(Untitled)

[white_flowers]

A dim, distantly-heard echo of unreal discordant chimes floats faintly on the air, but there is no sound of wings as the snowy owl bursts from a strangely grayish-white cloud and soars over the deep forest toward Milliways. Circling, she glides down to a perch on a tree-branch by the lake. Golden eyes are focused on the bar and its environs

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[dragonofgrey]

He doesn't recognize this one, and he was currently busy practicing knife fighting tactics and stances with his dagger still.

But she would recognize the pale one in dark green garments certainly. There was more of a battle readiness to him, a fierceness, and a deadly grace in his movements. More determined than before. Fear was quite a motivator at times.

[white_flowers]

Oh, and she does recognize him. The lady smiles sweetly, teeth glinting in the light of dusk as she pauses to watch him.

[dragonofgrey]

Yes, he had grown some. Tempered into hard, cold steel. Not so brittle and breakable as he was. And much deadlier, even if he couldn't bring himself to deliver killing strokes.

Draco turned to notice the strange woman in green. Hmmm... a friend or a threat? Perhaps closer investigation was in order. He stepped back, and with brief turn of his wand, he seemed to vanish into the trees.

Moments later, the grass quivered, and there was a flash of white fur padding toward her. Briefly a white fox face emerged from the grass, and took careful sniffs of the air curiously.

[white_flowers]

She gasps softly, one hand going to the glass pendant on its silver chain.

"Why, I have never seen such a thing. How remarkable."

Her voice is musical and light, and perhaps very, very faintly familiar, but it is not truly a voice that he has heard before.

[called_lioness]

Lucy glances up as the woman walks by and only blinks once, almost thinking of something.

(the lady, who rode side-saddle and wore a long, fluttering dress of dazzling green, was lovelier still)

But only almost--kirtle is not a word to spring to mind, not even when one sees one, for "dress" or "gown" are far more common--and she smiles, a little, at the woman.

[white_flowers]

She smiles back, sweet and bright-- so very hopeful and kind, and then she pauses.

"I am sorry to trouble you," she says softly, and her musical voice has a lilting trill to it. "But perhaps you could help me?"

[called_lioness]

Even if she wondered, she wouldn't guess this woman's identity correctly.
or she might at that
But she's not, not quite, for all something might seem just a little more familiar than it ought to in a stranger, so Lucy only smiles again, a bit more widely, and says, "I'd be glad to, if I can."

[white_flowers]

Her smile turns delighted, as the young woman offers her help.

"I may have lost my way," she says. "I was home, and then somehow I was here, and it is all so very strange..."

[maydaybrat]

Mordred isn't watching.

Mordred isn't on duty.

Mordred is drinking, drinking, drinking to forget that today is his birthday, that today is the birthdat of all those children and today that was the cause of all that blood...

Mordred isn't watching and Mordred isn't on duty and Mordred is drinking.

But he looks up when she walks towards the Bar, and some part of him knows her.

[white_flowers]

And she knows him well, does she not? He is the reason she has come here today, after all.

The lady in green quickens her pace, coming to a halt before him.

"Mordred." Her smile is sweet, and her voice light and soft and somehow achingly familiar. "My robin prince."

[maydaybrat]

Simply,

"Angahred." And she's beautiful, of course. Always has been, and though that voice is the same the figure is not.

But it's her.

[white_flowers]

"I am indeed," she says softly, gently, holding out both hands to him. A white bracelet shot with one red-blood thread is tied around her wrist, but she pays no attention to it.

"I did promise you, cariad, did I not?"

[merrimanlyon]

He knew she would return, but not the when, where or how.

Now he knows all three.

And so as he turns from his attempt at damage control, his eyes narrow at the sight of the lady in the green kirtle.

A pause, before he speaks.

'...in my opinion, that colour really does not suit you.'

[white_flowers]

Some things cannot be hidden, and her ice-blue, ice-bright gaze is somehow very amused as she turns quickly to face him.

"Why, the pretty bird said that very thing when it was he came to visit me, lion," she lilts, half-laughing.

"Such a shame, that he did not stay longer."

[merrimanlyon]

'Perhaps. And perhaps not.' Cold light flickers in his eyes as he studies her. 'He brought word of you, you see. As you doubtless knew he would.'

[white_flowers]

And now her laugh is true and filled with delight, floating on the air like music.

"Of course I did, Old One. So helpful, he has been." She cups the glass pendant at her throat, still openly laughing at him.

"So very helpful indeed."

[creator_raven]

At the table where he sits, playing games with Derry, Raven grows still.

Will the veiled sister between the slender
Yew trees pray for those who offend her
and are terrified and cannot surrender

Very still.

After a moment he looks up, eyes wide and black and so very tired.

Derry cranes her head around, looking at Raven, face scrunching up in what might be either a scowl or the beginnings of a wail.

Raven catches her movement but stays looking at Blodwen for another long moment, not breathing.
Here we are.
Then he closes his eyes, huffing out a very quick breath, and the animation returns to his face. Smiling, he looks down at Derry and tickles her very carefully.

She giggles, distracted for a moment by both his bright expression and the lines of green and yellow paint that he smears over her cheeks.

He laughs as well, the sound bright and warm and happy. But his eyes remain dark, and his head remains bent.
Speaking of good endings.
It might even be so that he can better watch Derry.

[white_flowers]

Perhaps it is just that reason that he tilts his head, so that he can care for a child not his own.

That is something it is that they have both done through their long existence, after all.

Ice-bright eyes meet his darkened ones, and her gaze holds his steadily.

Blodwen smiles.

[creator_raven]

Raven looks back, because he cannot do otherwise.

There are, perhaps, whole hosts of reasons for that.

One hand is still holding Derry, and the other helps her draw whorls of blue and green and gray on the page.

It is not entirely unlike the ocean, really--or a wide open plain on an overcast day.

He doesn't blink, and fire does not flicker in his eyes. Nor does light, truth be told.

And then he smiles in return, tilting his head just a little.

"Welcome back."

[white_flowers]

"Why, thank you, cariad," she says, smiling still. "Is it that you have missed me, then?"