(Untitled)

[mother_lost]

*The door opens, and a beautiful black-haired woman enters. She pauses and looks around in confusion and wonder. Her eyes light on a face that she'd never expected to see again.*

Owen?

*Unnoticed behind her, the door closes quietly and disappears.*

[OOC: Full summary here.]

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[theravenboy]

There is a harp playing somewhere.

Bran Davies, in an old faded black sweater and black jeans, harp nestled in his arms, opens the door and stares. The harp gives off a discordant chord before he stills it.

Owen is holding the hand of a dark-haired woman.

Bran can't see her face, but suddenly he knows her absolutely. He stands white and trembling, and the harp shakes in his arms.

[maydaybrat]

The fox moves, or rather, he doesn't, but he appears sitting at his brother's side, the look in his golden eyes oddly protective. Mordred glances up at Bran, but doesn't say a word.

Yet.

[theravenboy]

The fox is grey and comes and goes like the milgwn... but there is something else familiar about the fox, something oddly comforting, even. Bran looks down at it. Looking at the fox is safer than looking at his...parents.

[gwion_bach]

And Gwion is not looking at Owen Davies and the woman he himself once knew, though not well.

Instead, he is looking at Bran with compassion, and a little understanding.

[sign_seeker]

*Will isn't looking at Owen and Guinevere any more, either. He is still paying attention, with the part of his mind that is an Old One and will not ignore this, but most of his attention is entirely on Bran.*

*His face isn't quite expressionless any more, either. It's faded into a friend's rueful, crooked compassion. If there is also the grave reserve of an Old One lurking in his eyes, it's well-hidden, for Bran's sake and because Will is not just Old One but also a teenage boy.*

*He moves, finally, breaking the stillness to cross the few yards to stand at Bran's side.*

[maydaybrat]

The fox is gone, gone in a swift changing that barely registers on the preternatural senses. In his place stands Mordred. Mordred, long black hair tied back from his pale face, wearing not armour or leather, but a deep red tunic and black hose.

Mordred, with his heavy sword belted to his hip, but still with the look of his tall, slender mother.

His eyes, gold as they are, are his father's - cold, watching, protective.

[mother_lost]

*When Owen drops her hand, she frowns a little.*

Owen?. . .

*She notices his gaze fixed somewhere behind her, and she turns.

And she suddenly wishes she could sit down. It's been some sixteen years since she's seen the pale boy standing before her, but she knows him with the unerring instinct of a mother.*

. . .Bran. Bran.

[theravenboy]

White eyelashes blink rapidly. There is something gleaming in Bran's eyes. It might be water.

Bran's voice, though, is cold and flat. "My lady," he says.

[sign_seeker]

*Will stands at Bran's side, a few feet away, beside and a little behind. He is silent, eyes flicking from one to the other, waiting. The position of a friend, or of a prince's trusted advisor, or both in one.*

*He waits, and if he looks something like a less commanding version of Merriman it is not intentional.*

[gwion_bach]

Not intentional, maybe. But not unnoticed. Not by the harper, who knows the lion as well as any mortal man ever did...and who was there, that day in the Lowland Hundred, acting for the king in granting hospitality to a woman in exile...or something very close to it.

From the piano, Gwion finally stands, arms at his sides, watching the scene before him.

If Will is taking on Merlion's role...it is the same business over again, or like to be; Gwion stands, and watches, and waits -- not only a harper, but a diplomat, if there is need.

[owendavies]

Owen looks helplessly at his son, and at Gwen, and at his son again. He knows why Bran is angry. He cannot argue with Bran now.

[mother_lost]

*The world shatters. She stares at Bran for a moment that seems to last forever, cold and hollow.

And Arthur's queen drops to her knees before Arthur's son, skirts pooling around her, blue eyes gazing into gold ones. Her hands reach out for his, pleading.*

Do you -- do you not know me, then?

[maydaybrat]

"Guinevere, daughter of Leodegrance, late wife of Arthur ap Uther."

His soft voice is icy, carrying the hint of old death and a cold, winter's day, Mordred looks down at his stepmother without a flicker of expression. In his face.

His eyes are hot, hot with anger and with hate and he does not mention that she is the mother of his beloved brother.

[theravenboy]

Bran nods briefly to Mordred before turning back to Guinevere.

"Yes, I know who you are."

Sixteen motherless years are suddenly bare in his voice. "Why did you leave?"

[mother_lost]

*She winces backwards, and her hands fall, twisting together. He is, without question, his father's son.

But she is -- was -- a queen, so she continues to gaze into his eyes.*

Bran -- I had to. Merlion took me back.

*She raises her hands, palms up.*

I feared your father -- feared for you -- and Merlion said you would be safe -- Bran, do you think for a moment I would leave you if there were any other choice?

[owendavies]

Owen stands listening, hands clasped tightly together. There is something in his face reminiscent of the shepherd in his twenties standing on the hills, in the snow, calling a name into the empty wind.