milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[Millitimed to yesterday: After an exchange of notes Monday, Guinevere is assured by Merlion that she is welcome in the summerlands.]

*Time moves on.

When Guinevere comes downstairs, harp tucked in the crook of her arm, she stops at the sight of the door. This is the first time she has been able to see it since she came to the bar, over a year ago, now.

Smiling, she approaches the bar and places the harp on the surface with a murmured thanks. The instrument vanishes, and Bar provides her with a goblet of wine. She takes it to a table near the door and sits, keeping a close eye on the bar's patrons for a white-haired young man.

Tonight, if all goes well -- and for once, Guinevere thinks it will -- she leaves.*

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Bran Davies and Owen Davies are in the bar already, talking quietly to each other at a table by the far wall. Owen sees her first; Bran follows his gaze. Without a word, both men stand. Bran takes his harp into his arms again, and they cross the bar to join Guinevere.

*She smiles, full and warm.*

Bran. Owen. Noswaith dda.

Owen smiles back sincerely. "It is good to see you, Guinevere." By now he can speak her name without very much of a pause. "How have you been?"

Very well, as it happens.

Will you sit, both of you?

The Davies men take the seats on either side of Guinevere.

"Very well?" Bran's own smile is pleased and startled. "Is it... is it about--" He stops himself before finishing the sentence; he has not told Owen that Guinevere and Arthur have been in contact.

*She glances between the two men, more serious.*

Arthur and I have been corresponding, you see.

He has invited me to join him in the land he rules now.

One of Owen's hands grips the other tightly. He is silent, and the smile vanishes all at once from his face.

In the face of Guinevere's happiness and Owen's pain, Bran sobers. "I am glad for you, mother."

(When all is done, will you sail with me in Pridwen, my ship?)

But Bran knows, none better, that there are other answers to that invitation besides 'Yes.' "May I ask what you told him?"

(Will you come with me to the silver-circled castle at the back of the North Wind, where there is peace beneath the stars, and the apple orchards grow?)

*Her gaze, for the moment, is mainly on Owen.*

I accepted his invitation. And tonight, for the first time, I am able to see the door.

Owen looks down at the table instead of meeting her gaze. "I wish you well, Gwen."

Owen is too distracted to notice the shift in address.

He never said goodbye to her seventeen years ago.

*She starts one response, pauses.*

*soft* Diolch, Owen.

Owen nods tightly.

In the awkward silence, the front door opens (http://mother-lost.livejournal.com/3677.html).

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