Midsummer's Country

by Ashura

archive: Arcadia (http://arcadia.envy.nu)

pairing:  eventual Bran/Will, but not for a while

warnings:  drama, and everything that goes with it.  sex, violence, mythology. ;)

disclaimer:  Bran, Will, various other characters and excerpts from Silver on the Tree all belong to Susan Cooper.  Characters and scenes from the Mabinogion and various Arthurian legends are free for anyone's using, and the order of the words of the story are mine.

soundtrack:  Derek Bell "The Magic Harp," Enya "The Celts"

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Prologue:  Pridwen

"The keen blue eyes flickered over Jane and Simon and Barney, standing silent and awed, and Arthur gave them a nod of greeting.  But his head turned again to Bran, as if by compulsion, back to the pale vulnerable figure standing there holding the sword Eirias, his white hair sleek in the mist and the tawny eyes creased a little against the light.

'And when all is done, my son.'  The voice was soft now.  'When all is done, will you sail with me in Pridwen, my ship?  Will you come with me to the silver-circled castle at the back of the North Wind, where there is peace beneath the stars, and the apple orchards grow?'

'Yes,' said Bran.  'Oh yes!'  His pale face was alight with joy and a kind of worship; Will thought, looking at him, that he had never seen him fully alive before."

--Silver on the Tree

The long ship hovered in the grey mists like a phantom.  Merriman and the Lady were already aboard, Arthur stood proud and strong at the bow.  Will, Bran and the Drews stood in a ragged half-circle—Will looked lost and sad, Barney awed, and Jane and Simon as if they were only still waiting for the last moments of the pageant to play themselves out.  Arthur reached out his arm toward Bran.

"Come.  There is a tide in this matter which is almost at the full," he said, "and I do not sail on the ebb."

And almost, Bran refused.  He clutched the hilt of the crystal sword, and thought of John Rowlands walking away down the path with his hands clenched and his head bowed, and of his last words—mi wela't ti'n hwyrach, bachgen—see you later, he said, as if he expected that Bran wouldn't go.  He looked at Will, who looked as though he were losing some vital part of himself when Merriman stepped onto the ship, whose lonely lot it now was to keep watch for the Dark all alone.

He realised in one moment that no matter what he did, his adventures and all the growing parts of his life were over.  He had just banished the Dark and saved the world of men—and afterward, he had the equally unsatisfactory choices of retiring with his lord father to a land of magic and /resting/ forever, or of returning to a town where people still made warding gestures against him and going through the mundane mortal trials of being an adolescent boy.  The second option was made even less attractive by Merriman's explanation that if he gave up his heritage now, he would never have it back again, he would forget everything that had happened here and remain ignorant of it forever.

The sword hung heavy at his side; a solid, if invisible, reminder.  He had come into his power to claim it.  He had never felt so strong, so important, so /alive/.  He was the Pendragon, the son of Arthur, not the pale freakish boy that Owen Davies got out of wedlock with a mad mountain woman.  He had never really been anything before. 

And yet—"What's going to happen to my Da?" he asked tentatively.  "He's not going to think I'm dead or anything, is he?  I don't think I could do that, even for...even for all this."

"Nor would we ask you to," the Lady said gently, standing tall and graceful next to Arthur.  "He will know where you have gone, and he will understand why."

Bran nodded once, firm and decided.  "Guess we'd better go, then."  He turned to the Drews, awkwardly, and they seemed just as unsure about what to say to him.  "Well.  Take care of yourselves."

Simon stuck out his hand, and Jane gave him a quick, awkward hug.  Barney grinned broadly up at him, shaking his head as if he still didn't believe any of it.  "Don't forget us."

He snorted. "Right.  As if I could."

Will, then.  The two boys looked at each other for a long meaningful moment, because there was too much to say and not enough time to say it, and really it was all such simple things that it didn't need to be said at all.

"Sign-seeker," Bran said after a moment.

Will gave a little bow, very serious and quiet.  It should have looked strange, but it didn't.  "My lord Pendragon."  And then he grinned, and it lit up his face, and he hugged Bran tight.  "Don't worry.  I'll see you again."

"Good," Bran said into Will's shoulder.  "Gonna miss you."

"You too.  Go on then.  Da boch—is that right?"

Bran grinned, and sniffled.  "Close enough."

"Come," said Arthur, and held out his hand.  And Bran swallowed, and nodded, and reached for him.  The tanned and wind-roughened fingers of the king closed around Bran's pale, slender ones, and he was pulled aboard.

The wind billowed Pridwen's sails, and the mists closed around her as Will and Simon and Jane and Barney vanished slowly from view.  Bran watched them disappear, and kept staring into the fog for what seemed like a long time after.  Then Arthur's laugh rang out from the prow of the ship, full and heady.

"At last we are all together, my friends," he called, and the wind carried his voice.  "And the battle has been won!  My Lady...my Lion...and my son."  His bright blue eyes settled on Bran, and he felt warm.  "No man could ask for a better ending to our tale than this.  Come, Bran—" he motioned, as he called.  "Come look where we are going!"

Bran joined him in the bow, his white hands resting on the ship's side.  Pridwen's figurehead was carved into the shape of a dragon, and she was running with her neck outstretched and her head high as if the ship's sails were her wings.  He felt the wood thrumming beneath his fingers.  Yes, she was singing, yes!  This is how it should be.  We are rulers of the sea and of the sky.  We have fought, we have lost many, we have won, and we are going home!  She was chasing the North Wind, and the grey sky swirled and clouded around her.  Bran threw his head back and felt the cold rush of air against his cheeks. It dried and burnt his eyes, tangled his hair, chilled his lips.  He drank in the euphoria the ship fed him.

They were going home, all of them.

tbc.