Non-challenge - The Old Ways
Title: The Old Ways
Characters/Pairing: Will, Bran
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst
Summary: The perfect evening was wasted on one Will Stanton.
Notes: Inspired/influenced by The Old Ways by Loreena McKennitt.
Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go
Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so
Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time
And I wondered why.
-Loreena McKennitt, "The Old Ways"
The fire was warm on Bran's face, and maybe the drink had something to do with his general feeling of well being. It was one of those perfect clear nights that probably comes once a hundred years and it was apparently quite wasted on one Will Stanton. "You've been here an hour and you haven't smiled once, boyo," Bran said, finally, elbowing him gently. "Something on your mind?"
Will shrugged. "Nothing much," he said, but his voice was quiet and pensive and his eyes were far away. He looked up at Bran, pausing for a long moment as if he was seeing him for the first time, and then got to his feet. "Let's go for a walk." Pause again, and then a smile. "You're not too drunk for that, right?"
"I'll have you know, Sais bach, that my tolerance for alcohol is legendary."
Will laughed, the gloomy look lifting for a moment, and helped Bran up. "We'll see. Try walking in a straight line."
"I could walk these hills blindfold without tripping over a stray stone, you."
"I'm just worried about when you're drunk, not blindfold." Will rolled his eyes, but there was something empty behind the teasing, behind the words. They made their way up the hillside. "Do you remember when we were last here?"
"When we were last here...?" Bran frowned in thought, pale eyebrows drawing together. "With the Drews, right?"
"Right."
"Do you even see them anymore?"
"A little. I won't, anymore." Will kept walking, up to the top of the hill. Behind them, the fire leapt and glimmered and other people laughed and drank and chattered. Bran followed Will, suddenly feeling both more sober and more worried.
"What are you saying?" He tried to joke. "Don't you know you're supposed to sit me down with a cup of tea before you break bad news to me?"
"I'm sorry," Will said, his voice still quiet in a way that made Bran feel uncomfortable; his tone set off warning bells somewhere in the back of his mind. "So you remember this place. Do you remember what happened here?"
"Nothing important..."
"This was the place where we were left, after the Light defeated the Dark and your great father sailed away." Will didn't look at Bran at all, but into the distance, with the same far away look as he'd had as he stared into the flickering fire. "This was the place where Merriman left us, and where your memories were taken away." He turned suddenly, looking at Bran with bright, hurt, intense eyes. "Don't you remember any of it?"
"Will..."
"Of course not." He turned away again, walking quickly over the hill. "There's no place for me in your life, with all this. I'm going to leave. Erase my tracks. I won't even leave you with dreams, now. You won't know you ever knew me."
Bran felt sick, suddenly frightened that somehow Will meant it. "What are you talking about?"
"Goodbye, Bran," Will said, and his eyes were so sad that it made Bran's breath catch; somehow, looking at him, listening to the way he was talking, Bran couldn't find the words to call him mad, couldn't believe that he was telling anything but the truth. "I know you don't know the full extent of it, but you've been -- the best friend I could ever have had."
"Why do you have to go?" he asked, his voice suddenly higher, as remote as Will's voice had been. He didn't know why he said that and not -- well, a plea for Will to stay. Though -- there seemed no point in it. Bran knew from looking at him that nothing would make him stay.
"I told you. I've no place here. The old ways are gone."
"Will -- "
"Da boch chi, Bran," Will said, and Bran had no time to wonder about the Welsh, no time to think anything, before Will raised one hand, fingers pointed at Bran, stiff-straight and spread. He waited until the vacant look took Bran's face, and then slowly retreated, into the shadows, so that he couldn't be seen. And then he lowered his hand. Bran's head lifted, but all he did was look up at the sky.
"What're you doing up there, Bran?" someone called, from the direction of the bonfire. Bran turned to look, and didn't see the dark shape there still watching him.
"Stargazing, that's all. I'm coming back down now."
"I'm surprised you're still standing, you've been drinking enough for two. How much of that foul stuff did you have?"
"It isn't foul."
The sound of voices drifted away as Bran ran down to join the people around the fire again. Will bowed his head for a moment, and then turned away, walking away from that hill unseen: alone, once more and forever after.
