The World to Come
by Eildon Rhymer
What if the Dark had won at the end of Silver on the Tree? The world is sliding into darkness, and only tattered remnants of the Light remain. Will, Bran and the Drews grow to adulthood, and each to their own destiny in this World to Come.
Part three: chapter six
Second meeting
This was the end of all his journeying. This was the end of his quest. Everything would end here, or change forever.
Will had hidden himself in the bushes, hiding only as a mortal man would hide. His powers he had used earlier, to track Bran down to this place. It had not been difficult. It was still only a week since Merriman's defeat. Midsummer was ten days away, but Will had no idea if he would see it.
The sun had set, and thick twilight had descended on the close. No-one had come or gone from the house for over an hour, but Will knew that Bran was still inside. He had to emerge soon. If he came alone, then Will would approach him. If he came out with a crowd, then Will would find a way to follow him from a distance until he was alone again. There had always been an air of solitude about Bran, even as a child, and he had chosen a path that lent itself to loneliness. A man so feared would not have friends.
Time passed. Will shifted uncomfortably. He had been hurt a little earlier, when bad luck had caused him to come to the attention of a patrol. He had been forced to use his magic to escape, though they had not realised it, and thought he had merely outrun them. That was when he had met Jane. Jane, so sad, so privileged, so unexpected… It had been all he could do not to blurt out her name.
"Help me," she had pleaded, though there had been terror in her face, too. She had looked at him as if he was the bringer of doom, but also bringer of a terrible, painful hope.
"I will," he wanted to promise her, or, "I cannot. I cannot even save myself." All that pushed down, by the habitual mask of the Old One. He had another to save first, he told her. Another to save… or maybe himself to destroy, and everything…
He tried not to think that way. Today, of all days, he had to be calm. He had chosen to do this, and he still believed that it was right. Perhaps it was a kind of suicide, but it was not suicide without a fight. He would give everything he had to try to bring Bran back to the Light. And, if he did not, at least he would have seen him one more time. At least he would have the chance to ask what went wrong, to know, to understand.
Anthony, he knew, would call him brave for this. Will suspected that he was, in fact, a monumental fool. But he had to do it. He had to try.
And now was the time. The door opened. Bran came out alone, walked down the small flight of steps, and paused at the bottom. He let out a breath, bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at the shrouded stars.
Will stepped out of his hiding place. There was no time to prepare, no time to think. In a way, he had been preparing for this for his entire adult life. The numbness crept over him again. It was as if this was so important, so pivotal, that the heart could not encompass it. It felt as inconsequential as a walk to the shops, and as vital as the walk to the midsummer tree, and the ending of everything.
Bran heard him approach. He stiffened, but did not go for his gun. There was something weary about him, Will thought. He was the most feared man in Britain, but his pallor made him look almost fragile.
Will did not wait to be challenged. He stopped three paces short of the man who had once been his closest friend. "Hello, Bran," he said.
Bran was utterly still for a while, but then he smiled. His smile was the coldest thing Will had ever seen, but his hands, stiff at his sides, started to tremble.
"Do you know me, Bran?" Will asked.
The smile disappeared, and there was nothing left but ice. "Will Stanton," the Pendragon said. "I have been waiting for you." He brought his hand up, fingers curled, as if in possession. "And now I have you."
"Yes." Will nodded, surrendered with open hands. "Now you have me."
End of part three: chapter six