So, yeah, this is now a lil series. I'm not sure how much longer it'll go, there are only so many spots in season 2 to expand upon (unless I wanna try my hand at ramping things up with season 3/Amber Spyglass, which I could very well do...). But I hope y'all enjoy a longer scene from Will's perspective! Happy reading :)

Before "The Scholar"

"Is there anywhere like this in your world?" Lyra asked, her voice soft and curious in the quiet of the Cittágazze dawn.

"Italy, maybe," Will responded, thinking of the narrow cobblestone roads in the quaint Tuscan town he and his parents had spent a summer in when he was very young. "And then Mont-Saint-Michel in France is sort of built on an island like this. But not this dramatic." The sun was rising in front of them, its early-morning rays turning the tan walls of the storefronts and cafes a brilliant gold.

Will looked over at Lyra, striding calmly at his left (for once, not sprinting ahead) with Pantalaimon draped around her shoulders in ermine form, and observed that the sun was having a similarly entrancing effect on her hair. They'd decided to wake up early and cook breakfast (or rather, they'd decided that they'd wake up early and he alone would cook the omelettes properly), then walk down to the beach and picnic for the sunrise before planning their raid on Latrom's house. He was carrying two plates, each with an omelette, a fork, and a knife. He was no priss, but he'd insisted she eat hers the civilized way.

"What about in your world?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "I never left Oxford. But I don't think so."

"You've never left your Oxford?"

Another shake, waves of her hair lifting up slightly at the motion and the breeze that whistled down the narrow streets. "Not until I went North, to Bolvangar. And then the portal. I always wanted to travel, though." She drifted off, and he knew her well enough now to know what was left unsaid.

But apparently she'd mustered up the will to say it anyways. "Now I just want to go back to Oxford, with Roger. I want to be running across the rooftops at Jordan College again."

"I'm sorry," was all Will was able to muster in response.

"We're here," Pan said, stoic. Will wasn't quite sure whether the dæmon was talking to him or Lyra. "Now we just need to make sure we do right by him."

Several seconds passed in near-silence, just the soft tapping of their footsteps, seemingly absorbed by the empty streets. Will wondered what this place was like before the Spectres had come and cleared out all the adults. He imagined there was barely room to walk—the streets would be jammed with merchants selling spices or clay jars or warm, fresh bread. There'd be kids splashing around in the shallow sea as sailboats cut whitewater furrows in the blue expanse on the horizon. Meanwhile, richly-robed men would be slicing in and out of this world, bringing treasures back to the Torre degli Angeli from across the multiverse.

Just like that, Will could feel the weight of the knife in his back pocket again, not to mention the persistent throb where his ring and little fingers used to be. His relationship with the knife had so far been entirely professional, and he intended to keep it that way. Of course he hadn't left the knife back at the cafe—while Giacomo Paradisi hadn't explicitly told him this was one of the rules, Will was pretty sure that you weren't supposed to leave the Subtle Knife on your bed like some book you had to slog through for school.

But he didn't care whether some old man had told him he was the Bearer. A few days prior, his only concern was whether his mother was going to show up at school and start counting bricks. And that had already felt insurmountable. But now he'd been entrusted with the kind of power he thought was reserved for gods.

Plus, he already had a mission. If the knife could help him find his father, great. If not, to hell with it, and to hell with whatever destiny was forged into the blade.

It was way too early to be thinking about all this. They needed to focus on one inconceivable mission at a time. Today, that was getting the alethiometer back. But first, a nice breakfast. With a girl who, as he was noticing more and more, was really quite pretty.

"You know," Will ventured. "This may not be Jordan College. But I could jump across the rooftops with you."

Lyra laughed, light and airy. "These roofs en't for running, Will Parry."

"I wouldn't have thought you to be scared, Lyra Silvertongue."

"Oh, I'm not scared for me," she retorted.

"Maybe a little," Pan interjected.

"Shut up, Pan!" Lyra bit back.

"You don't think I could do it?" Will asked.

"Roof-running takes practice. Scholarship. Eventually you could, maybe," she granted him. "But not now."

