Jesse chapter 14a

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Part Thirteen


Wandering the house at night had become a bad habit of Jesse's, but the failure to close bedroom doors tightly was a bad habit of the entire household's, so it wasn't entirely Jesse's fault that after prowling around the upstairs hall for a few restless minutes, three nights after his confrontation with Holden, he found himself lingering in front of the slightly-ajar door of Holden and Alix's bedroom. There was no sound from within. Alix might be in Greta's room; Holden might be any number of places. The drawer of legal documents usually had the key in it. Marriage contract, wills, certificate of manumission-- what did that look like?

He remembered Holden's warning last time he'd caught him snooping--- revoke your status as a guest. Where would that leave you, exactly?-- but shrugged it off. What are they going to do to me? I already bitched the guy out to his face and he just sent me to bed. Over the past three days, Jesse had stopped wondering when the other shoe was going to drop for that snarling midnight conversation. Holden acted so much as if nothing had happened that Jesse might have wondered if he'd dreamed the entire thing, if not for the oddly absorbed, speculative look he had begun to catch on Holden's face when he was looking at Jesse. Bran had noticed the stray glances too, and although for the most part Bran’s behavior was as friendly as ever, he was getting quieter around Jesse, who was starting to look forward more and more to leaving.

Tired of standing in the hallway dithering, Jesse pushed the bedroom door open, and his heart nearly stopped for a moment. Holden was in the bed, alone and apparently asleep. Alix must be sharing Greta's bed tonight. But why wasn't Holden sleeping with Yves or Jer or Bran, then? Moving the door back to its original position before coming further into the room, Jesse went to the bedside and stared down at the slave trainer's face, which looked drawn and anxious even in sleep.

Poor Larssen. Yeah, my heart bleeds. Both voices-- one lazy and amused, one bitter and sardonic-- echoed in his head.

Snooping was obviously out of the question, but Jesse didn't like the thought of going back to his own room and trying to sleep, either. Instead, he crossed to the wide windowsill of Holden's bedroom and sat down on it, curled half behind the curtains, watching the sleeping form on the bed pensively, as if whatever Holden was dreaming about might materialize in the air above his head, giving Jesse some clue as to what the man was thinking.

Some little time later, Jesse was badly startled when the door creaked faintly and someone else came into the room. Motionless, his heart pounding, he realized it was Bran.

He might have seen Jesse if he had looked in his direction, but he made straight for the bed and stood by it for what seemed like several minutes, looking down at his sleeping master, before bending down and pressing his lips to Holden's. Holden came awake by degrees, already kissing back as he opened his eyes, and his hands came up to cup Bran's face; as Bran tried to pull back, Holden sat up, following him, kissing him insistently.

"Hi, sweetheart," he murmured when he had finally let Bran pull back slightly.

"I'm sorry to wake you, master," said Bran in a low voice, "but you've told me I could, if I-- needed you."

"You can wake me up every hour of the night if you do it like that," said Holden drowsily. "What do you need?"

Bran smiled crookedly. "Nothing. I mean. You. I just need-- you."

"Come here," said Holden after a moment, moving over and motioning to the bed next to him, and Bran lay down. Holden reached across him and smoothed out a wrinkle in the sheet under him, then adjusted the pillow under the boy's head, looking down at him with such tenderness and concern that Jesse's heart skipped a beat. "Can't sleep?"

Bran shook his head.

"Bad dreams?"

"No, master," said Bran without moving. "Just can't get to sleep. Head won't quiet down."

Holden nodded and touched the head in question tenderly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not really anything to talk about, master, just-- me being ridiculous," said Bran, and then took a deep breath before adding, "Master? This is-- may I ask you for something really, really stupid?"

"How stupid?" Holden smiled.

Bran tried to smile back. "Never mind."

"I'm just teasing, Bran," said Holden, sobering and touching Bran's forehead again. "You know you can ask for anything, kid."

Bran cleared his throat. "I was just-- you know when I was sick last year?"

"Yes," said Holden. "And if you're asking if you're ever allowed to spend time around those plague-ridden moppets again, the answer is no."

The corners of Bran's mouth twitched. "Master, you know the odds of me catching something from the same kids twice are pretty slim, right?"

"I don't care," said Holden, scowling.

"Neither do I," said Bran. "That wasn't what I-- but I was just remembering. There was one night when I had a pretty high fever, and I couldn't-- settle down-- and you-- well, you-- sang to me."

Holden was silent for a long moment before answering.

"I didn't know you remembered that," he said finally. "You weren't very lucid at the time."

Bran nodded. "I don't remember much. Just that you sang, and it was-- nice. It was a nice song. It was about morning."

"It was a silly song,” said Holden, stroking Bran’s cheek. “But for almost a year, when Valor was three or four, me singing that particular lullaby was the only thing that stood a chance of getting her to sleep. I must have sung it to her a thousand times; I think it’s permanently printed on my brain. And it seemed to calm you down."

"It-- did," said Bran dreamily. "I felt-- well, sick, and crazy, but while you were singing to me, and I could hear your voice, I could-- lie still. I could rest. I could sleep.”

Holden examined Bran silently for a few moments, then said, in an oddly constricted voice, “So you want me to sing it to you now?”

Bran squirmed. "I told you it was stupid."

"It's not stupid." Holden hesitated for a moment, then added, with an effort at a smile, "Just bear in mind that you were delirious the last time you heard it. I doubt my voice is as pleasant as you remember."

Bran smiled back, his eyes bright, and said nothing.

