At My Most Beautiful (26a/27) - (Morgana/Morgause)
Long ago when the land was new and young, a beautiful maiden lived on the rocky shore of the salty sea. Her name came before the written word and her first breath before humanity had even begun to speak. Many have tried to fasten to her the names of later peoples, trying to make her their own. This foolishness shows that she could never be theirs or anyone else’s. Hers was a name not meant for mortal lips. Only the whispering of the wind could do it justice and so it remains the only place to hear it. Like her name, the looks of this maiden may seem strange to us, with her skin like the froth of the wild waves - shimmering white and blue, ever changing - and her hair - like the rock on that coast - was black as night and just as glittering as the starry sky.
As you have probably guessed from what I have said, this maiden was not human. She was the daughter of Gods.
Unlike the Gods before her, she was not born of the earth goddess but the goddess’ children. The Queen of the Night and her lover, the Dawn, met at the start of every day until the night swelled, growing each day longer and longer. When at last the night stretched for many months, the maiden was born. Unlike her parents, she was not a god. She had human form and earthly desires, but she had some of her parents’ power and ethereal allure. Alone on the earth, she grew quickly to womanhood and found herself to be exceedingly lonely. She was, after all, quite alone but for the lower beasts.
Many of the Gods tried to charm her. But all of their advances were met with cold rejection. Having been abandoned to loneliness as a babe, the maiden had no affection for Gods. If her loneliness was to be abated, she declared, it would be at mortal hands. And so the great game began.
Each of the rival Gods created their heroes, sending them on great and perilous quests to win the maiden’s heart. None of them succeeded. They were the first humans and, being made in the maiden’s image, were cold and unable to warm her heart.
Until, that is, the maiden came across a strange human babe nestled amongst the rocks. Intrigued, she reached out to touch the little girl, whom she found to be as warm as the midday sun. At her touch, the babe opened its eyes and stared at her, before creasing up her little brown eyes and letting out an effervescent noise that sent strange sensations fluttering in the maiden’s belly.
Feeling very strange indeed, the maiden picked up the babe and cradled her to her chest before setting off for the human settlement on the cliffs above. There she found many families, each with little babes of their own - all as cold as she was. She searched and searched but not a one of the people in the village would admit to knowing anything of the child. When the maiden tried to suggest that one of them take the babe in and care for it, none would. The babe was different and so was not welcome in any of their homes, never mind their hearts.
With white hot fury in her veins, the maiden stalked away from the village and slowly began to change…
When the story was over, Morgause closed the book and laid it on the table by the bed. She was careful not to disturb Morgana, who lay curled up by her side in a pretty white nightdress to welcome in the festival of Albannui. As usual, Morgause, wore her white sleep shirt and nothing else. You could say that she was always robed to be Albun’s bride, but the slash of green over her heart said more clearly than anything else that she was already taken.
“It is a cold night,” Morgana whispered, wishing Morgause would wrap her in a warmer embrace. “And that was a cold story.”
“It is traditional,” Morgause explained for the second time, brushing back some hair from Morgana’s warm forehead and granting her wish of a closer cuddle. “The maiden in the story went on to marry the God this festival commemorates. The tale tells of how a human babe warmed her heart to love. It is because of her that the Gods first began to love their creation - us.”
“I understand,” Morgana said hurriedly, forever worried of showing her ignorance of the Old Religion. There were no books to learn it from and to ask Morgause was to admit the ignorance she was so desperate to hide. “Is it true, the tale?”
Morgause laughed and dropped a kiss on Morgana’s head. “No, it is only a story for children. We do not believe that is how humans came to live on this earth, but that, like all life, we grew and formed organically from the mother goddess’ life-giving energy. Though, we are not ignorant enough to pretend to know how. That sort of slow deliberate magic is beyond us mortals. We cannot see that far ahead. Or that far behind. We see time as a road - long and straight. The Gods… Some say they see it differently.”
“Do you not wonder if they are right?” Morgana asked, thinking of the Garden of Eden and wondering how she had ever believed such a preposterous tale to be true - really true. Maybe that too had been intended as a children’s tale for the children of the one God. Those children had just grown up and never stopped believing it.
“I have much more pleasant things to wonder about,” Morgause answered, skimming her hand over Morgana’s belly.
Morgana smiled, contented at the change of subject. Sleep was blurring the edges of her vision and she could feel her body relaxing, tingling.
“I had the most wonderful dream last night,” she whispered.
“Oh yes?”
“We lived in a little house in the woods near Mermering, you and me. My father had never died and the world had never seen Uther Pendragon. You were one of my father’s knights and you asked for my hand when I came of age. My father consented and we had the most wonderful wedding on the beach and dined in the White Keep,” Morgana recalled, picturing it all again behind her closed eyes.
“That sounds like bliss,” Morgause agreed, running her fingers through Morgana’s hair and kissing her forehead.
“It was,” Morgana agreed with a blissful smile. “Every morn I made you breakfast and helped you don your armour, before biding you farewell for the day. Then I would spend the day caring for the house and the little garden out back, and for our daughter and son who were little more than babes - born less than a year after our joining. And when you came home to us, we would have dinner as a family and after we had eaten, you played with our children whilst I cleaned dinner up and then you put them to bed. Then, when they were asleep, you would take me to bed and spend the rest of the evening lying with me and promising to make our family even bigger. It was the most wonderful dream I have ever had.”
When Morgause did not immediately react to her tale, Morgana sat up in her lover’s arms and looked at her frown. “You would not want those things?”
Morgause sighed, knowing anything she had to say would not be what Morgana wanted to hear. “No, I would not.”
“Oh,” Morgana said quietly, turning away. “I am sorry if I have disappointed you. I should have kept it to myself.”
Morgause’s eyes drifted closed and she shook her head. “I do not want that because you are more than a wife, Morgana. You are Queen. Even if you were not, I could never let you care for me like a servant. Love is nothing if we are not equal in it. Having you do everything for me would be unfair. Do you not want more than that out of life?”
“You dismiss everything you did for me!” Morgana rebutted, hurt that Morgause could ever think she would dream of being her servant. “You worked and fought for us. You gave me a contented home and children to fill it with.”
“But I cannot!” Morgause shouted sharply. “If that is what you want, then you will have to admit, for both of our sakes, that I will never be enough for you.”
A tear ran down Morgana’s cheek. “That is not true! You are more than enough for me!”
“Then you could live a happy and fulfilling life without ever bearing children?”
