangled laugh. "That would be useful, wouldn't it? But it doesn't work that way."
"How does it work then?" asked Gwen.
Will looked about nervously, but all his family seemed interested if a bit shaky. Even Mary was peeking at him from beside their mother. Will's dad gave a nod of encouragement.
"I don't see the future, I'm not an oracle, but I exist there. And at the same time I'm here and in the past too," he struggled to find the words, "It's being every when all at once."
Will knew it didn't make much sense as he said it. Human language was so imprecise concerning matters of magic. He frowned and tried to consider what Merriman might say. Maybe that was why Merlin gave Arthur such vague counsel against danger. His translations of mystical warnings substituted meaning for mystery.
Barbara gave a soft gasp of recognition and smiled. "So you're more of an always rather than just a now. A what was, what is, and what will be."
Will looked stunned. Either he hadn't expected them to understand so quickly or he had never thought of it quite that way before. The pleased smile that crossed his face was a beacon of light in the dark for his family. Their somber, immortal youngest could still smile, even in the face of eternity.
"But you age," said Max suddenly. "I mean, you're sixteen now and you look it."
Will's suddenly guilty expression was not in the least reassuring.
"You don't age?" asked Max, sounding unsure.
"When an Old One comes into his power, he remains that age forever. It's why Merriman's always old and Miss Greythorne needs a wheelchair," explained Will.
"But you said you were eleven," said Stephen.
"Not all Old Ones are seventh sons of seventh sons. Half of them are girls," said Will.
"He means that you should look eleven," said Gwen. "But you look sixteen."
Will grimaced and gestured toward himself indicating his whole body. "What you see is a refraction of light, an illusion. I can't go around looking eleven forever."
"Young man," Alice Stanton's voice was steady even it was barely above a whisper, "there are to be illusions in my house, especially not among family."
Will looked surprised which was, in Paul's opinion, a rather silly thing for him to be. He had just told them that he was immortal and magical and had fought a war without them knowing. He couldn't really expect them to just ignore what he said after dragging their hearts through that sort of treatment. Then again, given the expression on Will's face when he had told his story, maybe he expected something worse. If they had refused to accept what he told them, then Will would have made them all forget again and gone through life alone.
Paul looked at his twin and saw Robin looking right back. He could see his own anxious thoughts mirrored in his brother's eyes. He and Robin weren't that different. Even though Paul played the flute and fancied girls and Robin wanted to be a carpenter and liked boys, they still knew each other better than anyone else. It had still been hard for Robin to tell his twin he was gay, and Will's revelation was so much more than that. Telling anybody something so crucial, especially family—even the most understanding family in the world—would be terrifying.
Paul returned his gaze to his littlest brother. Will's face had become very grave. His grey eyes had a depth to them that was not entirely unfamiliar but made strange by its origins. Then Will started to glow, a soft, subtle shimmer that began at his eyes and got brighter as it spread to his entire body. The glow disappeared abruptly like a popped bubble and sixteen-year-old Will was gone with eleven-year-old Will sitting in his place.
No one said anything. This was even more shocking than the fire burning without fuel.
Stephen sighed then grinned mischievously. "I never got to see you when you were properly eleven. You're cute."
"Oi!" Will protested.
"No wonder you never brought anybody home," said James. "I was starting to worry."
The way Will's nose wrinkled made a few things suddenly very clear to his family. Will was still eleven. He was going to be eleven forever. He would never fall in love or have children. He would never grow up, even if he did look old on the outside. He would not feel loss the way they did or lose his childish way of thinking, even if he was a very old eleven. He knew things, he had age, but the oldness of an Old One was not the same as experiencing life. Will would never understand the darkness in the hearts of men. He would know of lust and greed but would never know how they could drive a man to destroy himself. Will would be eternally innocent, eternally light.
Will saw this understanding in their eyes, but did not know what he was seeing. All he knew was that his family had suddenly become very sad again, and he worried that it was his fault.
