REMNANTS OF DARKNESS, by Eldrice
Standard Disclaimers Apply: Will Stanton, Bran Davies, Jane Drew, and the entire Dark is Rising universe belong solely to the lovely and talented Susan Cooper.
A/N: I'm sorry this chapter doesn't have much of a plot, but I just wanted to take some time to address an issue I have with some TDIR fanfics. (And no, this is not an anti-slash diatribe. There's lots of slash I like, particularly of the Sirius/Lupin variety.) But why is everyone always so intent on making Will part of a couple? He's immortal (perhaps not even properly human), which in my book should preclude any relationship with everyday people. (See my other story, "An Immortal Encounter," for the problems and overly sentimental angst that may result.) If I ever were to have Will fall in love (rubs hands together gleefully), it would have to be with another Old One, or someone who is something similar . . .
ButI always thought the sparks were flying between Jane and Bran in Silver on the Tree. First of all, they really disliked each other at first, and we all know where that sort of thing leads to (see Pride and Prejudice, Much Ado about Nothing, Ron and Hermione, etc etc etc). Second, I always thought Will seemed truly surprised anddense when Bran asked him if he thought Jane was pretty. Why should Will ever think of such a thing? It's completely irrelevant to saving the world. I think Bran was sounding him out with that question, making sure he wasn't moving in on his friend's territory. Third, Bran saved Jane from the afanc. Fourth, he gave her the stone, and called her 'Jenny' when he did so. 'Jenny' was used as a nickname for Guinevere in The Once and Future King. I like to think that Susan Cooper didn't mean that as a coincidence. Anyway, to make a long story short, that's where I get my basis for the relationships in this story, and this chapter is pretty much just a short rant on the subject. Enjoy, and I promise that the real plot will pick up in the next chapter!
Sorry. I won't have such a long A/N again, I promise.
Chapter Three: A Midnight Interlude.
"You are thinking of your sons – but do not you know that of all things upon earth that is the least likely to happen, brought up, as they would be, always together like brothers and sisters? It is morally impossible. I never knew an instance of it. It is, in fact, the only sure way of providing against the connection. Suppose her a pretty girl, and seen by Tom or Edmund for the first time seven years hence, and I dare say there would be mischief. . . . But breed her up with them from this time, and suppose her even to have the beauty of an angel, and she will never be more to either than a sister."
- Jane Austen, Mansfield Park.
Peter was a light sleeper. It must've been several hours past midnight when a creaking noise jolted him from slumber. His eyes snapped opened. The room was pitch dark, except for a sliver of light that stretched across the floor and opposite wall. His door was cracked open, and two heads were peering into his room and whispering in hushed voices.
"You see, snug as a bug in a rug."
That was his father. Peter grinned to himself but still feigned sleep. The cutesy expression was a guilty favorite of his mother's. Bran had laughed at it for several years until finally capitulating and embracing it in his own vocabulary.
"Hey, Jane, did you get Will the extra blankets? It's a cold night."
"Not yet. They're in the closet down the hall."
"Why don't I get them for him while you check in on Annie?"
"Deal."
Peter heard his father's footsteps travel down the hall, pause while he rummaged through the closet, and fade away as he walked carefully down the stairs to the guest room on the first floor.
His ears tracked his mother's movements as well. Her footsteps crossed the hall to Annie's door, and gently eased it open. The floorboards creaked as she made her way to her daughter's bed. Peter could imagine her bending over to gently press a kiss to her daughter's sleeping forehead.
"Mum . . . ? Is that you?"
Or perhaps not so sleeping. Annie's voice was muffled, and Peter could barely make out the words.
"Shhh, dearest. Just checking in on you. Go back to sleep."
"Don't go, I can't sleep. Will you read me a story?"
"No story, sleep time. It's after midnight."
"Please? I had a scary nightmare." Annie's voice was plaintively simple.
There was silence for a few seconds. "Maybe we can just sit and talk for awhile?" Affectionate concern that was barely concealed colored Jane's voice.
"Okay."
Well, if there was to be a midnight party, Peter wasn't about to be left out. He swung his legs over the bed and onto the floor. He made his way out into the dark hall and was just about to enter through the partially-opened door when his sister's next question stopped him dead in his tracks:
"Mum? Can you tell me why you married Da instead of Will? Could I marry Will?"
Peter could just see inside the room. Jane had switched on Annie's bedside lamp so that the room was transformed into a warm enclave of comforting light. Jane was perched on the bed, and Annie's elbow was propped on her mother's knee. She had her chin in one hand and was gazing up at her mother with a sly, droll smile twitching mischievously at the corners of her mouth.
