Bandom ficlet: Come Morning
I was sorting out my masterlist and realised I never posted this one to my journal.
Characters: Brendon/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 800
Summary: Ryan knows he waited too long.
A/N: Written for ivesia19's prompt over at the Bandom Kissing Meme. Not very subtly inspired by Merlin. :)
The knock on the door is hard and urgent, and Ryan leaps to open it. Brendon enters quickly and quietly, turning to shut the door again as soon as he is inside. The tell-tale blue cloak of his station is off, and instead he wears a dark brown mantle over his armour. Still, even the heavy material can't hide the shape of his sword, buckled at his hip.
“So?” Ryan says, even though he already has the answer in Brendon's coming here, his mouth a thin line and his eyebrows furrowed in worry.
“The king made his decision,” Brendon says, turning his head to take in every nook of Ryan's tiny cottage, as if one of his fellow guards might be hiding under the bed. “Come morning, every witch in the city is going to be rounded up.”
Ryan nods, trying to swallow down the sour taste in his mouth. He knew this was coming, but he still lingered. Stupidly, he knows. The smarter witches all left while they still could-before the compulsory registrations and bans on travelling, on leaving the city. But Ryan was confident and in love and stupid, stupid, stupid.
“What's going to happen?” he asks, and his throat tightens still further at the way Brendon's expression solidifies. “Tell me.”
Brendon shakes his head, then clears his throat. “Water and fire,” he says-croaks. “Drowning, and for those that survive, the pyres.”
Ryan reels. It won't just be the witches, he realises-god knows there are precious few of them left. No, it will also be healers like Nana Goodbody, and loremen like Father Dahlof and One-leg Halter. People with no magical ability whatsoever, but a disconcerting amount of knowledge and a way of making people uncomfortable.
He vaguely realises that Brendon has him by the shoulders, squeezing hard enough to hurt. “Ryan. Ryan. You've got to get out of here.”
Ryan almost laughs, except for how he doesn't think he can remember how to. “How?” he says. “I'm one of the real witches left in the city. You think they'll let me walk out of the front gates now?”
“I have a horse,” Brendon says, talking over him. “I bought her in Tulach four moons ago. Have been having her stabled in Sibhean.”
Ryan frowns. Four moons ago was before the trouble really started.
“Thought things might be going to the bad,” Brendon says, and for the first time there's a hint of a smile on his face. “I know you said I was being over-excitable, but I thought it was best to be on the safe side.” He starts pacing, hands waving in the air, drawing up flight plans. “Victoria guards the Eastern shadow door, you can get out there. I took the mare from Sibhean earlier today. She's in the clearing.”
At that, Ryan can't help but smile as well. There will never be more than one clearing-the clearing-to the both of them. Then he hears and understands the full extent of what Brendon is saying.
“You?” he asks. “Aren't you coming with me?”
Brendon stops his pacing, bites his lip. “I can't,” he says. “Not yet. I'll come find you as soon as I can, but-I can't.”
He looks pleadingly at Ryan, who nods. A witch running off the very night the king signs the death warrant for all of his kind is suspicious enough without one of the city guard going missing as well. And he realises what it means, what Brendon is risking, just to get him into safety.
“Brendon-” he tries, but Brendon silences him with a wave of his hand.
“Not now,” he says. “It's worth it. You're worth it. Just-I'll join you as soon as I can. Head for Baile; ask for Jonathan Walker at the inn, The Cat and Clover. He's an old friend.”
There's a noise in the street outside, and Brendon looks around wildly, pulling Ryan towards him and flattening them both against the wall. It's just some townfolk on their way home from the tavern, however, and they both relax as the revellers pass the door and continue down the street.
“You need to go,” Brendon says, his voice lowered, as soon as the scare has passed. “Before-I need to go, too. They'll miss me soon.”
He makes as if to leave, and Ryan grabs his mantle quickly.
“Promise,” he says. “Promise you'll come find me.”
Brendon stares at him for a moment, and then his face is softening-and there is the Brendon of all those golden afternoons, the one who traded off guard duty to lie, laughing stupidly, with Ryan on the soft grass of their clearing, both of them curling into one another and touching, pressing, trying to get as close to each other as possible. He reaches for Ryan's face, and Ryan fists his hands in Brendon's hair, and then they're kissing, hot and desperate.
“I promise,” Brendon keeps mumbling. “I promise, I promise, I promise.”
And Ryan closes his eyes knowing that while yes, every second here is a second he could be getting away from the city, every second also means it could be the last time with Brendon.
