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Entry tags:
TDIR: The Last Bouquet
Fandom: The Dark Is Rising
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Rating: G
Summary: At the end of his days as the Watchman, Will sat, looking at two graves. For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
light_at_last fanworkathon.
One minute he was alone in the graveyard, and the next, suddenly, he was not. He knew the person was there, but, all the same, Will Stanton did not even flinch. Instead, he lifted a hand to trace the lichen covered letters of a name, on the grave he crouched beside. "Merriman," he said, without looking. The edges of his mouth curled up, just a little.
"Will," the newcomer said, neutrally.
"Is it time, then?"
"Yes." Merriman's dark eyes remained fixed on Will as he shifted to touch another of the graves, hesitatingly. "Time to come home."
"And if I say no?"
"Then there will never be another chance," Merriman said, gently. For the first time he moved, stepping over a small grave and sidestepping around a larger one. He stopped just behind Will, reaching out to touch his shoulder, very lightly. "There is much here for all of us, but we are no longer needed. And now even our Watchman is no longer needed."
"I have seen the people I love die, generation by generation. I have watched them grow old, from afar, because I am not one of them. That should make me want to leave, shouldn't it?"
"I don't know."
Will traced the letters on the second grave, biting his lip. "These are my parents' graves. I come here every week to put flowers here."
"There is much that might make you stay."
"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked, finally standing to look up at Merriman's face. He was still shorter than him, but not by so much, and a likeness in their faces that was once barely a shadow was more pronounced: Will's face was still young, but there are lines there, lines of pain, marks left by long, patient, fruitless waiting. In contrast, Merriman's face looked younger.
"Yes. You are one of us, after all, young Will."
Will smiled again -- this time, a little more than before. "I don't feel very young, anymore."
"I am sorry, for my part," Merriman said, surprising Will. His expression was carefully blank. "You have been so much alone."
Will's gaze dropped, and his brown hair fell into his face. Quietly, he said, "I'm ready to come home now."
Merriman nodded. Without saying anything more, he led Will from the courtyard. The last bouquet of flowers stirred a little in a sudden breeze, and then were still. And then there was nobody in the graveyard.
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Rating: G
Summary: At the end of his days as the Watchman, Will sat, looking at two graves. For the
light_at_last fanworkathon.One minute he was alone in the graveyard, and the next, suddenly, he was not. He knew the person was there, but, all the same, Will Stanton did not even flinch. Instead, he lifted a hand to trace the lichen covered letters of a name, on the grave he crouched beside. "Merriman," he said, without looking. The edges of his mouth curled up, just a little.
"Will," the newcomer said, neutrally.
"Is it time, then?"
"Yes." Merriman's dark eyes remained fixed on Will as he shifted to touch another of the graves, hesitatingly. "Time to come home."
"And if I say no?"
"Then there will never be another chance," Merriman said, gently. For the first time he moved, stepping over a small grave and sidestepping around a larger one. He stopped just behind Will, reaching out to touch his shoulder, very lightly. "There is much here for all of us, but we are no longer needed. And now even our Watchman is no longer needed."
"I have seen the people I love die, generation by generation. I have watched them grow old, from afar, because I am not one of them. That should make me want to leave, shouldn't it?"
"I don't know."
Will traced the letters on the second grave, biting his lip. "These are my parents' graves. I come here every week to put flowers here."
"There is much that might make you stay."
"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked, finally standing to look up at Merriman's face. He was still shorter than him, but not by so much, and a likeness in their faces that was once barely a shadow was more pronounced: Will's face was still young, but there are lines there, lines of pain, marks left by long, patient, fruitless waiting. In contrast, Merriman's face looked younger.
"Yes. You are one of us, after all, young Will."
Will smiled again -- this time, a little more than before. "I don't feel very young, anymore."
"I am sorry, for my part," Merriman said, surprising Will. His expression was carefully blank. "You have been so much alone."
Will's gaze dropped, and his brown hair fell into his face. Quietly, he said, "I'm ready to come home now."
Merriman nodded. Without saying anything more, he led Will from the courtyard. The last bouquet of flowers stirred a little in a sudden breeze, and then were still. And then there was nobody in the graveyard.