The Queen’s silence said it all. Once she could have said yes. Now… Now she knew that she never could.
“Tell me, Morgana, if Uther died tomorrow, would you be happy knowing that you would never have another babe after the ones you carry now?” Morgause asked harshly, determined to prove her point, even if Morgana’s answer would hurt her.
Morgana frowned and turned away, saddened by her own answer. “No.”
“Well that answers our question, doesn’t it?” Morgause choked bitterly, pulling her legs from under Morgana and sliding quickly from the bed. “If I cannot even make you as happy as Uther can, then what is the point?”
And with that she left, leaving Morgana alone, with only the guards at her door for company.
~*~
Morgana did not sleep that night. Morgause’s words swirled endlessly in her head, not giving her a moment’s peace. There was something fractured between them and even when things seemed to be going better, a single moment could break them apart again.
She awoke on Christmas morning, before the sun had risen, to find herself entirely alone. She remembered with regret that she had given Gwen the day when it was Emilie who answered her call. The girl was twitchy and on edge. For a few terrifying moments, Morgana wondered if she had heard her argument with Morgause the night before. But that could not be so. Emilie never entered her chambers unless accompanied by Gwen or when summoned. If the arrangement - which had the purpose of keeping Morgana and Morgause’s relationship from her - seemed odd to her, she never showed it. This was her first real experience as a maid. It was expected that she work her way up the servant’s peculiar social strata.
As cold as her chambers had grown with no fire burning for most of the night, Morgana would gladly have stayed there if it meant avoiding Uther and her day-long obligations. It was still dark when they entered the chapel and took their place on their knees before the congregation of Camelot’s finest families. In this Morgana would be afforded no special treatment, no matter how heavy with child she was. For four hours, she listened to the bishop, prayed for the forgiveness of their sins and gave gratitude for the birth of the Saviour - never once shifting from her knees. All of this was, of course, conducted in Latin, as were services throughout the kingdom. The word of God need not be understood, only feared and exulted. The chapel in the castle contained the only people in their borders likely to comprehend a word of it. Both the King and the Papacy preferred it that way. Ignorant people were easier to rule. Or so they said.
The only thing that got Morgana through the ceremony was the knowledge that she was wearing white in praise of an entirely different god, and not a single person present was astute enough to see it.
Following chapel, they broke bread in the great hall - all 200 nobles feasting on fist-sized portions of bread, which was to be dipped in olive oil and consumed in contemplative silence. Here at least Uther gave Morgana a reprieve, allowing her to take her own portion and one for each of the babes. Morgana would have preferred to fast entirely until their meal after sundown if it meant avoiding the oil. The taste of it turned her stomach. It reminded her of Uther’s greasy hands.
When she managed to make Uther hear her excuses to and could retire to her chambers, darkness had been over the land several hours already. Morgause was waiting for her.
“I wore the dress,” Morgana said shortly, arms folded across her chest. It looked a good deal less impressive over the swell of her belly, but she did it anyway. She was annoyed and she wanted Morgause to know it.
In the low light of the fire, she could see that Morgause’s hair was adorned with slim white ribbon and flowers to match the white of her shirt. Her breeches were resolutely tan. Morgana supposed there was only so much she could get away with, given the knowledge of her family’s magical past.
“I am glad,” Morgause replied with a nod of her head. “I had wondered if you might not wear red to spite me. Then I saw you in the chapel and felt guilty for ever having entertained the thought.”
Ever gallant, even now.
“I will not apologise,” Morgana said firmly. “I am allowed to dream. Uther has no power over me there and neither do you.”
Morgause looked surprised. “I thought you might have reconsidered. Seen things from my perspective.”
“No.”
Sighing, Morgause dropped her head into her hands. This was not how she had expected the conversation to go. She had thought the time apart might make Morgana more reasonable and realistic. “I do not know what you want me to say, Morgana - let alone what you expect of me.”
“I expect that you would find a way,” Morgana said bitterly. “If you loved me, you would find a way.”
Morgause could not help but laugh mirthlessly. “There is no way, Morgana. Magic cannot create a life. Transfer one - yes. Perhaps. If the Gods granted it. But create one - no. It cannot be done.”
“Why not?!” Morgana cried, fighting back the urge to scream with frustration. Ever since Morgause had begun using her magic, she had held hopes that one day it would allow her to bear Morgause’s child. Nothing could bring her greater pride and joy, and to hear Morgause call it impossible and anger at the very mention of it drove Morgana to distraction.
“Surely you cannot be so ignorant? It would defy the most basic laws of nature!” Morgause retorted, as if speaking to a witless child. “Magic cannot change that. Life cannot be created from thin air!”
“Why not?” Morgana questioned again, her voice coming out as a sob.
Guilt washed over the supposedly gallant Knight and urged her to Morgana’s side.
“I should not have shouted,” she whispered, feeling foolish for her anger. Was it really so bad that Morgana wanted a child with her that much. If she was honest with herself, she wanted it too. Of course she did. But she did not want the life Morgana had dreamt for them and could not understand how Morgana possibly could.
Morgana sniffled and buried her face in Morgause’s neck.
“It is not fair,” she protested, her voice muffled and weak. “How can it be that I can have Uther’s child and I love him not, and yet love you so entirely and be damned never to gaze into the eyes of child and see both you and myself reflected there? That is all I want. I want something that is mine and yours, connecting us. Why can that not be?”
“Because the Gods are cruel,” Morgause suggested. “Or because man is. Either way, I cannot change it, no matter how much I want to. And I do understand, Morgana, I promise.” Morgana’s sniffling stopped. “But I promise to love your children as my own and promise that you will never have to do this alone. These babes will grow up surrounded by our love and nothing Uther does or says will ever be able to compete with that.”
“I wish they truly were yours,” Morgana murmured, turning her head so that she might be heard better. Her anger had subsided and all she felt now was sadness and regret. “Uther may have married me before you could, but I will not have him baptise them into the religion of his One God before the Old Religion can claim them,” she whispered fiercely. Blinking back her tears, she lifted her head and looked into Morgause’s earth dark eyes. “You will not let him, will you?”
A shiver of magic prickled over Morgause’s skin. “No, my love,” she said determinedly. “By the Gods, I will not let that happen if you do not wish it to.”
Morgana swallowed and tilted up her head to kiss Morgause - forgetting their differences and losing herself once more to her brave Knight who she knew would never let her down.
