maculategiraffe

Oh, this graph is so accurate. XD

(I LOVE fantasy and speculative fiction, not least because they both often have lots of good slavery, but! How often does it look like this! "The swaggering annuntiptorius looked down at his trembling, manacled mesticima with a cruel expression. 'Fowclestes,' he sneered, using the pejorative term for a frail young boy-slave intended for use in the bed of a burly pederast, 'see that you do not misbehave before his exaltedness the bundlefret, or your back shall surely bleed from my spinnaminder, which is like a whip, but lashier...'")

Also, y'all, I am catastrophically behind on comments again, but y'all know I always catch up eventually, right? And that I value each and every one of your comments, and replying to them, and the conversations we start that way, beyond any possible measure, y'all know that, right? I've been sick and sleepy and busy with work, but I will get caught up, because I want to get caught up, but I also want to go ahead and post this story now because I already missed the actual equinox.

So, even though I vaguely feel that it is rude to keep posting stories when I haven't replied to all the comments from the last one (kind of like getting married again before you've written all the thank-you notes for the gifts from your first wedding), here is the last in the series of stories set on the yearly festivals: winter solstice, vernal equinox, summer solstice, Bran's birthday, and:

Bran lay in bed, wide awake, with the earliest light of morning showing gray and faint through his window. He'd fallen asleep last night thinking of today, and as soon as he was fully conscious, he'd started taking deep, calming breaths. It wouldn't do to work himself into a frenzy of expectation before anything had even happened, and before he even knew with absolute certainty that anything would.

Anyway, regardless of what happened or didn't happen, now was a good time to settle down and be serious. The equinoxes weren't like the solstices-- solstices were for celebration and general festivity, but equinoxes were solemn occasions. The vernal equinox was the memorial of Baldr's resurrection, of course, but also of his death, and even the resurrection was something to feel awed and reverent about, not merry and mirthful. And the autumn equinox was even more serious. There was gratitude, of course, for the plenty of the harvest-- if the harvest was plentiful-- and feasting, with all the first-fruits of harvest, and a plentiful selection of preserved summer fruits as well. But autumn also meant the end of summer-side, with its long, sunny days, and the beginning of winter-side: longer nights, harder work, and the darkest part of the year. If spring meant fasting in anticipation of the year's bright return, autumn's feasts were always a little melancholy with the expectation of future hunger.

It had been a long time since Bran had feasted on the equinox, of course, or filled his pockets with the nuts and dried fruit that had been poured onto his plate because it was bad luck, on the autumn solstice, to offer anyone a plate that wasn't completely covered and piled high, every inch, with food. He smiled at the memory, thinking of his mother's smile, his father's laugh, the traditions they'd kept so lovingly and faithfully even when it meant scrimping and saving on everything else. He let himself remember, for a while, because whatever else happened today, autumn was the time for remembering the dead, and there were good, good things to remember.

When it started feeling less good to remember, he stopped himself, wrenched his mind from memory and back into the present, before he got to feeling morbid and depressed. After all, he had a new home now.

And this was the second autumnal equinox he'd spent here, but he'd barely noticed the first one; he'd had other things on his mind. But it had been a year since then, and today-- well, he didn't know what was going to happen today, so there was no use letting his stomach tie itself into knots with anticipation. Whatever happened, would happen; whatever his master wanted to do with him-- if anything-- if he'd remembered--

And if he hadn't remembered, well, it wasn't the end of the world. It wasn't as if Bran didn't have plenty to be grateful for today, even if it was a day like any other. A day like any other still meant waking up in a soft bed, without pain or fear; meant going downstairs to a plentiful breakfast and congenial company; meant walking around without worrying about getting beaten or raped or pushed down the basement stairs; meant kisses and affectionate touches and sweet praise and smiles in his direction, and gentle use, and pleasure, and rest; meant living out another day where he belonged to Holden.

So it would be ridiculous to get upset, just because Holden had been too busy with other things, like retraining Nyss, the current delinquent, and otherwise keeping his business running, to keep track of the approach of a day that didn't mean anything to him anyway. If he had forgotten.

