A Midsummer Night's Drive
Jun. 17th, 2008 04:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeWe've had the winter solstice and the vernal equinox, so...
"Bran and I are heading out right after dinner," said Holden casually to Alix as they sat down to eat. "Probably won't be back until late."
Bran blinked at his master, then at everyone else. Nobody seemed astonished by this bizarre statement, even though Bran had never known either master or mistress to head out anywhere after dinner, except to parties, and Bran was pretty sure he'd have known about it if Holden had been planning to take him to a party-- or anywhere-- tonight. Plans with Holden would have been right at the top of his mental list of things-to-remember-- underlined, picked out in gold, and marked with asterisks that corresponded to other asterisks with little exclamation points next to them.
"Make sure he wears boots," was all Alix said, confusing Bran even worse.
"Right," said Holden, and smiled at Bran, an affectionate smile that made Bran relax, even though he was still bewildered. Whatever was going on, it didn't seem to be a bad thing.
After dinner, Holden told him to go upstairs and put on a pair of boots, which he did, as quickly as he could, then ran back down the stairs to the front door, where Holden was waiting for him. He took Bran's hand and squeezed it as he led Bran out to the car, where he walked around to the passenger's side and opened the door for Bran to get in. Bran hesitated, looking into his master's dark eyes.
"Hop in," Holden prompted, and Bran slid obediently into the passenger's seat. Holden closed the door on him gently and walked around to the driver's side, where he started the car.
"Master?" Bran finally ventured, as they drove through the mellow, dimming light of early evening, the setting sun large and golden ahead of them. "May I ask?"
Holden glanced sideways at him. "Do you know what today is, kiddo?"
Bran breathed in deeply, a slow, sweet joy rising in him. He had remembered what day it was, and he'd even let himself hope, the previous night, as he'd fallen asleep, that Holden would remember too-- after all, he'd remembered the last two holidays. But then he'd wakened alone, and scolded himself for not having realized Holden would have more important things on his mind, and put the whole thing out of his own mind. After all, he was almost nineteen now-- it was time he stopped clinging to childish pleasures like solstices.
"You thought I'd forgotten, didn't you?" said Holden, his eyes on the road.
Bran nodded, sheepishly, wondering now what in the world this mysterious outing had to do with the summer solstice, but sure again that it was a good thing.
"Why didn't you say something, kid?" Holden asked reproachfully. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to celebrate the holidays with you?"
"Yes, master, but--"
"But you didn't think I really meant it?" Holden shook his head, eyes still on the road. "I've been waiting all day for you to bring it up, you know. I was starting to think you'd forgotten. I should have known you were just pretending you didn't exist again." He took one hand off the wheel and reached for Bran's without looking; Bran clasped it automatically, both puzzled and shaken by Holden's last words. "Well, you do, and I'm going to celebrate the summer solstice with you whether you like it or not."
Bran squeezed his master's hand convulsively before Holden drew it away and put it back on the wheel, and they drove in silence for a while longer. Bran had no idea where they were going, but he was still startled when Holden turned off the paved road onto what seemed like a mere pathway, into-- Bran suddenly realized-- the same forest where Karl and Tara had found him, after he ran away all those months ago.
His gaze darted to Holden's face; Holden caught the look and smiled reassuringly at him.
"Don't worry, I'm not planning to abandon you in the forest," he said. "What did you do for the summer solstice when you were a kid?"
"Just what everybody else did," said Bran, still a little nervous as they drove slowly deeper into the forest, where the falling dusk was deeper; Holden switched on the headlights. "We, uh, we had a bonfire, with all the old sticks and husks and... master?"
"Yeah, kid."
"Are we going to--" Bran hesitated. "Is that why--"
"Let's walk from here," said Holden, and stopped the car.
Bran got out, still obedient, but couldn't help stepping close to Holden as Holden opened the trunk of the car and got out a canvas bag, which he slung over his shoulder before reaching out to take Bran's hand.
