theravenboy: (Default)
The key unlocks a small lounge with armchairs, a changing table, a refrigerator, an enormous stock of diapers in what seems like hundreds of brands. (One particular brand seems designed for infants with multiple tentacles.) Bran, his arms fully occupied by a fussing Owen Arthur, lets Will open the door for him.

"Now that is better," Bran says, setting his son neatly down upon the changing table. "I will take care of the little one, and we can have some quiet to talk in."

Bran occupies himself with the child's needs for a little while. If he is waiting to see whether Will volunteers information, he says nothing about it. But when little Owen Arthur is cleaned and changed, and resting in his father's arms again, Bran says, "Rather young, you are looking today. Time is a funny thing, isn't it?"
theravenboy: (old Bran)
"A very old custom, you see," Bran explains, as he drives Will down the dark roads towards Tywyn, "all the men singing in Christmas morning. Twenty years ago, or thereabouts, the tradition was beginning to fade, and there were not enough people in all the churches and the chapels. So the churches came together, and everyone began meeting at St Cadfan's instead of spreading out. Now it is becoming fashionable again, among the younger people, and in a few years now we may all have to go off to our separate churches."
theravenboy: (house in the hills)
After morning prayers (in which half the family went to the Methodist chapel, slightly under half to the Presbyterian chapel, and a few to St Cadfan's in Tywyn), the Davies family and friends have assembled at Emrys's home for Christmas dinner.

Emrys and his wife have set up a large table in the parlor, and opened up the double doors from the parlor into the next room. After dinner is over, the younger children have gone to play with beautiful old train set around the tree in the living room, but a number of people are still sitting around the table, singing. Bran is beginning to go hoarse, after the night of singing, but the voices of his children and grandchildren are as strong as ever.

The songs have been in Welsh, mostly, and Will and Cordelia have been silent. Noticing this, Bran says, "Will, it is your turn to choose a song, now."
theravenboy: (house in the hills)
Bran collected Jane at the Tywyn station a few hours ago, just before dinner. Afterwards, Bran, Cordelia, Jane and Margaret are holding pleasant, quiet conversations in the parlor and waiting for Will to arrive in his rented car.
theravenboy: (house in the hills)
The house in the hills is full of noise and light and people; three generations of the Davies family, with Will and Jane and Cordelia, not to mention the tree standing in the parlor, are more than enough to crowd Bran's comfortable home. It is a happy crowd, in any case. Children are everywhere, chattering peacefully, and adults are making small talk in the corners. A Yule log burns in the hearth, and mistletoe and holly hang over the windows.

Two children, both about ten, are nudging each other and laughing. Their conversation is in Welsh, but can be translated to, "You ask!" "No, you!" "Your turn!"

A few minutes later, both of these children approach Cordelia Vorkosigan. They smile at her in an alarmingly innocent fashion.
theravenboy: (Default)
Bran Davies was not expecting to come to Milliways today, but it is as good a place to study organic chemistry as any. He is sitting in one of the quieter booths, reading a textbook and taking notes in two languages in a black-and-white notebook.
theravenboy: (old Bran)
After Bran hangs up the phone, he puts the kettle on. Cordelia and Margaret, he expects, will be downstairs presently.

In the event, Margaret decides she would rather go to sleep early.
theravenboy: (old Bran)
While Margaret takes Cordelia upstairs, to see to her room, Bran makes a phone call from the kitchen.

At 7:30 in the evening in Wales, it is 7:30 the following morning in New Zealand. Will should be awake by now.

Bran dials the international calling card number, first, and then another number. "Mr Stantz?" he says, when the phone picks up. Better to be safe; he has no way to tell who else might be about.
theravenboy: (eirias)
[An hour or two after this:]

Bran has found a plain chamber on the ground floor of the castle, with a window that faces a long descending hillside and then the wide blueness of the sea. He rests his hands on the cool stone of the wall, but otherwise he stands straight, unthinkingly regal, as he thinks through the speech he must give this evening.

A white and gold scabbard, holding the crystal sword Eirias, is belted to Bran's trousers.

