The aftermath of the sword
Will had been so good about not falling apart. Bran needed him, Bran was hurting and miserable, and so Will had been the strong one, the rock for Bran to lean on.
And then Maladicta had held out the sword, and Will had taken it. James' sword, the one that Will had seen at his side so many times, had seen him use in practise, if not in a real fight. It was all that was left of James, and looking at it, holding it, having it seemed to drive that point home more than anything else had. He was gone. Really and truly gone, Will would never see his smile, smell his clean skin, feel the scratch of his beard or the contrast of his soft mouth. He would never again seek comfort in those arms, hear his calm and patient counsel, or wake up next to him, safe and warm.
He makes it back to Bran's room (or really, he and Bran's room, at this point. It'd been weeks since Will had done more than check on his own little shelter), and this is when he falls apart, curling up on the bed with the sword clutched to his chest and sobbing, heartbroken and feeling as if the pain may just tear him apart.
Bran has been getting Abby settled, and the whisky carefully away from her, when Will hurries by, huddled and holding something against his chest. Something isn't right, that much is bloody obvious, and Bran hurries back to the room just in time to watch Will collapse onto what used to be Bran's bed. "Will, bachgen," he murmurs, sinking down next to him, resting a hand against his back.
Will shakes his head, unable to speak through his tears. He loosens his arms a bit and the sword slips down onto the bed. Will strokes a shaking hand down the scabbard, tears streaming down his face.
Bran does not have to ask what is wrong. He leans in close and gathers Will against him, his hair still damp, holding him close. "Ah, Will...."
"Oh...god," Will gasps, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm himself, to try to stop the ache in his chest, the ache around that huge gaping hole that the sword had revealed to him. "James..."
Bran doesn't have anything else to say; he just holds Will close, stroking his hair in what he hopes is a comforting gesture even though he knows there is no comfort to be offered.
It helps, a little. There really isn't much anyone can do just now, of course. Will knows that. He just wishes the pain wasn't so huge. "I...I knew he was...gone. It just..." He shrugs and turns, leaving the sword lying on the bed as he clutches at Bran, whimpering.
"I know," Bran whispers, pulling him close. And he does know. It's a little like the punch in the gut he feels walking past the piano, so oh yes, he knows. "It just brings it all home, doesn't it?"
Will nods miserably. "That's all that's left," he chokes out, voice breaking. "Oh god, I miss him, Bran!" The tears are getting worse again.
"I know," Bran murmurs again, because there's nothing else to say, really. "It's all right to miss him."
"Yeah...but it doesn't bring him back," Will says quietly, voice trembling--everything trembling, really.
"No," Bran confesses quietly. "It doesn't. I've tried." He rubs Will's back lightly, gently. "I know it doesn't help as much as it should, but you're not alone."
Will nods and buries his face against Bran's shoulder, clutching him tightly. "Thank you," he whispers, muffled.
Bran strokes the back of Will's head gently, wishing he could take it all away. "It'll get better," he promises softly.
Will nods slowly. "I know." He hugs Bran hard, grateful to him for being here, even if there's little he can do to ease Will's pain.
And Bran knows there isn't; he can barely manage his own some days. He hugs Will back tight. "Anything I can do, bachgen?"
"Not really. Just don't go anywhere," Will mumbles, biting his lip as his jaw starts to tremble.
"I won't," Bran promises, stroking his hair gently. "I won't leave you alone, Will."
Will nods, but every time someone else important to Will disappears, it gets harder to believe those words, really believe them.
It does, but you go on saying them, because there's nothing else you can do. It just brings the impermanence back, and makes you cling, or else afraid to touch anything at all in case it dissolves. Right now, they'll cling. "It'll be all right," Bran whispers. "It's you and me...even the island can't get in the way of that." He says it like he means it, so Will will believe him.
In a way, it's true. The Dark couldn't come between them, try as they might. Compared to that, what was one bloody-minded island? "Yeah. We'll get through this. Together."
"Of course we will," Bran promises, closing his eyes, resting his cheek against Will's hair. "It's all right, you know? It's going to hurt like hell, and just...go with it, as long as you need to."
Will doesn't want to hurt like hell--but he doesn't want to feel nothing, either. James was too important to him for that.
Bran holds him for a few moments longer, his eyes closed, listening to the rhythm of Will's pulse against him. "Want a drink? I've some of Abby's bottle left."
It's tempting, but after a few moments' thought, Will shakes his head. "I think I'd just like to...go to sleep," he replies quietly, reaching behind himself with a hand as if to reaffirm the sword hasn't disappeared like its owner did.
Bran nods, straightening a little. "Want me to stay with you, or...?" He understands wanting to sleep with a sword in your hand, after all.
Will pulls away slowly to curl around the sword again, and then nods. "If you don't mind..." Not just staying, but sharing the bed with the sword, that is.
"Not a bit," Bran promises. "Just let me grab the other pillow." He stands, briefly, fetching his pillow from the other bed and stretching out next to Will. "Not going anywhere. Promise."
Will curls up against him, cradling the sword and closing his eyes. "Me either," he promises quietly, shifting the sword to one arm so his other can search out Bran's hand and grip it tightly.
Bran squeezes Will's hand, closing his eyes, trying to relax. "Nos da," he whispers. He has a feeling it's going to be a long night.