"What did you do at your bonfire?" he asked as they started walking. "With your family?"
"We, uh, we prayed and gave thanks," said Bran, hanging on to Holden's hand for dear life as Holden walked with a purposeful stride, "and we burned-- whatever we wanted to burn, from the last year. For me it was usually-- old school workbooks, and my mom and dad would burn-- you know, broken stuff they couldn't figure out how to turn into anything else, or stuff they were sort of-- mad at." Like the letters Bran's grandfather occasionally sent his mother, he thought, that had made him wildly curious about the mysterious grandfather until their first meeting removed any desire to know him better. "And we-- sang, and told stories and--"
His voice choked off as he saw that they had reached the edge of a natural clearing that had been quite deliberately cleared of all debris, and a circle of largeish stones carefully laid out around a central pyre of wood, sticks, and dried bracken.
"Oh, good," said Holden. "It's still here."
He walked up to just outside the circle of stone, pulled a folded red wool blanket out of his canvas bag, shook it out and laid it down on the ground, and sat, touching the blanket next to him in invitation. Bran knelt a little unsteadily next to his master, who was calmly pulling a paper sack out of his canvas bag and handing it to Bran.
"I stopped by the market this morning and asked your friend Marta if she had anything special for midsummer," he said, while Bran stared at the sack. "She said she tries sometimes to slip you a sweet, and you always tell her you're not allowed. Told me she hoped I knew what a good boy I had."
Bran blushed furiously and ducked his head.
"I said I did," Holden continued, still trying for casual, though a note of-- something else-- had crept in. "Asked her if there was anything in particular she'd like you to be allowed to try. Go on, open it."
Bran opened the sack and reached inside, pulling out a little confection of pastry that looked eerily like the nest from the winter solstice, except that there were no candy eggs inside it, and on the underside of the nest was red, yellow and orange icing; Bran realized it was meant as a reversal, a tiny bonfire.
"That's her summer solstice special," said Holden. "She tucked a couple of other things in there for you, too-- but she wouldn't let me pay for that one. Said to tell you it was her gift to you."
Unexpected tears started in Bran's eyes. "Master-- I--"
Holden reached out, pulled him closer, and kissed his cheek before he shifted and reached into the canvas bag for a box of kitchen matches, which he turned slightly away from Bran to strike. He tossed the little flame onto the pile of wood and twigs; it took a moment, then caught and crackled, whooshing up in a shower of sparks, and started to burn merrily.
"I wanted this to be a surprise," Holden said, his eyes fixed on the blaze, "so I know you didn't have a chance to come up with anything to burn--"
"I don't own anything, master," said Bran, puzzled.
"That, too," said Holden, with an odd sideways glance at Bran. "But-- I've got something."
Bran stared at him as he turned the canvas bag upside down and dumped out a pile of-- rope. Plain, obviously used hemp rope.
"It's what you--" Holden hesitated, then smiled faintly, briefly. "It's what you were, uh, wearing when we bought you."
Bran stared at the heap.
"I didn't throw it out right away, because I was so pissed at Dunaev for--" Holden touched the rope with obvious distaste. "You can see how fucking tight it was tied. Remember how your legs were half dead when I untied them? It hurt you so badly that you-- cried out. You were so scared, you'd barely made a sound, but that noise you made then-- I was thinking, remember I said I'd sue him if there was damage, I thought I'd hang onto the rope, to show-- and I just tossed it in a bag, and then I forgot about it. Working with you was, um--" He smiled again. "A little distracting."
The heat of the fire was extremely welcome, because Bran was trembling, though he didn't think it was from cold.
"I ran across it a couple of months ago," Holden went on, "and I was going to throw it out, but then I thought-- well, I thought maybe we could-- do this."
Bran reached out, with one hand, and touched the rope. It was the same rope Dunaev had always used, and it was harsh and rough to his skin; he had never realized how harsh and rough, compared to anything Holden used.
