Prompt 124.6.6 (for writers_muses)
Morgan le Fay
The Guenevere Trilogy
810 words
Guenevere woke in the middle of the night. She often did, fearing that some rustle outside her door was a threat to her small daughter, born only a month ago. Her body still ached from the difficult labor, but it was nothing compared to the struggle to bring forth Amir. Her heart sank briefly at the thought of her lost son, of the child she and Arthur had so loved. She sat up to go to her daughter, to assure herself all was well, and her blood froze in her veins.
A shadow stood beside the cradle, Guenevere’s golden daughter in her arms. Mulberry lips parted to croon an ancient lullaby. Dark hair and eyes stood stark against snow-colored skin. The High Queen’s ancient fear rose within her.
“Morgan.” She barely dared to breathe as the woman turned her head, and those liquid eyes focused on her. However, Morgan’s lips curved into a smile, a truer smile than she’d ever given before her retreat beneath Avalon. Guenevere spoke again, but more gently, “Morgan.”
“I won’t disturb you long, Guenevere,” Morgan said. There was no malice in her voice, and all the hate she had carried in those dark eyes was no more. “My mother will send word to you soon, through one of Nimue’s priestesses, but I felt it only right that I come to you personally. I have no right to ask anything of you, Guenevere. I won’t pretend that I do.” She bowed her head to look at the child she held before she surrendered her to her mother. “Still, I come to you to ask-to beg a favor.”
Guenevere accepted her daughter and held her close. Morgan wore a solemn expression, but her eyes were earnest. The queen bowed her head. “Ask what you will.”
“I loved Arthur.” It was not the favor she wished to ask, and Guenevere waited. She saw the struggle in Morgan’s eyes. “I envied you, who commanded both his love and the love of Lancelot. More than once, I prayed that you would announce Lancelot your champion and chosen one, take him as your king, as our foremothers did.” Guenevere wondered if Morgan’s eyes shone due to the moon or if tears rose in them. “Then I could have held out my hand to Arthur, claimed him as my own. But that was not to be. One year, as Beltain stole across the land, you called Lancelot to your bed, and it is the right of every woman to call a lover to her on Beltain.”
“You went to Arthur?”
Morgan nodded. “With every strain of magic I had and every prayer to the Goddess I could think of, I went to him, and he had me.”
Guenevere listened without pain. What was Morgan’s love for Arthur now? Morgan had him at last, and her hate was relieved. Guenevere, too, had what she had always desired, had the love the Old Ones had meant her for. She would not begrudge Morgan her actions now.
“There was a child,” Morgan said at last.
Guenevere started. Mordred had been born many years before she had known Lancelot. “A child?”
“A daughter. I begged the Fair Ones to grant me a daughter. Morgause could have no more children, and without a girl, Cornwall would fall to a prince of the Orkneys. While they would have cared for Cornwall and its people, the Mother-right would have been broken.”
“How old is she?”
“Five years. My mother cares for her, raises her as a princess should be raised.”
Guenevere felt tears in her eyes now. Morgan had given birth to the daughter of Arthur she had dreamed of for so long, while Lancelot had been fated to be the father of hers. She stood to embrace Morgan, but the woman held up a hand.
“I ask this of you, Guenevere-The child spends her summers at Avalon, learning the ways of the Mother, and my mother teaches her as best she can, but she is an aging woman. Igraine, as I named her before I surrendered her, will need to learn of court and politics from a queen in her prime when she is old enough.” Morgan’s bottomless eyes stared into Guenevere’s, and she knew what she had to do.
Guenevere smiled. “I shall welcome her as my sister’s child. Maire will call her ‘cousin,’ and they shall grow into queenhood together. When she is old enough, I shall see her own band of knights properly formed, and any who served Arthur who wish to serve her shall be welcome to do so.”
“My thanks.” Morgan bowed.
Guenevere looked at her daughter again and smiled at the innocence in her face. Maire and Igraine need never feel the thorns she and Morgan had felt for one another. When she looked up, Morgan was no longer there.
