Author's note : Final chapter! This one warmed my heart tbh, I hope you'll like it. And yeah, small glimpse of Malcom here. Coz those who know know … Happy reading!

When the world is to tall
You can jump you won't fall
You're in safe hands
What the day will now give
How those seeds will now live
It's in your hands
Heavy seas of love
Radiance is in you
As above so below
On the heavy seas of love

Damon Alban - Heavy Seas of Love

The seagulls' song. That's what Lyra will remember from this day. The seagulls' song. And the emotion, of course.

The seagulls' song had reached her ears even before she opened her eyes. This song meant two things: first, the boat was approaching the shores; second, the rain had ceased. A sunbeam pierced the barrier of her closed eyelids. She blinked them open and stretched leisurely. The seagulls' song mingled with the scent of the salty wind and the echo of voices chatting on the deck. The Havets Perle was heading home after a long journey to the Kingdom of Slam. The ship had collected rolls of precious silks, which it had then delivered to a prosperous French merchant. Now it was journeying back to Bodø with crates of wine in its holds destined for the Nordic market. The journey had been long and arduous, and Lyra had felt fatigue overcoming her more frequently. She needed to take naps, slept longer than usual. She knew that Will had noticed this unusual tiredness and was refraining from asking her specific questions.

She placed her hands on her belly and exhaled deeply. Pantalaimon was curled against her neck, his little fuzzy head resting on her shoulder. He yawned, stretched in turn, and then rose to settle against her chest. She buried her hand in his russet fur.

She tried to piece together the timeline of their lives. Will had sorted out his affairs, packed his things, she had met her old roommates, they had seen Mary again, which had filled her with delight. The evening had been sweet and joyful. They had left Will's Bodø in the early morning to return to the Havets Perle.

And then, days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months had given way to years. Two years, soon to be three, had passed. She, who had imagined becoming a renowned scholar at Saint Sophia, an accomplished alethiometrist, was now crew member on a small cargo ship briskly sailing along the Dutch coast. It wasn't about regretting those years, no. She was just putting her ambitions and plans into perspective.

The month of June had just begun, and she could feel the cool breeze passing through the slightly open porthole.

She raised her arms above her head, observing her hands. Her body had changed, of course. It had grown stronger; she had gained muscles, especially since Morten now entrusted her with the heavy and laborious task of baking bread during long journeys like this one.

Adorning her forearm was a gold bangle bracelet. One morning, without warning, Will had opened a drawer and taken out this bracelet. He had sat down next to her and placed it around her wrist. He had told her that this bracelet had belonged to his mother; his father had given it to her before his final expedition. She cherished it and wore it constantly. Now, Will wanted Lyra to wear it. The young woman had been deeply moved. Pantalaimon had teased Will, saying it was like a marriage proposal. Lyra had rolled her eyes, scolding him for spoiling a moment like this, and Will had simply smiled gently.

She didn't own or wear many pieces of jewelry. There were the earrings from the women at the Shelter in Aleppo, the khamsa gifted by Amina in the same place, linking her to Nur Huda, and now the gold bangle bracelet from Elaine Parry.

Two years, soon to be three.

Of course, they had discussed the future, settling somewhere, perhaps in Berlin or Bodø where they felt comfortable, building something new together, elsewhere. But, there was always something else to do, a new country to discover, a city to wander through, a journey to prepare for. The months slipped through their fingers. They had covered miles, traveled to Babylon, Madagascar, and Zimbabwe. There, they had found the Southern window, but despite the temptation, they hadn't crossed it. Interworld travel was reserved for Christmas and Mary. They had contented themselves with conversing with the angel who guarded that window.