Holden cleared his throat and, after another moment's hesitation, began singing softly, in a gruff, uncertain baritone that grew slowly clearer and sweeter as the song went on:

"At the root of the tree at the heart of the world,
With a chain round his neck, the Wolf lies curled.
His gleaming teeth and jaws are furled,
And the sun shall rise in the morning.

His chain, it is forged of the nerve of a bear,
Of the voice of a fish, and a girl's chin-hair.
His chain, it is light and strong and fair,
And the sun shall rise in the morning.

With a mountain's root, and a cat's foot-fall,
And the spit of a bird, he is held in thrall,
Though iron could bind him never at all,
And the sun shall rise in the morning.

The sun shall rise, the stars shall fade,
For the binding which the good gods made
Still loops the Wolf in its lovely braid,
And the sun shall rise in the morning."

Bran's eyes were closed. In the light of the half moon filtering through the window, Holden's face shone bright with tears.

"You’re so good to me," Bran murmured without opening his eyes.

"I love you, Bran," Holden said clearly.

Bran's eyes snapped open, but he lay otherwise perfectly still and silent for a moment. Then–

"Say again?" he said.

Holden reached out and gathered Bran up into his arms, crushing him against his chest. "I said I love you. I love you so damn much."

"That's what I thought you said." Bran nestled closer into Holden's arms. "Well, go on. How long have you loved me?"

"About... two years, I think," said Holden, pulling back to look curiously into Bran's face, which was calm and unsurprised, though mildly pleased.

"Okay,” said Bran a little impatiently, “but be specific. What made you start?"

"Does it matter, darling?" Holden asked, puzzled.

"Of course it does," said Bran indignantly, sitting up straight. "That's usually the best part of the dream. Not much of a dream if all you can come up with is 'about two years,' is it?"

"Dream...?” Holden echoed blankly.

"Look at you," said Bran, his own expression softening, and reached up to touch Holden's wet face. "It's nothing to cry about, master. I just like to hear it. When you first realized."

"I--" Holden cleared his throat again and swallowed. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I can’t remember... starting. Or realizing. I can't remember knowing you without loving you. I can't imagine knowing you without loving you. And I can't imagine what the hell I ever did to deserve to have someone like you love me as much as you do. I can't imagine I do deserve it. But fuck it. I love you."

"Mmm," said Bran contentedly. "That's more like it. Go on."

Holden snorted with laughter through his tears. "You really think you're dreaming, don’t you? How do I convince you you're awake?"

"You don't," said Bran sharply. "Don't wake me up. Keep talking."

"I can't wake you up if I'm just a dream," Holden said, pushing tears impatiently from his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Sure you can. You have before." Bran reached out and took Holden’s hand in his, lifting it to his lips. "Come on, master, don't cry. You were saying you've always loved me, because I'm so perfect, and you don't deserve to have me love you. That was great. Just say more stuff like that." He put Holden's hand at the nape of his neck. "And pet my head."

Holden began stroking Bran's hair obediently, amusement mingling with the pain and love on his tear-stained face. "I do this all the time, idiot. You have very modest wish-fulfillment dreams. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. And you're still calling me 'master.'"

Bran moved his head sensuously into Holden's touch. "What else would I call you?”

“Asshole,” Holden suggested, still caressing Bran's head. “Liar. Coward. It’s your dream. Go nuts.”

Bran smiled. “No, you mean– Holden." He said the name solemnly, almost reverently. "But I like calling you master. Remember when I first asked you why you couldn’t keep me, how you said you weren't really my master, you were just my trainer?"

"And now I'm a figment of your imagination," said Holden gravely.

"Yes," said Bran with equal gravity. "But you’re really my master... even when I wake up... and that’s...” He smiled again, pushing his head insistently against Holden’s hand, which had gone still at his neck. “And... maybe... I really came in here, before I fell asleep, and you sang to me, and I’ll wake up next to you. What else would I have wish-fulfillment dreams about, master?”

“You’re killing me, kid,” said Holden, fresh tears spilling down his face. Bran’s eyes were brightening, too; he swallowed and moved closer to Holden, putting his head down on his master's shoulder as Holden's arms went around him.

“I wish...” he said softly.

“What do you wish, Bran?” Holden asked hoarsely.

Bran kissed him on the neck. “I wish you’d hurry up and talk some more about how madly in love with me you are, before I wake up. It’s bad enough trying to explain why I’m crying to you, I mean the real you, but if I’m still in bed with Jesse–"

Jesse made an involuntary startled movement at the mention of his own name, and accidentally smacked his elbow against the glass of the window with a loud bang. Holden looked up and saw him, perched on the windowsill, only half hidden by shadow and curtain. After a moment Bran lifted his head and followed his master's gaze bemusedly. Jesse stared back at them, frozen.

"Hi, Jess," said Bran, then looked back at Holden. "What's he doing here?"

Holden laughed quietly.

"Trespassing," he said, his eyes back on Bran, drinking him in. "Go have your own damn dreams, Jesse."

Not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry himself, Jesse got shakily to his feet and nearly fell before he could steady himself, his knees unexpectedly weak. Holden kissed Bran's lips, long and slow and deep.

"That's nice," said Bran a little breathlessly, when Holden had pulled away, "but tell me– "

"No, you tell me," said Holden, laying Bran down carefully on his back. "This is the closest you've ever come to bossing me around, and I'm not wasting the opportunity. I'll tell you I love you all you want during and after, but we are having sex now, and I am taking notes."

Bran grinned up at him. "Yeah. Well. It's not like I'm going to say no to that. Although I'll probably wake up molesting Jesse again."

"We'll see about that, won't we?" said Holden, and leaned down for another kiss as Jesse slipped silently from the room.


Commentary on, and melody to, the song featured in this chapter

Part Fourteen (B)