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Entry tags:
TDIR: Eden
Fandom: The Dark Is Rising
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Bran remembers -- briefly. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
20_est_relships.
"I remember, you know," Bran says, half-casually, when they're both awake and just laying in bed together. It almost makes Will choke because -- well, how can he remember? He can't mean -- but that's the only reason -- he takes a deep breath, tries not to stare, but Bran is laughing at his reaction and has caught his hand, holding it tight. "I remember everything. Craig yr Aderyn and the Lost Land and the tree..."
Will swallows back a wave of love and longing: he knows what he should do, knows, too, that Bran chose to forget. That Bran's life is transitory anyway, gone in an instant. For Bran to remember now only brings pain for both of them -- to Bran, because he cannot stay, and to Will, because he will soon be so alone.
"Don't take it away again," Bran says, forcing his chin up urgently so their eyes meet. "Don't."
"I have to," he says, although for a moment he's not quite sure why he has to, why it would be so bad to let Bran remember --
"I want to remember it all," Bran says, firmly, and the old edge enters his voice, one that's been missing for a long time: the edge in the voice of a prince, commanding his subjects. Will feels helpless to resist the command in it, but he knows, too, that he has to disobey, that Merriman would disobey. That Merriman probably has disobeyed Arthur, and more than once.
"I'm sorry," he tells Bran, and he kisses him once to taste the knowing, the forbidden knowing, like the fruit from the Garden of Eden. It's as bittersweet, and as tempting. "I can't let you remember. You chose to forget -- your life here -- "
"Maybe I'm meant to remember, to comfort you," Bran says, and his hand is touching Will's cheek, stroking his hair back, fingertips running across his jaw, down his neck. Familiar, so familiar, meant to comfort but only making Will feel sick with it -- with anticipation of being forgotten again, if not wholly, then enough that Bran can never truly know him again.
"There would have been some kind of sign, if you were," Will says, but still he hesitates. Then he pulls away, and Bran seems to feel his resolution: he lies back, suddenly unhappy, his mouth twisted.
"I don't want to forget."
"I'm sorry," Will says again, and closes his eyes as he spreads his fingers out, stiff-straight, and points them at Bran. His powers have always felt too big for him to hold, too crushing, and now it feels worse than ever. He lowers his hand and looks down at Bran, stirring as if just waking, and he could almost cry.
"Cariad," Bran says, half-sleepily, half-concerned, and he reaches his arms up to wind around Will's neck. Will lies down again, slowly, and presses his face against Bran's shoulder, and forbids the tears to fall.
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Bran remembers -- briefly. For
20_est_relships."I remember, you know," Bran says, half-casually, when they're both awake and just laying in bed together. It almost makes Will choke because -- well, how can he remember? He can't mean -- but that's the only reason -- he takes a deep breath, tries not to stare, but Bran is laughing at his reaction and has caught his hand, holding it tight. "I remember everything. Craig yr Aderyn and the Lost Land and the tree..."
Will swallows back a wave of love and longing: he knows what he should do, knows, too, that Bran chose to forget. That Bran's life is transitory anyway, gone in an instant. For Bran to remember now only brings pain for both of them -- to Bran, because he cannot stay, and to Will, because he will soon be so alone.
"Don't take it away again," Bran says, forcing his chin up urgently so their eyes meet. "Don't."
"I have to," he says, although for a moment he's not quite sure why he has to, why it would be so bad to let Bran remember --
"I want to remember it all," Bran says, firmly, and the old edge enters his voice, one that's been missing for a long time: the edge in the voice of a prince, commanding his subjects. Will feels helpless to resist the command in it, but he knows, too, that he has to disobey, that Merriman would disobey. That Merriman probably has disobeyed Arthur, and more than once.
"I'm sorry," he tells Bran, and he kisses him once to taste the knowing, the forbidden knowing, like the fruit from the Garden of Eden. It's as bittersweet, and as tempting. "I can't let you remember. You chose to forget -- your life here -- "
"Maybe I'm meant to remember, to comfort you," Bran says, and his hand is touching Will's cheek, stroking his hair back, fingertips running across his jaw, down his neck. Familiar, so familiar, meant to comfort but only making Will feel sick with it -- with anticipation of being forgotten again, if not wholly, then enough that Bran can never truly know him again.
"There would have been some kind of sign, if you were," Will says, but still he hesitates. Then he pulls away, and Bran seems to feel his resolution: he lies back, suddenly unhappy, his mouth twisted.
"I don't want to forget."
"I'm sorry," Will says again, and closes his eyes as he spreads his fingers out, stiff-straight, and points them at Bran. His powers have always felt too big for him to hold, too crushing, and now it feels worse than ever. He lowers his hand and looks down at Bran, stirring as if just waking, and he could almost cry.
"Cariad," Bran says, half-sleepily, half-concerned, and he reaches his arms up to wind around Will's neck. Will lies down again, slowly, and presses his face against Bran's shoulder, and forbids the tears to fall.