"I want you to put it on the fire," said Holden softly. "Bran? I want us to watch it burn."
After a moment, Bran took a deep breath and plunged both hands into the tangled coils, then lifted the whole mess and tossed it onto the fire, where it sent up another bright burst of sparks before it caught and started to twist and blacken like a nest of tortured snakes. Bran leaned against Holden's chest, into the crook of his arm, and put his head down on his master's shoulder as they both watched.
"Eat your cake," said Holden finally, and though his stomach was fluttering too severely to make eating sound appealing, Bran reached mechanically for the bonfire pastry, lifted it to his lips, and took a tiny bite. The sweetness of the icing momentarily startled him, overwhelming the taste of the baked dough; his mouth watered, and his stomach suddenly growled.
"Good?" Holden asked, and Bran nodded against him, taking another small, cautious bite. "Bran? Tell me a story."
Bran swallowed. "Master?"
"You said you and your family used to tell stories," said Holden. "By the bonfire. Holy stories, right? What was your favorite?"
"Loki and the farmer's son," said Bran, smiling, and Holden laughed.
"What a surprise," he said. "Tell it to me, kid."
Bran hesitated, and cleared his throat. "It-- um. Well. A farmer and his wife bargained with a giant, and the giant claimed their son as a forfeit. And the farmer and his wife prayed to the gods for help, to hide their son. To Odin, king of the gods-- and Odin answered their prayer."
"Wise Odin," Holden recited, "one-eyed, the Aesir-king. Not quite wise enough, though, as I recall."
"Not so bad." Bran watched the flames, the charred rope cracking apart into indistinguishable coal-bits. "He scooped the boy up in his arms and carried him out to the wheat-field, that had scarcely begun to shoot, and with a sweep of his arm, he made the wheat grow tall, tall as a boy. And then he set the boy down, and he told him, 'Become an ear of wheat, among the wheat. And stand very, very still, until the giant is gone.' And the boy obeyed. Became an ear of wheat."
"That's one obedient boy," said Holden, and Bran laughed.
"It was a god's command," he pointed out. "Anyway, the giant came storming up, swinging his sword, and he roared out, 'If the boy will not come out to me, I shall mow down this whole field of wheat!' And he grabbed-- a big giant armful of the wheat-- and he raised his sword-- and the boy-- the ear of wheat that was the boy-- got scared and-- moved! Ran out of the giant's arms, and turned back into a boy, with legs to run all the way home!"
"All the way home," Holden repeated. "And Odin said--"
"'Here is your boy, I have done with hiding him,'" said Bran, and took another small bite of his pastry. "So the farmer and his wife had to pray to another god. Hønir."
"Of course," said Holden. "Hønir, the universal substitute. Need a cultural exchange? Send Hønir. Odin bungles a rescue? Call in Hønir."
"You don't believe in the gods, do you, master?" Bran asked curiously.
"I don't know," said Holden, sobering a little. "I think I believe in something. Sometimes it seems like something's interested in fucking with us, for sure. And, well." He shrugged slightly, jogging Bran's head where it rested against him. "Sometimes-- good things happen."
Neither of them said anything for a minute, and then Holden added, "So Hønir fixed everything up, right?"
Bran smiled.
"Hønir picked the boy up in his arms," he said, "and carried him to the lake, and called seven swans to him. And Hønir commanded the boy to become a single white feather on the head of one of the swans. And the boy obeyed, and became a feather. And Hønir said, 'Stay very very still, until the giant is gone.' But the giant came storming up--"
"Imagine that."
"--and grabbed one of the swans-- not the one the boy was on-- and opened his gigantic red mouth and stuck the swan in head first-- and bit off his head!"
"I don't imagine the boy was at all disturbed by this," said Holden.
"He was so scared he flew up off the other swan's head," Bran continued, "and floated towards the ground, and turned back into a boy, with legs to run all the way home!"