When the Summer Country murmurs into his mind that someone has entered the land, Bran startles, but he realises it is Moiraine and relaxes almost at once.
theravenboy: (Summer Country - fountain)
Not long ago, the Circle of the Light took to a room in the west wing of the castle; night and day, in rotating shifts, the Old Ones focus on holding the damaged spells that guard the Summer Country. Half of the Circle, including Merriman and Will, is currently on duty, and the other half sleeps. Bran looked in on the Circle this afternoon, but there was nothing for him to see or do in that room; there were only Old Ones, hands linked in a closed chain, staring blankly into the air.

Bran has no other duties, for the moment, and he can hardly focus for the weight of the power pushing on his mind. He would seek out Moiraine, except that she has gone to Milliways. Instead, he crosses the castle courtyard to walk to his mother's chambers.
theravenboy: (regent!Bran)
One can't count days in the Summer Country. Bran tried to keep track of the passing of time, but after the third time he lost count, he gave up.

That said, Bran is beginning to feel that he has been here for far too long. This morning, he's escaped the business waiting for him in Arthur's office, the great hall and the throne room, and gone to pace up and down the shore where Pridwen rests.


Mar. 5th, 2007 11:34 am
theravenboy: (Default)
I don't know much about what canons are extant in the Age of Sail period; can someone else supply information there?

Texts that have been established as extant, canonically or millicanonically, in the DiRverse:

Shakespeare – all works
Dickens – all works
Geoffrey of Monmouth – all works
Chrétien de Troyes – all works
Sir Thomas Malory, Morte D’Arthur
The Mabinogion and associated texts
All poetry traditionally ascribed to Taliesin (written by Gwion!)
All classical literature and philosophy
All Christmas carols known in our universe

Robert Graves – all works (including, most importantly, The White Goddess)
Wordsworth – all works
A E Housman – all works
Yeats – all works
Dylan Thomas – all works
R S Thomas – all works (although in 1978, Thomas was still writing)
Charles Williams – Taliessin through Logres; The Voyage of the Summer Stars

Monty Python – all works produced by 1978

Texts that cannot exist in DiRverse:

Dorothy Sayers, the Peter Wimsey novels
Lois McMaster Bujold, the Vorkosigan books

Texts that may or may not exist in DiRverse – but if they do, Bran hasn’t seen them:

L M Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables and series
Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera
Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time
Ellis Peters, the Cadfael Chronicles

Texts I don’t believe exist in the DiRverse, but I’m not sure:

C S Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia

None of the Dark is Rising characters have ever been canon-punctured. That is, they don’t know they are described in an accurate twentieth-century narrative in another universe. Folklore about Old Ones exists in the DiRverse and is known to John Rowlands, among others. Arthur, Guinevere and Merlin, of course, appear in all the stories, even though Merriman Lyon will be the first to tell you how inaccurate the stories are.
theravenboy: (harp)
On a couch near the fireplace, Bran is playing scales on the golden harp. It feels right, somehow, to have it with him again.
theravenboy: (not truly an ending 2 - cors fochno)
Bran is standing before Arthur Pendragon's writing desk, touching the things his father left on it. He can hardly read Arthur's handwriting, he realises. The king's notes, scratched into the wax on an ivory tablet and written in ink on pages of vellum, are in Latin that is heavy with abbreviations and does not even have spaces between the words. The rounded script, incomprehensible as it is, does remind him of something, and he can't remember what.

Bran's head is pounding, as it has been since he arrived. Yesterday? He thinks they came yesterday.
theravenboy: (Default)
Bran Davies, Moiraine Sedai, and Will Stanton are spending the evening sharing a pot of tea and a pleasant conversation.
theravenboy: (Default)
[This is a placeholder post. I'll be filling in Bran's Christmas presents between tags tonight.]
theravenboy: (Default)
Classes, schoolwork, chapel, classes, schoolwork, chapel: in the weeks since he met Kim Ford, Bran Davies has built his life around a neat, regimented system. He learned strategies for coping with the incomprehensible at his da's knee, after all.

Bran cannot keep the pattern forever, though. He has responsibilities at Milliways, and he is not sure that he will know when he is needed. Opening the bar door tonight, Bran scans the room for certain people.
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