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The World of Man	By : psychocatblah Category: A through F > Dark is Rising Views: 1790 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark is Rising, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
The funeral was uneventful. Because the Davies' could afford no better, they had a very general but religious sort of graveside service which Bran spent trying to look stoic and somber. Will kept an eye out for Mordred or any of the Dark figures encroaching on the ceremony. He was relieved that not even the Dark had the nerve to disrupt mourning. It was at least one mercy they visited upon his beleaguered friend.
After Bran threw the lump of dirt onto the casket, a light mist started to fall from the heavens, catching like crystal webbing in his hair and disguising the wetness of his eyes and the dribble of stray tears that spilled from their corners.
Will embraced him, holding him warmly although he tried to keep it chaste, resenting that now he would worry about such things. Not only had they crossed the line with one another, but now there was this new fate thrust upon them. No one seemed to expect any different between the men, or if they did, they kept it to themselves.
Riding back to Bran's farm, Will held Bran's hand. Only John was left in the car, and Will knew he understood.
Once they arrived at the house, Will had the sinking feeling of something amiss. He knew that Bran wanted nothing more than to get home, shuck off his clothes and be held, but Mordred was standing at the door in black robes looking defiant.
His golden eyes appeared to glow with eerie menace from within the depths of the hooded cloak. "Bran Davies, I challenge your claim of descending from Arthur. You were ruled a man of this age, which means that you cannot be a man of that age."
For the briefest breath, Bran looked weary. His eyes rolled and he inhaled, and Will was afraid that he'd chuck it in. The Dark had chosen this time wisely. Bran was so near the warmth of his bed, still well acquainted with his loss and drained of energy. It would be so easy for him to just let it go, and Will couldn't say that he'd blame him one bit for doing so.
"I accept your challenge, Mordred." Bran sounded tired, but his shoulders were back and his posture straight and proud.
It was clear that Mordred didn't expect Bran to rally and he looked shiftily back over his shoulder to the closed door. "Inside."
Bran took Will's hand and nodded to John who was still sitting in his Land Rover, peering curiously at the goings on. Without waiting to see him off, Bran stalked into his house, brushing past Mordred, pulling Will with him.
The living room was no longer his house, but a darkened tunnel with looming shadows that flickered from three taper candles set on the floor in the center of the room. One was red, one white and between them was a smaller grey candle. It was burnt down more than the other candles and Will couldn't help but stare at it, puzzling over what this meant.
As he watched the flame flicker and waver, the smoke twirled out of the tip, spinning and swirling into the dark room, slowly forming a figure wearing a robe. The face under the cowl was remarkably pale, as were the spare silvery strands that breezed into the light with each breath the tall figure exhaled. On either side of the grey figure, a red and white figure resolved from the smoke to flank him. The other figures were shorter, a mirror image of the way the candles were sized before and were feminine, the slight outlines of their breasts giving them away.
This was not the same council that they had appeared when they were children, and Bran gave Will a questioning look before turning back to them. Mordred stepped forward with the Black Rider at his side. Will thought he saw the central figure sneer at the two before his hood concealed it. It occurred to him that the man in grey was very much Bran's height, only more solidly formed. He clutched Bran's hand tighter, wondering....
"It's a new council," whispered Bran.
Will nodded and then peered at Bran curiously, trying to glean meaning from his expression. "Yes. The age of High Magic is over."
Bran nodded slowly as he looked curiously at Will, tilting his head. Though they'd talked of what they'd accomplished together before, what Bran had believed to be a child's game, it was clear that it wasn't until this moment that he'd really felt it. "War in red, peace in white... and belief in grey."
"Very good," said the man in the grey robe, his voice curling and familiar, but without the distinctive lilt of Welsh that Bran had. In fact, he lacked any accent of all, but his voice was as rich with promise as Bran's had ever been; only now it was beset with maturity.
Mordred, seeming to sense the conspiracy, stepped forward. "He is of this time, and had no right to interfere with the business of the Dark and Light a decade ago. I was born to Arthur before him, and I grew up in my proper time."
The three looked to Bran for a rebuttal. Will thought he saw the woman in red lick her crimson lips in lusty anticipation. Such was the nature of war.
"I am his in blood, his in proper birth and not of myth. I was his legitimate heir and Arthur himself recognized me as his. The loving bonds of my mother brought me to this time; loving bonds of Owen Davies held me in trust. I belong to all those whom I love and love me. I belong not only to this age, but all ages, just as Arthur lives on in the hearts and minds of those who read his legend."
Will had never been prouder of him and it seemed that the man in grey was pleased.
