TW- this chapter will deal a bit with traumas and grief. Take care of yourself.

O see the darkness yielding
That tore the light apart
Come healing of the reason
Come healing of the heart

Leonard Cohen

The city of Bodø was a small town in size but significant in its importance. Its strategic location on the border of the Arctic Circle made it an essential place for the transit of goods and people to the far North. On its square, the market was present every day, and passersby could find products from both fishing and international trade as well as rarities from the Arctic Circle. Lyra scanned the crowd with pursed lips. She had started with the crowded square due to its proximity to the aërodock. If she didn't find anything in the next five minutes, she would go question the sailors at the harbor.

"Lyra!" exclaimed Pan in her ear, "Look over there!"

Lyra's heart skipped a beat. Standing in front of a plant vendor's display was Will, right there, just a few steps away from them. He hadn't noticed her, and she took advantage of those few seconds to observed him, trying to update her fuzzy memories of their reunion. He was taller, that was certain, and truly looked like a sailor in his dark blue tunic, canvas trousers rolled up at the ankles, and tousled hair. He was engrossed in a serious conversation with the merchant, handing him bouquets of leaves and exchanging words that Lyra couldn't hear. Everything around her seemed to slow down; the stalls, the passersby, and the sounds became blurry. Her entire senses were focused on him, only him. He looked so conscientious and concentrated that her blood began to race through her veins. HE was really there. Unconsciously, she approached him and placed her hand on his arm. Will jolted, nearly dropping the purse he was holding. He turned to her, eyes widened with surprise and his mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. That fraction of a second seemed to last an eternity until finally, they embraced each other passionately. Will laughed with enthusiastic astonishment, then a second time as he held her a little tighter. Lyra clung to him, inhaling in his embrace deeply, making sure that all of this was indeed real.

Beside them, someone cleared their throat. The merchant was waiting, a jute bag in hand. Will apologized profusely while handing him the money and retrieving his purchases under the knowing smile of the herbalist. Taking Lyra's hand, he led her away from the bustling market crowd to embrace her once again. Neither of them had uttered a single word, too carried away by the overwhelming sensations within them. Lyra's body filled with joy, tingling in her limbs. She wrapped her arms around Will's neck, pulling his face closer to hers. Finally, they kissed as if their lives depended on it. Clinging to each other, their tense bodies bore witness to the impatience of their reunion. And then, catching her breath a little, she broke the spell of silence that had fallen over them:

"Hi..."

Because what do you say when emotions overwhelm beings to the point that words no longer have any strength?

"Hi," Will replied with a light laugh before kissing her again.

She buried her face in his neck, every second feeling like a release.

"Oh, I'm SO relieved that you're here..." the young man sighed, holding her tighter.

He trembled slightly. Finally, that voice that enveloped Lyra's soul echoed in her ears.

"We came as quickly as possible..."

"I know... we were waiting for you. I'm sorry you had to travel all this way to reach us. I should have found another way, it must have been…"

His words hung in the air. He had slightly pulled away to look at her, and his broad smile had turned into a veil of concern as he analyzed her face.

"You're hurt!"

"No, it's nothing! Just a bad fall, that's all."

As he furrowed his brows, she added quickly,

"I assure you! It doesn't even hurt anymore!"

All she wanted was to hear his warm voice, over and over again. She snuggled up to him, encircling his chest with her arms. His embrace was fresh, carrying the scent of sea salt and verbena. Will took her right hand, noticing the left one wrapped in bandages, still looking concerned.

"Come", he said. "I'm working on a cargo ship. It's a bit basic, but we'll have some privacy and you can tell me all about your journey!"

And he kissed her again before guiding her through the market. Their two dæmons trotted ahead, close to each other. Lyra looked at his slender fingers that held with hers, her eyes traveled up his strong arm and then lingered on his neck. Occasionally, Will would stop and turn around, a spark of surprise crossing his eyes as if he were realizing once again that she was really there. And then he would embrace her again, kiss her again, smiling like a child, too happy to hide his joy.

When they arrived at the port, they stopped near a sail cargo ship. Will put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. A porthole opened and the bald head of a man appeared. Lyra recognized the same sailor who had accompanied Will during their first reunion. He greeted her with a nod.