He wants to make it count.
The End
Characters: Brendon/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 800
Summary: Ryan knows he waited too long.
A/N: Written for ivesia19's prompt over at the Bandom Kissing Meme. Not very subtly inspired by Merlin. :)
The knock on the door is hard and urgent, and Ryan leaps to open it. Brendon enters quickly and quietly, turning to shut the door again as soon as he is inside. The tell-tale blue cloak of his station is off, and instead he wears a dark brown mantle over his armour. Still, even the heavy material can't hide the shape of his sword, buckled at his hip.
“So?” Ryan says, even though he already has the answer in Brendon's coming here, his mouth a thin line and his eyebrows furrowed in worry.
“The king made his decision,” Brendon says, turning his head to take in every nook of Ryan's tiny cottage, as if one of his fellow guards might be hiding under the bed. “Come morning, every witch in the city is going to be rounded up.”
Ryan nods, trying to swallow down the sour taste in his mouth. He knew this was coming, but he still lingered. Stupidly, he knows. The smarter witches all left while they still could-before the compulsory registrations and bans on travelling, on leaving the city. But Ryan was confident and in love and stupid, stupid, stupid.
“What's going to happen?” he asks, and his throat tightens still further at the way Brendon's expression solidifies. “Tell me.”
Brendon shakes his head, then clears his throat. “Water and fire,” he says-croaks. “Drowning, and for those that survive, the pyres.”
Ryan reels. It won't just be the witches, he realises-god knows there are precious few of them left. No, it will also be healers like Nana Goodbody, and loremen like Father Dahlof and One-leg Halter. People with no magical ability whatsoever, but a disconcerting amount of knowledge and a way of making people uncomfortable.
He vaguely realises that Brendon has him by the shoulders, squeezing hard enough to hurt. “Ryan. Ryan. You've got to get out of here.”
Ryan almost laughs, except for how he doesn't think he can remember how to. “How?” he says. “I'm one of the real witches left in the city. You think they'll let me walk out of the front gates now?”
“I have a horse,” Brendon says, talking over him. “I bought her in Tulach four moons ago. Have been having her stabled in Sibhean.”
Ryan frowns. Four moons ago was before the trouble really started.
“Thought things might be going to the bad,” Brendon says, and for the first time there's a hint of a smile on his face. “I know you said I was being over-excitable, but I thought it was best to be on the safe side.” He starts pacing, hands waving in the air, drawing up flight plans. “Victoria guards the Eastern shadow door, you can get out there. I took the mare from Sibhean earlier today. She's in the clearing.”
At that, Ryan can't help but smile as well. There will never be more than one clearing-the clearing-to the both of them. Then he hears and understands the full extent of what Brendon is saying.
“You?” he asks. “Aren't you coming with me?”
Brendon stops his pacing, bites his lip. “I can't,” he says. “Not yet. I'll come find you as soon as I can, but-I can't.”
He looks pleadingly at Ryan, who nods. A witch running off the very night the king signs the death warrant for all of his kind is suspicious enough without one of the city guard going missing as well. And he realises what it means, what Brendon is risking, just to get him into safety.
“Brendon-” he tries, but Brendon silences him with a wave of his hand.
“Not now,” he says. “It's worth it. You're worth it. Just-I'll join you as soon as I can. Head for Baile; ask for Jonathan Walker at the inn, The Cat and Clover. He's an old friend.”
There's a noise in the street outside, and Brendon looks around wildly, pulling Ryan towards him and flattening them both against the wall. It's just some townfolk on their way home from the tavern, however, and they both relax as the revellers pass the door and continue down the street.
“You need to go,” Brendon says, his voice lowered, as soon as the scare has passed. “Before-I need to go, too. They'll miss me soon.”
He makes as if to leave, and Ryan grabs his mantle quickly.
“Promise,” he says. “Promise you'll come find me.”
Brendon stares at him for a moment, and then his face is softening-and there is the Brendon of all those golden afternoons, the one who traded off guard duty to lie, laughing stupidly, with Ryan on the soft grass of their clearing, both of them curling into one another and touching, pressing, trying to get as close to each other as possible. He reaches for Ryan's face, and Ryan fists his hands in Brendon's hair, and then they're kissing, hot and desperate.
“I promise,” Brendon keeps mumbling. “I promise, I promise, I promise.”
And Ryan closes his eyes knowing that while yes, every second here is a second he could be getting away from the city, every second also means it could be the last time with Brendon.
He wants to make it count.
The End