Master and Mage

By Sam Davidson

Disclaimer: Susan Cooper graced the world with these characters, and we mortals may only pick them up and play with them, putting them back gratefully when we are done.

A/N: I fully realise that, due to the immense amount of time that has passed since I last updated this story, any of you who have read the previous sections may well have forgotten them completely by now. You may, naturally, review them if you wish; alternatively, you may read the following brief synopsis:

The friendship between Will Stanton and Bran Davies has withered away since Bran's memory was modified; however, Will continues to check on him secretly, and wishes to know more about the person Bran has become. Both are about to commence studies at St. John's College, Oxford, though neither knows of the other's presence until a chance encounter on arrival day.

This story is slash. If you have a problem with that, then do not read it. Or do, but don't get mad at me if it offends your homophobic sensibilities. For the rest of you: enjoy!

Lastly, this story is meant to be set circa 1980. If you notice any anachronisms or other such errors, please let me know. Now, on with the story…

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Chapter Six: Getting Started

Bran closed the door and sat down on his bed, his earlier plan of exploring the dormitory quite forgotten. He had not expected to see anyone he knew at Oxford, let alone Will Stanton, and he wasn't really sure what to think. He had not thought about the other boy very often since they had stopped writing, and when he did it was always with conflicted feelings. He could remember a brief period when Will had been his best friend, but he could never quite remember what had first brought them together. It was as if there had been some special bond between them, something that had subsequently disappeared. There was no doubt in Bran's mind that Will had been the first to abandon their friendship. He had begged off coming to visit Bran in Wales when they were thirteen, explaining that he had too much to do at home over the summer, and from that point on he had started taking longer and longer to reply to Bran's letters, until eventually their correspondence ceased entirely, and Will's presence in Bran's life had faded into memory.

Now all of a sudden here he was, Will Stanton, living and breathing and carrying around cardboard boxes. He had grown, of course, and his face had thinned, though it still retained a certain boyish quality, and he still had to brush his fringe away from his eyes. How different he was on the inside, however, Bran could only imagine. Obviously something had changed, seeing as Will had pulled away from him, and Bran reflected that for all he knew, he might not even like the person Will had become. Will had broken off their friendship, Bran reasoned; let Will be the one to renew it if he wanted to.

When Bran entered the dining hall that evening with his tray of food, he found himself before a sea of unfamiliar faces, most of who seemed to be chatting animatedly with one another over their food. He had begun to scan the room for an empty table, as was his habit at home, when he heard someone calling his name. Startled, he looked for the source of the voice, and saw the boy he and Will had met in the hall earlier, smiling in his direction.

"Bran, over here!" he called again, and Bran made his way to the table. The boy was sitting with two girls, one of whom had bright purple hair. When Bran got there, the boy gestured toward an empty seat. "That is your name, isn't it?" he asked.

"Well, you've got the right idea," Bran responded as he sat down, "though the Welsh pronunciation is a bit different. It's got more of a long a: Bran"

"Bran," the boy attempted.

"Not bad for a sais bach," Bran said with a grin. "And your name was?"

"Robbie, plain and simple."

"Right, now I remember. And you live in the same building, too, right?"

"Yes, number 308, just upstairs from you." Robbie was interrupted by a slight cough from the girl with the purple hair, who looked at him and raised her eyebrows. "Oh yes, this is Kate," he said, then pointed toward the other girl at the table, who was rather tall and wore square glasses, "and this is Sarah."

Sarah extended her hand across the table. "Nice to meet you, Bran," she said with a perfect accent. Laughing at the Welsh boy's impressed look, she explained, "I have Welsh cousins, so I've spent a lot of time there. I still can't say the name of that town that starts off Llanfa-something, though."

"That's alright," Bran reassured her. "Truth be told, even Welsh people have trouble with that one, it's so bloody long. So how do you all know each other, then?"

"We all come from the same school in London," the girl named Kate said. "We've been in the same class for five years, and just when you'd think we'd be sick of each other, here we are at uni together! Is there anyone else from your school here?"

"From Tywyn, are you joking? As far as I know, there's no one else from the county coming here."

"What about that boy you were talking with earlier—Will?"

"Oh, he's as English as you are, from Buckinghamshire. I met him when he came to stay with his aunt and uncle who are neighbours of mine. We haven't seen each other in years, though."

A few days later, on his way back from his first Music Theory class, Bran ran into Kate, who was tacking something up on a public announcement board. She turned around at his greeting, then smiled in recognition.

"Oh, hi Bran! How are you? How are your classes?"

"Well," Bran replied, "I've only had two so far. I just came from Music Theory, which looks really interesting. I had History of Early Music yesterday, though, and I can tell already that I'm going to have a hard time staying awake in that one. How about you?"

"I've been to Italian Romantic Poetry, The 19th Century Russian Novel, and a poetry writing workshop. I'm really excited about the workshop, even though the professor made it sound like he's going to be pretty merciless in his criticism." She made a face.

"What's that you're putting up on the bulletin board," Bran asked.

"Oh, this," she showed him a stack of flyers yet to be posted. "We're trying to start a GSA here at St. John's."

"A GSA, what's that?"

"A Gay-Straight Alliance. It's something they started just a few years ago in America, a group of gay students and their straight friends who get together to talk about issues surrounding sexual orientation, how to combat discrimination, things like that. You met my girlfriend Sarah, right? Well, she and Robbie and I are trying to start one here."

Bran couldn't hide his astonishment. "You mean, you and Sarah are…"

"Girlfriends, yes." Bran noted a hint of challenge in her voice. Of course, he had no problem with the fact that Kate and Sarah were girlfriends; it was just that he had never met anyone before who openly stated that they were gay. Back home, that would have been unthinkable. There was one boy two years below him who liked to sing and didn't play sports, and that was enough to earn him a level of ostracism worse than anything Bran had ever experienced.