"Miss Silvertongue," he said in his hoarse voice, "Good to see you again."

"Morten," said Will, "Is the Captain here?"

"No, not yet. She went with Hassan to the ambassador of New France's residence less than an hour ago. They have some business to discuss, I think."

Will muttered. The captain had strictly forbidden any unannounced guests, and if she was gone on business, she would be gone for a while. He glanced at Lyra, who was observing the ship with curiosity. His heart raced. The captain would understand, wouldn't she? It was a risk he was willing to take, so they climbed aboard the ship and entered the section where the cabins were located. Will opened a door to a small room.

"Here it is, this is where I work. Come in, make yourself at home."

There were several glass cases filled with jars and bottles of various shapes and sizes, which were filled with dried leaves and flowers, murky liquids, and other powders. Handwritten labels named the contents: absinthe tops, genepi, linden honey, sage, chamomile matricaria... There was also a small camp bed in one corner, and next to it, a piece of furniture on which medical instruments were placed. Lyra turned to Will, who was busy emptying the contents of his bag onto a table.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'll be quick."

He had put on a pair of round glasses with thin frames. Lyra looked at him, surprised.

"You wear glasses?"

"Yeah, well..." he scratched his nose, feeling a bit embarrassed, "I don't see very well up close. It happens. Is it a big deal?"

"No, not at all..." she stammered, slightly flustered.

She approached, placing her hand on his arm and moving up to his neck. He let go of his bouquet to wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her.

"I missed you," she said with a smile.

She settled into a chair to let him work. The two dæmons had taken their place on the small camp bed and were whispering, their silky heads close to each other. Will asked her about her journey. She recounted her meeting with Nur, with the women's community, what she had observed in Aleppo, the trafficking of dæmons. She described how she had taken the freight train and ended up amidst the smelly sheep, which made him laugh, and then how she had met Louise, Tomas, and discovered the existence of the Starling Network. She finished her story with the reunion with the Gyptians and Tony Costa's grandiose wedding. Will listened attentively, asking questions, occasionally touching her hand, her arm, her face. He felt an urgent need to feel her under his fingertips. She deliberately kept silent about her bad encounter with the guard and the Berlin attack, under Pan's disapproving gaze. She wanted to bury those memories deep within herself and only bring smiles to Will's face. While listening to her, he worked and she watched him, enthralled by the meticulousness and precision of his movements. He sorted, unhooked, cut, rinsed, dried, and then spread the plants on perforated trays before storing them on a wire shelf.

"What are you?" Lyra asked him. "Some kind of herbalist?"

"Actually, I'm the doctor on this boat."

Lyra exclaimed in admiration, and he couldn't help but display a small proud smile.

"But the medical resources on board can be basic," he added, "So I made the choice to use plants as a supplement. I'm learning on the job, but it's truly fascinating."

He stored the last plate and closed the grid shelf, looking satisfied. He then turned to embrace Lyra once again. Running his hands along her back, he kissed her hair, her cheeks, her lips. And she felt herself melting softly. He turned his gaze to her sore wrist.

"May I?"

Lyra nodded, pursing her lips to conceal the pain. With infinite carefulness, he unwrapped the bandage and began to examine the injured joint more closely.

"It's a sprain, but nothing serious. Did you do this a long time ago?"

"About three days ago, I think."

"Don't move, I'll make you a yarrow poultice. It'll help ease the inflammation."

As he spoke, he turned around and took a glass jar from a shelf, spreading its contents onto a cloth.

"And are you a doctor in your world?" Lyra asked.

"Not really... I'm not graduated yet. I'm not sure if I'll ever be."

"Really?! But why didn't you go all the way?"

Will glanced at her over his glasses, eyebrows raised in surprise. Lyra bit her cheek at her own remark. Of course, she knew why he hadn't finished his studies... Her cheeks flushed, and she began to feel very warm. Will leaned in to kiss her with a smile, then resumed applying the poultice, leaving her confused and moved.