~*~
A week passed in a flurry of activity as the city readied to host the great inter-kingdom tournament. With Uther’s attentions on that, Morgana got a week of peace to reconcile with Morgause in the privacy of her bedchamber. The time left to her due date was quickly running away from her and she was determined to spend as much time as she had left in Morgause’s arms, with Morgause’s needs her only concern. On those golden, quiet afternoons Morgause finally told her some of what had gone on whilst she was away at war. She told Morgana of all she was ashamed of and then let her take away her guilt with sweet words and gentle kisses.
Then she told her of Edwin - though not all of it. She left out Edwin’s threats and what he had come there to do. All she said was that he had attacked the camp and that she had been the one to finish him. Morgana was so shocked into silence by even that small detail that she had not been able to speak for a very long time. And when she did, it was to praise her brave Knight and promise that she would die before letting anyone hurt her. Anyone who tried would learn she was not some meek little lamb but a wolf with sharp claws and a keen eye for vengeance. Of her kingdom, she did not much care for the time being. It was Uther’s for now and she had enough souls in Camelot to pray for without adding to that list the people of a kingdom who had tried to take her heart away. Still, she spent the rest of that night kissing the scar Edwin had given Morgause, and spent her dreams walking the streets of her new kingdom, trying to find something to connect with in its people. She failed.
At the end of the week, the parties from the other kingdoms began to arrive. First came the once great kingdom of Worcester, to ceremonially bend the knee to their new King. Their party was small and weak, with all of their strongest soldiers having lost their lives in the war. They were not unwelcome, though, as they brought with them precious supplies and a beautiful princess who was now, by law, Uther’s. Morgana accidentally saw him taking her in an alcove on the great western hallway the very night that they arrived. She and Morgause had been taking a midnight stroll to try to calm the babes to sleep. The sight of her husband with the princess he had been charged with getting with child had made her blood boil. Her people had suffered and still he had not learnt. Morgause had to pull her to lead her away and then let Morgana take out her frustrations on her when they returned to her chambers.
After Worcester came Mercia and King Raigal with all ten of his children. The eldest boy, Prince Llewellyn, was to fight for Mercia in the tournament. He was the same age as Morgana and appeared to be as much of a prat as when she had met him at the grand old age of ten. Camelot and Mercia had been at war then and she had to remind herself to be nice to him this time, even if he did not deserve it. Second eldest was a girl named Eliah and below her was her sister Cerys. Both were of the age that their entertainment was to be Morgana’s duty, though she had a not unfounded suspicion that Uther would be the one entertaining them by the end of the week. They were young and pretty, and that meant that Uther was entitled to them - at least he seemed to think so. Morgana could only pray to the Gods that he did not manage to start another war or she might have to order the Knights to castrate him and test out their loyalties once and for all.
King Thomas arrived the next day with his two infant sons and a Queen almost as heavy with child as Morgana. On Morgause’s encouragement, Morgana struck up a friendship with her and found that she enjoyed her company very much. Queen Isabella was a quiet and demure woman who liked nothing more than to spend the morning embroidering and the afternoon composing watery poetry. But she was kind and full of reassurances and advice for Morgana in the art of motherhood. She was still nursing her youngest boy and intended to do so until he was a year old at the least. It was in that she showed the steal beneath her soft exterior, telling Morgana of her fierce fight with her husband, insisting she be the one to nurse her own children despite society thinking it beneath a Queen. The fire in her eyes gave Morgana the resolve she needed to insist the same to Uther. To her surprise, he agreed.
Two days later, Morgana met her favourite guest so far - Princess Mithian of Nemeth who, instead of coming with her father, came in his place. Where all of the other women cooed over Morgana’s size and asked after babe names, Mithian used her razor wit to outfox Uther at the dinner table of a night and took Morgana’s arm to talk of politics during the day. She even declared loudly one evening that she and her father had agreed that she would not marry until she found someone she loved and even then that he would be not be King of her kingdom. Morgana very much hoped that the little girl inside her was listening and taking note of all this miraculous woman had to say. She might need it one day.
By the end of another week, all of the kingdoms in the land were hosted within Camelot’s walls. There were ten Princesses and Queens for Morgana to entertain and six Kings for Uther to treaty with. Eight champions, including Morgause, would compete over the next eight days in eight separate challenges, earning points which would determine the victor at the end. The first event was a show joust where the champions were required to perform a number of feats on horseback, such as lancing rings suspended in mid-air and hitting weighted targets without being unhorsed by the sandbags their blows aimed in their direction.
“I must say, Your Highness, that I am rather intrigued by your kingdom’s champion,” Princess Mithian commented as Morgause trotted into the arena on Nightmare’s back.
All of the women watched as Morgause stopped before them to bow, her long golden hair plaited with gold vines and tied with a purple ribbon - a sign of the Queen’s favour. For once, she was permitted to make such a staunch show of loyalty to her Queen without it being out of place. She was determined to show the world that she would die for the glory of her Queen and kingdom. No other champion could match her in that.
Morgana rose as gracefully as she could to her feet and curtseyed to her champion, holding out her hand for Morgause to kiss.
“May your radiance speed my steed’s hooves and steady my hand, Your Highness,” Morgause said in a loud, clear voice for all to hear.
“And may you ride with grace and honour, my champion,” Morgana replied, blushing at half a thousand eyes watching the press of Morgause’s pink lips to her ivory pale hand. It took a good deal of effort to quash the impulse to grasp Morgause’s hand and turn it over to kiss the inside of her wrist and her palm as she so often did. It was a particularly intimate gesture that seemed to be unique to those who followed the Old Religion. Doing it in front of the whole of Camelot would out their magic and relationship both. It wold be so easy. Just one perfectly placed kiss.
Morgause bowed again and the crowd erupted into cheers, making Morgana laugh and blush deeper. Not a one of them had the slightest inkling that she had lavished every inch of her champion’s skin with kisses in the low dawn light. Or that it was her who clothed her in steal and kissed her sword and lips for luck.
“It is rather… unique to have a woman as your champion, Your Highness,” Queen Isabella said kindly as Morgana retook her seat and Morgause moved to bow before her King.
“It is more than unique,” Mithian said with a catlike smile. She was mischief through and through, Morgana had decided. She liked that. “It is an act of pure brilliance that I for one will be emulating if we ever meet again in such a tournament. A man could never match a woman’s determination, quick wit or ruthlessness.”