Their journeys took them to High Brazil, Patagonia, and Lee Scoresby's Texas. They enriched themselves with encounters, knowledge, and flavors. At each stop, Lyra went to local markets with Will and Morten. The latter said that the market was the epicenter of the countries they visited. It was where the locals were the most sincere, where political, social, and cultural life trully played out. When schedule allowed and the city was safe enough, Lyra would settled in a café, a bar, or an inn to share stories. Stories from her experiences - sometimes embellished -, stories from her own imagination, populated with witches, armoured bears, gyptians, and spirits. She never grew tired of seeing her audience's eyes gleam. People listened, laughed, marveled, and often, the establishment owners offered her a plate, a drink, or a room as tokens of gratitude. A room was the best reward, as it granted she and Will something lacking aboard the ship: a bit of privacy.

They were fully aware that, despite all their efforts, the repercussions of the prophecy persisted. Agents lurked everywhere they went, forcing them to be even more vigilant, to remain discreet. They knew that the Magisterium was relentlessly seeking a way to locate Lyra, to apprehend her under the pretext of terrorist association with the Starling Network, in order to interrogate her about her identity and her role in the the Authority's downfall — a fall kept secret by the Church to avoid weakening its power. Lyra tried to put things into perspective, asserting that they had no evidence against her. Will, on the other hand, remained anxious and furious each time they had to hide. Of course, they could have chosen his world, they could have fled the danger. But they were so content here, on this ship, in this world, surrounded by these people, that they wouldn't have changed it for anything in the world.

Will had changed as well. He had acquired expertise in healing, plants, and medicinal preparations. The crew and the captain trusted him implicitly, and he was gaining a serious reputation even on land. It was not uncommon that, upon their returns to Bodø, families and friends of sailors would seek him out for the treatment of various ailments. He had found his place. Episodes of exhaustion continued to strike him. Going a year without crossing the window, without returning to his own world, was taxing. He pushed his boundaries, testing how far he could endure without resorting to the witches' molasses. But inevitably, he would collapse, and Lyra had to force him to take the medicine. She suspected he behaved this way because the dreadful taste lingered in his mouth for days, something he despised.

During a stop in India, they had met a nun well-versed in Vipassana meditation. For two days, immersed in complete silence, she had guided Will to focus on his bodily sensations to better understand his pain. Since then, he regularly took time alone to meditate, for several minutes or even hours when the year dragged on. The Subtle Knife remained stil in its sheath, fastened on Will's hip.

On her end, Lyra had begun a lengthy correspondence with Alice Lonsdale. She recounted her travels, her discoveries, and spoke to her about Will. In return, the housekeeper would talk to her about Oxford, gave updates about people Lyra knew, inquire about that boy — Was he truly serious? Was SHE truly serious? Were they going to spend the rest of their lives on that ship? She implored Lyra to return, or at least come visit them. That's what they had done twice. Lyra had been thrilled during the first stay. She had been so eager to show Will Oxford, her Oxford: guiding him through the corridors of Jordan College, taking him to the rooftops to watch the sunset, through the alleyways and pubs she frequented, and introducing him to her friends there. During their first visit, Alice Lonsdale had embraced Lyra for long minutes, nearly shedding a tears or two at their reunion. Then, she had examined her from every angle, making comments about her appearance, her demeanor, and her (finally) well-kept hair. Afterward, she had turned her attention to Will, this boy (or rather, this man) for whom Lyra filled pages with her words. She had studied him meticulously, which had considerably intimidated the young man, before hugging him as well.

Will had an awkward first handshake with Malcolm Polstead. He couldn't quite grasp the source of this unease, especially since Lyra also appeared to be uncomfortable. However, the awkwardness quickly dissipated. Malcolm had shown keen interest in Will's work aboard the ship and his experiments with medicinal plants. During their second visit to Oxford, Will had brought a concoction to relieve Malcom of his migraine auras. The remedy proved highly effective, earning Will the scholar's utmost respect. Dame Hannah Relf, too, had welcomed Lyra's return with delight. She lent her a book about the symbols and meanings of the alethiometer to encourage her deciphering work, although she was perfectly aware of Lyra's prodigious abilities in that field. And of course, Will had met some of Lyra's friends, including the famous Dick Orchard. However, there was no room for any kind of masculine rivalry. On the one hand, neither of them was interested in that, and on the other hand, Will quickly understood that this Dick was kind-hearted and friendly, and why Lyra might have had a crush on him. Above all, he perceived that Lyra had never seemed as radiant as when they walked hand in hand through the streets of Oxford, while she recounted every stories concealed behind the city's old stones. So much so that upon their return to Bodø, he proposed to her:

"What about Oxford?"