Characters/Pairing: Will, Bran
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst
Summary: The perfect evening was wasted on one Will Stanton.
Notes: Inspired/influenced by The Old Ways by Loreena McKennitt.
Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go
Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so
Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time
And I wondered why.
-Loreena McKennitt, "The Old Ways"
The fire was warm on Bran's face, and maybe the drink had something to do with his general feeling of well being. It was one of those perfect clear nights that probably comes once a hundred years and it was apparently quite wasted on one Will Stanton. "You've been here an hour and you haven't smiled once, boyo," Bran said, finally, elbowing him gently. "Something on your mind?"
Will shrugged. "Nothing much," he said, but his voice was quiet and pensive and his eyes were far away. He looked up at Bran, pausing for a long moment as if he was seeing him for the first time, and then got to his feet. "Let's go for a walk." Pause again, and then a smile. "You're not too drunk for that, right?"
"I'll have you know, Sais bach, that my tolerance for alcohol is legendary."
Will laughed, the gloomy look lifting for a moment, and helped Bran up. "We'll see. Try walking in a straight line."
"I could walk these hills blindfold without tripping over a stray stone, you."
"I'm just worried about when you're drunk, not blindfold." Will rolled his eyes, but there was something empty behind the teasing, behind the words. They made their way up the hillside. "Do you remember when we were last here?"
"When we were last here...?" Bran frowned in thought, pale eyebrows drawing together. "With the Drews, right?"
"Right."
"Do you even see them anymore?"
"A little. I won't, anymore." Will kept walking, up to the top of the hill. Behind them, the fire leapt and glimmered and other people laughed and drank and chattered. Bran followed Will, suddenly feeling both more sober and more worried.
"What are you saying?" He tried to joke. "Don't you know you're supposed to sit me down with a cup of tea before you break bad news to me?"
"I'm sorry," Will said, his voice still quiet in a way that made Bran feel uncomfortable; his tone set off warning bells somewhere in the back of his mind. "So you remember this place. Do you remember what happened here?"
"Nothing important..."
"This was the place where we were left, after the Light defeated the Dark and your great father sailed away." Will didn't look at Bran at all, but into the distance, with the same far away look as he'd had as he stared into the flickering fire. "This was the place where Merriman left us, and where your memories were taken away." He turned suddenly, looking at Bran with bright, hurt, intense eyes. "Don't you remember any of it?"
"Will..."
"Of course not." He turned away again, walking quickly over the hill. "There's no place for me in your life, with all this. I'm going to leave. Erase my tracks. I won't even leave you with dreams, now. You won't know you ever knew me."
Bran felt sick, suddenly frightened that somehow Will meant it. "What are you talking about?"
"Goodbye, Bran," Will said, and his eyes were so sad that it made Bran's breath catch; somehow, looking at him, listening to the way he was talking, Bran couldn't find the words to call him mad, couldn't believe that he was telling anything but the truth. "I know you don't know the full extent of it, but you've been -- the best friend I could ever have had."
"Why do you have to go?" he asked, his voice suddenly higher, as remote as Will's voice had been. He didn't know why he said that and not -- well, a plea for Will to stay. Though -- there seemed no point in it. Bran knew from looking at him that nothing would make him stay.
"I told you. I've no place here. The old ways are gone."
"Will -- "
"Da boch chi, Bran," Will said, and Bran had no time to wonder about the Welsh, no time to think anything, before Will raised one hand, fingers pointed at Bran, stiff-straight and spread. He waited until the vacant look took Bran's face, and then slowly retreated, into the shadows, so that he couldn't be seen. And then he lowered his hand. Bran's head lifted, but all he did was look up at the sky.
"What're you doing up there, Bran?" someone called, from the direction of the bonfire. Bran turned to look, and didn't see the dark shape there still watching him.
"Stargazing, that's all. I'm coming back down now."
"I'm surprised you're still standing, you've been drinking enough for two. How much of that foul stuff did you have?"
"It isn't foul."
The sound of voices drifted away as Bran ran down to join the people around the fire again. Will bowed his head for a moment, and then turned away, walking away from that hill unseen: alone, once more and forever after.