Morgana smiled almost wickedly in response. She was going to enjoy Mithian’s company. “She is the finest Knight in Camelot. You may not want to come back for another go at her after she’s done with your Sir Vitus.”
“Precisely,” Mithian agreed. “Why send a man when a woman can do the job so much better? I fear Nemeth must give up all hopes of winning on the very first morning. Still, there is always next year. The winner is the competitor who plays the long game.”
She matched Morgana’s roguish smile and turned her eyes back to the arena. It was clear to Morgana that Mithian and Isabella’s words were said to prevent any of the other women making a derogatory remark. Morgana was well aware there had been whisperings of disapproval and amusement from nearly all of the other kingdoms, and any effort to keep the talk from her ears was very much appreciated. A Queen is bound to defend her champion with the ferocity of an icy wind, and that would not be good for interkingdom relations.
All eyes were on Morgause as the drum sounded and she put heal to horse, going from statue still to a full gallop - dust billowing in their wake. It would have been quite an impressive sight, Morgana thought, if she had not spent the previous two mornings watching her practice. All from the safety of her window, of course. Uther could not have her just wandering around.
As one smooth being, Knight and horse thundered up the length of the arena, rounded the corner and doubled back. The first part of the day was judged on horsemanship and each champion was required to show their ability to remain in control at great speeds. Far from being a nightmare, Morgause’s horse responded perfectly to her commands and they managed to score almost full points for their display. Morgana got to her feet to applaud her as Morgause stopped to again bow her head at the royal box to the roar of the crowd.
As Morgana retook her seat, her eyes still on Morgause’s retreating form, a sharp burning flashed over her belly from top to bottom. The sudden pain caught her by surprise, making her gasp and bite her lip almost hard enough to draw blood.
“Are you quite well, my Queen?” Mithian asked, resting a concerned hand on Morgana’s arm. Her eyes were wide and fearful; her voice made it quite clear that she expected Morgana’s answer to be ‘no’.
“I am,” Morgana lied, grimacing. “I have been getting these little pains for the last few days. My midwife tells me it is quite normal and nothing to worry about. All in preparation, I am told.”
She noticed Queen Isabella eyeing the low swell of her stomach. When she made to meet Isabella’s gaze, the other woman looked back to the arena and the entrance of her own champion.
Sir Oswald made a fine display up until about half way through when he lost his footing in the stirrups and dropped his sword in an attempt to keep his balance. Mithian’s champion did rather better, matching Morgause’s score and delighting his Princess who jumped to her feet and cheered loudly for him. Morgana could not help but smile. She was beginning to wonder if there was something going on between Mithian and her young, swarthy champion from across the sea.
Before too long, it was Morgause’s turn in the arena again. This time she had to exhibit her accuracy with a lance. Mithian turned to Morgana and whispered some quite scandalous innuendo that insinuated Morgause was likely very skilled in the thrust of a lance. Morgana’s answering blush made Mithian laugh and pat her hand just as another pain struck her.
“Ah!” she cried, doubling over her belly and gritting her teeth. Within seconds the pain had subsided and she sat up in her seat, waving off Mithian’s concerns. The pain had been worse. She was sure of it. Every one was worse than the one before.
“My dear, I think you may need to retire to your lying-in room,” Isabella whispered kindly. “I am sure the Princess will be happy to escort you.”
“Nonsense, I shall be fine,” Morgana dismissed. It was too soon for the babes to come. She had only seen Amina that morning. “Besides, that would leave no one to look after Your Highnesses. We could not have that. Camelot will not be a bad hostess whilst I am her lady.”
Mithian smiled and squeezed her hand. There was deep kindness in her eyes that reminded Morgana of Gwen. But even with Mithian’s kindness, she would rather have Gwen be by her side to reassure her. But, alas, Uther had forbidden it. He would not have a girl who had been a servant take a seat amongst royalty. Even if she was supposed to be Morgana’s lady-in-waiting.
“We are adequately entertained, I assure you, Your Highness,” Isabella said with a smile. “We all have a knight in this here tournament. That is entertainment enough.”
“Quite,” Mithian agreed. Her attention turned to the arena as her champion entered. She could not hide her excitement.
For a while, they fell silent again, all watching their respective champions. Two hours passed and Morgana’s pains came more and more frequently. She was starting to panic.
“Your Highness,” she addressed Queen Isabella, “do you perhaps think that…”
“I do, Morgana,” Isabella confirmed calmly. “I think it may be time to appeal to your husband to excuse you for the day.”
Morgana’s heart quickened and her cheeks paled.
“Let me,” Mithian offered, leaving no time for Morgana to refuse as she swiftly got to her feet and wove her way to the King.
Morgana bit her lip and waited. She could not believe it when Uther stood and made his way to her side, kneeling before her.
“Is this right, Morgana, what the Princess tells me?” he asked, laying his hand on her belly.
She nodded.
Smiling, he brushed his hand over her cheek. “Good girl. This is one way of taking the people’s attention off of their pretender of a Knight, I suppose. Off to your chambers. I want my son in my arms before the day is done.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Morgana promised, nodding her head meekly. She was too afraid and the audience too unfamiliar for her to be defiant. “Might I be so bold as to ask a favour of you, good husband?”
His gaze remained steady, telling her that he would consider it.
“Send our champion to me as soon as you can spare her? I know that she cannot protect me from this but…” She looked up at him through her eyelashes pleadingly.
He smiled as if she was ten again and begging for a maid to sleep beside her to ward off the frights of the night.
“When she is done,” he agreed.
~*~
Fire burned at Morgana’s cheeks as she bit her lip and shifted from foot to foot in embarrassment, holding up her dress and gazing down at the ruined rug. She looked up at Gwen like a little girl who had wet the bed.
“Sorry.”
Gwen giggled, watching Morgana’s feet squish up and down. It was too comical, even with her worry. “You needn’t apologise to me. I’ll have Emilie clean it. Ladies-in-waiting do not do the laundry.” Morgana did not look any less ashamed. Gwen smiled. “But they do give hugs.” She opened her arms. “Come here.”
With one last look at the rug and still hitching up her dress, Morgana waddled squelchily over to her friend, allowing herself to be hugged.
“Hush, now,” Gwen soothed as Morgana started to weep, “all will be over soon and you will have your babes in your arms.”
“But what if I cannot do it?” Morgana breathed fearfully. “What if I cannot bear the pain or what if they just cry and I cannot make them stop? What if I die? What if they die?”
“Hush,” Gwen quieted, holding Morgana at arm’s length.