"G'night," Will replies just as quietly, tired and yet too heartsore to sleep easily or well.
And then Maladicta had held out the sword, and Will had taken it. James' sword, the one that Will had seen at his side so many times, had seen him use in practise, if not in a real fight. It was all that was left of James, and looking at it, holding it, having it seemed to drive that point home more than anything else had. He was gone. Really and truly gone, Will would never see his smile, smell his clean skin, feel the scratch of his beard or the contrast of his soft mouth. He would never again seek comfort in those arms, hear his calm and patient counsel, or wake up next to him, safe and warm.
He makes it back to Bran's room (or really, he and Bran's room, at this point. It'd been weeks since Will had done more than check on his own little shelter), and this is when he falls apart, curling up on the bed with the sword clutched to his chest and sobbing, heartbroken and feeling as if the pain may just tear him apart.
Bran has been getting Abby settled, and the whisky carefully away from her, when Will hurries by, huddled and holding something against his chest. Something isn't right, that much is bloody obvious, and Bran hurries back to the room just in time to watch Will collapse onto what used to be Bran's bed. "Will, bachgen," he murmurs, sinking down next to him, resting a hand against his back.
Will shakes his head, unable to speak through his tears. He loosens his arms a bit and the sword slips down onto the bed. Will strokes a shaking hand down the scabbard, tears streaming down his face.
Bran does not have to ask what is wrong. He leans in close and gathers Will against him, his hair still damp, holding him close. "Ah, Will...."
"Oh...god," Will gasps, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm himself, to try to stop the ache in his chest, the ache around that huge gaping hole that the sword had revealed to him. "James..."
Bran doesn't have anything else to say; he just holds Will close, stroking his hair in what he hopes is a comforting gesture even though he knows there is no comfort to be offered.
It helps, a little. There really isn't much anyone can do just now, of course. Will knows that. He just wishes the pain wasn't so huge. "I...I knew he was...gone. It just..." He shrugs and turns, leaving the sword lying on the bed as he clutches at Bran, whimpering.
"I know," Bran whispers, pulling him close. And he does know. It's a little like the punch in the gut he feels walking past the piano, so oh yes, he knows. "It just brings it all home, doesn't it?"
Will nods miserably. "That's all that's left," he chokes out, voice breaking. "Oh god, I miss him, Bran!" The tears are getting worse again.
"I know," Bran murmurs again, because there's nothing else to say, really. "It's all right to miss him."
"Yeah...but it doesn't bring him back," Will says quietly, voice trembling--everything trembling, really.
"No," Bran confesses quietly. "It doesn't. I've tried." He rubs Will's back lightly, gently. "I know it doesn't help as much as it should, but you're not alone."
Will nods and buries his face against Bran's shoulder, clutching him tightly. "Thank you," he whispers, muffled.
Bran strokes the back of Will's head gently, wishing he could take it all away. "It'll get better," he promises softly.
Will nods slowly. "I know." He hugs Bran hard, grateful to him for being here, even if there's little he can do to ease Will's pain.
And Bran knows there isn't; he can barely manage his own some days. He hugs Will back tight. "Anything I can do, bachgen?"
"Not really. Just don't go anywhere," Will mumbles, biting his lip as his jaw starts to tremble.
"I won't," Bran promises, stroking his hair gently. "I won't leave you alone, Will."
Will nods, but every time someone else important to Will disappears, it gets harder to believe those words, really believe them.
It does, but you go on saying them, because there's nothing else you can do. It just brings the impermanence back, and makes you cling, or else afraid to touch anything at all in case it dissolves. Right now, they'll cling. "It'll be all right," Bran whispers. "It's you and me...even the island can't get in the way of that." He says it like he means it, so Will will believe him.
In a way, it's true. The Dark couldn't come between them, try as they might. Compared to that, what was one bloody-minded island? "Yeah. We'll get through this. Together."
"Of course we will," Bran promises, closing his eyes, resting his cheek against Will's hair. "It's all right, you know? It's going to hurt like hell, and just...go with it, as long as you need to."
Will doesn't want to hurt like hell--but he doesn't want to feel nothing, either. James was too important to him for that.
Bran holds him for a few moments longer, his eyes closed, listening to the rhythm of Will's pulse against him. "Want a drink? I've some of Abby's bottle left."
It's tempting, but after a few moments' thought, Will shakes his head. "I think I'd just like to...go to sleep," he replies quietly, reaching behind himself with a hand as if to reaffirm the sword hasn't disappeared like its owner did.
Bran nods, straightening a little. "Want me to stay with you, or...?" He understands wanting to sleep with a sword in your hand, after all.
Will pulls away slowly to curl around the sword again, and then nods. "If you don't mind..." Not just staying, but sharing the bed with the sword, that is.
"Not a bit," Bran promises. "Just let me grab the other pillow." He stands, briefly, fetching his pillow from the other bed and stretching out next to Will. "Not going anywhere. Promise."
Will curls up against him, cradling the sword and closing his eyes. "Me either," he promises quietly, shifting the sword to one arm so his other can search out Bran's hand and grip it tightly.
Bran squeezes Will's hand, closing his eyes, trying to relax. "Nos da," he whispers. He has a feeling it's going to be a long night.
"G'night," Will replies just as quietly, tired and yet too heartsore to sleep easily or well.