"He'd better watch it," said Holden pensively, and pulled Bran closer. "The parents are running out of gods to pray to. Hønir has done with hiding him, too, now, right?"
"Yes." Bran snuggled against his master's chest. It was dark now, outside the circle of firelight. "But the parents prayed to Loki."
"Loki Lie-smith," said Holden, "patron of thieves, tricksters, and general all-around nogoodniks. They were getting hard up."
"Loki appeared," said Bran, squirming as Holden nuzzled at the nape of his neck, "and the farmers fell down on their knees and begged him to hide their son, so well that the giant could never take him and devour him. And Loki said, 'I will help you, but you must obey me in return. While I take your son to hide him, build a boathouse on the lake, with a wide, wide window, and bar the window with a bar of iron."
"Well, of course," said Holden. "Why didn't they think of that before?"
Bran gently butted Holden's chest with his head. "They promised, and Loki lifted the boy up in his arms, and bore him to a boat, and pushed off from shore, to the deepest part of the water. And he cast out his line, and caught three fish. And the last one was ready to spawn. And Loki commanded the boy to become an egg in the fish's clutch. So the boy obeyed, and became an egg."
"This is seriously the most flexible boy I've ever heard of," said Holden.
"Loki put the fish back into the water, and rowed back in to land, and the giant was waiting for them on the shore. And he hailed to Loki-- Loki was friends with the giants, even though he was a god-- and asked if he'd had good fishing, and said he believed he'd go fishing, too. And Loki said, 'Let me come along with you. I know where the best places are to cast out your line.' They rowed back out, and the giant cast out his line, and the third fish he caught--"
"--by sheer coincidence--"
"--was the fish where the boy was hiding." Bran was getting sleepy with the heat of the fire and the bedtime quality of the story; he shifted and lay down on the blanket, his head on his master's thigh, one hand still clutching his half-eaten pastry. Holden's hand moved to his head and stroked through his hair, coiling his curls around slender fingers.
"So the giant lifted the fish in his hand," he continued drowsily, "and the boy was frightened, and moved, and squirmed, and turned into a boy again-- but before the giant could see him, Loki put him behind his own back. The boy couldn't run, because they were in a boat in the middle of the water, so he sat very, very still behind Loki, and Loki whispered to him, too quietly for the giant to hear--"
"I don't think giants are all that perceptive," said Holden, and Bran nodded agreement.
"He said, 'As soon as we're close enough to shore, you must leap onto the land and run as fast as you can, to your parents' boathouse!' And the boy obeyed, and leaped out and ran, and the giant ran after him, shaking the ground with his steps and his long strides--"
"Thump, thump, thump," said Holden, tapping the top of Bran's head with a finger.
"The boy ran into the boathouse, with the giant right behind him," Bran went on, closing his eyes, "but the boy leaped up and dove straight through the window, and the giant dove after him-- but his shoulders got stuck on the bar that Loki had told the parents to put in, and while his head was sticking out the window shouting after the boy, Loki came along and chopped off his head."
"Well," said Holden. "When diplomacy fails..."
"And he kicked it away." Bran yawned widely and snuggled closer against his master's legs. "The head, I mean. And burned the giant's neck with hot iron, so the head couldn't reattach. And then he picked the boy up in his arms, and carried him back to his parents, and said 'Here is your boy. I have done with hiding him.'"
Holden's nails scratched softly at Bran's scalp. "And they all lived happily ever after."
"I guess so," said Bran, his eyes still closed. "Master... I think I'm falling asleep."
"We should get home," said Holden. "The fire's dying."
Bran sat up, a little dizzily, and crawled off the blanket; Holden folded it up and tucked it back into the canvas bag, along with the little paper sack of uneaten pastries, and slung it over his shoulder before he gathered Bran up in his arms and lifted him. Bran started to protest, then relaxed into his master's arms as Holden carried him, once again, towards the car.
