Bethberry sat off to one side, coddling a mug of hot cider in one hand. Her other hand absent-mindedly scratched Prince Goldwine's chin, the cat stretching and yawning and directly her hand's attention to an ear and then his back. This cat has seen and heard much here, thought Bethberry. She sat back, watching the Inn's patrons. Many of them, like Taliesin and Hearpwine and Osric, were veterans of the War. Something about the Inn drew them here, a place where memory could be given voice. Yet perhaps also it was the children running underfoot which gave them comfort, children for whom the songs were just songs and not experience wrought with music. There was comfort in the contrast between the old warriors with the young exhuberance shown by Leofan's children. Bethberry was glad, very glad, she had kept the stable master and his family after that disasterous fire so long ago..
Smiling, Aedre brought a plate of cheese to her and more cider. At the other end of the mead hall, Aylwen was working on her ledger, a smile marking her face as well.
Out of all that pain and terrible struggle, reflected the older woman, has come this contentment of music. Or perhaps it is the form and structure of the songs which help us make sense of our memories. Bethberry found herself nodding, Hearpwine's and Liornung's tales weaving in and out of her memories. Achingly, she hoped this day, this moment, would last, stretch out into a golden afternoon.
Goldwine jumped down and broke Bethberry's revery. This wouldn't do, she said to herself. Yet she found herself looking to catch both Hearpwine's and Liorung's eyes, hoping they would understand the depth of her appreciation.
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