"I could have waited a few more years to validate my degree. But I think I became a little impatient…"

Gently, he applied the soaked cloth to Lyra's wrist, causing her to grimace. He then wrapped it all with an ivory bandage. Tears welled up in her eyes, stirred not only by Will's delicate gestures but also because she knew he had understood. He had understood that she hadn't told him everything, and she feared his questions.

"There you go," he added, "You can keep it until tonight. I think we'll need to redo it tomorrow. Be careful not to use that hand too much…"

Lyra couldn't take her eyes off him. He hadn't changed, still so serious. Will looked at her deeply, reached out and soflty touched her cheek, marked by the remnants of the explosions in Berlin. Emotion was embedded in each of his actions.

"Lyra," he said softly, "Don't tell me it was just a bad fall. A bad fall couldn't cause so many injuries to one person…"

He placed his hand on her knee, trying to catch her gaze. She looked away.

"There... there was an attack in Berlin…" she began, "It happened so quickly..."

"An attack? What do you mean?"

In a whisper, she told him what she had previously omitted: the Berlin underground, the series of explosions, the fear, the screams, and Louise not waking up. Though she was trembling slightly, she assured him that there had been more fear than harm, at least for her. Will let a silence settle in, then slowly traced the young woman's neck with his fingertips where a slight mark remained. She flinched.

"Are you sure you're telling me everything?" he asked softly.

His deep obsidian gaze remained fixed on Lyra, concerned. Her breathing became erratic and painful. She didn't want to recount, she didn't want to relive it; she wanted everything to disappear from her memory. She felt ashamed. A lump formed in her throat, and the words burst forth uncontrollably:

"I... to reach Istanbul, I took that freight train. But initially, I wasn't with the sheep... I thought I had found a good hiding spot. But... but that guard... he came so fast and... he was taller than me... stronger too... oh Will…"

She lowered her eyes from which torrents of heavy tears flowed. Her body was shaken by violent, uncontrollable spasms. Her mind tormented her. She wanted to chase away the lingering bitter aftertaste, to focus only on the present moment, but it kept haunting her. This was supposed to be a joyful moment. She clenched her fists against her temples. Will leaned in to hold her close.

"I'm sorry," he murmured in a strained voice," I'm sorry, I shouldn't have insisted..."

As he spoke, he caressed her trembling back. Behind her, the voice of Pantalaimon was heard:

"We were very scared, but she was smarter and stronger than him. He didn't have time to go any further. She's brave, you know."

His heart swelled at the sound of her dæmon's words, and Will tightened his embrace. Slowly, the tremors ceased. He slid his hands down her neck, leaned in to plunged his eyes into hers, and wiping her cheeks, placed a tender kiss on her lips. A kiss that wanted to tell her "It will be okay. I'm here with you. I'll stay right here. Everything will be fine."

At that moment, loud footsteps echoed in the staircase and a booming voice resounded.

"Will?! Will Parry?!"

Will held back a curse and quickly turned around, his muscles suddenly tense. The door swung open with a bang, revealing a small, furious-looking woman with two thick red braids framing her face. A cat dæmon with bristling fur appeared at her side. Her gaze shot sparks at Will. Straight and tense, she strode towards him, pointing a threatening finger.

"What have I heard from my men?" she asked through clenched teeth. "That you bring a stranger onto MY ship without asking ME for permission, thus compromise the security I've spent so much time establishing?!

Will raised his hands as a gesture of peace.

"I looked for you before coming aboard, Captain," he tried to say as calmly as possible. "But I couldn't find you. Morten told me you went to meet a governor and..."

He grabbed Lyra's hand and added:

"This is Lyra. She just arrived in town. I couldn't leave her at the harbor..."

The captain's face relaxed upon seeing the young woman.

"Oh," she said, "of course!"

"Lyra," Will added, "let me introduce you to Captain Mette Rasmussen. She's the one in charge of this ship, and thanks to her, I was able to find you."

Lyra let the woman vigorously shake her hand.

"It's an honor to meet you, Miss Silvertongue. Will has told me a lot about you. Please do me the honor of dining by my side tonight; I would be delighted to listen to you!"

Lyra nodded, amazed. Mette Rasmussen turned her stern gaze back to Will.

"But that's not an excuse, Doc. Please do me the favor of showing her around properly; don't disappoint me."