She had embraced him tightly, delighted by his suggestion, even though the specific place they would choose to live didn't matter. They were at home everywhere, they would be at home anywhere. Home was wherever they were together.

They had returned to Berlin several times to visit Tomas and Louise. These visits were primarily friendly rather than dedicated to the Starling Network. In their own way, they contributed to the network's activities, meeting people, delivering messages and packages during their travels, all while maintaining utmost discretion, aware that their secret actions wouldn't sit well with Mette Rasmussen. They preferred to meet Tomas and Louise at their home, in that attic apartment, to further strengthen the friendship that had developed between them and to enjoy the vibrant city of Berlin. The evenings always ended the same way: empty plates after a simple and delicious meal prepared by Lyra or Tomas, glasses more or less full, and the two women engrossed in spirited discussions about politics or literature. Tomas tried to put an end to these conversations with humor, persisting despite Lyra and Louise's indifference, amidst Will's bursts of laughter. The cheerful group would then head to attend a concert in the Berlin underground, or take a stroll along the Spree canals, at dawn.

They had discovered their secret, the one about Will's world, in the midst of a conversation where the young man had inadvertently misspoke. It might have gone unnoticed if Will hadn't frozen, mortified by his own words, and if Lyra hadn't clapped her hand over her mouth. Naturally, Louise and Tomas, always curious, had been eager to know what they were hiding. Will had eventually confessed that he didn't come from their world. He trusted them, they knew about the prophecy and that he was the Bearer. They had never betrayed that trust. Of course, Louise and Tomas bombarded him with questions after this revelation — What's different? What's similar? How do people live without dæmons? What does Berlin in his world look like? A World War, you say? Their curiosity was insatiable yet always respectful. They had never tried to find the window that connected the two worlds.

Revealing this part of their lives had paved the way for greater freedom in discussions and actions. As such, Will had brought from his world a book on European painting from the 18th and 19th centuries, which he had given to Tomas. The latter had spent the evening flipping through the pages, enthusiastic and amazed. He pointed out the similarities and differences between the artists of his world and those in the book, discovering new masters and finding inspiration for future works.

Lyra and Will kept their promise to Mary. Every year, they crossed through the Northern window to spend the holiday season with her and her family, for three comforting, joyful, and light-hearted days. They brought gifts collected during their journeys: toys, clothes, books, trinkets. For three days, they shared their respective lives, exchanged news from both worlds, enjoyed those precious moments together. Nora was growing up, becoming a little girl who could listen and marvel at the stories Lyra told her—tales of armoured bears flying in balloons piloted by kind-hearted aëronauts. She was Lyra's best audience. Mary had received those scheduled emails from Will, which greatly amused her. However, she didn't declare them as missing. She managed Will's affairs to ensure he never faced any troubles. Mary was watching.

They always made a stop to the Måneskinn bar to greet Josephine and have a drink. She would notify Azad, and if he was in town, he would promptly drop whatever he was doing to join them. They never asked too many questions about Will and Lyra's activities, and when Azad became too insistent, Lyra always managed to come up with a story, a lie, that satisfied the bearded man.

Everything was in its rightful place, exactly as they wanted it to be.

Lyra rested her hands on the bed and gently stroked Pantalaimon's fur, who looked at her with a mixture of barely concealed curiosity and excitement.

"Can you feel it?" he asked.

She looked at him without saying anything. Words weren't necessary. He already knew the answer. A premonition was growing within her—a strange blend of fear and joy. She knew that her daemon felt it too, this imminent change settling in.