"Does this mean that it's gone?" asked Mary before Will could grow more anxious.
"What's gone?" asked Will.
"Magic."
Will looked stricken and briefly Mary regretted asking. But despite the furtive glances her brothers and sisters snuck at her, they too looked like they wanted to know the answer.
"Magic is still here," he said. "Wild Magic, the power of emotion, still waits in the earth and the seas, and some men might yet become great enough to call on High Magic. But Old Magic, the powers of the Light and the Dark, are gone from this world forever."
"Except for you, the Watchman," said James.
Will smiled a sad, crooked smile. "Except for me."
"What are you watching for, if the Dark is gone?" asked Barbara. Her curiosity was beginning to revive.
"Something might try to return, even though it is forbidden. Or the darkness in men might grow to become something fully Dark, and I would need to drive it out," said Will dismissively. "The war is over. I'm just here to watch."
Stephen's face had become oddly sad and happy at the same time. He was an officer in the Navy. He knew what combat was like. It made him sad to think his little brother knew the same but relieved to know Will's fight was over.
"So are you really powerful, then?" asked James. "The Old Ones wouldn't leave anybody weak to watch after the Earth, right? You are kind of runty."
Will stared at James, consternation written in every feature of his face. "Runty?"
"I mean, you're destined to be a midget for all eternity," said James.
The totally human shock on Will's face, when before it had been a sage mask of sorrow, was beyond hilarious. Someone giggled and then all the Stantons were laughing. Even Will had a smile on his face though he did look tiny bit put out. When the laughter bubbled down, everyone was watching him expectantly.
"Merriman, the oldest of us, and the Lady, who may turn briefly back the tide of Dark by her own power, are the only Old Ones stronger than me," he said quietly.
"Merriman?" repeated Max as Gwen asked, "The Lady?"
Will blinked and smiled ruefully. "Merriman Lyon, more commonly known as Merlin. And the Lady, Jane, Jana, Juno, she with many names."
"Merlin came to our house?" asked James. "The Merlin?"
Just as James was asking this, the clock struck one making everyone jump. Roger Stanton stood up and winced as his back popped. They all watched him, Will with a bit more trepidation than the others.
"It's late. We'll have plenty of time to discuss this in the morning. Lord knows you children like to be up early on Christmas." He quirked an eyebrow. "Off to bed with you."
There was a mad scramble for the stairs. Shouts went up as the many various Stanton children called dibs on the toilet. Eventually the only ones left downstairs were Will, his parents, and Stephen.
Alice held out her arms and wrapped her baby boy in a fierce hug. "When you told us everything, I was so afraid. What if you had been hurt or killed or-or blasted out of time? You would have been gone, and we would have never known why." She squeezed him so tightly Will was briefly worried about his ribs cracking. "You'll tell us if something happen, won't you? Promise?"
Will was suddenly finding it hard to breathe again and not just because of a crushed ribcage. "Yes, mum," he promised.
"Good," she said and stepped back.
Roger reached down and ruffled Will's hair, mussing it that much more. Then he reached down and pressed a kiss to Will's forehead. "I'm glad that time you spent in my shop was put to good use," he said referring to the gift Will had made for the Greenwitch. "You're our son, Will, and we love you."
The relief on Will's face was painful in its intensity. The oldest Stantons headed upstairs, leaving Will and Stephen alone.
"You're still okay with me staying in your room, right?" asked Stephen.
Will looked confused like he wasn't quite sure how he had found himself having this conversation. "Yeah. I mean, it used to be your room. You're still okay with rooming with me? Even after all this?"
Stephen looked at Will. "I wish you hadn't erased my memory so fast last time. Don't do it again. But you're still my brother, and I love you."
Before Will could say anything, Stephen bent down and picked him up. Will squawked and clung to his brother, hiding his face in his neck.. Stephen found his brother surprisingly light, for all his stocky frame. A seeming age difference of twenty years—even if it was only fifteen—made carrying his brother easier, or maybe it was magic. Part of Stephen felt sure he was carrying nothing more than light and wind. Pushing those thoughts aside for later, Stephen started up the stairs.
