A.N..: Before any of you bother flaming me, there simply wasn't a way to keep this conversation from being melodramatic. I tried. Really, I did.
Anyway, my thanks to Sargent Snarky. She's been gone far above and beyond the call of duty as my beta, and I think she deserves sainthood for putting up with me. Also, the crack Stephen makes when Will first starts trying to explain is entirely hers. She'd made it in response to the chapter I'd sent, and I laughed so hard that I had to write it in.
Review and get a cookie!
Edited December 2007
CHAPTER EIGHT: Loving Bonds
Once, long ago, Will had learned what loneliness was. He'd stood on a hilltop in Wales, surrounded by loved ones with whom he would later barely acknowledge friendship, and listened with a sort of numb acceptance as Merriman had revealed the role Will was still destined to play. He'd looked into the blank faces of Bran and Jane and the others, known they'd understood only that he'd be staying behind with them and that their part in the war was over, and felt all the more lonely because they hadn't seen what was so painfully obvious to him.
Will wasn't only being asked—commanded—to stand guard, to watch for all those countless eons until the world finally ended. He wasn't only being asked to remain behind, the only one of his kind, or even the only one of any kind who remembered what had led to this. Far more than that, Will was being asked to sacrifice something precious and vital, to cast aside the only thing which might have staved off the isolation of the centuries.
Loving bonds, John and Bran had called them…and Will would slowly lose them, even turn away from them. It was the price demanded by masters far crueler than those of the Dark could ever be, but he'd known, even then, how necessary it was.
How necessary it still was.
His loved ones would age; he would not, and the dilemma was as simple and as complex as that. If he stayed, they'd know he wasn't human, and that would hurt them. It would shake their beliefs in themselves and in their world, take from them their human innocence. Did they deserve that, simply because their youngest was more than he should have been?
And if he left, made them forget that he'd ever been part of their lives? He could erase their memories of him, disappear completely…but even an Old One couldn't control what is in the human heart, and wiping their memories wouldn't be enough. They would still love him, even if they didn't know who he was, and some part of them would always miss him, ache for him. They didn't deserve that, either, and his way still seemed better. Cleaner.
Far kinder, he'd finally decided, that he begin to pull away from them now, distance himself from their lives until any love they'd had for him would be a pale thing, easily dismissed. Though this would only hurt him more, when the day finally came for him to disappear completely, they, at least, would feel very little pain at the separation.
Loving bonds.
Will Stanton could feel Stephen's eyes boring into the back of his skull as he led the older man from the room and down the stairs, could feel his brother's resentment and confusion, but Stephen's was not a fear words could ease. Explanations would prove inadequate, and while he would soon be forced to offer those explanations anyway, this was not quite the moment for it.
They passed their mother on the way out the door, and Will paused only long enough to offer a deceptively cheerful wave and false smile as they walked by. She started to call out to them, but Will pretended not to hear, and he wasn't certain that Stephen even had. The brothers slipped out the door, and it was a simple thing to drop the lie that had been Will's smile.
He took Stephen to the barn. He didn't know his brother quite as well as he once had, and he no longer knew if Stephen would go cold and silent with fury and fear, or if he'd begin to yell. Granted, Steve had taken the truth calmly once before, but how hard had he really been tested? All he'd had, in truth, were a handful of odd conversations with complete strangers and one more with a kid brother who claimed an impossible heritage…words, only. And what were words?
And maybe he'd reacted better than Will had expected, but Will had never been given a chance to know how much Stephen had actually believed. The moths had come, almost in the instant that Will had finished his tale, and Stephen had forgotten.
In any case, this situation was completely different, because now Stephen had been given more than words to inspire his fears, and far less time to rationalize away any of it. Will simply couldn't know how Steve would react, though it was the cold fear he dreaded most. He'd had enough of that in his lifetime, and he didn't want to find in his brother what had so often been inspired by the Dark.
Stephen followed Will without protest, without anything but that silent resentment, and it was Stephen who carefully shut the barn door behind them. Not a good sign, Will thought, staring back at his waiting brother with eyes far too tired for his years. "I suppose you'll be wanting an explanation, then."
His voice was too calm, if also weary, and Stephen stared at him for a long moment. Then…
"No, Will," he snapped back, the sarcasm in his voice heavy enough to drown out everything else, "I'm only staring at you with terror and confusion because it's fun—it's my favorite hobby." He snorted, but before Will could make any sort of reply, the fear had returned. "What's going on, Will? What was that thing? What are you?"
Will watched his brother, his expression now openly thoughtful and nothing more. No hysterics, no yelling. Should I be grateful? "It's…complicated. And you won't believe me."
Stephen's eyes had hardened at the matter-of-fact quality in his kid brother's voice. "Will…"
The younger Stanton held up one hand, cut off his brother's words. "Remember that I tried to warn you," he murmured softly, and it seemed so much a command to Stephen that the older Stanton couldn't say anything more. He only waited.