Will nodded, looking terrified. The captain left the room, and Lyra began to laugh.

"You're mocking me, but you've never seen her REALLY angry."

"Do I need to remind you that you faced an angry Iorek Byrnison?"

"Oh, she's much more terrifying..."

Lyra laughed again and allowed herself to be led through the ship by Will, who showed her around diligently, as if the captain's stern gaze was still fixed on him. She had hundreds of questions that he tried to provide answers. They walked hand in hand, chatting as if they had never been apart. The tour ended in the common room where the half-dozen sailors on board were gathering for dinner. Will took the time to introduce Lyra to each of them, and she tried her best to memorize their names. Mette, already seated, gestured for them to sit beside her.

"Your ship is impressive, Captain," Lyra said as she took her seat. "But you have a small crew, don't you?"

"I have twelve men on board. But since we are at our home port, many of them have gone home to see their families. Those who remain are here because they have no one nearby, like Morten, Will, or myself.

Morten entered the room with a large steaming pot.

"Bouillabaisse," he announced to the enthusiastic exclamations of the sailors. "If I had known we would have such a distinguished guest, I would have prepared something else."

Lyra stammered, and the sailors cheered as the cook served them plates of steaming delicately flavored fish and saffron. The captain, meanwhile, poured glasses of a fine wine from Eastern Europe.

"So, Miss Silvertongue," the captain said, taking a sip, "Will told me that you tricked a Panserbjørne king? Can you tell me more about it?"

Lyra, delighted, then narrated her encounter with Iofur Raknison, how she tricked him, the battle between Iofur and Iorek, as well as how the armoured bear king offered her her name. Around the table, only the sound of forks on plates could be heard. The men listened to her every word, silently. And when Lyra finished her story, they demanded another one, and another one. So she told to them about the fearless aëronaut Lee Scoresby and his balloon, or the loyal and united Gyptians braving the elements to save the children at Bolvangar. The night stretched slowly under the pale Northern sun, the plates and glasses had long been empty, and Lyra continued her narrative, carried away, under Will's loving gaze.

"Miss Silvertongue," pleaded a chubby little man named Achille," we're going to finish this evenin' at a pub on the harbor. Would ye do us the honor of joinin' us? I think me mates and I would love to hear more from ye."

Lyra hesitated, she glanced at Will who responded for her:

"She has traveled a long way to get here. It's late, and I think she's tired…"

He masked his embarrassment by avoiding gaze, and she let out a discreet smile, nodding in agreement with his front of Achille's supplicating expression, she promised him to tell more stories the next day and took her leave, her hand plunged into Will's. He led her to his cabin and, closing the door behind them, he embraced her. It was no longer the emotional embrace they had shared a few hours earlier, but a passionate and tender one. His hands ran up the young woman's back to encircle her neck. Through his palms, he felt Lyra's heart beating rapidly. But soon, knocks were heard against the door. Will sighed and rolled his eyes.

"What now?!" he exclaimed.

"Sorry, Doc..." came a muffled voice behind the wall, "I've run out of valerian, and I don't want to trouble ye later..."

Will grumbled as he opened the door to a confused Achilles. He led him to his office, muttering all the way. Meanwhile, Lyra, amused by the situation, turned around and observed the room. The space was narrow, sparsely furnished but comfortable and tidy. A bench with dark green cushions was attached to one wall. In one corner of the room, there was a modest sink, and on the opposite side, a medium-sized bed. Against the bed, Lyra saw a light-colored wooden dresser on which a few books, empty cups, and a framed photo were scattered. She approached and picked up the picture. In the photograph were Will and a woman who looked like him, both sporting radiant smiles on their faces. "His mother," she thought, as she placed the frame back down. A solitary porthole let in the last rays of the declining sun. She lay down and looked up at the ceiling of the cabin, humming to herself, blissfully happy. Pantalaimon was rummaging around in the corners, commenting on what he saw to Kirjava. Will quickly returned, closed the door and he apologized profusely.

"The crew is used to bothering me at all hours... And without valerian tea, Achille can't sleep and is plagued by violent nightmares," he said.

He lay down next to her, and she took his hand.

"It doesn't matter," she whispered. "We're together now, we have time..."