She sat up and took a moment to observe the room. They had cleverly organized this narrow bedroom. They had removed the bench to nail a second bed frame to the original one and had found a larger mattress. Will was delighted to finally be able to stretch out his long limbs across the bed. However, they always ended up falling asleep, clinging to each other and at the edge of the mattress, leaving as much space as possible for their dæmons, who fully took advantage of it. On the small dresser, mementos from their travels now accompanied the picture of Elaine Parry. Here, a lithograph from the High Brazil; there, a photogram of a temple in India; and once more, a map of the mountains of the Atlas State. And then, books—more books; books from this world, others that had been given or lent to them by Mary and Olivia. Lyra enjoyed exploring the literature of their world: Virginia Woolf, Bell Hooks, Emily Dickinson... She found them fascinating, inspiring. Amidst this cheerful clutter, the room seemed smaller than it actually was, but it was their space, their own.

Yet, despite all she had experienced and the wisdom she had gained, Lyra Silvertongue—the illegitimate daughter of Lord Asriel Belacqua and Marisa Coulter, the one who defied the Authority, who fought against the Tartars in the plains of Svalbard, the one who dared — Lyra Silvertongue was utterly anxious. She nervously nibbled on a nail and looked up at the open porthole. Of course, there was this premonition she and Pantalaimon felt, but there was something else. Deep down, she felt that there was something else. An intuition quite distinct from the one growing beneath her belly. The same one that had told her to trust Will when they first met, that had guided her to the Land of the Dead. She didn't quite welcome it, yet she had to acknowledge and accept it. It suggested that with Will, Lyra had something even greater to build. But this mixture of emotions and intuitions, was heavy to bear and analyze. So she chose to set it aside in her mind, focusing on what was happening there, right now, within her.

She stood up and cast a glance at her reflection in the mirror. Eventually, she had decided to cut her hair. Just below her jawline, not too short, but enough to tame its unruly nature. She grabbed Ma Costa's cardigan. Before putting it on, she scrutinized her silhouette, from the front and then from the side, and wrinkled her nose. Her gaze shifted to the mattress where the alethiometer gleamed. She picked it up, gazing at it for a moment with a small smile before stowing it away in a drawer. She slipped on her boots and gave one last look in the mirror, then at Pantalaimon. She took a deep breath.

They left the room and climbed onto the roof of the central building. The sun was shining high in the sky, its britghtness reflecting on the damp ground. Dazzled by this sudden radiance, Lyra squinted, shadowed her eyes with her hand, and leaned on the railing. On the deck below, Will was seated with Mette and two other sailors. They were sharing a card game while sipping herbal tea. The young man looked up at Lyra, and she gave him a small wave. He left his card-playing partners.

"Are we prepared for this?" Pantalaimon inquired.

Lyra shrugged. It was too late to ask that question. When he reached her, Will kissed her with a smile. She observed him for a moment, one eye closed against the sun's glare. He seemed well, even though their last trip to Mary's had been several months ago, and she didn't recall him needing to meditate recently or taking the molasses. A gentle and pleasant warmth spread through her, originating in her lower abdomen and coursing down her limbs.

"Did you rest well?" Will asked.

She nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off him.

"What?" he grew concerned, "Is there something on my face?"

She reached out and gently placed her hand on his cheek. He had decided to grow a beard. At first, she was a bit skeptical, but eventually, she liked it. He had also chosen to let his hair grow. They were now longer than hers, much to Mary's dismay. During the day, he tied them in a loose bun at the back of his head. She would have never imagined herself as someone who liked boys with long hair, but she had to admit that she did. She enjoyed running her fingers through those fine, well-kept curls. She loved untying them in the evening and feeling their touch on her bare skin when he kissed her body.

"You look well," she said.

Her voice blended with the wind. And the warmth continued to radiate within her, making her heart beat a little faster, a little stronger. Will furrowed his brow and placed his palm on her forehead, then against her neck, as if checking to ensure she wasn't ill. She gave a slight smile.