But if he'd remembered--

He'd cleared his calendar for Bran's birthday, but Bran couldn't expect him to do that again, not when he had a delinquent in the middle of retraining, and anyway, he hadn't done it for any of the other holidays. But for the summer solstice, he'd planned the bonfire, talked to Marta, packed the ropes to burn and the pastries to eat, and he'd said, that evening, I've been waiting all day for you to mention it.

Should Bran mention it today? This morning? If Holden had remembered, would he wait until Bran said something? But if he hadn't, would reminding him make him feel guilty? Bran didn't want to make Holden feel as if he'd neglected a responsibility, although... if he had forgotten and Bran reminded him, might he make a little time anyway? What if he asked Bran what Bran wanted to do? What if he said "besides spend time with me"?

Bran was so absorbed in these considerations that the next time he looked at the clock beside his bed, he was very nearly late to breakfast already. He jumped out of bed, dragged on a tunic, ran his fingers through his hair, and hurried down the stairs and into the dining room, where everyone else was already sitting down.

"Good morning, bright eyes," said Holden, smiling in a way that might mean he remembered something about today, or might just mean he was a kind and sweet and indulgent master who thought Bran was looking attractive this morning, as if that weren't enough to be expecting out of life in general and this morning in particular. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you, master," said Bran, smiling back as he took his seat beside Nyss, a pale, dark-haired girl who'd been with them almost a month already, but had only voluntarily ventured out of her room for the past two weeks. She was already a lot less thin and nervous than she'd been when she arrived, though, and was manifesting pretty dimples in her cheeks when she shyly returned Bran's smile.

Fox was setting down breakfast plates in front of the mistress, and then the master. Bran hoped it wasn't actually bad luck to eat off plates with bare patches of china showing today; if so, the mistress in particular was in trouble, what with her spoonful of fruit and one triangle of toast. The master at least had some eggs taking up part of the unfortunate space on his plate.

"Mistress," said Greta, as Fox went back into the kitchen, "I didn't get a chance to tell you last night, but Valor wrote and said she got in the application for that scholarship, the one nobles aren't eligible for. And she's got glowing recommendations from several of her teachers--"

"Must not be deportment teachers," said Holden.

Greta smiled before adding, "She sounds very confident."

"Valor?" said Yves, his blue eyes wide and innocent. "Confident? Really?"

"Well, that would certainly make it easier, if she got a scholarship and a stipend," said Alix, as Jer gave a snort of amusement and Yves winked at him. "I don't think we're going to persuade Nikol to foot the bill all the way through law school."

"Is that how long the scholarship lasts?" Yves asked, nodding his thanks as Fox set down a plate in front of him.

Greta was already spearing a bite of egg on her own plate. "Pre-law and then law school, if she keeps up her grades and demonstrates-- I believe the phrasing is 'lively ongoing interest'-- in-- something about the ills of society."

"That should be fine, if she doesn't get distracted by something shiny," said Holden, as Fox put a plate down in front of Bran, then another in front of Nyss, who was looking at Bran's. Bran had already swiveled his head around to stare at Fox, the corners of whose mouth lifted an infinitesimal amount before she shook her head slightly and then jerked it, without looking, towards Holden.

In an unthinking moment Bran was out of his chair, flying around the table and into Holden's lap and pressing his mouth, hard, onto his master's, half kissing and half biting. Holden pulled him in with one arm, cupping the back of his neck for a good thorough spine-melting kiss, and then pulled him back and scowled at him.

"The equinox is a solemn time of year, you know," he chided, though the laughter in his eyes belied his severe expression. "You should really learn to restrain your licentious ways when-- well, at the table, anyway. It's only a handful of nuts, Bran. Go sit back down and eat your breakfast."

Bran struggled disobediently closer, trying to put his arms around his master's neck, and after a few moments of holding him off, Holden yielded. Bran hugged him and licked his ear; Holden shook with repressed laughter.

