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Bran Davies knew he would have to come to Milliways sometime, to see that Blodwen was safely imprisoned. Tonight, he has finally given in.

The note he receives is not a surprise.

[ooc: Ping before posting, please, as I am tired and must limit threads for sake of coherence.]

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Bran pulls the harp into his lap and bends over it. He begins a serene piece in a minor key. Its slow measures in three-four time speak of spring evenings, fragrant with apple blossoms. When Bran begins the tune again for the second time, his fingers flicker rapidly across the strings, in quick arpeggios like birdsong beneath the melody. He plays the melody alone a third time, and then lets the music fade into silence.

Mary's full attention is engaged on the harp, throughout this; her eyes are fixed on Bran's fingers.

She's silent for a long moment, after it ends. Long enough that speaking won't feel like disturbing a spell.

When she does speak, it's quiet, but confident.

"That must have very strong Magic to it."

"Music always does," Bran says. "If done right, at least. Very powerful, all of the arts."

"I do not know much about music - or about art; only that we chanted to help the Magic in the garden."

Mary considers for a second.

"My mother played piano sometimes but I hardly ever heard her. And it was not like that."

Bran's smile goes deep and warm.

"When you were chanting, were you putting every thought you could think towards what you wanted to happen? Did you concentrate so hard on the chanting, and on the garden, that you forgot everything else?"

"Of course," Mary says, matter-of-factly.

"It should not have worked, else."

"Of course," Bran smiles. "That is music, Mary."

Mary considers this, solemnly, for a moment.

"What does it sound like when you are not trying to do Magic with it?"

"Not very different, I think," Bran says. "Would you like me to show you?"

Another small, serious nod.

This time, Bran plays Mary a Bach sonata for Mary, patterned, graceful and precise. He is still bent over the harp in absolute focus, although that focus is more turned inward towards the harp than outward towards Mary.

Again, the wait at the end, for the music to fade away.

"- it did sound different," Mary says, earnestly.

"But it was still very lovely."

"Diolch yn fawr. That is 'thank you very much' in Welsh."

Bran looks up, to see Will Stanton returning from the bar with a familiar note.

"Mary, there is a friend I have to speak with. Please take care of yourself, and let other people you trust take care of you. All right, bachgennes?"

"I already promised Duo," Mary says, patiently, already filing away the Welsh for further use.

Grown-ups can be so redundant.

"Tell Will Stanton," she adds, catching sight of Bran's friend, "that I have planted my tree."

A short pause; then, reaching the ultimate heights of sacrifice and generosity: "And that either of you may have a blossom if you wish, for protection.

"I have seen the tree," Bran says. "It is very beautiful, and I thank you, on his behalf and on mine."

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