milliways_bar | (no subject)

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*The last chiming notes of Greensleeves fade, and Paul lowers his flute, staring around him with a mixture of apprehension, relief, and wonder.*

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*Will's face is expressionless. He does not look at Paul, and his eyes on Blodwen are unreadable.*

*Though she can probably guess something of what he is thinking.*

She touches Paul's arm in a quick gesture of gratitude, and smiles at him.

"It is kind of you to defend me, dear. But it is true that I have made a mistake, and I do understand Bran's anger. And I am sorry that you have been dragged, now, into a family quarrel."

*Bran stands, eyes blazing.* Family? Family, what is that? You have forfeit any right you may ever have had to speak of family.

*In other circumstances, Will would stand with Bran, grave certainty to match Bran's blazing anger. But Paul is here, looking increasingly bewildered and uncomfortable, and in his eyes Bran's reaction is only increasing his pity for soft sweet Mrs Rowlands.*

*quietly* Bran.

*His eyes flick up to meet the other boy's golden ones, and hold them.*

*Bran nods and bows his head to Will in silent apology. He does not make any concession to Blodwen, however.*

She looks up at the proud young man standing so tall and arrogant before her, and the look in Blodwen Rowlands' eyes is one of desolation. She is no longer smiling, and her voice is soft and sad as she says, "I know far better than you what I have lost, Bran, cariad."

*Paul drains his teacup and focuses on something across the room, looking deeply uncomfortable.*

*Blodwen's anguish is genuine, and Bran recognizes it at last. For a few moments, he bends under the weight of her eyes. Then, with an effort, he stands again.* I am unkind, then, to remind you. I'll go. Nos da, Paul, Will. *Bran lifts his harp and begins walking towards the door.*

*Will's eyes stay on Bran, for a moment.

*quietly* We should be getting back, too, probably.

*He stands, glancing at Paul.*

*Paul stands as well, smiling apologetically at Blodwen, and picks up his flute.* Yes, it's -- ah. The same time.

She looks away from the departing Bran up to Paul and smiles, kindly and with quiet understanding.

"Of course, dear. It was lovely to see you again, anyhow."

Blodwen looks at Will, adding, "And you as well, Will."

*smiles at her* Good night, Mrs Rowlands.

*He turns towards the door.*

*Paul lifts the flute to his mouth, and begins to play; as the music fades, so does he.*

*Bran is still standing by the door, waiting, when Will reaches it. Quietly* Can we talk, then, Will? Not here.

*Will nods.*

In Wales? Safer, I think.

*Bran nods and opens the door.*

Blodwen watches silently as they leave, and then picks up her nearly-forgotten knitting and takes it back upstairs.

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