A/N This story has been bugging me. I really want to know what happened to Will and Lyra. And one day during Math, this story began appearing in my note book. Who am I to deny my writing? Even if it does come at bad times. So I wrote it this. Be warned, you'll be angry at me, by and by, but I hope, maybe, you'll forgive me when you read the end. I don't know the college Lyra is at, and if I spelt anything wrong, be nice, and tell me, please. Here's a toast to my first non-Harry Potter Fic.
Lyra sat at a table in the college. The aleithometer rested before her, cold with un-use. It inflicted physical and mental pain on her to touch even the rim. She could see him in it, she could feel him in it.
Her hand rested, tentatively, hopefully. She could almost feel the cool, cold metal, smooth beneath her fingers. Lyra closed her eyes, and let her hand hang in mid-air. Maybe this time would be different. She could put him out of her mind and touch the cold-burning metal.
She let her hand slowly lower itself towards the aleithometer. It touched the instrument, and she thought she had succeeded until the metal seemed to brand itself into her fingertips. Lyra hissed with pain and drew back her eyes snapping open. She examined her hand; there was no mark, no change to indicate the sensation she had felt.
Lyra felt tears of frustration pool in her eyes. How could she learn to read the aleithometer again if she could not touch it?!
This had all begun after Lyra lost her gift and started reading the books full of symbols for her instrument. She had unwrapped the aleithometer, picked it up- and felt a sharp pain wrack her body. Gradually, she had felt less and less pain every time she touched it, but it would not go away entirely, no matter how much she wished it would.
A cool hand on hers startled Lyra, and she jumped, looking up at it's owner. The boy to whom the hand belonged was smallish and had brown hair. His green eyes were rather dull, and he smiled too much. He was nothing like Will. In fact, Charlie was the exact opposite of Will. He was cowardly to Wills courage, short to Wills tall, and Charlie possessed the glazed look of one who spent too much time huddled over books, and not enough time outside.
Lyra smiled weakly at him, but her chest clenched in apprehension. She loved Will more than anything, and she would never ever forget him…but she and Will had promised to always love each other…they had said it was alright if one of them…her thoughts trailed off and with a stubbornness that belonged solely to herself, Lyra's features became cold.
"I need to study, Charlie, maybe I'll see you later."
Meanwhile, in another World…
Will and Kirjava stood, looking out over the town of Oxford. Well, the part visible from their house. Inside, they could hear Mary and Will's mother talking softly over a breakfast of croissants, tea and eggs.
"Will" his mother's voice, calm and happy, floated out to them on the balcony. They turned and saw her, smiling. Kirjava nuzzled Wills hand and trotted back inside. Will followed her, casting a final look at the City. He had been imagining Lyra's Oxford floating above his own. Ha thought, just for a moment, that he could see the shadow of her world Jordan College. He didn't know what had become of her, whether she thought of him as often as he thought of her.
The little apartment was nicely furnished, even though, out of the three of them, only Mary worked. Her job was well paying, and rewarding. Mary could once again talk to the "Dust". He could see Mary's dæmon, Mifa, and his mother's, a pale yellow butterfly named Sativey, resting beside them. Mary had taught both of them the magic that the Witch, Seraphina Pikkela, had taught her and they followed the same custom that the people of Lyra's world did. No one touched anyone elses dæmon. Ever. It was as unspoken a rule for them as it was for Lyra and her people.
Lyra. Will could not get her out of his mind. It had been three years since they had parted ways. Three years in which Will felt he had matured a great deal. Many people would have condemned him to forget his love for her. But he had not. Lyra was a part of him that would stay the same forever, no matter how much he grew or changed. Will attended The Oxford College for Young Boys and wore a uniform and still acted a serious as an adult.
Every mid-summer, he sat on the bench in the garden, and tried to feel Lyra's presence. And sometimes, he thought he could feel her breath sting his cheek. He could almost hear her thoughts, the bittersweet way in which she remembered the past. And he was sure he felt the salt of her tears on his lips, as they remembered together. But, besides the time he spent in the garden each midsummer, Will felt he was missing something. And, of course, he knew what it was. It was her.
"Will?" his mum said again, breaking his thoughts.
"Yes mum?" Will sat down and looked loveingly at her.
"Are you alright? You look so pale, love." She looked pale, the sun shining through the window onto her face. Will took her hand.
"I am fine, mum" he squeezed the pale fingers lightly. But she still looked worried.
It was the start of summer break, a holiday in which many of Will's classmates would be going to cabins or the beach. Certainly none would be searching for doorways into the world of the one they loved. A world they had lost years ago to a cruel twist of fate. For three years he had searched. Searched, and found nothing, not even the trace of a doorway, nor the slightest whisper of her world. But Will would not give up. It was not in his nature.
Will did not know that as he sat, thinking of her, the object of his meditation was sitting; just out of reach, but millions of miles away, thinking of him.