Chapter Text
They had been resting for a long time. Not much changed, but the three of them endured. That wasn’t strictly true, the World Above changed quicker than a hummingbird’s wings, but down in the sphagnum’s deep embrace, things were a bit more peaceful.
Brian had been there the longest, sacrificed for the good of the community in the face of a long winter. Their people needed to eat, and food was running out, so the Elders and the Druids had a long talk and selected one of their own to petition the gods. Brian went willingly; it was an honor to be Chosen. He was laid into the bog just on the outskirts of town with his crwth, to try his hand at charming the gods with his sweet playing.
Roger’s arrival had been a surprise. Brian hadn’t realized he was still sentient and aware of his surroundings until the blond had come crashing down, full of questions. Roger, as it turned out, had been a local servant to the Roman invaders until he had gotten too mouthy and had fought back instead of taking his punishment in silence. They stabbed him and dumped his body in the bog to be forgotten, lost to the sands of time. Brian had learned patience during his rest, staring sightlessly up at the sky he could no longer see, but it was a relief to have someone else to talk to after so long.
So much had changed since Brian had last seen the World Above, and Roger was more than willing to fill him in. The woods had filled in, grown from the scrawny copse of trees to a mighty forest over the millennium that had passed; so it came to pass that Brian and Roger found they could rise up out of the waters and talk in the open air once more. Brian realized he could bring his crwth up with them and harness the energy from the land around them to play his beloved instrument again, and he taught Roger the old songs so they could play together. Local legends sprang up about the otherworldly music coming from the trees, and locals stayed away, lest they be charmed away from their homes by the faeries.
They passed many a year that way, sleeping in the warm embrace of the waters of their bog and returning to the surface on summer nights to play their music and look at the stars above. The two became as close as brothers and were content to continue, just like that, until the end of time itself.
Many years passed in much the same way, and then two became three. John had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, really. He had heard the Night Music and, being a newcomer to town, he hadn’t known to stay away from the bog. He hadn’t known where the edge of the sucking waters had been in the dark either, and the Will-O-The-Wisps hadn’t helped, leading him further in and away from help. Nobody heard his cries for help when he drowned, except for two men who were already dead.
Brian and Roger helped John adjust and grow accustomed to life—or death—in the bog. It wasn’t all bad, even though acids from the sphagnum moss tanned their skins a deep brown. They’d be young forever, preserved perfectly from the day they crossed into their lives After. They wouldn’t have to worry about food or drink—though they could still partake if the occasion arose. Besides that, none of them had been weighed down with heavy stones or forced into place with withys, so they had more freedom than most. They could probably even go into town, if they really set their minds to it.
One look from John set them straight about that, they couldn’t just go waltzing into town. Neither Brian nor Roger had gone particularly gently and their time in the bog’s waters, while comfortable, hadn’t been kind on their features. Still, with John’s help, they venture out of the woods for the first time in centuries—always at night, always very carefully, and always when they’d be sure they wouldn’t be seen.