Chuffed with his victory, Bran added, "Mordred is not so well remembered." Mordred shrank at the accusation
The Black Rider, however, appeared triumphant and stepped forward and gave a polite bow. "But Bran Davies is not remembered by history at all."
As the council turned back to Bran, their robes rustled and Will saw a flicker of apprehension on his face. Then he straightened again and said, "But I will be."
The man in grey clapped and chuckled, nodding in agreement. Peace flashed a smile from her cowl, while War grimaced.
"How is it that a sheep farmer will come to greatness? Were you still at Oxford, perhaps the council would believe such a thing," said War, malevolence tainting her pitchy voice.
This time, Bran was mystified and looked woefully at Will for an answer.
Will shrugged and furrowed his brows.
The answer came from behind them. John Rowland's voice echoed in the strange hall. "He will go back to Oxford, because I will buy him out of this farm and pay his way."
When Will turned, the thought he saw a flash of white hair. Merriman, he thought, a small smile on his face.
"Where does a farmhand get money enough to buy a farm to pay for Oxford?" asked the man in grey, his tone sounding very much as if he already knew the answer.
Crossing his arms, John glared at the Black Rider and in that moment, Will wondered if he somehow remembered his place in proceedings just like this. Would the Lady have lied and not have erased it from his memory? Or had she left just enough?
"My dear wife died tragically a decade ago. A lorry driver took her life when she was walking along the road. I was left with a sizable settlement and have lived a modest life of working. The boy will get back to Oxford," said John, with no small amount of satisfaction.
The Black Rider glared in incredulous fury, but whirled back around to the council. "It means nothing. Simply an education is not enough to..."
"But there is a chance," said the grey robed man who represented belief. Belief was a two-edged sword; it could lead to times of peace by uniting people in something to rally behind, or it could split them into segments, resulting in war. All were human constructs and well-suited to the task of judgment in the age of man. "The verdict is made. Bran Davies belongs to both ages and Mordred belongs to history and myth."
The two vanished in a tumbling fade, the Black Rider screaming in outrage while Mordred quietly accepted his fate, glaring at Bran till all that they could see of him were two pinpricks of golden fury that eventually faded into the gloom.
"Congratulations, Bran Davies... and Will." Belief looked wistfully at Will and then to Bran. "You've much to look forward to. Together, if you choose it."
Before Will had a chance to ask what that meant, the figures faded as the room brightened back up into the patina of midmorning shade. Bran took a deep breath and turned to John and smiled. "Did you mean it? You... you want the farm?"
John nodded to him and reached his hand out to shake on it. "Only if you keep up with the paperwork like you did for your da. Never had a talent for that, I'm afraid."
He winked and Will and Bran laughed.
--
The campus was a luxuriant green already, and it seemed almost unseasonably warm for spring, but Will wasn't sweating. He'd been sweaty enough moments ago, and his muscles still burned pleasantly from their earlier romp in the dorm room.
"I still don't know about this, Bran. You're to be a great leader and... people aren't accepting of..."
Bran had already set down the hamper and was spreading the clothing on the spiky green grass, making it ready for them to sit on. They'd held hands a few times on campus, but for the most part, Will had tried to keep their relationship low-key.
"Yes, I've thought about that," he said as he sat on the blanket, shifting a bit to find a comfortable position before he began pulling the lemonade and sandwiches from the hamper. "That's a bunch of shite."
This arrogance was in no way new, but of late it seemed to have a sharper edge to it.
Will sat on his knees and then rested his hip on the soft ground. He started setting up a plate for himself as he tried to sort out where he was going with this. "All right. I give. What's shite?"
"It's ridiculous that people should give a damn who I'm shagging. If I'm good for this age of man, if what I do is essential, then it's really none of their business who makes me happy." Bran shrugged and took a bite of his ham and cheese.
"That's not how politics work. That's not how people work, and you know it," said Will, although his stomach flipped happily at Bran's words. It was sweet, but he knew he would have to do what was right and step aside eventually.
"That's how politics should work and how people should work."
"You know I'm inclined to agree with you, but it's just now how it is," said Will. He opened the thermos of lemonade and poured it into the plastic cup.
"If things were as they were supposed to be, the age of man wouldn't need a destined leader, now would they?"
Bran's grin reminded him of the man in grey. Belief. It really was a two-edged sword. He thought about the way War licked her lips looking at Bran, but then the way Peace smiled on him as well.
Loving bonds are what keep him here. Love is the most powerful magic there is.
Suddenly, Will understood.
He set the thermos down and rocked up to his knees and kissed Bran deeply in the middle of Oxford on a bright shiny day in spring.
That was how the world began anew.
- 4
- 5
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The World of Man