The Guenevere Trilogy
810 words
Guenevere woke in the middle of the night. She often did, fearing that some rustle outside her door was a threat to her small daughter, born only a month ago. Her body still ached from the difficult labor, but it was nothing compared to the struggle to bring forth Amir. Her heart sank briefly at the thought of her lost son, of the child she and Arthur had so loved. She sat up to go to her daughter, to assure herself all was well, and her blood froze in her veins.
A shadow stood beside the cradle, Guenevere’s golden daughter in her arms. Mulberry lips parted to croon an ancient lullaby. Dark hair and eyes stood stark against snow-colored skin. The High Queen’s ancient fear rose within her.
“Morgan.” She barely dared to breathe as the woman turned her head, and those liquid eyes focused on her. However, Morgan’s lips curved into a smile, a truer smile than she’d ever given before her retreat beneath Avalon. Guenevere spoke again, but more gently, “Morgan.”
“I won’t disturb you long, Guenevere,” Morgan said. There was no malice in her voice, and all the hate she had carried in those dark eyes was no more. “My mother will send word to you soon, through one of Nimue’s priestesses, but I felt it only right that I come to you personally. I have no right to ask anything of you, Guenevere. I won’t pretend that I do.” She bowed her head to look at the child she held before she surrendered her to her mother. “Still, I come to you to ask-to beg a favor.”
Guenevere accepted her daughter and held her close. Morgan wore a solemn expression, but her eyes were earnest. The queen bowed her head. “Ask what you will.”
“I loved Arthur.” It was not the favor she wished to ask, and Guenevere waited. She saw the struggle in Morgan’s eyes. “I envied you, who commanded both his love and the love of Lancelot. More than once, I prayed that you would announce Lancelot your champion and chosen one, take him as your king, as our foremothers did.” Guenevere wondered if Morgan’s eyes shone due to the moon or if tears rose in them. “Then I could have held out my hand to Arthur, claimed him as my own. But that was not to be. One year, as Beltain stole across the land, you called Lancelot to your bed, and it is the right of every woman to call a lover to her on Beltain.”
“You went to Arthur?”
Morgan nodded. “With every strain of magic I had and every prayer to the Goddess I could think of, I went to him, and he had me.”
Guenevere listened without pain. What was Morgan’s love for Arthur now? Morgan had him at last, and her hate was relieved. Guenevere, too, had what she had always desired, had the love the Old Ones had meant her for. She would not begrudge Morgan her actions now.
“There was a child,” Morgan said at last.
Guenevere started. Mordred had been born many years before she had known Lancelot. “A child?”
“A daughter. I begged the Fair Ones to grant me a daughter. Morgause could have no more children, and without a girl, Cornwall would fall to a prince of the Orkneys. While they would have cared for Cornwall and its people, the Mother-right would have been broken.”
“How old is she?”
“Five years. My mother cares for her, raises her as a princess should be raised.”
Guenevere felt tears in her eyes now. Morgan had given birth to the daughter of Arthur she had dreamed of for so long, while Lancelot had been fated to be the father of hers. She stood to embrace Morgan, but the woman held up a hand.
“I ask this of you, Guenevere-The child spends her summers at Avalon, learning the ways of the Mother, and my mother teaches her as best she can, but she is an aging woman. Igraine, as I named her before I surrendered her, will need to learn of court and politics from a queen in her prime when she is old enough.” Morgan’s bottomless eyes stared into Guenevere’s, and she knew what she had to do.
Guenevere smiled. “I shall welcome her as my sister’s child. Maire will call her ‘cousin,’ and they shall grow into queenhood together. When she is old enough, I shall see her own band of knights properly formed, and any who served Arthur who wish to serve her shall be welcome to do so.”
“My thanks.” Morgan bowed.
Guenevere looked at her daughter again and smiled at the innocence in her face. Maire and Igraine need never feel the thorns she and Morgan had felt for one another. When she looked up, Morgan was no longer there.