Addewidion- "The Promise"
As much as I wish it, they are not mine.
Author's Note: The first fanfiction I have written in years. It's not much, but it's an image that I simply could not let escape. I have Tyleet27 on to thank for inspiration. Her story "Rationale for Madness" contained a line that just would not let me go, just as Bran and Will have never let me go. I hope you enjoy.
He had chosen a life that any young eleven year old could have been expected to choose. There, before him, was eternity- young, beautiful, full of love and acceptance and a magic that was in him. That was him. His father on the deck, the ship tossing gently and proudly on a river so beautiful it was more glass and diamond than water. He knew, too, that his mother was waiting. There was a land where they all belonged, a place where he could have forever and happiness.
What would hold him back? The young boy thought of his father. No, his Da, Owen Davies. He did love the man, in a deep and grateful way. And he felt sorrow at the possibility of causing the Welshman anymore loss. But he was not his true son, and they both knew it. Maybe Owen Davies could move on from the mysterious and abiding loss of his one love if Bran did not sit in his cottage reminding him.
Bran ap Arthur ap Pendragon briefly glanced at the Drews. They were as close to friends as he could claim. He liked them all, in a way that comrades in a war feel affectionate towards each other. It was deep in its own way, but not as powerful as the ties of the High Magic that pulled him on from this world. He would miss them, but it was a missing that he could bear.
And then, there was the One. The old rhyme he only knew from shared memories and whispers on the wind named him specifically. "One would go alone". He knew of his fate. Bran knew of his fate. Merriman and Arthur knew of it as well. The Light was indeed cruel, even to its own kind. The small, stocky English boy, brown hair still falling over his too old eyes, was to be the most powerful being left on earth. The only being of his kind, alone until the end of time.
The young King, for truly the title had been passed on to him in the felling of the Dark, ached when the eyes of the Old One met his own. Their bond, stronger than love, stronger than the High Magic, burned at his core and compelled him towards a life on earth. He took an unconscious step away from the shore, his hand lifting towards Will, his dewin.
"Bran," the voice was soft, lyrical. His eyes strayed from Will's, taking in the Lady. She waited for him, patient but urgent. She knew his pain. "You must choose."
Tawny eyes, always aflame but now especially bright and forceful, swung back to the only person in the tableau that mattered deep down and truly.
"You must go." The voice shocked him. "You must go, take your rightful place, my Lord. I am meant for this path, I can bear this loneliness. You must go and have what is yours. Someday…someday I will follow."
Bran knew instinctively, without even having to look at the other faces surrounding him, that the voice was meant for him, and just him. He did not know if anyone else could hear it, or even if Will had thought such things. However, he knew, knew without the slightest sliver of doubt that Will's silent words were true. Pridwen called to him and he must board.
Finally stepping onto the immortal boards of the boat that was to take him home forever, he turned back to the bank, to the five that stood. "Thank you, for everything. We," he said this turning to his father, "are eternally grateful." His father smiled, eyes soft with love and approval. Bran almost forgot everything then in a great rush of joy in knowing that he was wanted, that he belonged. No, his heart reminded him, there is more to say. "Will!" he cried. The boy, still watching him, tilted his head a bit, a human habit that had Bran choking back tears "you will keep your promise."
The Drews looked surprised, but Arthur, Merriman, and the Lady turned to Will solemnly.
"Yes, my Lord."
And Pridwen sailed into the mists, lost forever to humans and their earth.
Time was not measured well, in the realms that Bran ap Arthur ap Pendragon ruled as Lord of the High Magic. The King knew he had been here at least a thousand times the span of a mortal's life. But even that number was vague, hazy with the knowledge that such things did not matter in a place so far removed from the bonds of space and time. The only reason Bran remembered time at all, the only reason he cared about the passing of eternal seasons and how long his Pridwen had been docked in the eternal waters was that he knew a promise had yet to be kept.
So he waited. His family and their circle of Old Ones kept him content. He had grown quickly in their company, taking on the form of a mature man in what seemed only like seconds. He grew mentally and emotionally and in some capacity that was deeper than either yet, but he could not quantify his growth. What mattered was that he was ready. Had been ready for the birth and death of a thousand, thousand stars.
His Watcher, the last Guard of the Light, belonged here, and he could only hope that the time for his return would be soon.
Resting in the soft, fragrant grasses of a mountain that reminded him of his human life, his human Wales, he patiently contemplated the sky, blue and grey all at once. It was beautiful, changeable and permanent. Bran truly did feel fulfilled here. Almost. The land was strong and ancient, part of his very skin and flesh and blood. It was his. But despite being his, it was never enough. Never enough…
"Your Majesty." It was hard to startle an Immortal, but the dewin of his father always managed.
Bran sighed, tawny eyes closing. "Yes, Merriman?"
"It is time. His boat sails."
Before his mind could register what his heart had already heard, Bran was at the shining shore, golden eyes taking in the misty horizon as if his life depended on what was enshrouded in the mists.
And in a way it did. His life was eternal, full of power and light, but never complete without Will.
And so, when a lone boat finally came into view, smaller than Pridwen but small and sleek and beautiful in a way that only wood made smooth and white by time and the elements could be, Bran finally felt fully at home, fully fulfilled.
His Watcher, finally free of the burden of humanity at the end of all things, stepped ashore. He dropped to one knee immediately. "My Lord, I have fulfilled my promise. I join you, my King, and my family of Old Ones here in our true home."
"Rise." Bran's voice was hoarse with an emotion stronger than anything he had ever felt before. Will looked up at him from the fringe of chestnut hair that remained even century and millennia later .
"My Lord."
"Bran-" the King breathed, rushing to Will and catching him up in a very human embrace. "Please, just Bran."
"Bran, then." Will smiled, his eyes still old but now happy, now at peace. He too, had grown, and now both of them were men, straight and tall and finally together. He settled in Bran's arm because it was his place. Bran smiled and stooped to kiss him, lips eager and warm. They tasted each other for a perfect moment, savoring and professing.
"Welcome home, cariad." And with that, Bran took Will by the hand and drew him onwards towards home.