Slightly belated solstice ficlet

[maculategiraffe]

Calling - Leona Naess






"Turn left here," said Bran, peering through the falling dusk, his hands clasped together in his lap as if to keep them from flying in excitement, and Holden pulled the car into the parking lot of a small building with a shingled roof and an artificially rustic appearance. As soon as he'd stopped the car, Bran jumped out; Holden started to open his own door, but Bran was already running around the car and had the driver's side door handle in his hand before Holden could get it all the way open. He opened it the rest of the way with a flourish that made Holden laugh.

"Well, you should have let me drive," Bran said, offering his hand to help Holden out of the car. "I haven't wrecked the car yet, have I?"

"I'm sure you're a wonderful driver, sweetheart," Holden answered as Bran shut the car door behind him. "And I'm also sure that one day I'll work up the courage to get in the passenger's seat with you. But you wanted tonight to be perfect, so I thought we should do what we could to avoid any heart attacks on my part."

Bran scowled elaborately, but offered his arm to Holden, who clasped it obediently. He was relieved to see the scowl melt away without a trace as Bran led the way across the parking lot towards the little restaurant, his boots crunching on the gravel.

He opened the restaurant's door, too, for Holden, who walked into an elegant dimness that was still brighter than the sky outside. It was a pleasant little place, the lighting low and soft for the evening, candles flickering on the tables; it wasn't crowded, but it wasn't empty, either.

"We have a reservation," Bran told the hostess who came towards them with a professional smile. "Olafsen. Party of two."

The hostess nodded. "Right this way."

They threaded their way to a little table for two near the back of the restaurant; Bran pulled Holden's chair out for him, and Holden couldn't stop himself from grinning as he sat down. The hostess handed them menus and set a wine list down on the table; Bran picked up the latter and started studying it. Holden watched his lovely, serious face, streaks of his hair gleaming gold in the candlelight, his mouth solemn, his eyes bright. His new tunic was in a dark green that set off his skin and hair to perfection. On his breast, on a slender gold chain, lay the little carved rowan charm Holden had given him for their third solstice together.

"What can I bring you to drink?" asked a waiter who had suddenly materialized beside the table while Holden wasn't looking. Before Holden could answer, Bran was already confidently ordering a bottle of wine-- and not a cheap one-- adding, "We haven't had a chance to look at the menu yet."

Holden waited until the waiter was gone to say in a low voice, "Bran, I don't want you spending all your money on this."

"You agreed to let me take you out tonight," said Bran, smiling. "Don't spoil my fun, sir. I can afford this, really I can."

"I don't pay you that much," said Holden, and Bran answered, "It's not like I have a lot of expenses, either. I couldn't afford to do this every week or anything-- but there's only one winter solstice a year."

"If you say so," said Holden.

"I do say so," said Bran firmly. "By the way, do you happen to know if that wine I ordered is any good? I just picked one that seemed reasonably expensive-- and that I was pretty sure I could pronounce."

Holden laughed.

"I don't know either," he said. "I guess we'll find out when it gets here. You realize the waiter is going to ask you to taste it first and tell him if it's okay, right?"

Bran looked faintly alarmed. "He is?"

"He'll just pour you a little splash at first," Holden explained. "You're supposed to swirl it around a little in the glass, take a sip, and then nod at him. After that, he'll pour us both some. It's one of those little rituals that evolved for some reason only noblemen really understand."

"Thanks for the heads up," said Bran. "What if it's horrible? Do I throw it in his face and storm out, or just kick him in the shins a little?"

Holden cackled so loudly that some of the other restaurant patrons turned to look at him.

"Sorry," he told them, and covered his mouth, trying to calm down.

"You're disturbing the peace, sir," Bran told him sternly, and Holden opened his menu and hid his face behind it. "There you go. Compose yourself."




When the waiter brought the wine, Bran swirled the preliminary swallow around, lifted it to his lips, and tasted it thoughtfully before giving the waiter a judicious nod, while Holden hid behind his menu again, his shoulders shaking. Then Bran ordered soup, salad, and an entree, giving Holden time to regain his equanimity before the waiter turned to him. Accepting Bran's cue, Holden too ordered soup and salad as well as an entree, and added, "Can we get some bread, too?"

"Bread?" Bran asked when the waiter was gone again, fixing Holden with an accusing eye. "What, do you think I'm made of money?"

"The bread is free," Holden managed, through fresh tears of laughter. "I think. Or I'll pay for it."

"Oh, no, you won't," said Bran, grinning. "You don't have any money tonight, remember? It's all on me."

He sobered as he lifted his wineglass, then extended it, rather shyly, towards Holden.

"Skål, Holden," he said softly.

"Skål," Holden echoed, lifting his own glass towards Bran, and then to his lips. They drank at the same moment, and set their glasses down, smiling at each other.

"It is good," said Bran. "The wine. I think. Don't you?"

"Very good," Holden agreed. "Excellent choice, Bran."