Author's note: That's a real Scandinavian folk tale.
"Bran and I are heading out right after dinner," said Holden casually to Alix as they sat down to eat. "Probably won't be back until late."
Bran blinked at his master, then at everyone else. Nobody seemed astonished by this bizarre statement, even though Bran had never known either master or mistress to head out anywhere after dinner, except to parties, and Bran was pretty sure he'd have known about it if Holden had been planning to take him to a party-- or anywhere-- tonight. Plans with Holden would have been right at the top of his mental list of things-to-remember-- underlined, picked out in gold, and marked with asterisks that corresponded to other asterisks with little exclamation points next to them.
"Make sure he wears boots," was all Alix said, confusing Bran even worse.
"Right," said Holden, and smiled at Bran, an affectionate smile that made Bran relax, even though he was still bewildered. Whatever was going on, it didn't seem to be a bad thing.
After dinner, Holden told him to go upstairs and put on a pair of boots, which he did, as quickly as he could, then ran back down the stairs to the front door, where Holden was waiting for him. He took Bran's hand and squeezed it as he led Bran out to the car, where he walked around to the passenger's side and opened the door for Bran to get in. Bran hesitated, looking into his master's dark eyes.
"Hop in," Holden prompted, and Bran slid obediently into the passenger's seat. Holden closed the door on him gently and walked around to the driver's side, where he started the car.
"Master?" Bran finally ventured, as they drove through the mellow, dimming light of early evening, the setting sun large and golden ahead of them. "May I ask?"
Holden glanced sideways at him. "Do you know what today is, kiddo?"
Bran breathed in deeply, a slow, sweet joy rising in him. He had remembered what day it was, and he'd even let himself hope, the previous night, as he'd fallen asleep, that Holden would remember too-- after all, he'd remembered the last two holidays. But then he'd wakened alone, and scolded himself for not having realized Holden would have more important things on his mind, and put the whole thing out of his own mind. After all, he was almost nineteen now-- it was time he stopped clinging to childish pleasures like solstices.
"You thought I'd forgotten, didn't you?" said Holden, his eyes on the road.
Bran nodded, sheepishly, wondering now what in the world this mysterious outing had to do with the summer solstice, but sure again that it was a good thing.
"Why didn't you say something, kid?" Holden asked reproachfully. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to celebrate the holidays with you?"
"Yes, master, but--"
"But you didn't think I really meant it?" Holden shook his head, eyes still on the road. "I've been waiting all day for you to bring it up, you know. I was starting to think you'd forgotten. I should have known you were just pretending you didn't exist again." He took one hand off the wheel and reached for Bran's without looking; Bran clasped it automatically, both puzzled and shaken by Holden's last words. "Well, you do, and I'm going to celebrate the summer solstice with you whether you like it or not."
Bran squeezed his master's hand convulsively before Holden drew it away and put it back on the wheel, and they drove in silence for a while longer. Bran had no idea where they were going, but he was still startled when Holden turned off the paved road onto what seemed like a mere pathway, into-- Bran suddenly realized-- the same forest where Karl and Tara had found him, after he ran away all those months ago.
His gaze darted to Holden's face; Holden caught the look and smiled reassuringly at him.
"Don't worry, I'm not planning to abandon you in the forest," he said. "What did you do for the summer solstice when you were a kid?"
"Just what everybody else did," said Bran, still a little nervous as they drove slowly deeper into the forest, where the falling dusk was deeper; Holden switched on the headlights. "We, uh, we had a bonfire, with all the old sticks and husks and... master?"
"Yeah, kid."
"Are we going to--" Bran hesitated. "Is that why--"
"Let's walk from here," said Holden, and stopped the car.
Bran got out, still obedient, but couldn't help stepping close to Holden as Holden opened the trunk of the car and got out a canvas bag, which he slung over his shoulder before reaching out to take Bran's hand.