“I need her,” Morgana whimpered.
Gwen smiled and brushed Morgana’s hair back out of her face. “I know.”
~*~
With a few words of praise in her ancestral tongue and a soothing pat to the neck, Morgause bid Nightmare farewell for the night and jogged out of the stables. All in all, the first day of the tournament had been a successful one. She had taken the early lead and would enter tomorrow’s hand to hand combat round with the highest score, giving her the advantage of picking their weapon. It would be the sword - that great leveller of men. With maces or battle-axes she would be easily outmatched by her competitors strength. But with a sword in her hand, she could lead them on a merry -
“Morgause.”
Morgause’s chain of thought was abruptly cut off by the sound of the King’s voice.
“Your Highness,” she spluttered. Her surprise made her bow unsteady. Why had the King come to talk to her? And what was he doing in the stable block? Surely even he could not be disappointed with her performance.
“The Queen has requested you attend her in her chambers,” Uther proclaimed, his words clipped with annoyance at being the messenger. “She…” He seemed unable to find the words. “My lady wife is to give me my son tonight.”
Morgause felt like someone had dropped a cold stone down through her belly.
“Come,” the King commanded.
PART 2
As you have probably guessed from what I have said, this maiden was not human. She was the daughter of Gods.
Unlike the Gods before her, she was not born of the earth goddess but the goddess’ children. The Queen of the Night and her lover, the Dawn, met at the start of every day until the night swelled, growing each day longer and longer. When at last the night stretched for many months, the maiden was born. Unlike her parents, she was not a god. She had human form and earthly desires, but she had some of her parents’ power and ethereal allure. Alone on the earth, she grew quickly to womanhood and found herself to be exceedingly lonely. She was, after all, quite alone but for the lower beasts.
Many of the Gods tried to charm her. But all of their advances were met with cold rejection. Having been abandoned to loneliness as a babe, the maiden had no affection for Gods. If her loneliness was to be abated, she declared, it would be at mortal hands. And so the great game began.
Each of the rival Gods created their heroes, sending them on great and perilous quests to win the maiden’s heart. None of them succeeded. They were the first humans and, being made in the maiden’s image, were cold and unable to warm her heart.
Until, that is, the maiden came across a strange human babe nestled amongst the rocks. Intrigued, she reached out to touch the little girl, whom she found to be as warm as the midday sun. At her touch, the babe opened its eyes and stared at her, before creasing up her little brown eyes and letting out an effervescent noise that sent strange sensations fluttering in the maiden’s belly.
Feeling very strange indeed, the maiden picked up the babe and cradled her to her chest before setting off for the human settlement on the cliffs above. There she found many families, each with little babes of their own - all as cold as she was. She searched and searched but not a one of the people in the village would admit to knowing anything of the child. When the maiden tried to suggest that one of them take the babe in and care for it, none would. The babe was different and so was not welcome in any of their homes, never mind their hearts.
With white hot fury in her veins, the maiden stalked away from the village and slowly began to change…
When the story was over, Morgause closed the book and laid it on the table by the bed. She was careful not to disturb Morgana, who lay curled up by her side in a pretty white nightdress to welcome in the festival of Albannui. As usual, Morgause, wore her white sleep shirt and nothing else. You could say that she was always robed to be Albun’s bride, but the slash of green over her heart said more clearly than anything else that she was already taken.
“It is a cold night,” Morgana whispered, wishing Morgause would wrap her in a warmer embrace. “And that was a cold story.”
“It is traditional,” Morgause explained for the second time, brushing back some hair from Morgana’s warm forehead and granting her wish of a closer cuddle. “The maiden in the story went on to marry the God this festival commemorates. The tale tells of how a human babe warmed her heart to love. It is because of her that the Gods first began to love their creation - us.”
“I understand,” Morgana said hurriedly, forever worried of showing her ignorance of the Old Religion. There were no books to learn it from and to ask Morgause was to admit the ignorance she was so desperate to hide. “Is it true, the tale?”
Morgause laughed and dropped a kiss on Morgana’s head. “No, it is only a story for children. We do not believe that is how humans came to live on this earth, but that, like all life, we grew and formed organically from the mother goddess’ life-giving energy. Though, we are not ignorant enough to pretend to know how. That sort of slow deliberate magic is beyond us mortals. We cannot see that far ahead. Or that far behind. We see time as a road - long and straight. The Gods… Some say they see it differently.”
“Do you not wonder if they are right?” Morgana asked, thinking of the Garden of Eden and wondering how she had ever believed such a preposterous tale to be true - really true. Maybe that too had been intended as a children’s tale for the children of the one God. Those children had just grown up and never stopped believing it.
“I have much more pleasant things to wonder about,” Morgause answered, skimming her hand over Morgana’s belly.
Morgana smiled, contented at the change of subject. Sleep was blurring the edges of her vision and she could feel her body relaxing, tingling.
“I had the most wonderful dream last night,” she whispered.
“Oh yes?”
“We lived in a little house in the woods near Mermering, you and me. My father had never died and the world had never seen Uther Pendragon. You were one of my father’s knights and you asked for my hand when I came of age. My father consented and we had the most wonderful wedding on the beach and dined in the White Keep,” Morgana recalled, picturing it all again behind her closed eyes.
“That sounds like bliss,” Morgause agreed, running her fingers through Morgana’s hair and kissing her forehead.
“It was,” Morgana agreed with a blissful smile. “Every morn I made you breakfast and helped you don your armour, before biding you farewell for the day. Then I would spend the day caring for the house and the little garden out back, and for our daughter and son who were little more than babes - born less than a year after our joining. And when you came home to us, we would have dinner as a family and after we had eaten, you played with our children whilst I cleaned dinner up and then you put them to bed. Then, when they were asleep, you would take me to bed and spend the rest of the evening lying with me and promising to make our family even bigger. It was the most wonderful dream I have ever had.”
When Morgause did not immediately react to her tale, Morgana sat up in her lover’s arms and looked at her frown. “You would not want those things?”
Morgause sighed, knowing anything she had to say would not be what Morgana wanted to hear. “No, I would not.”
“Oh,” Morgana said quietly, turning away. “I am sorry if I have disappointed you. I should have kept it to myself.”
Morgause’s eyes drifted closed and she shook her head. “I do not want that because you are more than a wife, Morgana. You are Queen. Even if you were not, I could never let you care for me like a servant. Love is nothing if we are not equal in it. Having you do everything for me would be unfair. Do you not want more than that out of life?”
