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Holden leaned forward and laid his hand over Bran's on the bedspread. Bran pushed it away.

"I didn't mean to," he said suddenly. "Please--"

"Didn't mean to what, precious?" Holden asked, and Bran's eyes snapped open and focused, with unnaturally brilliant intensity, on Holden's face.

"I don't know," he said, puzzled. "Did I-- did I do something-- wrong?"

"No, sweetheart," said Holden. "You didn't."

"But I-- I think--" Bran's flushed face was working as if he were about to cry. "I can't remember-- please-- help me remember-- he'll, he'll punish me if I don't--"

"No one's going to punish you, Bran," said Holden firmly. "I'm your master, and I'm very pleased with you."

"You are?"

"Yes."

Bran stared, wide-eyed, at Holden's face for a moment, then shook his head. "You're not my master."

"Yes I am, sweetheart. Have been for almost a year now."

"No," said Bran, his brow furrowed with confusion. "I ran away, I-- I got lost--"

"Yes," said Holden, "but then I came and found you, and I brought you home."

"Home?" Bran blinked rapidly. "Home is-- gone. Granddad said-- he was selling-- both. Home. And me. My birthday--" He sat bolt upright, suddenly, and grabbed Holden's arm so hard Holden hissed with surprise and pain. "Please-- don't let him-- he doesn't understand, make him understand, Mom said-- she said she'd rather die than sell me-- she said, she said--"

"Shhh," said Holden, his heart breaking. "No one's going to hurt you."

"Yes they are!" Bran shouted. "They hurt you when you're a slave!"

"I won't let anyone hurt you, Bran. I promise."

"Who are you?" Bran demanded, yanking his hand off Holden's arm and staring at him with sudden suspicion. "You're not my dad."

"No, I'm not your dad, sweetheart. You don't remember me?"

Bran examined him intently, and then said, with an air of discovery, "You hit me."

Oh, gods.

Bran must have seen the pain on Holden's face; he looked worried, a look that turned, slowly, sickeningly, to horror.

"Master," he moaned piteously, and started struggling out from under the covers, "master, I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry, don't be angry, don't take me back there, please let me stay with you, please, I'll do anything--"

"You're staying with me, Bran," said Holden, gently but firmly stopping Bran from climbing out of bed. "No one's taking you anywhere. You're safe at home, and that's where you're going to stay."

"Home," Bran repeated, clinging to Holden's arm. "You mean-- you're keeping me?"

"I'm keeping you, Bran. You're mine, now. Lie back down, sweetheart. Can you sip some water?"

"Y- yes," said Bran, rather hesitantly, sinking slowly back down against the propped-up pillows.

Holden turned to retrieve the water glass and realized with a start that Alix had come in at some point and was standing by his chair. He smiled tiredly up at her.

"How is he?" she asked softly as Holden held the glass to Bran's lips, and Bran drank thirstily.

"About the same," said Holden when he had withdrawn the glass; Bran's eyes had already closed. "Sometimes he recognizes me, and sometimes he-- doesn't."

"What's he been saying?"

"Apologizing, mostly. And trying very very intently to explain things to his grandfather, who I sort of want to track down just so I can have the satisfaction of punching him." Holden sighed. "And I don't think he's talking to me every time he says 'master.'"

"I'm not," said Bran, his eyes still closed, his hand plucking blindly at the air. "Am I being punished now?"

Holden took Bran's hand out of the air and laid it down on the bed. "You're not being punished, Bran."

"No," said Bran restlessly, pulling his hand away. "I mean, is it over yet?"

"Is what over, honey?"

"My punishment," said Bran impatiently. "Or is he coming back? I haven't-- I threw up, earlier. He won't feed me again until I clean it up."

Holden felt a little like throwing up, himself. He looked pleadingly up at Alix.

"That's all taken care of, Bran," Alix said gently. "Are you hungry? I can get you something to eat."

"Put me back!" said Bran, his eyes snapping open again with sudden urgency and fixing on Holden. "Put me back in the chains before he gets back! He'll beat me bloody-- and you, too, if he sees you let me loose--"

"No one's going to hurt you," said Holden again, and, oddly touched, "Or me, either. Alix, can you get me another cool cloth for his head?"

"You don't understand," said Bran wildly, while Alix left as silently as she had come. "You shouldn't have come here, you shouldn't have-- it's not safe--"

"This is my house, Bran, and it's your home. You're safe here."

"I'm not safe!"

"Yes," said Holden, emphatically, "you are."

Bran stared at him for a long time without speaking. Finally he said, in a small voice, "Master?"

Holden's heart seized sharply. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Are we at home?"

"Yes," said Holden. "We are."

Bran nodded.

"Am I crazy?" he asked after another moment.

"No, honey," said Holden steadily, "but you have a high fever, and you're a little confused right now."

"I'm sorry," said Bran unhappily.

"Bran, it's not your fault," said Holden. "Just rest. I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Bran nodded, his eyes intent on Holden's face.

"Master?" he whispered finally. "Will you-- would you-- kiss me?"

Holden leaned down and kissed him, tenderly and lingeringly, on his hot forehead.

"My sweet boy," he whispered.

"Your boy," Bran repeated, his eyes closing.

"That's right, precious. Try and sleep now."

Alix had come back in; she was beside Holden, offering him a cold, wet cloth. He took it, reached out and touched Bran's flushed forehead with it; Bran shivered, then lay still, his eyes still closed, as Holden stroked his brow with the cool cloth.

"Good boy," said Holden, and started to sing, softly, "At the root of the tree at the heart of the world..."