(no subject)

[theravenboy]

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.

Comments

[veryvorkosigan]

So it's Cordelia alone who comes down the stairs, slow and careful, floating a little in her borrowed flannel dressing gown.

She enters the kitchen just as the kettle's starting to whistle.

[theravenboy]

Bran drops two teabags from the canister in his pot, pours the water over them and sets the pot on a tray with the careless inattention of someone who has performed the same actions several times a day for the last sixty-five years. He adds two mugs to the tray, along with a bowl of sugar, a pitcher of milk and a plate of fresh biscuits.

"I think the sitting room would be more comfortable," Bran says, lifting the tray carefully. He moves with slow precision, as if he can no longer always trust his body to do what he asks of it.

[veryvorkosigan]

And oh, that hurts to watch.

She opens her hand in assent, and follows him.

[theravenboy]

The sitting room is warm and cosy, with a couch and a number of large squashy armchairs. Rows of full bookshelves, with titles in Welsh and English, line the walls. If Cordelia looks closely, she might see four books with the name O. A. Davies on their spines on a shelf of honour, next to a guide to teaching folklore in grammar schools written by Margaret Jones Davies.

The fireplace is unlit now, but shows signs of regular use and cleaning. A three-octave floor harp of some warm wood sits a little away from the hearth, but the small gold harp that Bran used to carry is nowhere to be seen.

Bran sets the tea tray on a small table between two of the armchairs and sits down, with a small sigh of relief. "I am sorry," he says, "I have forgotten how you take your tea."

[veryvorkosigan]

"How long has it been, Bran?" she asks quietly.

[theravenboy]

Bran busies himself pouring the tea before he answers.

"Since I last found a door to Milliways, over fifty years. I do not know the precise number. Longer since I last met you."

He takes a cup of tea (black, unsweetened) for himself and holds it in his chilled hands. "The year is 2035. I am seventy-five years old.

"How long for you, Cordelia?"

[veryvorkosigan]

It's several seconds before she can speak. She reaches for the second cup of tea in the meantime, and stirs sugar into it, for something to do with her hands.

"Less," she says finally, muffled. "Less than two years since I saw you last."

[theravenboy]

Bran turns his head a little away from Cordelia, so as not to intrude himself on her grief. "I thought it was something like that. You have not changed much, you see, and while I expect Will not to change from year to year, it is not the same thing at all with you."

[veryvorkosigan]

"Not at all," she agrees weakly, and lowers her head to take a sip of tea.

And raises her head again, lowering the cup with the tea untasted. "2035," she repeats, and the panic she's been suppressing for hours starts to well up again. "Wales. Bran, I don't know how I got here."

[theravenboy]

With the instincts of a father and grandfather, Bran reacts first to the panic in Cordelia's voice. "Sh. Sh. No need to worry. I do not know either, but Will is coming, and he will straighten everything out. And you are safe here, until he comes."

He turns his attention to the problem at hand. "What is the last thing you remember, before you were here? Do you know where it is that you were?"

[veryvorkosigan]

"I was -- at Milliways. The last I remember." She raises the cup again, and this time she drinks.

"Will says he'll come?"

[theravenboy]

"Oh yes. I spoke to him just now, while you were upstairs."

The old man smiles suddenly. "Good job you came. I have been trying to convince him to come up this Christmas for months now, and he only agreed now because of you."

[veryvorkosigan]

Cordelia gives a short, wry laugh.

"That works pretty neatly."

[theravenboy]

"Of course," Bran adds ruefully, "a shame it is that you had to be dragged out of where you were only to give Will bach a proper holiday for once."

Then all traces of humour leave Bran's face. "Were you needed, at Milliways? I seem to recall, there was something about your husband being ill. I cannot remember all of it. Is he well? Must you leave at once?"

[veryvorkosigan]

Oh.

"That was ... a while ago," she says. "Aral's a lot better now."

A lot better than he was the last time she saw Bran, lying unconscious from a bad fall. Not really in the best of health, but ... not that bad, for a man his age.

Which is not that far from Bran's age.

[theravenboy]

"I am glad to hear it." Bran drains his teacup. "Well, then, it is not so bad at all. You will visit for a few days, and spend Christmas with all of us, and see how we live; and perhaps we can take you into the town, or find other things that you would like to do. Jane will be here in three days, and Will may come sooner. Christmas is in five days, and Boxing Day the day after."

[veryvorkosigan]

"Five days." She takes a deep breath, and another sip of tea. "No, that's not so bad."

A beat.

"And it isn't as though I could go home in any case. I've been Bound for some time."

[theravenboy]

Bran's thin lips twist in sympathy. "I am sorry to hear it."

An old memory surfaces: three days Bound to the bar, from Midwinter until Christmas Eve morning, with the golden harp stolen and Owen Davies waiting at home.

"Well. At least you are safe, here. And if there is anything at all you need, please tell us. We are delighted to have you, however unexpected."

[veryvorkosigan]

"Unexpected," Cordelia repeats, with that same wry laugh.

"It's good to be here, though. Your family's been so kind, even before they knew anything about me." She shakes her head. "They never even asked my name."

[theravenboy]

"Of course not." Bran laughs, leaning his head back against his chair. "You do not ask questions, in this land, when a stranger comes out of the hills. She might be of the Tylwyth Teg, the Fair People, and you never know what she might do if she is angry. Best to welcome anyone who comes, and say nothing."

[veryvorkosigan]

"...Seriously?"

Cordelia is not at all sure whether or not Bran is joking.

[theravenboy]

Bran has recovered his breath, but his eyes still twinkle. "A superstitious lot, we are. And not without reason. Sometimes the stories are true, you know."