“You dismiss everything you did for me!” Morgana rebutted, hurt that Morgause could ever think she would dream of being her servant. “You worked and fought for us. You gave me a contented home and children to fill it with.”
“But I cannot!” Morgause shouted sharply. “If that is what you want, then you will have to admit, for both of our sakes, that I will never be enough for you.”
A tear ran down Morgana’s cheek. “That is not true! You are more than enough for me!”
“Then you could live a happy and fulfilling life without ever bearing children?”
The Queen’s silence said it all. Once she could have said yes. Now… Now she knew that she never could.
“Tell me, Morgana, if Uther died tomorrow, would you be happy knowing that you would never have another babe after the ones you carry now?” Morgause asked harshly, determined to prove her point, even if Morgana’s answer would hurt her.
Morgana frowned and turned away, saddened by her own answer. “No.”
“Well that answers our question, doesn’t it?” Morgause choked bitterly, pulling her legs from under Morgana and sliding quickly from the bed. “If I cannot even make you as happy as Uther can, then what is the point?”
And with that she left, leaving Morgana alone, with only the guards at her door for company.
~*~
Morgana did not sleep that night. Morgause’s words swirled endlessly in her head, not giving her a moment’s peace. There was something fractured between them and even when things seemed to be going better, a single moment could break them apart again.
She awoke on Christmas morning, before the sun had risen, to find herself entirely alone. She remembered with regret that she had given Gwen the day when it was Emilie who answered her call. The girl was twitchy and on edge. For a few terrifying moments, Morgana wondered if she had heard her argument with Morgause the night before. But that could not be so. Emilie never entered her chambers unless accompanied by Gwen or when summoned. If the arrangement - which had the purpose of keeping Morgana and Morgause’s relationship from her - seemed odd to her, she never showed it. This was her first real experience as a maid. It was expected that she work her way up the servant’s peculiar social strata.
As cold as her chambers had grown with no fire burning for most of the night, Morgana would gladly have stayed there if it meant avoiding Uther and her day-long obligations. It was still dark when they entered the chapel and took their place on their knees before the congregation of Camelot’s finest families. In this Morgana would be afforded no special treatment, no matter how heavy with child she was. For four hours, she listened to the bishop, prayed for the forgiveness of their sins and gave gratitude for the birth of the Saviour - never once shifting from her knees. All of this was, of course, conducted in Latin, as were services throughout the kingdom. The word of God need not be understood, only feared and exulted. The chapel in the castle contained the only people in their borders likely to comprehend a word of it. Both the King and the Papacy preferred it that way. Ignorant people were easier to rule. Or so they said.
The only thing that got Morgana through the ceremony was the knowledge that she was wearing white in praise of an entirely different god, and not a single person present was astute enough to see it.
Following chapel, they broke bread in the great hall - all 200 nobles feasting on fist-sized portions of bread, which was to be dipped in olive oil and consumed in contemplative silence. Here at least Uther gave Morgana a reprieve, allowing her to take her own portion and one for each of the babes. Morgana would have preferred to fast entirely until their meal after sundown if it meant avoiding the oil. The taste of it turned her stomach. It reminded her of Uther’s greasy hands.
When she managed to make Uther hear her excuses to and could retire to her chambers, darkness had been over the land several hours already. Morgause was waiting for her.
“I wore the dress,” Morgana said shortly, arms folded across her chest. It looked a good deal less impressive over the swell of her belly, but she did it anyway. She was annoyed and she wanted Morgause to know it.
In the low light of the fire, she could see that Morgause’s hair was adorned with slim white ribbon and flowers to match the white of her shirt. Her breeches were resolutely tan. Morgana supposed there was only so much she could get away with, given the knowledge of her family’s magical past.
“I am glad,” Morgause replied with a nod of her head. “I had wondered if you might not wear red to spite me. Then I saw you in the chapel and felt guilty for ever having entertained the thought.”
Ever gallant, even now.
“I will not apologise,” Morgana said firmly. “I am allowed to dream. Uther has no power over me there and neither do you.”
Morgause looked surprised. “I thought you might have reconsidered. Seen things from my perspective.”
“No.”
Sighing, Morgause dropped her head into her hands. This was not how she had expected the conversation to go. She had thought the time apart might make Morgana more reasonable and realistic. “I do not know what you want me to say, Morgana - let alone what you expect of me.”
“I expect that you would find a way,” Morgana said bitterly. “If you loved me, you would find a way.”
Morgause could not help but laugh mirthlessly. “There is no way, Morgana. Magic cannot create a life. Transfer one - yes. Perhaps. If the Gods granted it. But create one - no. It cannot be done.”
“Why not?!” Morgana cried, fighting back the urge to scream with frustration. Ever since Morgause had begun using her magic, she had held hopes that one day it would allow her to bear Morgause’s child. Nothing could bring her greater pride and joy, and to hear Morgause call it impossible and anger at the very mention of it drove Morgana to distraction.
“Surely you cannot be so ignorant? It would defy the most basic laws of nature!” Morgause retorted, as if speaking to a witless child. “Magic cannot change that. Life cannot be created from thin air!”
“Why not?” Morgana questioned again, her voice coming out as a sob.
Guilt washed over the supposedly gallant Knight and urged her to Morgana’s side.
“I should not have shouted,” she whispered, feeling foolish for her anger. Was it really so bad that Morgana wanted a child with her that much. If she was honest with herself, she wanted it too. Of course she did. But she did not want the life Morgana had dreamt for them and could not understand how Morgana possibly could.
Morgana sniffled and buried her face in Morgause’s neck.
“It is not fair,” she protested, her voice muffled and weak. “How can it be that I can have Uther’s child and I love him not, and yet love you so entirely and be damned never to gaze into the eyes of child and see both you and myself reflected there? That is all I want. I want something that is mine and yours, connecting us. Why can that not be?”
“Because the Gods are cruel,” Morgause suggested. “Or because man is. Either way, I cannot change it, no matter how much I want to. And I do understand, Morgana, I promise.” Morgana’s sniffling stopped. “But I promise to love your children as my own and promise that you will never have to do this alone. These babes will grow up surrounded by our love and nothing Uther does or says will ever be able to compete with that.”
