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Entry tags:
TDIR: Soothe
Fandom: The Dark Is Rising
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Rating: G
Summary: Owen hasn't had any peace and quiet. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
over_look.
It hasn't been quiet in his house for days.
The baby keeps crying. As if he knows how abandoned he was, how lost, but can only now put sounds to the feeling. It's a plaintive little cry, piercing and heartrending, and Owen always wanted to be a father but he never knew how it'd hurt and heal all at once to hold the little baby in his arms, to rock him, to calm him. He can't see anything of Gwen in the tiny face yet, and yet as he holds Bran in his arms, smoothing his wispy hair, soothing him, he can almost feel her there, beside him, looking down at her -- their -- son.
It hasn't been quiet in the house for days. Owen wonders if that isn't a good thing. There's no time to imagine a harp playing, no time to imagine a mother's lullaby. All he can do is pull himself together and quiet the baby, hold the baby, feed the baby, change the baby. If he does feel Gwen's presence, just beside him, he's got no time to waste on it.
"You're looking better, today," one of the women had said, quietly -- it could have been Mrs Evans, her soft voice full of concern. These days he barely pays attention to the rest of the world -- from seeking outward for the boy's mother, he pushes inward, to find a worthy father for him.
"We'll be alright, Bran," he says, to the baby, as he starts preparations for the first decent dinner he's made since Gwen disappeared. "We'll be fine."
The baby watches him, with his strange golden eyes, and doesn't make a sound.
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Rating: G
Summary: Owen hasn't had any peace and quiet. For
over_look.It hasn't been quiet in his house for days.
The baby keeps crying. As if he knows how abandoned he was, how lost, but can only now put sounds to the feeling. It's a plaintive little cry, piercing and heartrending, and Owen always wanted to be a father but he never knew how it'd hurt and heal all at once to hold the little baby in his arms, to rock him, to calm him. He can't see anything of Gwen in the tiny face yet, and yet as he holds Bran in his arms, smoothing his wispy hair, soothing him, he can almost feel her there, beside him, looking down at her -- their -- son.
It hasn't been quiet in the house for days. Owen wonders if that isn't a good thing. There's no time to imagine a harp playing, no time to imagine a mother's lullaby. All he can do is pull himself together and quiet the baby, hold the baby, feed the baby, change the baby. If he does feel Gwen's presence, just beside him, he's got no time to waste on it.
"You're looking better, today," one of the women had said, quietly -- it could have been Mrs Evans, her soft voice full of concern. These days he barely pays attention to the rest of the world -- from seeking outward for the boy's mother, he pushes inward, to find a worthy father for him.
"We'll be alright, Bran," he says, to the baby, as he starts preparations for the first decent dinner he's made since Gwen disappeared. "We'll be fine."
The baby watches him, with his strange golden eyes, and doesn't make a sound.