"Maybe...you'll teach me," Will said. He felt like he was disguising several questions with this innocent one.

(Once we get the alethiometer back, once we find my father, do we just...go our separate ways? Do I have a role to play in whatever mission you're on? Do I get to see your world? Do you want to see mine?)

Lyra smiled, answering many of them with just her face and a single word. "Maybe."

They'd reached the shoreline. Will scanned the sand for a good place to sit, but Lyra was back to her old ways—that is, way ahead of him. She'd spotted a piece of driftwood about thirty meters to the right and had already taken off sprinting in that direction. Smiling wryly, he jogged after her, careful not to drop the plates. Nobody likes a sandy omelette. She sat down near the center of the log and Will instinctively plopped down on the sand, leaving a fair bit of distance between them.

Lyra looked down at him, perplexed. "What?" he asked.

"You're not going to sit up here?"

Will could feel his skin flush. "I mean, I can. I just thought—"

"There's room," Pan said, bemused. Will shrugged and hoisted himself up onto the driftwood. Lyra scooted over, but only slightly. She and Pan had been right. There was room for two. But there'd be a lot more room if she would move over some more.

Did she not want to move over? Their arms were touching, her skin smooth and warm against his. Didn't she mind?

Evidently not.

Pan morphed into the form of a seagull and leaped off Lyra's shoulders, swooping in low, languid circles over their heads, never venturing too far away from his other half. Will handed her a plate and she sliced into the omelette, taking an eager bite. "Your best one yet," she said, the words muffled by a mouthful of egg. "Thank you."

He smiled at her and cut into his own breakfast. He'd had better omelettes, of course, but he was working with who-knows-how-old eggs and an unfamiliar kitchen in this world. He was quite proud of himself.

For a while they just ate and watched the tide come in, low waves lapping ever closer to their feet. Lyra had kicked off her shoes in anticipation of the water. Clearly, she was in no rush to leave this spot, and, really, neither was he. So he'd removed his sneakers as well. Yes, Will knew that their quest to steal back the alethiometer had some urgency. But why would he put himself in a rush to leave this moment? The sunrise of another world in front of him, soft sand beneath his feet, and soft skin brushing against his…

There's no time to think about that last one, he reminded himself.

And yet, here you are, some other voice snarked back.

"Once we get the alethiometer back, and find your father, would you ever come back here?" Lyra asked him suddenly.

"I dunno," Will said, voice a little too brusque. "The Spectres would be an issue. I can't stay here long as is," he added.

"What if the Spectres weren't around? Then would you come back here?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Though I should probably go explore my own world before I go marching through any others."

"I'm jealous, you know," she admitted. "I never knew the knife existed, obviously, but I feel like I've spent my whole life wishing for something just like it. Being able to go where I want. See everything there is to see."

"I'd say you should take it, but...you know what Giacomo said."

"Yeah," she said, spearing another bite of omelette, her last. She set the cleaned plate down on the sand at her feet. "I'd probably be a terrible Bearer anyways."

"What?"

"'Never use it for base purposes', right?" Lyra said, injecting a deep timbre into her voice to imitate Giacomo. "I'd just be hopping from world to world all day."

Will chuckled ever so slightly, a puff of air zipping out of his nose. "Better than how the Guild used it. You'd just be exploring, they were stealing."

"But that's still not as good as how you'd use it."

"I don't know how I would use it. You know I don't even really want it."

"Maybe that's why you deserve it," she said softly. Their eyes met—pitch black and rich brown. "You're a protector, Will. I see it."

Silence overtook them yet again, but Will didn't mind. He'd always thrived in the quiet, in spaces where he could slink by, unnoticed, unbothered, uninteresting. With Lyra, the lulls in conversation were different, but even better. He got the feeling she was using the silence just as he was. Taking him in, trying to understand just who she'd stumbled upon in this strange world.

And, for the first time since his father had left, Will felt entirely comfortable with someone noticing him. He'd be happy to help her understand anything she wanted to.

I need more of them just...existing together. Cittágazze is really beautiful and they should just vibe there. I know, I know, a show/book series has to have "plot" and "pacing" (pssssh). Enter fanfiction, am I right?