They lay there without saying anything for long minutes, too happy to say anything at all. Kirjava climbed onto the bed, followed by Pan. The cat approached Lyra, who hesitated for a brief moment before stroking her fur. The dæmon responded with a loud purr, and Will, overwhelmed with emotion, watched them with shining eyes.

"So, how did you do it?" she asked, releasing Kirjava, who rushed back to Pan on the edge of the bed.

"It's thanks to Mary Malone," Will simply replied.

Upon hearing the professor's name, a bright smile spread accross Lyra's face. Will told her how they had stayed in touch; how she had sensed the presence of a window where she lived; how he had made up his mind to help her, leaving everything else behind; and the intense joy of realizing that it was Lyra's world, with Mary's help in finding them.

"Mary managed to come to terms with what we experienced," he added. "She was able to say goodbye to the Mulefa and the chance of ever seeing them again. I don't know where she found that courage. I've never had it..."

As he spoke, he played with Lyra's hands.

"If I had had that courage, I would have eventually accepted my life, and I wouldn't be here today!"

At their feet, the two dæmons had curled up against each other. A gentle warmth seemed to fill the room.

"But what does it mean?" Lyra wondered, "Did the Angels leave a window open? On purpose?"

"I don't know... It doesn't correspond to what we were told."

Lyra was lost in her thoughts. Had they been lied to? For what purpose, if not to make them suffer? If that was the case, she would be truly angry.

"You still have to go back to your world?" she asked.

"I need to go there from time to time. When I stay away from my world for too long, I feel more tired, as if I haven't slept for days. We could go there tomorrow if you want?"

"I'd love to!" Lyra exclaimed.

Will tightened his grip on her hand, grateful to finally have her by his side, filled with love.

"And your mother?" Lyra asked, "Did she stay in Oxford? Or did she come with you?"

Will didn't say anything; a shadow fell over his face. He turned over onto his back, his eyebrows furrowed. His chest heaved with difficulty, and he cleared his throat.

"She... she died. Two years now..."

Lyra straightened, stunned. Will took a long, deep breath and closed his eyes.

"It was cancer... It was fast and brutal. A few months after the diagnosis, she was gone... she..."

A lump in his throat choked off his words. Lyra, too, was shaken by the pain that gripped him, and she squeezed his hand a little harder.

"I had people around me, you know, but not by the right ones. We have some family in England. All those who had cut us out of their lives because of my mother's mental illness reappeared when she passed away, as if by magic. It was probably guilt or greed. I hate them from the bottom of my soul. All I wanted was for you to be here by my side…"

The words broke in his throat. Lyra then wrapped her arms around his shoulders to hold him close so that he could burst, too. And he did, releasing the grief he had held inside for two years. For two years, he had contained, suppressed his sadness within himself, disguised his pain with devoted study work, playing the role of the perfect grieving son, the one who doesn't cry, who doesn't complain, who handles administrative tasks, completes paperwork, sorts things out without flinching. The one who doesn't bother others with his sorrow. For two years, he had held back from screaming his bitterness and pain to the entire world. And now, in this world that was not his own, nestled in the arms of the one he had always loved, he could open the floodgates and let everything out. It was there, in that precise spot, in Lyra's embrace, that he found the precious support he had always sought. And Lyra kissed his ebony hair, caressed his back with immense tenderness, held him close, let him cling to her sweater with all his strength, and said nothing. Because she knew that words were useless and gestures were powerful. She kissed his wet eyelids, wiped away his tears as if to say, "You don't have to carry this alone anymore. I'm here, everything will be fine, I love you." They were each other safe place and they were finally reunited.

Slowly, Will's shoulders relaxed, and his sobs diminished. His breathing found a steady, slow rhythm. Lyra gently released her embrace.

"Will," she whispered. "Will! You are not going to fall aslepp, are you?"

As he did not respond, she wriggled on the mattress. This was not at all how she imagined their reunion. Nevertheless, with her gaze absorbed by the serene face of the young man, she felt her heart overflowing with love. She caressed Will's tear-dampened cheeks once more, ran her thumb over his cheekbones, and then, in turn, she let herself be carried away by a deep and restorative sleep.