"What did you do at your bonfire?" he asked as they started walking. "With your family?"
"We, uh, we prayed and gave thanks," said Bran, hanging on to Holden's hand for dear life as Holden walked with a purposeful stride, "and we burned-- whatever we wanted to burn, from the last year. For me it was usually-- old school workbooks, and my mom and dad would burn-- you know, broken stuff they couldn't figure out how to turn into anything else, or stuff they were sort of-- mad at." Like the letters Bran's grandfather occasionally sent his mother, he thought, that had made him wildly curious about the mysterious grandfather until their first meeting removed any desire to know him better. "And we-- sang, and told stories and--"
His voice choked off as he saw that they had reached the edge of a natural clearing that had been quite deliberately cleared of all debris, and a circle of largeish stones carefully laid out around a central pyre of wood, sticks, and dried bracken.
"Oh, good," said Holden. "It's still here."
He walked up to just outside the circle of stone, pulled a folded red wool blanket out of his canvas bag, shook it out and laid it down on the ground, and sat, touching the blanket next to him in invitation. Bran knelt a little unsteadily next to his master, who was calmly pulling a paper sack out of his canvas bag and handing it to Bran.
"I stopped by the market this morning and asked your friend Marta if she had anything special for midsummer," he said, while Bran stared at the sack. "She said she tries sometimes to slip you a sweet, and you always tell her you're not allowed. Told me she hoped I knew what a good boy I had."
Bran blushed furiously and ducked his head.
"I said I did," Holden continued, still trying for casual, though a note of-- something else-- had crept in. "Asked her if there was anything in particular she'd like you to be allowed to try. Go on, open it."
Bran opened the sack and reached inside, pulling out a little confection of pastry that looked eerily like the nest from the winter solstice, except that there were no candy eggs inside it, and on the underside of the nest was red, yellow and orange icing; Bran realized it was meant as a reversal, a tiny bonfire.
"That's her summer solstice special," said Holden. "She tucked a couple of other things in there for you, too-- but she wouldn't let me pay for that one. Said to tell you it was her gift to you."
Unexpected tears started in Bran's eyes. "Master-- I--"
Holden reached out, pulled him closer, and kissed his cheek before he shifted and reached into the canvas bag for a box of kitchen matches, which he turned slightly away from Bran to strike. He tossed the little flame onto the pile of wood and twigs; it took a moment, then caught and crackled, whooshing up in a shower of sparks, and started to burn merrily.
"I wanted this to be a surprise," Holden said, his eyes fixed on the blaze, "so I know you didn't have a chance to come up with anything to burn--"
"I don't own anything, master," said Bran, puzzled.
"That, too," said Holden, with an odd sideways glance at Bran. "But-- I've got something."
Bran stared at him as he turned the canvas bag upside down and dumped out a pile of-- rope. Plain, obviously used hemp rope.
"It's what you--" Holden hesitated, then smiled faintly, briefly. "It's what you were, uh, wearing when we bought you."
Bran stared at the heap.
"I didn't throw it out right away, because I was so pissed at Dunaev for--" Holden touched the rope with obvious distaste. "You can see how fucking tight it was tied. Remember how your legs were half dead when I untied them? It hurt you so badly that you-- cried out. You were so scared, you'd barely made a sound, but that noise you made then-- I was thinking, remember I said I'd sue him if there was damage, I thought I'd hang onto the rope, to show-- and I just tossed it in a bag, and then I forgot about it. Working with you was, um--" He smiled again. "A little distracting."
The heat of the fire was extremely welcome, because Bran was trembling, though he didn't think it was from cold.
"I ran across it a couple of months ago," Holden went on, "and I was going to throw it out, but then I thought-- well, I thought maybe we could-- do this."
Bran reached out, with one hand, and touched the rope. It was the same rope Dunaev had always used, and it was harsh and rough to his skin; he had never realized how harsh and rough, compared to anything Holden used.