"You're going to need to tell your friends," he said.
"I know," said Will.
"They'll choose you, too," said Stephen.
"I hope so," said Will.
"Even if they don't, you'll still have us," insisted Stephen. "Your family will always be here for you."
Stephen felt something wet drip onto his shirt and realized with horror that Will was crying. He stopped at the base of the attic steps, unwillingly to let go of his brother in the face of this unwelcome development. In the corner of his eye, he saw heads peeking out of the various rooms. Everyone knew something was wrong, but no one knew quite what to say.
"Will?" he asked tentatively.
"But you won't always be here," said Will. "Even though I told you, someday you'll all be gone and then I'll be alone again."
For one brief moment, Stephen hated magic. He hated the power that had made his brother something he couldn't understand. He hated the Light that made his little brother into a warrior. He hated the Old Ones for leaving Will alone in a world that would die around him. Then all his hatred drained away, leaving sorrow and tiny wellspring of glimmering hope.
"Well, maybe I won't always be here, but I'm sure to get married one day and I'll tell my wife. Then we'll have kids and have to tell them. You heard what mum said, no illusions around family. Someday, we won't be here but that doesn't mean you have to be alone."
"But you can't!" said Will. He wiggled around until he could stare Stephen comfortably in the face.
"Who says I can't?" asked Stephen. "You said that it's up to mankind to make its own decisions now, right? It's my decision to tell my wife and my children. I'm sure everyone will agree with me."
Will looked, to put it simply, flabbergasted. "But if you tell your children, and they tell their children, eventually everyone will know."
Stephen blinked. That was true, probably, and it was bit weird to think about it. Weirder to realize that Will had given lots of thought to eternity. But given how many Stanton children there were and how they tended to multiply, it would take a long time, but someday Will might just be related to everyone on Earth. He fixed Will with a look—one that his first captain had used on particularly thick ensigns.
"And your point is?"
Will opened his mouth to protest but paused. Stephen waited patiently, trying to suppress the happy smirk he could feel growing on his face. It was so rare for anyone, even him, to get the upper hand on Will that he felt unusually proud in this instance. He watched the wheels churning around in Will's head and saw something click.
"Think of all the Christmas presents I'd have to buy!" said Will.
Stephen laughed, not bothering to keep his voice quiet while everyone was still awake. He deposited Will on the bottom rung of the ladder and gave him a little nudge.
"I think you've got time to come up with something," he said. "Hurry up, runt. I want to get some sleep before morning."
"I am not a runt!" protested Will, but he climbed up the ladder all the same.
Stephen turned back to the hall and looked at his family. They all had the same determined look on their faces. It mattered, of course, that Will was immortal, and that they would all grow old die and he would never even age. But the affairs of the Light and the Dark were a distant second to Will's happiness and the loving bonds that tied the Stanton family together.
Stephen turned around as the doors closed shut one by one and scrambled up into the attack. Old One or no, Will had just lost a good deal of reach, giving Stephen unchallenged advantage in a pillow fight. As his head poked through the attic door, another thought struck him.
I wonder if Will can fly?
End.
So, yeah. I edited something. I like it a little better now though. It feels less choppy.
Very weird. So this was a response to all those depressing stories where Will has to leave his family behind as they grow older and he doesn't(?). Not that they aren't well written and sweet, I just didn't feel like being depressing. I tried really, really hard not to be completely depressing. And it was also because the Light is all about choice, but they really don't give the mortals a choice to remember or not (except for John Rowlands and he gives the choice back so he doesn't count).
This was really a challenge because I had to work with 11 people (why is that family so huge? oh, plot device, right) so the perspective switched a lot, which I hope wasn't too confusing.
And yes, I was totally thinking about the awful Seeker movie with the flying thing. It's just so bad. (He flies in the books! Will is so much more awesome in the books!)
So, please review.