TDIR: Reckoning
Fandom: The Dark is Rising
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Bran had something important to tell his father. For notagain_again.
"Tea's ready, Da."
Owen looked up when Bran spoke, surprised to see him standing there with two cups of tea in his hand. He smiled, briefly, and Bran smiled back, like a brief moment of sun on a grey, grey day. The lad set one cup before him, on a saucer and with a spoon, exactly as he always did. But instead of retiring to his own chair to drink his tea slowly, savouring it, he put his own cup down safely and put his hands behind his back like a child about to recite a poem.
"Bran?" he asked, puzzled.
Bran took a deep breath. "Da, I've something to tell you."
Owen felt, suddenly, something heavy at the pit of his stomach. Clearing his throat, he nodded. "Yes? Is it some trouble at school? Something you need?"
Bran shook his head, almost impatiently. "No, I..." he trailed off, and then took another deep breath, as if steeling himself for some terrible ordeal. Owen felt a sudden stab of affection for him as he stood there; his head was held high like it was when the boys from school saw him and called him names, down in Tywyn, and like when he stood up to Caradog Prichard, scornful and arrogant.
"Bran," he said, gently, "you can tell me."
"I don't know if I can. I... I wanted to tell you that..." Bran's eyes were suddenly far away: looking, perhaps, into the past. A sudden wistful smile curved his lips and he looked down at Owen, suddenly blurting it out. "Da, I love Will."
For a moment, Owen felt nothing -- thought nothing. And then he noticed a haunted look in Bran's eyes that caught him somewhere beneath the ribs, so that it hurt, and he stood up and wrapped his arms around Bran and held him close, held him tight, and wondered why he'd only ever done that once or twice before since Bran was a child. Hesitantly, Bran reached up and wrapped his arms around Owen in return.
"I'm sorry," Owen said, after a moment.
"Sorry?" Bran asked, suddenly confused. Owen pulled away, suddenly feeling awkward.
"You thought I was going to be angry."
Bran relaxed, just a little, tension easing out of his shoulders slowly. "You're not?"
"No," he said, firmly, "I'm not. It doesn't matter."
"But the Bible -- "
"You're a good person, Bran," Owen said, quickly, wondering whether he was wrong, wondering whether he should be shouting, threatening -- but this was Bran, and surely... "That's all I need to know. That's all anyone needs to know. In the end -- that's all that will matter."
"Do you believe that, Da?" Bran asked, very quietly. His eyes were downcast. "It doesn't feel wrong, but..."
He took a moment to think about it, to make sure he believed it, and then nodded. "I believe that."
There was a long, awkward moment, then, but after Bran looked up, and suddenly his eyes were happy -- happier, perhaps, than Owen had ever seen them. "Your tea is getting cold," he said, lightly, and Owen stepped away, sitting down again. Bran picked up his own tea, going to sit down in his usual chair. Owen watched the tension drain out of him, watched him finding his place again, and felt the stab of affection again.
"Thank you," he said, all of a sudden.
"For what?"
Owen shrugged, suddenly busying himself with his tea. "Telling me."
He missed the smile on Bran's face then -- incredulous and happy. But he knew it was there, all the same.
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Bran had something important to tell his father. For notagain_again.
"Tea's ready, Da."
Owen looked up when Bran spoke, surprised to see him standing there with two cups of tea in his hand. He smiled, briefly, and Bran smiled back, like a brief moment of sun on a grey, grey day. The lad set one cup before him, on a saucer and with a spoon, exactly as he always did. But instead of retiring to his own chair to drink his tea slowly, savouring it, he put his own cup down safely and put his hands behind his back like a child about to recite a poem.
"Bran?" he asked, puzzled.
Bran took a deep breath. "Da, I've something to tell you."
Owen felt, suddenly, something heavy at the pit of his stomach. Clearing his throat, he nodded. "Yes? Is it some trouble at school? Something you need?"
Bran shook his head, almost impatiently. "No, I..." he trailed off, and then took another deep breath, as if steeling himself for some terrible ordeal. Owen felt a sudden stab of affection for him as he stood there; his head was held high like it was when the boys from school saw him and called him names, down in Tywyn, and like when he stood up to Caradog Prichard, scornful and arrogant.
"Bran," he said, gently, "you can tell me."
"I don't know if I can. I... I wanted to tell you that..." Bran's eyes were suddenly far away: looking, perhaps, into the past. A sudden wistful smile curved his lips and he looked down at Owen, suddenly blurting it out. "Da, I love Will."
For a moment, Owen felt nothing -- thought nothing. And then he noticed a haunted look in Bran's eyes that caught him somewhere beneath the ribs, so that it hurt, and he stood up and wrapped his arms around Bran and held him close, held him tight, and wondered why he'd only ever done that once or twice before since Bran was a child. Hesitantly, Bran reached up and wrapped his arms around Owen in return.
"I'm sorry," Owen said, after a moment.
"Sorry?" Bran asked, suddenly confused. Owen pulled away, suddenly feeling awkward.
"You thought I was going to be angry."
Bran relaxed, just a little, tension easing out of his shoulders slowly. "You're not?"
"No," he said, firmly, "I'm not. It doesn't matter."
"But the Bible -- "
"You're a good person, Bran," Owen said, quickly, wondering whether he was wrong, wondering whether he should be shouting, threatening -- but this was Bran, and surely... "That's all I need to know. That's all anyone needs to know. In the end -- that's all that will matter."
"Do you believe that, Da?" Bran asked, very quietly. His eyes were downcast. "It doesn't feel wrong, but..."
He took a moment to think about it, to make sure he believed it, and then nodded. "I believe that."
There was a long, awkward moment, then, but after Bran looked up, and suddenly his eyes were happy -- happier, perhaps, than Owen had ever seen them. "Your tea is getting cold," he said, lightly, and Owen stepped away, sitting down again. Bran picked up his own tea, going to sit down in his usual chair. Owen watched the tension drain out of him, watched him finding his place again, and felt the stab of affection again.
"Thank you," he said, all of a sudden.
"For what?"
Owen shrugged, suddenly busying himself with his tea. "Telling me."
He missed the smile on Bran's face then -- incredulous and happy. But he knew it was there, all the same.