Peter saw that his mother looked at her daughter in shock for several long seconds. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Then she threw back her head and laughed uproariously, her hands clasped over her mouth as she tried to stifle her hilarity.
"Oy! What's so funny up there?" the muffled shout rose from downstairs.
A guilty, embarrassed look came over Jane's face, and she choked back a laugh. "Nothing, Will!" she managed to get out. "How are the blankets?"
"Warm enough, but I think they may be more useful as sound buffers . . ."
Jane rolled her eyes, but appeared sufficiently chastised. Annie, meanwhile, was looking peevish. "Mum! I'm serious!" she whispered fiercely.
"Oh, I know you are, sweetie, it's just . . . hold on, give me a second . . ." Jane struggled to control the wheezing laughter that was still threatening to overcome her and raised a hand to wipe at her streaming eyes. Peter leaned himself against the wall so that he could look in without being seen. He kept one ear listening intently. This was one conversation, deeply fascinating though it may be, that his presence was not likely to be conducive to. He supposed he should feel guilty for eavesdropping, but . . . damn, this might turn out to be good.
"Well," Jane Davies finally began in an overly solemn voice, having regained possession of her squandered dignity. "I guess the simplest answer is that I loved your father in a way that I could never love Will."
"Why?"
The mock seriousness on Jane's face shifted imperceptibly to real solemnity. She sighed thoughtfully and pulled her legs up beside her on the bed. "Move over, Annie," she ordered.
The girl scrambled to the other side of the bed eagerly.
Jane lifted the covers and settled in beside Annie with her back resting against the headboard. She reached out an arm and snagged her daughter, pulling her in close beside her.
"Annie." She paused, keeping her voice low and hushed. "Will is . . . he's not exactly . . . oh, how to explain it!" She looked at her daughter in helpless exasperation. "Will Stanton is Will Stanton. He could never be anything, anyone else. He's concerned with things that are grand, always has been. There's no room in his life for something as mundane and messy as romantic love."
"What grand things?"
"Oh, I don't know!" Jane gestured broadly. "Things!"
"He didn't love you? Was that it? Did he never kiss you?"
"Goodness! Where in the world are you getting these questions . . .? Oh, never mind, I don't think I want to know. The thing is, little Miss Snoop, that Will and I love each other as brother as sister, as comrades in arms." Peter could see a humorous glint enter his mother's eyes. "I shouldn't say this, he'll kill if he knew I said anything about it. But Will did kiss me once, at a school dance I invited him to."
She ostentatiously glanced around the room in a conspiring manner before pulling Annie closer. She cupped a hand around her daughter's ear and lowered her mouth to whisper the secret story. At one point Annie let out a squeal of glee and squirmed with laughter against her mother's restraining arm.
Peter was just about to lose his patience with the clandestine conference, when Jane leaned back and grinned at her daughter. Her voice was flippant and casually dismissive. "And that was that: a completely ludicrous and utter failure. We had a great time afterwards, but mostly because we went outside and Will gave me a very serious introductory astrology lesson. He was very big on astrology in those days."
Annie grinned in return. But the joking look in Jane's face faded as she gazed at her daughter. Peter could tell that something troubled her. Her next words came earnestly.
"But you see, Will and I aren't the same, as your father and I and you and Peter are the same. Will's . . . different. That's all. I can't explain it any better. I don't understand it myself." A thoughtful look came over her face. "In fact, I pity any woman who falls in love with Will Stanton. I don't think he would allow it."
Peter thought of the weird feeling he got whenever Will's blandly polite gaze fixed on him and felt that he had to agree.
Jane, meanwhile, was still studying her daughter. Annie was very sensitive . . . and she didn't want her to think . . . "That said, Annie, don't . . . don't get too attached to Will."
Annie looked confused. "What do you mean?"
The words came slowly, as if chosen with great deliberation. "I don't know what comes first in Will Stanton's life. It used to be your father, I think, when we were all children together. But I don't know anymore. I do know that it's nothing concerning you or me. And . . . and if we ever came into conflict with that which is first in Will Stanton's life, we would lose. You'll see. He'll be gone one morning, just like that, with a scrawled farewell note lying on the counter. Something in his world of ancient texts and symbols will call him away and he'll leave without warning. But I love Will, and I would trust him with anything except that which is most important."
"What's that?" Annie asked.
Jane smiled brilliantly and impulsively gathered her protesting, squirming daughter up in her arms and cuddled her close. She was growing up so fast, was so tall now . . .
"My happiness, Annie."
Peter had had enough. He inched away from the open door and made his way back to his room, shutting the door carefully behind him. Once more, he was enclosed in darkness. He felt his way to his bed and collapsed upon it. Drawing the covers close about him, he stared up at the ceiling thoughtfully.