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TDIR: Five Times Will Imagines Returning Bran's Memories And One Time He Actually Tries
Fandom: The Dark Is Rising
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Will's hopes and dreams. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
candywrapper, despite bending the request until it broke.
The idea comes to him in a dream, first. The thought that he could set things right himself, fix things up so that what was wiped away forever is recovered, rescued. The bonds of love, after all, are stronger than anything -- and he and Bran have their own strong bond, friendship and respect and god knows what else. It's a straw to clutch at, he has to admit, but in his dream Bran looks so beautiful and bewildered and happy all at once that he woke with an almost physical pain in his chest, remembering that Bran doesn't remember, that those tawny-golden eyes will not look on him with all that knowing behind them.
The seeds planted: the idea takes root and becomes obsession, winding through his life. He knows that he's clutching at this idea so that he doesn't realise how alone he is -- and doesn't mind.
They are in Wales, just together, and one of the milgwn stands in their path. Masterless, devoid of its uncanny intelligence, and still radiating malevolence. Bran isn't frightened, not quite, but his hands clutch Will's arm tightly. He knows that this isn't right. And Will closes his eyes and summons up all his power, and the milgwn and Bran both stagger back -- the former vanishes, and the other looks up at him in wonder.
Or they're in Buckinghamshire, both sat on Will's bed, and Bran speaks of strange dreams, and Will's breathe is caught in his throat and something is drawn tight in his stomach. And Bran looks at him, eyes bright, and tells him to give him his birthright and stop hiding things from him. And in a daze, he does -- he does it for his lord as much as for his friend, his lord who is his friend.
Or Bran wakes from a dream and looks at him, and he's right there, and it doesn't really matter why because Bran connects dreams with reality and remembers almost all by himself. Will is just a catalyst. And everything is wonderful because Bran is the friend he needs for this, the friend to be always at his side throughout the years, his confidante and his sidekick.
To reality, now: Will finds it both easier and harder to deal with than his pleasant fictions. It's summer, in Wales, and Will has a holiday there. He's welcome with the Evanses and with Bran, so he divides his time between the two -- the days with Bran, the nights with his family. He does still allow himself the odd idle thought, allowing himself to adjust his fantasies to the fact that Bran is taller again, broader, and something strange and wild and lonely has left him, left him almost normal. Will imagines being in bed with him, tangled around him, punctuated by sweet kisses and then Bran's gasp and Bran holding him tight. That's the guiltiest thought of all, and Will sets it aside: an Old One should avoid such entanglements, and especially with someone like Bran. But the thought persists -- returning Bran's memories like that, softly and sweetly, binding them tight together.
And now they're laughing, chasing, running. It reminds Will of the time they did just that, their acquaintance still new but setting a pattern. Thinking of that time makes him half-sad now, and gives Bran an opening to tackle him, pushing him down into the grass and sitting on him, breathless. "Got you," Bran says, breathily, and grins at him. Will has to remind himself that this time -- this time, it's really happening.
"Got me," Will agrees, and oh, it's so true, in every way. And then he closes his eyes. He doesn't know if he's praying or working magic or just desperately, crazily hoping, but he's imagining it again: the way Bran's eyes will brighten with understanding; the old proud arrogance and the kingly lines to his body returning. All he can feel is the heavy warmth of the summer: the scent of the grass, of pollen, and of Bran -- the latter chiefly soap and grass and tea.
He opens his eyes, feeling as if he can't breathe.
Bran is still sitting across him, straddling him and pinning him down. His expression is puzzled, but still not any more knowing, no more understanding. He takes his hands off Will's wrists, frowning at him. "You alright, Will? You look kind of pale..."
Will isn't sure whether it's a relief or not, to finally know that there's no magical remembering, no miraculous return of the old connection. He shakes his head at Bran and lies back in the grass; relaxed beneath him, resigned. One cannot live on dreams, after all. "I'm alright."
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Will's hopes and dreams. For
candywrapper, despite bending the request until it broke.The idea comes to him in a dream, first. The thought that he could set things right himself, fix things up so that what was wiped away forever is recovered, rescued. The bonds of love, after all, are stronger than anything -- and he and Bran have their own strong bond, friendship and respect and god knows what else. It's a straw to clutch at, he has to admit, but in his dream Bran looks so beautiful and bewildered and happy all at once that he woke with an almost physical pain in his chest, remembering that Bran doesn't remember, that those tawny-golden eyes will not look on him with all that knowing behind them.
The seeds planted: the idea takes root and becomes obsession, winding through his life. He knows that he's clutching at this idea so that he doesn't realise how alone he is -- and doesn't mind.
They are in Wales, just together, and one of the milgwn stands in their path. Masterless, devoid of its uncanny intelligence, and still radiating malevolence. Bran isn't frightened, not quite, but his hands clutch Will's arm tightly. He knows that this isn't right. And Will closes his eyes and summons up all his power, and the milgwn and Bran both stagger back -- the former vanishes, and the other looks up at him in wonder.
Or they're in Buckinghamshire, both sat on Will's bed, and Bran speaks of strange dreams, and Will's breathe is caught in his throat and something is drawn tight in his stomach. And Bran looks at him, eyes bright, and tells him to give him his birthright and stop hiding things from him. And in a daze, he does -- he does it for his lord as much as for his friend, his lord who is his friend.
Or Bran wakes from a dream and looks at him, and he's right there, and it doesn't really matter why because Bran connects dreams with reality and remembers almost all by himself. Will is just a catalyst. And everything is wonderful because Bran is the friend he needs for this, the friend to be always at his side throughout the years, his confidante and his sidekick.
To reality, now: Will finds it both easier and harder to deal with than his pleasant fictions. It's summer, in Wales, and Will has a holiday there. He's welcome with the Evanses and with Bran, so he divides his time between the two -- the days with Bran, the nights with his family. He does still allow himself the odd idle thought, allowing himself to adjust his fantasies to the fact that Bran is taller again, broader, and something strange and wild and lonely has left him, left him almost normal. Will imagines being in bed with him, tangled around him, punctuated by sweet kisses and then Bran's gasp and Bran holding him tight. That's the guiltiest thought of all, and Will sets it aside: an Old One should avoid such entanglements, and especially with someone like Bran. But the thought persists -- returning Bran's memories like that, softly and sweetly, binding them tight together.
And now they're laughing, chasing, running. It reminds Will of the time they did just that, their acquaintance still new but setting a pattern. Thinking of that time makes him half-sad now, and gives Bran an opening to tackle him, pushing him down into the grass and sitting on him, breathless. "Got you," Bran says, breathily, and grins at him. Will has to remind himself that this time -- this time, it's really happening.
"Got me," Will agrees, and oh, it's so true, in every way. And then he closes his eyes. He doesn't know if he's praying or working magic or just desperately, crazily hoping, but he's imagining it again: the way Bran's eyes will brighten with understanding; the old proud arrogance and the kingly lines to his body returning. All he can feel is the heavy warmth of the summer: the scent of the grass, of pollen, and of Bran -- the latter chiefly soap and grass and tea.
He opens his eyes, feeling as if he can't breathe.
Bran is still sitting across him, straddling him and pinning him down. His expression is puzzled, but still not any more knowing, no more understanding. He takes his hands off Will's wrists, frowning at him. "You alright, Will? You look kind of pale..."
Will isn't sure whether it's a relief or not, to finally know that there's no magical remembering, no miraculous return of the old connection. He shakes his head at Bran and lies back in the grass; relaxed beneath him, resigned. One cannot live on dreams, after all. "I'm alright."
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