Author's Note/Disclaimer: I profess to have absolutely no affiliation with the esteemed Philip Pullman, nor Ballantine Publishing Group, or any other official group related to the publication and creation of this magnificent trilogy. I just want a different ending!

Their Republic

Chapter Two: Oxford

'Being cheerful starts now,' Will thought as hard as he could, but it was like trying to hold a fighting wolf still in his arms when it wanted to claw at his face and tear out his throat; nevertheless, he did it, and he thought no one could see the effort it cost him.

And he knew that Lyra was doing the same, and that the tightness and strain in her smile were the signs of it.

Nevertheless, she smiled.

One last kiss, rushed and clumsy so that they banged cheekbones, and a tear from her eye was transferred to his face; their two dæmons kissed farewell; and then Will began to close the window, and then it was done, the way was closed, Lyra was gone."

Will rolled over in his sleep, his face tight and pained, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and soaking his pillow.

"I've got to break the knife."

He turned over again, finding little comfort in the deep mattress and thick blankets.

So he tried it now, an image of his mother's face as he'd last seen her, fearful and distracted in Mrs. Cooper's little hallway.

A small sob escaped his throat. In the next room, Mary Malone woke.

But it didn't work. The knife cut easily through the air and opened into a world where they were having a rainstorm: heavy drops hurtled through, startling them both.

Beads of sweat mingled with the tears on his pillow. Mary's light switched on and her door creaked open.

He … stood puzzled for a moment.

His dæmon knew what he should do, and said simply, "Lyra."

Of course. He nodded, and with the knife in his right hand, he pressed with his left the spot where her tear still lay on his cheek.

And this time, with a wrenching crack, the knife shattered and the blade fell in pieces on the ground.

Will sat up in bed as Mary flicked on the light in his room. He bit his lip to keep from crying aloud. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the clock. Five am.

Mary remained silent, watching him, and after a moment she disappeared. Will heard her put the kettle on downstairs, and he left his bed and damp pillow to join Mary in the kitchen.

She looked up as he entered and sat at the table.

When they'd returned to their Oxford, Will and Mary had visited her flat and discussed the course of action they should take. They'd gone to Mrs. Cooper's house, where Will's mother was waiting for him. Luckily, somehow, she'd been perfectly fine for Mrs. Cooper. When she saw Will, her eyes welled with tears, and he realized that this was one of the rare moments when her eyes saw clearly – intelligently.

She knelt to hug him and whispered in his ear, "I feared you'd never come back."

His heart had thumped painfully, and he hugged her tighter. "I've a lot to tell you, Mum."

She finally noticed Mary standing politely to the side, and she let go of Will and stood.

"This is Mary Malone," Will said, and Mary offered her hand out to Will's mother. "Mary, this is my mum."

Mary smiled, and his mother hesitantly took Mary's hand and shook it.

Will jumped when the tea kettle rang, jarring him from his memories.

Mary did not have to ask if he wanted a cup; she just set it in front of him and sat down across from him.

"One year today," Will said shakily.

Mary nodded grimly.

"I wonder … if time passes the same in her world." He swallowed a sip of tea. "Has it been a year for her, too?"

Dr. Malone set down her cup. "I think it has."

Will wasn't sure enough to believe her, though.

They arrived at Oxford half an hour before noon. He knew how to get to the Botanical Garden on his own, so Mary let him be and went to the museum instead.

The bench was exactly as he'd left it, as if preserved specially for this occasion. Kirjava, his cat dæmon, usually liked to keep to herself, but after a few moments she joined him on the bench, carefully curling on his lap.

Still, the bench felt lonely, and his heart ached more than it had all year. He brushed hot tears away, amazed how he could still cry over this, and yet, unsurprised at all that he would miss her this much. Kirjava's tail twitched slightly as she felt Will's worry.

"Your father," Kirjava said. Will stared blankly down at her. "He stayed in Lyra's world for about ten years. He looked like he'd aged about ten years." She laid her head down on his knee and closed her eyes. "Time passes the same in both worlds."

Will nodded, realizing she was right.

And finally, the half hour passed, and somewhere Will heard a clock chime noon. He couldn't be sure if it was his imagination, but suddenly he heard running footsteps and a high voice calling.

He felt wind on his face, as if someone was rushing by him, but suddenly the rush was gone. Yet it had left him with a warm, tingling sensation, and a small part of his heart was soothed.

A few seconds later, though, a little girl ran passed him, calling and giggling over her shoulder, "You'll never catch me!" A boy – maybe a friend, or brother – followed shortly after.

Kirjava looked up at Will. "They're there, Will. I'm sure they are."

And naturally they were. Lyra sat down, breathless, on the bench just as the clock chimed twelve. Pan leaped onto her lap and she stroked his soft fur. She couldn't believe she'd almost missed it – the first time, too.

Something had come up last minute at the college, and then the chauffeur was late to pick up Lyra.

But we still made it, Pan told Lyra. She nodded, sighed, and sat back on the bench.