"I didn't know… I mean, that's great," he said feebly.

"Anyway, our first meeting is this Friday night at 9:00, in Henderson 210. You should come!"

"I'll, umm, see if I have time," Bran replied. "See you later."

Bran spent much of the next few days debating whether or not to go to the meeting Kate had told him about. The issue was not, of course, whether he had time, as he had not made any other friends so far, and was not particularly keen to go out to the pubs like he had heard others planning to do. His main concern was rather that he really didn't want to be drawing any more attention to himself at the moment than absolutely necessary. As he had expected, his appearance had already drawn a number of odd looks from the other students, and while no one had insulted him to his face, no one had gone out of their way to reach out to him since that first night, either.

He tried to tell himself that there was no risk in simply going to a meeting; after all, the Kate had said it was for gay people and straight people, which essentially meant everybody. Nevertheless, he couldn't help feeling that the group wasn't going to turn out to be the most popular on campus. Of course, in the back of his mind he also knew that his issues with his own sexuality weren't helping, either. He had never openly considered the possibility that he might be anything other than straight—one did not ask that sort of question at home, not even to one's self—but he had never been particularly interested in the girls at school. He had always put it down to his own reclusive, antisocial nature, but thinking about the GSA meeting was leading him to some rather uncomfortable thoughts in that area.

He was so distracted during his first private harp lesson on Friday afternoon that his teacher broke off in the middle of explaining an alternative tuning system. "Bran," he asked, "is something the matter?"

"No, professor, I just… well, it's been a long first week here, and—"

"It's all right, I understand. Let's call it a day, shall we? Get some rest, practice the fingering we went over, and I'll see you on Tuesday," he said with a smile. Bran thanked him, put his harp in its case, and headed back to his room. Professor Billings seemed like a very kind man and a patient teacher, and Bran regretted not having paid better attention, but his head was just not in the right place to be able to focus properly. He determined to make up for his inattention at the next lesson. On his way back to the dormitory he passed one of the flyers for the GSA meeting. It can't hurt to go just this once, he thought. I'll give it a try.

Will glanced across the courtyard to see Bran heading toward the dormitory, his harp case slung across his back. They hadn't spoken much since that first day, other than the occasional greeting when they passed each other in the hall, but Will had been watching. He knew that Bran spent hours on end in his room—playing his harp, Will thought, though he couldn't be sure. He also knew that Bran ate most of his meals alone.

Not that Will spent all of his time peering at Bran from behind columns and around corners. To the contrary, he was surprised to find how quickly his time filled up with business of his own. His classes—Cultural Anthropology, Archaeology, Historical Linguistics, and Ancient Greek—were all demanding, and he found himself flooded with hundreds of pages of required reading before he knew it. His skills as an Old One certainly gave him an advantage in some respects, especially in his Ancient Greek class, but they did nothing to decrease the amount of reading he was assigned.

He had also joined the college choir, which turned out to have an unexpectedly rigorous rehearsal schedule, though that did not make him regret his decision in the slightest. True, he would have more time for class work if he didn't have to go to choir rehearsal so often, but he knew that the trade-off wouldn't be worth it. Singing had always been one of his favourite pastimes, but since the final battle with the Dark, it had acquired a new significance. Only when Will was singing could he experience any kind of release from the heavy burden that he felt constantly as the Watcher. The sensation of relief was slight, and did not last, but Will doubted that he could bear to go on without it.

Climbing the stairs to his room, Will's thoughts returned to Bran. He recognized that watching from afar was not going to tell him much more about the Welsh boy than he already knew. Now that the first week of classes were over, he had time to try to reach out directly, but he was still nervous. How did one approach a friend who was no longer really a friend? Will knew more about Bran's past than Bran himself, but that was of no use to him here. Maybe he should invite him out for a pint; that was what students were supposed to do on the weekend, right?

Will reached his room, went in, checked the quartered-circle talismans in the window and over the door, dropped his rucksack on the bed, and took a deep breath. Then he went out again, retraced his steps down one flight of stairs, walked slowly down the hall, and stopped in front of Bran's door. He knocked.

"Come in, it's open," Bran called from inside. Will entered to find Bran, not at his harp as Will had expected, but sitting at his desk. There was nothing on the desk other than his electric typewriter, which was turned off. "Oh, hello Will," he said simply.

"Hi Bran," Will began, trying not to show his nervousness. "How have you been?"

"Good. Glad it's the weekend, though."

"Me too." There was an awkward pause, then Will continued. "Listen, if you don't have plans tonight, I was wondering if you'd like to go out and get a pint, or something." The words sounded stiff and artificial to his ears, but he kept going. "It's been such a long time and, well, it would be nice to talk."

Will could have sworn that Bran gave him a suspicious look before answering, but it passed quickly. "I would," he said, "but I'm actually going to a meeting tonight."

"Really?" Will replied, hoping he didn't sound too surprised. What kind of meeting?"

Bran definitely hesitated this time, but then he answered, "It's a group that Robbie and his friends are trying to start, called a GSA; I'm sure you've seen the flyers." He then repeated to Will what Kate had told him about the idea. "It sounds interesting, so I figured I would go and see what it's like."

Will remembered hearing about this kind of group before, but he'd never given it serious thought. There certainly hadn't been a GSA at his school, which was understandable given the taboo nature of the subject. Why would Bran be interested in that kind of thing? Will wondered briefly whether he should go to the meeting too, but decided against it. He had to think things through more thoroughly first. "Well," he said, "you'll have to tell me what it's like. Maybe we can have that drink some other time."

"Yeah, some other time," Bran echoed.

As Will closed the door behind him, he let out a sigh. Figuring out his old friend was going to be even harder than he thought.