"I want you to put it on the fire," said Holden softly. "Bran? I want us to watch it burn."
After a moment, Bran took a deep breath and plunged both hands into the tangled coils, then lifted the whole mess and tossed it onto the fire, where it sent up another bright burst of sparks before it caught and started to twist and blacken like a nest of tortured snakes. Bran leaned against Holden's chest, into the crook of his arm, and put his head down on his master's shoulder as they both watched.
"Eat your cake," said Holden finally, and though his stomach was fluttering too severely to make eating sound appealing, Bran reached mechanically for the bonfire pastry, lifted it to his lips, and took a tiny bite. The sweetness of the icing momentarily startled him, overwhelming the taste of the baked dough; his mouth watered, and his stomach suddenly growled.
"Good?" Holden asked, and Bran nodded against him, taking another small, cautious bite. "Bran? Tell me a story."
Bran swallowed. "Master?"
"You said you and your family used to tell stories," said Holden. "By the bonfire. Holy stories, right? What was your favorite?"
"Loki and the farmer's son," said Bran, smiling, and Holden laughed.
"What a surprise," he said. "Tell it to me, kid."
Bran hesitated, and cleared his throat. "It-- um. Well. A farmer and his wife bargained with a giant, and the giant claimed their son as a forfeit. And the farmer and his wife prayed to the gods for help, to hide their son. To Odin, king of the gods-- and Odin answered their prayer."
"Wise Odin," Holden recited, "one-eyed, the Aesir-king. Not quite wise enough, though, as I recall."
"Not so bad." Bran watched the flames, the charred rope cracking apart into indistinguishable coal-bits. "He scooped the boy up in his arms and carried him out to the wheat-field, that had scarcely begun to shoot, and with a sweep of his arm, he made the wheat grow tall, tall as a boy. And then he set the boy down, and he told him, 'Become an ear of wheat, among the wheat. And stand very, very still, until the giant is gone.' And the boy obeyed. Became an ear of wheat."
"That's one obedient boy," said Holden, and Bran laughed.
"It was a god's command," he pointed out. "Anyway, the giant came storming up, swinging his sword, and he roared out, 'If the boy will not come out to me, I shall mow down this whole field of wheat!' And he grabbed-- a big giant armful of the wheat-- and he raised his sword-- and the boy-- the ear of wheat that was the boy-- got scared and-- moved! Ran out of the giant's arms, and turned back into a boy, with legs to run all the way home!"
"All the way home," Holden repeated. "And Odin said--"
"'Here is your boy, I have done with hiding him,'" said Bran, and took another small bite of his pastry. "So the farmer and his wife had to pray to another god. Hønir."
"Of course," said Holden. "Hønir, the universal substitute. Need a cultural exchange? Send Hønir. Odin bungles a rescue? Call in Hønir."
"You don't believe in the gods, do you, master?" Bran asked curiously.
"I don't know," said Holden, sobering a little. "I think I believe in something. Sometimes it seems like something's interested in fucking with us, for sure. And, well." He shrugged slightly, jogging Bran's head where it rested against him. "Sometimes-- good things happen."
Neither of them said anything for a minute, and then Holden added, "So Hønir fixed everything up, right?"
Bran smiled.
"Hønir picked the boy up in his arms," he said, "and carried him to the lake, and called seven swans to him. And Hønir commanded the boy to become a single white feather on the head of one of the swans. And the boy obeyed, and became a feather. And Hønir said, 'Stay very very still, until the giant is gone.' But the giant came storming up--"
"Imagine that."
"--and grabbed one of the swans-- not the one the boy was on-- and opened his gigantic red mouth and stuck the swan in head first-- and bit off his head!"
"I don't imagine the boy was at all disturbed by this," said Holden.
"He was so scared he flew up off the other swan's head," Bran continued, "and floated towards the ground, and turned back into a boy, with legs to run all the way home!"
