milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Why, hello, Will. Lovely to see you again."

Blodwen smiles warmly at him, seemingly undisturbed by his glance.

"Your brother and I were having a nice cup of tea and a bit of a chat while he waited for you -- would you like to join us, dear?"

*Paul smiles at his brother -- guardedly, but with some relief.* There you are, Will.

*Will sits next to Paul, with a smile, and then frowns a little at his brother, mildly confused.*

Sorry, have you been waiting for me long?

Not long, no. And Mrs. Rowlands found me soon enough. I wasn't sure you'd be here at all, though.

*Will nods, acknowledging the validity of this.*

Yes. I'm hardly here every night. Only once in a while.

*He shrugs, amiable and reassuring -- no, Paul, I don't spend all my time in a magic bar.*

"Goodness, no indeed, a young man like yourself. I should think not, even if you and Bran did have a tendency to find yourselves in unusual places, now."

Blodwen looks amused.

*Will blinks.*

What, you mean wandering up around Cader and around the lakes, and all? Not that unusual.

*He grins* Not many magic bars around there.

*raises his eyebrows* No, I wouldn't think so. Magic sheep, perhaps.

"And all sorts of legends and tales, as well. Magic of a sort, to be sure."

The light soft voice is gently amused.

*cheerfully* I suppose. Arthur, and all.

Arthur? There's a legend I haven't heard in a while. A set of legends, really, I suppose. *He takes another drink of tea.* Are you going to have anything, Will? *mock-severely* Not alcohol, of course.

*Bran joins the conversation in time to hear both of Paul's comment; his lips twist in brief self-mockery.* Oh, a big drinker, is Will. As long as it's tea, of course. Did the Bar give you the tea, Paul?

. . . give me the tea?

*puzzled* Mrs. Rowlands brought it. I assume she got it from the bar.

*Will pushes out a chair for Bran, lifting his eyebrows in invitation*

Paul came looking for me, apparently, and Mrs Rowlands kept him company for a bit before I came.

*His voice is light and conversational, and his face the same. Bran can undoubtedly read beyond that, of course.*

*Bran sits.* Very pleasant of you, Mrs. Rowlands, I'm sure. *Bran is not wearing sunglasses today, and his tawny-eyed glance at Blodwen Rowlands does not suggest gratitude.* Perhaps it would add to the pleasant company if we played music. Join me, Paul? *He begins Scarborough Fair without asking further permission.*

*Paul smiles with pleasure at the sound of the harp, and looks regretfully at his flute.* Probably better to sing, at least until I've found if it's only Greensleeves.

*He begins to sing, and Will joins in.*

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.

Blodwen smiles and sits back to listen to the music with every evidence of finding quiet pleasure in it. There is a slightly wistful look in her eyes.

She starts to pick up her own cup of tea and then sets it aside instead, while still listening.

Hearing the singing and the harp, Mordred strolls over. Modern clothes, but no sunglasses.

Still, the prince says nothing; just watches his hands in his jacket pockets.

*Will smiles in brief greeting at Mordred, but keeps singing. On to the second verse, his voice and Bran's harmonizing over the harp's liquid notes. Paul has dropped out of the main melody, and Bran gives him quick sidelong glance, but it smooths out a moment later when Paul sings the first lines of the intertwining Canticle descant from Simon and Garfunkel's version.*

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Without no seams nor needlework.
Then she'll be a true love of mine.

*Paul spares a quick glance at Mordred, but, seeing no one else has stopped, keeps singing as well.*

A hill in the deep forest green
Tracing of sparrow on snow-crested brown
Blankets and bedclothes. The child of the mountain
Sleeps unaware of the clarion call . . .

*Bran grins briefly at Mordred and takes up the next verse.*

Tell her to find me an acre of land,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
Between the salt water and the sea strand;
Then she’ll be a true love of mine.

Blodwen appears to be paying very close attention to the words, but takes a moment to smile a warm welcome at the newcomer and to pat a seat nearby in invitation for him to join them.

Smiling back at her, Mordred pads over and gracefully sits down on the chair cross-legged.

You didn't really expect him to sit normally, did you?

That done, he watches his brother and the others with bright golden eyes, listening to the works with a small smile.

*As the seating arrangements are worked out, Paul softly accompanies Bran's verse.*

On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves
Washes the grave with silvery tears.
A soldier cleans and polishes a gun.

*Will continues. If he notices significance in the song -- impossible lands below the waves, and his brother singing about incomprehensible battles -- his face shows nothing of it, though unreadable eyes slide briefly to meet Bran's as they sing.*

Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
And to gather it all in a bunch of heather.
Then she'll be a true love of mine.