An odd image popped into my head the other day – Bran and
Will, sitting together (awkwardly)
in a cramped dormitory room that is awash in political campaign
literature. This fic is the result
of my attempt to put that image into words. It has also become
the second part of the three-part
Eirias Triad.
Standard disclaimers apply. Bran Davies, Will Stanton, and The
Dark Is Rising Sequence are
all copyright of the wonderful Susan Cooper.
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Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau
(The Land of My Fathers)
By: Gramarye
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'Sorry about that,' Bran said as he closed the door. 'I did tell people I had a guest this weekend.'
Will, perched rather awkwardly on the edge of Bran's bed, said
nothing. But his gaze was roaming
about, trying to come to terms with the sheer amount of clutter
that filled his normally tidy friend’s
room. There were piles of flyers and rolled posters crammed into
every available corner, as well
as one or two boldly-lettered placards propped up against the
little wall space that was left over.
Bran's desk was a sea of leaflets and what appeared to be class
notes, all mixed together and pinned
down by textbooks -- and the reason that Will was seated so
uncomfortably on the bed was the fact
that he had to share the space with still more flyers, as well as
a battered old typewriter.
Bran hurriedly moved the flyers and the typewriter to the
floor. 'Sorry. But really, you should've
let me know that you were taking the earlier train.'
'I know -- look, I'm not making you miss anything, am I?' Now
that the bed was clear there was room
for Will to sit more comfortably, but even so he didn't feel any
less awkward in his new position.
With the toe of one shoe, he nudged the flyers that Bran had
moved to the floor, and thought fleetingly
of fire hazards. 'That girl...she seemed rather upset that you
weren't going to make it to the meeting
tonight.'
'I organised that meeting,' Bran said, mildly
exasperated. 'I'm allowed to miss a few of them -- that's
what we have deputy chairs and all that for.' He dragged his desk
chair over to the bed, dumped his
schoolbag onto the floor, and sat down. 'This weekend, I'm
entirely at your disposal.'
Will smiled, forcing himself to relax. 'Well, then. It's your town, what do you suggest we do?'
Bran pursed his mouth, thinking. 'Well, we could do the usual
thing that's done on Friday nights around
here, which normally involves a sizeable number of pints of
whatever beer is cheapest. Or we could get
takeaway and come back here -- or take it elsewhere,' he added,
seeing a momentary flicker of alarm
cross Will's face, 'and you can tell me what it's like at your
uni.'
'The beer's probably more expensive there, for a start.' Will
paused, gnawing his lip in an effort to decide
whether or not he should say what had been on his mind since the
moment he had shown up at Bran's door.
'Bran, I'm going to ask this now, so it won't come up again,
but...why?'
For a moment, Bran's expression went sharp and defensive. It
was the old arrogance that Will had seen
often enough before, only now it was combined with an unfamiliar
hostility that Will didn't like at all.
But that expression only lasted for a moment, and soon it faded
to a sort of weariness that Will recognised
at once -- the weariness of one who has been struggling with a
burden for so long that the struggle and the
burden have become almost indistinguishable.
'Why Plaid Cymru, you mean?' Bran looked away, fixing his gaze
on the Cymdeithas yr Iaith Gymraeg
placard that was propped up against his desk. 'You'll probably
laugh, but...but it means something, here.
And it means I'm involved in something that matters, to me and to
a lot of other people.'
He took a breath, almost as if he intended to leave it at
that, but when he let the breath out the words
kept coming. 'And I'm good at it, at the committees and
the protests and the organising and all of it --
or at least everyone says so.'
'You're good at leading people.' Will's voice was flat, if
only because he didn't know where the
emphasis should fall in that sentence. He didn't quite trust
himself to know where to put it.
Bran shrugged, though it was a lopsided shrug that only used
one shoulder. 'Something like that.'
He glanced over at Will, a sidelong glance. 'So? What of it?'
'Just...just wondering, ' Will said, rather lamely. 'To tell
the truth, I'm not at all surprised.' It was all
too easy to imagine Bran giving a speech or organising a student
meeting or planning a demonstration --
and all too easy to wish that he could be there, if only to
watch.
Bran raised one eyebrow, very slightly.
Some deeper, older, and infinitely more sensible part of
Will's mind warned him that the conversation
was turning in potentially dangerous directions, so he fell back
on his old stand-by topic: food. 'Come on,
then -- dinner's on me tonight, so long as you don't pick the
most expensive thing on the menu.'
'Dinner?' Bran blinked, a little disconcerted by the abrupt
shift in topic, but he seemed as eager as Will
for the chance to change the subject. 'And what if it's what I
was planning to order anyway, hm?'
'Then I get to eat half of it, and we'll split the cost.'
Bran snorted, but it sounded as if he was trying to cover a
laugh. 'You have the most infuriatingly
logical mind, Stanton.'
'I'm only logical when I'm hungry,' Will replied, grinning. 'Which I am now.'
'Aww,' Bran said with exaggerated sympathy, 'didn't British Rail feed you?'
'Feed me?' Will made a not-entirely-mock-horrified
face. 'Their definition of "food" and my definition
of "food" are entirely incompatible. Not even in the
same dictionary.'
'Then by all means, let's go find out what your definition of
food is.' Bran stood up, and shoved his desk
chair back into place.
Will slid off the bed, trying not to step on the leaflets.
'Lead the way,' he said.
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Notes:
- Plaid Cymru ('Party of Wales') is the left-of-centre Welsh nationalist political party.
- Cymdeithas yr Iaith Gymraeg ('Welsh Language Society') is a
pressure group which campaigns
to promote, preserve, and increase the general usage of the Welsh
language.
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Gramarye
gramarye@postmaster.co.uk
http://gramarye.freehosting.net
17 January 2005
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