Two children ran past the bench, giggling like mad. She remembered when she and her friend Roger had played together, before everything had happened. He was dead, now, but his spirit had dissolved, and now what once made him up was flying happily through space and time.

"Because of me and Will," Lyra murmured, unaware she spoke her thoughts. "No, because of Will." She looked down at Pantalaimon. "He was the one who cut the opening. He freed the dead."

Only one opening was allowed for, though, because the openings allowed Dust to leak out. That was why she could not truly be with Will today, or any other day, or for the rest of her life. And she could not stay in Will's world, because a dæmon could only live in the world it was born in.

Will had had a knife that could create openings between worlds, and he could have made an opening quickly, every couple of years, and they could have gone back and forth between each world so that they could stay with each other.

And then Lyra realized something that would have saved them a year ago, and they'd never have to have stayed apart – they could have been together.

Pantalaimon turned towards her as he heard her thoughts.

"Pan – what if… what if he had made an opening every couple of years or so?"

"We knew then that it would still create a specter," Pan replied. Doubt laced his hesitant voice.

"No," Lyra insisted, whispering urgently, "I mean – yes, we thought that, and we were right, but the angel – Xaphania – she … said she'd take care of the specters…"

Lyra let out a loud sob as she realized their separation could have been prevented.

Someone nearby heard her and began towards her.

Pan remained calm, though, not having seen the person approaching, nor accepting what Lyra was saying.

"Would it have been fair, Lyra? To ask them to kill a specter every couple of years, just so we could see Will and Kirjava?"

Lyra did not reply. Instead, she closed her eyes and relaxed on the bench. Finally, she felt a small, warm tingling that at least calmed some part of her soul.

"Excuse me?"

Her eyes flashed open. Who was disturbing her peace?

Before her stood a young boy, probably around her age, whose dark eyes were staring imploringly into hers.

"Are you all right?" he asked tentatively. Lyra nodded slowly, gulping. "I thought I heard you cry out just now. Was that you?"

Lyra stared back, her chin held high. This was their day, their time, and this boy was interrupting!

"I tripped just a second ago and landed on my foot funny," she said. "But I'm fine."

The boy didn't seem to quite accept this answer, but he didn't pursue the subject. Instead, to Lyra's dismay, he sat down beside her. Pan shot annoyed glances to the boy's dæmon, who was unfortunately looking away.

"My name's Alexander Farr," the boy said, "but you can call me Alex."

Lyra stared blankly at him, and he stared back, expectant. "You can call me Lizzie," Lyra said, just because she was annoyed and feeling a little like her old self. "Lizzie Brooks."

"So…" he said, after they'd been silent for awhile. "What brings you here?"

Lyra stiffened imperceptibly and glanced at Pan for an idea. She needed to sound dull. That had been Lizzie's original personality anyway.

"Oh… no reason… just wandering around."

"Ah. It is nice here, isn't it?"

Lyra merely stared in silence.

"I actually came here because I like the tranquility," he chattered on, "and it's a good place for inspiration." He glanced around, pausing for a second, then lifted the bag he'd been carrying – Lyra hadn't noticed, because she'd been distracted – and he pulled out a portfolio. "I … like to draw."

She had no idea why he was confiding in her, but she didn't want him to. She let her eyes glaze over and looked away while he droned on about his work.

Yet she couldn't help but feel guilty, and so eventually she focused in on what he was saying.

"…because the lighting in that section is just perfect, the way it comes through the trees. That's actually where I was when I heard you – "

"Listen," Lyra interrupted, "I hate to be rude, but…" Her fingers traced the grain on the wood. "…I don't understand why you're telling me all this."

"Oh." He faltered. "My friends tell me I chatter too much." Lyra could agree wholeheartedly with them. "I guess I do. You just looked like you needed cheering up."

If Lyra hadn't felt completely guilty before, she suddenly did now.

"I'm sorry, Alex," she said, "my name's not really Lizzie Brooks."

"Ah," he replied. "You know, I didn't think you looked like a Lizzie."

Awkward silence gripped the moment. Finally –

"My name is Lyra Silvertongue," she said, "but technically, it used to be Lyra Belacqua. I guess that's what it is legally."

"Well, pleased to meet you, Lyra Silvertongue." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "There's something down there I want to draw," he said suddenly, and stood.

Lyra thanked him silently.

He walked a good ways down, sat cross-legged in the grass, and took out his sketchbook.

Lyra closed her eyes and sat back, breathing a sigh of relief. Then she lost herself in dreams.

Random Babblings:

I'd like to thank all the people who reviewed! Reviews make me happy. I'm glad you liked the first one. I only have a vague idea of where I'm going with this, but… ideas are breeding in my mind every moment, so something exciting will definitely happen. Especially in the next chapter… (I promise. Some action/adventure approaches us at top speed!)

I've also read Paradise Lost (for English class), and since HDM was largely…. I guess, "inspired" by it (the title came from it, for instance), it's given me some ideas.