“I wish they truly were yours,” Morgana murmured, turning her head so that she might be heard better. Her anger had subsided and all she felt now was sadness and regret. “Uther may have married me before you could, but I will not have him baptise them into the religion of his One God before the Old Religion can claim them,” she whispered fiercely. Blinking back her tears, she lifted her head and looked into Morgause’s earth dark eyes. “You will not let him, will you?”
A shiver of magic prickled over Morgause’s skin. “No, my love,” she said determinedly. “By the Gods, I will not let that happen if you do not wish it to.”
Morgana swallowed and tilted up her head to kiss Morgause - forgetting their differences and losing herself once more to her brave Knight who she knew would never let her down.
~*~
A week passed in a flurry of activity as the city readied to host the great inter-kingdom tournament. With Uther’s attentions on that, Morgana got a week of peace to reconcile with Morgause in the privacy of her bedchamber. The time left to her due date was quickly running away from her and she was determined to spend as much time as she had left in Morgause’s arms, with Morgause’s needs her only concern. On those golden, quiet afternoons Morgause finally told her some of what had gone on whilst she was away at war. She told Morgana of all she was ashamed of and then let her take away her guilt with sweet words and gentle kisses.
Then she told her of Edwin - though not all of it. She left out Edwin’s threats and what he had come there to do. All she said was that he had attacked the camp and that she had been the one to finish him. Morgana was so shocked into silence by even that small detail that she had not been able to speak for a very long time. And when she did, it was to praise her brave Knight and promise that she would die before letting anyone hurt her. Anyone who tried would learn she was not some meek little lamb but a wolf with sharp claws and a keen eye for vengeance. Of her kingdom, she did not much care for the time being. It was Uther’s for now and she had enough souls in Camelot to pray for without adding to that list the people of a kingdom who had tried to take her heart away. Still, she spent the rest of that night kissing the scar Edwin had given Morgause, and spent her dreams walking the streets of her new kingdom, trying to find something to connect with in its people. She failed.
At the end of the week, the parties from the other kingdoms began to arrive. First came the once great kingdom of Worcester, to ceremonially bend the knee to their new King. Their party was small and weak, with all of their strongest soldiers having lost their lives in the war. They were not unwelcome, though, as they brought with them precious supplies and a beautiful princess who was now, by law, Uther’s. Morgana accidentally saw him taking her in an alcove on the great western hallway the very night that they arrived. She and Morgause had been taking a midnight stroll to try to calm the babes to sleep. The sight of her husband with the princess he had been charged with getting with child had made her blood boil. Her people had suffered and still he had not learnt. Morgause had to pull her to lead her away and then let Morgana take out her frustrations on her when they returned to her chambers.
After Worcester came Mercia and King Raigal with all ten of his children. The eldest boy, Prince Llewellyn, was to fight for Mercia in the tournament. He was the same age as Morgana and appeared to be as much of a prat as when she had met him at the grand old age of ten. Camelot and Mercia had been at war then and she had to remind herself to be nice to him this time, even if he did not deserve it. Second eldest was a girl named Eliah and below her was her sister Cerys. Both were of the age that their entertainment was to be Morgana’s duty, though she had a not unfounded suspicion that Uther would be the one entertaining them by the end of the week. They were young and pretty, and that meant that Uther was entitled to them - at least he seemed to think so. Morgana could only pray to the Gods that he did not manage to start another war or she might have to order the Knights to castrate him and test out their loyalties once and for all.
King Thomas arrived the next day with his two infant sons and a Queen almost as heavy with child as Morgana. On Morgause’s encouragement, Morgana struck up a friendship with her and found that she enjoyed her company very much. Queen Isabella was a quiet and demure woman who liked nothing more than to spend the morning embroidering and the afternoon composing watery poetry. But she was kind and full of reassurances and advice for Morgana in the art of motherhood. She was still nursing her youngest boy and intended to do so until he was a year old at the least. It was in that she showed the steal beneath her soft exterior, telling Morgana of her fierce fight with her husband, insisting she be the one to nurse her own children despite society thinking it beneath a Queen. The fire in her eyes gave Morgana the resolve she needed to insist the same to Uther. To her surprise, he agreed.
Two days later, Morgana met her favourite guest so far - Princess Mithian of Nemeth who, instead of coming with her father, came in his place. Where all of the other women cooed over Morgana’s size and asked after babe names, Mithian used her razor wit to outfox Uther at the dinner table of a night and took Morgana’s arm to talk of politics during the day. She even declared loudly one evening that she and her father had agreed that she would not marry until she found someone she loved and even then that he would be not be King of her kingdom. Morgana very much hoped that the little girl inside her was listening and taking note of all this miraculous woman had to say. She might need it one day.
By the end of another week, all of the kingdoms in the land were hosted within Camelot’s walls. There were ten Princesses and Queens for Morgana to entertain and six Kings for Uther to treaty with. Eight champions, including Morgause, would compete over the next eight days in eight separate challenges, earning points which would determine the victor at the end. The first event was a show joust where the champions were required to perform a number of feats on horseback, such as lancing rings suspended in mid-air and hitting weighted targets without being unhorsed by the sandbags their blows aimed in their direction.
“I must say, Your Highness, that I am rather intrigued by your kingdom’s champion,” Princess Mithian commented as Morgause trotted into the arena on Nightmare’s back.
All of the women watched as Morgause stopped before them to bow, her long golden hair plaited with gold vines and tied with a purple ribbon - a sign of the Queen’s favour. For once, she was permitted to make such a staunch show of loyalty to her Queen without it being out of place. She was determined to show the world that she would die for the glory of her Queen and kingdom. No other champion could match her in that.
Morgana rose as gracefully as she could to her feet and curtseyed to her champion, holding out her hand for Morgause to kiss.
“May your radiance speed my steed’s hooves and steady my hand, Your Highness,” Morgause said in a loud, clear voice for all to hear.
“And may you ride with grace and honour, my champion,” Morgana replied, blushing at half a thousand eyes watching the press of Morgause’s pink lips to her ivory pale hand. It took a good deal of effort to quash the impulse to grasp Morgause’s hand and turn it over to kiss the inside of her wrist and her palm as she so often did. It was a particularly intimate gesture that seemed to be unique to those who followed the Old Religion. Doing it in front of the whole of Camelot would out their magic and relationship both. It wold be so easy. Just one perfectly placed kiss.
Morgause bowed again and the crowd erupted into cheers, making Morgana laugh and blush deeper. Not a one of them had the slightest inkling that she had lavished every inch of her champion’s skin with kisses in the low dawn light. Or that it was her who clothed her in steal and kissed her sword and lips for luck.