Will: earnest, attentive, loving, present — so present. Occasionnaly, she needed to pinch herself to be certain that all of this was real. She took his hands to look at them. Those hands with long and agile fingers. Those hands that brought comfort, care, and pleasure. Those large hands that she slid beneath her cardigan to place them against her lower abdomen, before diving her eyes into his. Will cast a inquisitive gaze upon her, uncertain of what he should understand.

"I guess you were right," she admitted in a soft voice.

"About...?"

"The gyptians' decoction isn't always effective."

Her voice was but a barely perceptible breath and betrayed her upheaval. Will's eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and his cheeks flushed. Kirjava let out a surprised little cry as Pantalaimon rushed to her.

"What?" Will stammered, "But, no, wait, we were cautious and... are you sure?"

"I asked the alethiometer, 'course," she said, nodding her head.

"But, I... I mean, we..."

An array of emotions glided and jostled across his face. He was panicking. And his agitation brought a tender laugh from Lyra.

They had spoken very little about the revelations from Serafina and the alethiometer. They hadn't dared, because talking about it would have made the situation even more real, and they had no idea if they were ready or not, or when they would be. They wanted to wait a little longer. Deep within them, impatience intertwined with fear, and the latter always prevailed. At least, until now. Because reality was there, right there, snuggled up to the warmth of Will's palms, nestled beneath Lyra's navel.

"It's okay," she said softly, "Everything's fine. You're allowed to be happy, you know?"

And so, his chest swelled with a strong and new emotion that swept away the confusion and hesitation, leaving only genuine joy. He burst into laughter, causing the seagulls perched on the railing to take flight, and the curious gazes of the sailors on the deck to look up. He hugged Lyra tightly, so tight that she nearly lost her breath.

"Will!" she chuckled, "I can't breathe!"

He released her with an apology. His hands framed Lyra's face, gently brushing aside the wind-tousled strands of hair. He leaned in and kissed her, laughing even heartily. It was a kiss filled with certainties and devoid of all apprehensions. Lyra allowed herself to be carried away by the euphoria radiating from him, laughing in turn. What could she fear as long as Will was there, with her?

"I love you," he whispered, "So very much."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her off the ground, and kissed her face over and over again, repeating those words tirelessly until they became intoxicating. Lyra didn't know what stirred her the most—whether it was the physical and emotional storm brewing within her, or the happiness carried by the man she loved.

She took him by the hand, pulling him inside the ship. Her soul was stomping with excitement in the face of all these changes and discoveries that lay ahead. But for now, all she desired was to feel their two skins against each other, Will's lips on her neck, and to let her fingers trace every dip and curve of his body. As the door to their room silently closed behind them, they did what they knew best. They loved each other even more fiercely, letting their joy to erupt, laughing at the fate that had tried to keep them apart.

The Havets Perle's hull danced upon the waves. The ship would soon dock in Bodø, mere days away. By then, they would need to reveal the new to the captain, who, despite her affection toward them, would make no exceptions. Their belongings would have to be gathered, and farewells bid to the ship and the crew that had been their home and family for two, soon to be three, years.

"Will?" Lyra whispered, her eyes closed.

"Hmm?"

"Are we ready for this?"

Will mused silently for a moment before pulling her a little closer. He planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Absolutely not," he replied sincerely. "I doubt anyone has ever been truly ready for this. But everything will be fine. About that, I have no doubt."

She nestled against his chest, inhaling in the scent of his skin, soaking up his warmth, and smiled gently. A upcoming adventure awaited them and they had a whole lifetime to embrace it. A whole lifetime.

Author's note: THANK YOU for reading until the end! I really hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to give me your feedback; it's always encouraging.

Of course, I still have ideas to contribute to this fandom, short stories mainly, especially Silverparry (that's my jam), and maybe even a sequel to this one (fertile imagination you know). I have plans for these two...

Anyway, thanks again for reading it :)