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Entry tags:
TDIR: Brand
Fandom: The Dark Is Rising
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: Will POV, angst
Rating: PG13
Summary: King-like, Bran knew what to do. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lemon_advent.
He didn't ask any questions. Not that night, at least. It was enough for him -- at the time -- that I was home, even if I was late, and even the sharp edges of his irritation meant little. To the kitchen, first: he'd kept leftovers from the Christmas dinner warm for me, and there was wine, and he sat there and watched me eat, like he had to keep his eyes on me every single minute to make sure I stayed. From the kitchen to his room, to our room, to bed: no words offered, because none were needed. The next day, we both knew, would be for the questions I couldn't answer fully, for the arguments we were sure to have.
But for that night there was none of that, only comfort, only closeness -- like a gift only he could give me. The hurt wasn't gone, the anger wasn't gone, but transformed into possession -- so that he claimed me back from the Light, set boundaries around us as if he said this is mine, this is ours: this is time is just for us. As if the world listened, and left us while he brought me back, reminded me what it was to be human, reminded me of that part of my life I'd left behind for a time -- and it was like he knew it'd stay with me, every touch, every bite, every sharp edge of pain and twist of pleasure, claiming a part of me for him for the rest of my existence, as surely as if he'd branded me.
It's the thing I miss most about him, now. That there's no one waiting to feed me and take me to bed and make me a part of the world again. He wasn't patient or warm or willing to be kept in the dark, and yet he could set it all aside to make me real again. King-like, he knew how to do what had to be done. I don't think there'll ever be another like him in the world.
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: Will POV, angst
Rating: PG13
Summary: King-like, Bran knew what to do. For
lemon_advent.He didn't ask any questions. Not that night, at least. It was enough for him -- at the time -- that I was home, even if I was late, and even the sharp edges of his irritation meant little. To the kitchen, first: he'd kept leftovers from the Christmas dinner warm for me, and there was wine, and he sat there and watched me eat, like he had to keep his eyes on me every single minute to make sure I stayed. From the kitchen to his room, to our room, to bed: no words offered, because none were needed. The next day, we both knew, would be for the questions I couldn't answer fully, for the arguments we were sure to have.
But for that night there was none of that, only comfort, only closeness -- like a gift only he could give me. The hurt wasn't gone, the anger wasn't gone, but transformed into possession -- so that he claimed me back from the Light, set boundaries around us as if he said this is mine, this is ours: this is time is just for us. As if the world listened, and left us while he brought me back, reminded me what it was to be human, reminded me of that part of my life I'd left behind for a time -- and it was like he knew it'd stay with me, every touch, every bite, every sharp edge of pain and twist of pleasure, claiming a part of me for him for the rest of my existence, as surely as if he'd branded me.
It's the thing I miss most about him, now. That there's no one waiting to feed me and take me to bed and make me a part of the world again. He wasn't patient or warm or willing to be kept in the dark, and yet he could set it all aside to make me real again. King-like, he knew how to do what had to be done. I don't think there'll ever be another like him in the world.