Midsummers Chapter 2: Two, a his dark materials fanfic

ANOTHER YEAR PASSED, and presently Lyra found herself strolling once again one Midsummer's day to a certain bench in the Botanic Gardens with that familiar queer sensation of sadness, love and excitement. But this time, the young lady with the thoughtful brows and the solemn, earnest eyes that underneath their demur sparkled with mischief and defiance, had once again borne upon new sorrows. Her step was heavier as she made her way through he rustling oaks, the fluttering petals scattering perfume, her eyes sadder, and her chin held a little higher in pride and defiance.

The Master of Jordan Collage- the kindly man of her childhood memories, who had loved her like her own, had passed away over the mist filled shores of the Dead, ferried by the wizened boatman. It did seems like the end of everything for a while, like the sun would not rise for days afterwards, but sorrow is kind to youth's heart, whatever tribulations that had been imposed upon it, and Lyra found that although the master's body was now lying in the underground tomb, with his daemon engraved on the cover, that her memories of him would not fade away.

Pan, sensing her thoughts, flowed into her arms, and she buried her face in his golden-red fur. They were one- body and soul, forever, bound by each other's love. She and Will were one too, forever- they had loved and touched each others daemons, and Lyra knew that as long as Dust lived that she would always have his love.

Whenever the night seemed darker, and the wind colder, she would remember that she was loved. Will loved her, and she would need no other love other than his to get her through. And even though he was a world away, literally, he would always be close to her, because they had been bound together for all of eternity.

And when they were both dead, and it was time for them to trek through the Land of the Dead again, both of them would rise up into the world of the mulefa, and their atoms, and their daemon's atoms would cling so tightly together that nothing would ever separate them ever again- they would we alive in every raindrop, in the essence of every star, and the color of every rainbow.

The air was sweet, scented with that delightful thrill of growing and new life that is springtime, and she breathed it in gladly. Lyra rounded the corner, where the trees were younger and wilder, picking her way through the paths that her feet knew so well by now, for the way was etched into her heart, and gasped as she saw that darling little bench- her life's core, the every basis of her existence. She felt a pain so deep- as deep as the time at Bolvanger and her Pan was being ripped away- her heart was being ripped into shreds.

Two young lovers were sitting on their bench. They were holding hands, and were looking at each other with such devotion to each other, their daemons, a owl and a robin in each other's arms. Such as companionable silence between them- such love and feeling in the simple touch of each others hands that Lyra was instantly wrenched back into a time, now so long ago, where she and Will were sitting together, not talking, not doing anything- just sitting in silence, because they could, and they were content to do just that, because anything else would be a waste of actions or speech.

They shouldn't be on the bench- it was wrong! The bench was hers- hers and Wills, and nobody else had the right! Indignant sobs racked her throat, and angry tears squeezed out her eyes. Pan leapt out of her arms, snarling and baring his teeth back. She clenched her fists to stop the angry shaking her angry body gave.

'Go,' she gasped out, more and more tears cascading down her face.

And when they did not respond, she shouted it.

'GO!'

Neither of them knew Lyra. Neither of them knew of Will. But both of them recognized the look in the eyes of the woman that could not have been any older than themselves- that looks of the terrible passions and anger that comes with the happiness of love, and they clung to each other a little tighter as they departed, both praying that they would never be separated, and thus experience the same sorrow as her.

Lyra sat trembling on the bench, Pan nuzzling up to her throat, and both of them whimpering in each others throats. They had been so like her and Will... both so young, and saturated with love.

The tears were cascading down her face from her closed eyelids, dropping down to the bare earth. The soil felt her sorrow, and the Dust clung a little harder onto the matter, refusing to let it go, so profound was her sadness. She found herself picturing his face... his straight black brows, his jutting chin, his blazing blue eyes. Kirjava, her midnight blue black soft silky fur...

'Will! Will, come back, I need you...'

She did not whisper it aloud and no sound stirred from her silent vigil, but she cryed out for her lover with every centimeter of her being... It was terrible...she needed him.,,

And the memories came, rushing and whirling by so fast her head felt dizzy...Will, making a omlette, and showing her how to the snap top on her can of Coke. Will, using the knife to cut his way through,, and Will helping her get the aleithiometer...Will, risking his own life to come after her and rescue her form Mrs Coutler... Will, in the land of the dead, holding her in his arms.

Will, following her to the ends of the world, because he was Will, and because he loved her. She was loved. Will loved her.

A breeze touched her face, and she opened her eyes. It was still the same garden, and she was still sitting on the same bench but now beside her someone sat.

He was dark haired, and black browed, and his face was fierce and proud. And Lyra knew that if he unclenched his fist she would see that he was missing his last two fingers...

A/N MUAHUAHUAHUAHA a cliffie... (evil chuckle) Last chapter, coming up soon. All shall be explained, so be patient.

This chapter is sucky... I think I'll revise it when the whole things done.

Review!