Will sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "First," he slowly began, "that thing is Herne the Hunter, a creature of the Wild Magic, and before you ask again, yes, I did know he could do that." He gave a faint half-smile that died a little too quickly, and then sobered once more. "He's not a danger to either of us, Stephen. I don't know if he's a friend, but he's...not an enemy, either. I can promise you that, at least."
Stephen's expression had been carefully blank until now, but Will had seen the quick flash of surprise when he'd mentioned the Huntsman's other name. "Herne…" He swallowed, frowned. "You're telling me that…that carnival head is Herne? Like the one from that silly legend?"
"No," Will answered easily enough, not at all surprised that an Englishman would recognize the name, "not likethe one from the legend, Steve. He is that Herne. Herne of the Wild Hunt, who leads the Hounds of Hell across the sky, once a year, on the Twelfth Night. He…helped me, once—or maybe I helped him—to drive away an enemy."
Silence for a moment. "Do you really expect me to believe any of this, Will?"
Will gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "You saw the Huntsman, Stephen," he answered evenly. "Spoke with him. Can you doubt me?"
Not even Stephen, as much as wished he could, was able to deny what he'd seen in Will's room. Still, he wasn't willing to give in so easily. "What enemy?" he asked instead. "You're just a kid—how could you have enemies?"
Will's eyes were still thoughtful, though now that thoughtfulness was almost to the point of calculation. He knew he should just erase Stephen's memories and be done with it, but…he wouldn't. Not yet. Not until he'd passed the test his brother had become. "It's a long story, Steve," he answered, hesitating only a little, "and it'll be easier on both of us if you hear it all before you start arguing with me." He waited for his brother to nod, took a deep breath and began his explanation for the second time.
"From the beginning, Stephen," he told his blank-faced brother, "there have been two…poles, forces, whatever you want to call them, that have fought for power over this world. The Dark wanted to rule, to take from men their agency and their freedom and control the world through them, and the Light sought to prevent that."
Silence again. Will couldn't tell if it meant disbelief or acceptance, though of course he could guess. Now comes the fun part. "I serve the Light," Will quietly confessed. "I'm an Old One, an immortal. A great circle of us has existed from the moment the world first began to be, and to us was given the task of driving back the Dark." He paused briefly, wondering again if Stephen could ever understand any of this. "I'm the youngest of the Old Ones, and the last to be born, though I didn't know what I was until the morning of my eleventh birthday. I came into the fullness of my powers a short time later, and since then, every waking moment has been given to what was essentially a war between good and evil."
That damned silence, still, though he knew his brother was memorizing every word.
Will shook his head, never taking his eyes from Stephen's. "It was…hard," Will continued quietly. "People got hurt. Lost everything. Died. And as bad as it was, it was worth it if it meant defeating the Dark." A shadow crossed his face at that, but he pushed the memories aside. "The Light did win, in the end, though it was a close thing. We drove away those of the Dark, imprisoned them beyond Time. Saved the world, as melodramatic as that sounds."
Another ghost of a smile crossed his lips, but it was obviously forced, and it didn't last. He pushed on. "It should have been over, then. We should have been able to go home, try to forget. Some of us did—the humans who'd fought alongside us, there at the end. A gift of the Light, that forgetting, for some things aren't meant to be remembered."
Will's eyes had darkened slightly throughout the narrative, though he'd tried to keep his voice as inflectionless as possible. This was so much easier the first time. "And some things can't be forgotten," he continued, still in that quiet, deadened voice. "The Light had defeated the Dark, and by that earned the right to rule over this world themselves. And this they refused, since doing so would have deprived men of their freedom just as surely as if they'd lost to the Dark. Instead, the Light chose to go beyond Time themselves, to a place of rest, leaving their youngest behind in case the Dark somehow found a way to Rise again."
Will fell silent, hesitated, suddenly stood a little taller. For just an instant, he allowed the full force of his power to shine in his handsome, stern face and equally stern grey eyes, and he pierced his mortal brother's gaze with his own. "I was that youngest," he reminded the older man, and though Stephen couldn't have recognized it, there was no longer anything human in Will's voice. "I'm the Watcher, the last of the Old Ones, left behind to stand guard for all eternity. I've spent the last six years watching, waiting, knowing the Dark could never escape their prison but jumping at shadows anyway." Something rueful entered his eyes, softened them, took some of the inhumanity from him. "And somehow," he muttered, "in spite of that, when a Lord of the Dark actually did return, I was caught completely unawares. Some Watcher I turned out to be."
He might have said more, but even this small admission of weakness was more than he ought to have given, and he quickly schooled his expression back into its customary mask. "You can say something now."
The words were more remote than he'd meant them to be, but as he gazed into his brother's face, any regret he might have felt was quickly lost. Stephen was staring back at him, and the frown now twisting his brother's lips sent something unpleasant sliding down Will's spine. So it's to be the cold, after all.