"He'd better watch it," said Holden pensively, and pulled Bran closer. "The parents are running out of gods to pray to. Hønir has done with hiding him, too, now, right?"
"Yes." Bran snuggled against his master's chest. It was dark now, outside the circle of firelight. "But the parents prayed to Loki."
"Loki Lie-smith," said Holden, "patron of thieves, tricksters, and general all-around nogoodniks. They were getting hard up."
"Loki appeared," said Bran, squirming as Holden nuzzled at the nape of his neck, "and the farmers fell down on their knees and begged him to hide their son, so well that the giant could never take him and devour him. And Loki said, 'I will help you, but you must obey me in return. While I take your son to hide him, build a boathouse on the lake, with a wide, wide window, and bar the window with a bar of iron."
"Well, of course," said Holden. "Why didn't they think of that before?"
Bran gently butted Holden's chest with his head. "They promised, and Loki lifted the boy up in his arms, and bore him to a boat, and pushed off from shore, to the deepest part of the water. And he cast out his line, and caught three fish. And the last one was ready to spawn. And Loki commanded the boy to become an egg in the fish's clutch. So the boy obeyed, and became an egg."
"This is seriously the most flexible boy I've ever heard of," said Holden.
"Loki put the fish back into the water, and rowed back in to land, and the giant was waiting for them on the shore. And he hailed to Loki-- Loki was friends with the giants, even though he was a god-- and asked if he'd had good fishing, and said he believed he'd go fishing, too. And Loki said, 'Let me come along with you. I know where the best places are to cast out your line.' They rowed back out, and the giant cast out his line, and the third fish he caught--"
"--by sheer coincidence--"
"--was the fish where the boy was hiding." Bran was getting sleepy with the heat of the fire and the bedtime quality of the story; he shifted and lay down on the blanket, his head on his master's thigh, one hand still clutching his half-eaten pastry. Holden's hand moved to his head and stroked through his hair, coiling his curls around slender fingers.
"So the giant lifted the fish in his hand," he continued drowsily, "and the boy was frightened, and moved, and squirmed, and turned into a boy again-- but before the giant could see him, Loki put him behind his own back. The boy couldn't run, because they were in a boat in the middle of the water, so he sat very, very still behind Loki, and Loki whispered to him, too quietly for the giant to hear--"
"I don't think giants are all that perceptive," said Holden, and Bran nodded agreement.
"He said, 'As soon as we're close enough to shore, you must leap onto the land and run as fast as you can, to your parents' boathouse!' And the boy obeyed, and leaped out and ran, and the giant ran after him, shaking the ground with his steps and his long strides--"
"Thump, thump, thump," said Holden, tapping the top of Bran's head with a finger.
"The boy ran into the boathouse, with the giant right behind him," Bran went on, closing his eyes, "but the boy leaped up and dove straight through the window, and the giant dove after him-- but his shoulders got stuck on the bar that Loki had told the parents to put in, and while his head was sticking out the window shouting after the boy, Loki came along and chopped off his head."
"Well," said Holden. "When diplomacy fails..."
"And he kicked it away." Bran yawned widely and snuggled closer against his master's legs. "The head, I mean. And burned the giant's neck with hot iron, so the head couldn't reattach. And then he picked the boy up in his arms, and carried him back to his parents, and said 'Here is your boy. I have done with hiding him.'"
Holden's nails scratched softly at Bran's scalp. "And they all lived happily ever after."
"I guess so," said Bran, his eyes still closed. "Master... I think I'm falling asleep."
"We should get home," said Holden. "The fire's dying."
Bran sat up, a little dizzily, and crawled off the blanket; Holden folded it up and tucked it back into the canvas bag, along with the little paper sack of uneaten pastries, and slung it over his shoulder before he gathered Bran up in his arms and lifted him. Bran started to protest, then relaxed into his master's arms as Holden carried him, once again, towards the car.
Author's note: That's a real Scandinavian folk tale.