"You remembered," said Bran into the ear, and then sucked the warm earlobe into his mouth.

"In the name of the year's bounteous harvest," said Jer, "would you two get a room?"

They did get to a room eventually-- Bran's room-- though not until after Bran had managed to eat, under Holden's stern orders, a decent proportion of the food and nuts and seeds and fruit piled high on his plate, and Holden had taken Nyss, who was patently alarmed by Bran's unexpected demonstration, back to her own room and talked to her a little, or done something to calm her down, anyway.

Bran sat on the bed between Holden's legs, leaning on his master's chest and smiling till it hurt.

"You're too much," said Holden, his arms buckled around Bran's waist like a belt, holding him close. "Of course I remembered, Bran. It's little enough..."

He didn't finish that thought, or maybe that had been all. Bran said, "It's not little. Master-- when I woke up this morning-- I was thinking, I was hoping-- and then--"

"Yes." Holden kissed the side of his neck, warm and ticklish and delicious. "Well. To be entirely honest, I was pretty happy when I woke up this morning, too. Remembering what day it was. Hoping you'd-- well, that you'd be happy, with your holiday. And I-- that's new, for me. Waking up happy on a holiday. So."

Bran turned around and wrapped his arms around Holden again, pushing him down onto his back on the bed and kissing him all over his face.

"I make you happy," he said, with glee and awe and defiance, and Holden said, "Bran, darling-- of course you-- you know, you must know--" and then nobody said anything for quite a while except "yes" and "yes" and "fuck" and "yes," and then, for another while, nobody said anything at all.

"Sweetheart," said Holden eventually, into Bran's shoulder. "I can't-- spend the whole day. Nyss is a little too fragile right now."

"I know, master," said Bran, his lips tangling with the dark, mussed, sweat-dampened strands of his master's hair; he reached up to smooth them down. "It's okay. This was--"

"If you say 'this was enough,' I will spank you," said Holden, making Bran giggle. "This is not all-- do you think I woke up giddy as a schoolkid at the prospect of putting some nuts and raisins on your plate and then fucking you through the mattress?"

"Sure," said Bran, grinning, and Holden reached down, without lifting his head, and swatted him lightly on the hip.

"Brat," he said, and then pulled himself up so Bran could see his smile, and sat back on his heels. Bran gazed beatifically up at him. "I've got other plans. Didn't you have an autumn bonfire, when you were a kid? Stave off the cold, welcome in the Hunters?"

"We can have a bonfire?" Bran asked, joy leaping up in him like a shower of sparks. "Like last time? You'll take me-- I mean--" He hesitated, still trying not to assume too much.

"If you'd like that," said Holden. "It's all set up-- I went out to the site yesterday and cleared it and laid the fire-- and you told that story so well last time, I thought maybe I could talk you into telling some stories of the Hunt."

"I know some really scary ones, master," said Bran eagerly, sitting up too now, with a slight wince. "My dad used to tell one about the ghost of a girl whose lover had--"

"Save it for the fireside," said Holden, laughing. "It's probably not quite as ghastly when you tell it in bed right after a hearty breakfast."

"I don't know," said Bran, amused. "Bed right after breakfast didn't happen a lot at home, unless you were sick--"

He stopped, really not wanting to think about his parents' last long illnesses right now, or the slow realization that they weren't getting better-- but all that did was leave the sentence hanging, and Holden sobered, reaching out to take Bran's hand in his. Bran used it to pull Holden in closer and squirmed into his arms again, putting his head down on his master's shoulder, blanking his mind of everything but the happiness of being held this close.

"Bran," said Holden softly, "today's a day for... remembering. I don't know if you want to-- well, to talk about--"

"I don't," said Bran, and paused to take another deep breath, pushing away the pain that was trying to tighten his chest, and summoning thoughts instead of the crackling of logs in a forest where night was falling, and of the Wild Hunt that chased the restless ghosts of the wicked through autumn skies, and of his master's smile in the firelight. "Not now."

"Okay, sweetheart," said Holden. "I'm sorry, I-- okay."