Stephen's silence had lasted through everything Will had said, but now that he was free to break it, he didn't seem to know what to say. The frown continued, deepened, and Will almost winced at what he could see in his brother's face. "Say something, Steve." His tone was more insistent than desperate, but it was enough to pull Stephen from his defensive stillness.
Stephen's gaze was flat and unfriendly. "I don't know what to say, Will," he muttered almost sullenly. "I don't know what to think, or what to believe. This…story you're telling me…it's crazy. Impossible. Insane."
"Yet true, all the same." Will's grey eyes held a muted pity. "I did try to warn you. Grant me that, at least."
That seemed to draw Stephen back to himself. "How can you be so casual about all of this?" He didn't give Will a chance to answer. "And even if I did believe you—I'm not saying that I do—then you've been lying to all of us all along, haven't you?" His laughter was short and bitter…and slightly wild, though Will couldn't blame him. "You ask me to trust you, but how can I? Have you ever been honest with me, Will?"
Will didn't frown, or shrug, or do anything so human, though the words weren't quite what he'd expected. He only gazed back at Stephen, his face carefully expressionless, the steadiness in his eyes that of a servant of the Light and not a brother. "It was necessary," he told the angry man before him, "and sometimes lies are kinder than the truth. I don't expect you to understand."
Stephen had gone still—again, not a reaction Will had expected. "And why is that, Will?"
Will's lips twisted in a smile far sadder than it should have been. "Because you're human." And I'm not. I can't let myself forget that.
Will sighed, knowing he was wasting time, needlessly torturing himself. He couldn't have said, any longer, what he'd been hoping this would prove, but whatever it had been, it was time for it to end. He looked into Stephen's eyes, and for just an instant, Will allowed himself to be a brother again. "I'm sorry, Stephen," he murmured as he lifted one hand, fingers splayed out towards his brother. "Next time, I'll try to keep my promise."
I won't let there bea next time.
He forced himself to meet Stephen's eyes as the power of an Old One echoed through him, and for that one brief second, he allowed his expression to reflect his sincere regret. Lies are kinder than the truth, he reminded himself. Loving bonds. He only needed to speak the word, and it would be done. "Forg—"
And before he could, the Old One froze, his spell unfinished as he sensed another one being cast, and not by him.
His entire body stiffened, his expression tensing with something Stephen wouldn't be able to identify.
The Dark. One of the Dark is here, in my home, in this barn.
His eyes hardened with cold fury, but his sudden awareness of the enemy's presence was followed by a second, and far more terrible, understanding.
Mary. And not Mary at all.
He spun on one heel, hard grey eyes seeking out the creature his sister had become. She was standing several feet away, her body half hidden in the shadows at the back of the barn. She stepped forward, though she hadn't even been there an instant before, and Will automatically moved to place himself between the one wearing Mary's face and the uncomprehending Stephen.
He didn't ask her how she'd come to be there, or what she wanted. He only glared at her, and waited.
Mary must have known that he was waiting for her to make the first move, because her lips suddenly curved in a dark, unpleasant smile. "Nothing to say, little brother? Perhaps you've run out of words—you've already said so much, after all." She glanced at Stephen. "And what did you think of Will's tale, Steve? Quite the imagination, hasn't he?" She laughed, catching the expression on their eldest brother's face.
Will did wince, then. The real Mary's laughter had never been so high-pitched, or so cruel, and her words were certainly not what his true sister might have offered. Even Stephen must have noticed the difference; he took a hesitant step forward, whispered their sister's name. Will glanced over his shoulder just in time to catch the uncertainty in Stephen's eyes, though he might not have said anything had Stephen not taken another step towards his siblings. His brother was now directly behind him, confusion roiling from him in palpable waves.
Will held up one hand, stopped his brother before Stephen could endanger himself further. "Don't, Steve," he softly commanded. "Don't go near her."
The fake Mary laughed again, and Will's jaw clenched at the mockery in the sound. "What's wrong, Will? Why shouldn't he come to me?" Her smile widened into a grin, and even that was twisted from what it should have been. "You hurt me, Will Stanton."
Stephen made a sound at Will's back—Mary would never call any of her brothers by their last name, and she certainly would never use that tone of voice even if she had—but Will didn't turn around again. He didn't dare take his eyes from this creature, or turn his back on her, though he wanted nothing more than to drag Stephen forcibly away. "Don't listen to her, Stephen," he said, voice soft and deadly as a dagger thrown in the dark. "That's not Mary."
He felt rather than saw Stephen's nod, and while that would have been enough to take Will aback, the words were worse. "I know," Stephen muttered, though he didn't ask what Mary really was, or what fate their sister had met. Perhaps he realized that they had bigger problems, and perhaps he simply didn't want the answer. Whatever the reason, he took a step back, left Mary to Will.
Will, however, knew better than to ask what Steve couldn't. The look in Mary's eyes was too familiar, for all that he hadn't seen it in six years.
My sister, the human part of himself was thinking, has been possessed by the Dark.