“It is rather… unique to have a woman as your champion, Your Highness,” Queen Isabella said kindly as Morgana retook her seat and Morgause moved to bow before her King.
“It is more than unique,” Mithian said with a catlike smile. She was mischief through and through, Morgana had decided. She liked that. “It is an act of pure brilliance that I for one will be emulating if we ever meet again in such a tournament. A man could never match a woman’s determination, quick wit or ruthlessness.”
Morgana smiled almost wickedly in response. She was going to enjoy Mithian’s company. “She is the finest Knight in Camelot. You may not want to come back for another go at her after she’s done with your Sir Vitus.”
“Precisely,” Mithian agreed. “Why send a man when a woman can do the job so much better? I fear Nemeth must give up all hopes of winning on the very first morning. Still, there is always next year. The winner is the competitor who plays the long game.”
She matched Morgana’s roguish smile and turned her eyes back to the arena. It was clear to Morgana that Mithian and Isabella’s words were said to prevent any of the other women making a derogatory remark. Morgana was well aware there had been whisperings of disapproval and amusement from nearly all of the other kingdoms, and any effort to keep the talk from her ears was very much appreciated. A Queen is bound to defend her champion with the ferocity of an icy wind, and that would not be good for interkingdom relations.
All eyes were on Morgause as the drum sounded and she put heal to horse, going from statue still to a full gallop - dust billowing in their wake. It would have been quite an impressive sight, Morgana thought, if she had not spent the previous two mornings watching her practice. All from the safety of her window, of course. Uther could not have her just wandering around.
As one smooth being, Knight and horse thundered up the length of the arena, rounded the corner and doubled back. The first part of the day was judged on horsemanship and each champion was required to show their ability to remain in control at great speeds. Far from being a nightmare, Morgause’s horse responded perfectly to her commands and they managed to score almost full points for their display. Morgana got to her feet to applaud her as Morgause stopped to again bow her head at the royal box to the roar of the crowd.
As Morgana retook her seat, her eyes still on Morgause’s retreating form, a sharp burning flashed over her belly from top to bottom. The sudden pain caught her by surprise, making her gasp and bite her lip almost hard enough to draw blood.
“Are you quite well, my Queen?” Mithian asked, resting a concerned hand on Morgana’s arm. Her eyes were wide and fearful; her voice made it quite clear that she expected Morgana’s answer to be ‘no’.
“I am,” Morgana lied, grimacing. “I have been getting these little pains for the last few days. My midwife tells me it is quite normal and nothing to worry about. All in preparation, I am told.”
She noticed Queen Isabella eyeing the low swell of her stomach. When she made to meet Isabella’s gaze, the other woman looked back to the arena and the entrance of her own champion.
Sir Oswald made a fine display up until about half way through when he lost his footing in the stirrups and dropped his sword in an attempt to keep his balance. Mithian’s champion did rather better, matching Morgause’s score and delighting his Princess who jumped to her feet and cheered loudly for him. Morgana could not help but smile. She was beginning to wonder if there was something going on between Mithian and her young, swarthy champion from across the sea.
Before too long, it was Morgause’s turn in the arena again. This time she had to exhibit her accuracy with a lance. Mithian turned to Morgana and whispered some quite scandalous innuendo that insinuated Morgause was likely very skilled in the thrust of a lance. Morgana’s answering blush made Mithian laugh and pat her hand just as another pain struck her.
“Ah!” she cried, doubling over her belly and gritting her teeth. Within seconds the pain had subsided and she sat up in her seat, waving off Mithian’s concerns. The pain had been worse. She was sure of it. Every one was worse than the one before.
“My dear, I think you may need to retire to your lying-in room,” Isabella whispered kindly. “I am sure the Princess will be happy to escort you.”
“Nonsense, I shall be fine,” Morgana dismissed. It was too soon for the babes to come. She had only seen Amina that morning. “Besides, that would leave no one to look after Your Highnesses. We could not have that. Camelot will not be a bad hostess whilst I am her lady.”
Mithian smiled and squeezed her hand. There was deep kindness in her eyes that reminded Morgana of Gwen. But even with Mithian’s kindness, she would rather have Gwen be by her side to reassure her. But, alas, Uther had forbidden it. He would not have a girl who had been a servant take a seat amongst royalty. Even if she was supposed to be Morgana’s lady-in-waiting.
“We are adequately entertained, I assure you, Your Highness,” Isabella said with a smile. “We all have a knight in this here tournament. That is entertainment enough.”
“Quite,” Mithian agreed. Her attention turned to the arena as her champion entered. She could not hide her excitement.
For a while, they fell silent again, all watching their respective champions. Two hours passed and Morgana’s pains came more and more frequently. She was starting to panic.
“Your Highness,” she addressed Queen Isabella, “do you perhaps think that…”
“I do, Morgana,” Isabella confirmed calmly. “I think it may be time to appeal to your husband to excuse you for the day.”
Morgana’s heart quickened and her cheeks paled.
“Let me,” Mithian offered, leaving no time for Morgana to refuse as she swiftly got to her feet and wove her way to the King.
Morgana bit her lip and waited. She could not believe it when Uther stood and made his way to her side, kneeling before her.
“Is this right, Morgana, what the Princess tells me?” he asked, laying his hand on her belly.
She nodded.
Smiling, he brushed his hand over her cheek. “Good girl. This is one way of taking the people’s attention off of their pretender of a Knight, I suppose. Off to your chambers. I want my son in my arms before the day is done.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Morgana promised, nodding her head meekly. She was too afraid and the audience too unfamiliar for her to be defiant. “Might I be so bold as to ask a favour of you, good husband?”
His gaze remained steady, telling her that he would consider it.
“Send our champion to me as soon as you can spare her? I know that she cannot protect me from this but…” She looked up at him through her eyelashes pleadingly.
He smiled as if she was ten again and begging for a maid to sleep beside her to ward off the frights of the night.
“When she is done,” he agreed.
~*~
Fire burned at Morgana’s cheeks as she bit her lip and shifted from foot to foot in embarrassment, holding up her dress and gazing down at the ruined rug. She looked up at Gwen like a little girl who had wet the bed.
“Sorry.”
Gwen giggled, watching Morgana’s feet squish up and down. It was too comical, even with her worry. “You needn’t apologise to me. I’ll have Emilie clean it. Ladies-in-waiting do not do the laundry.” Morgana did not look any less ashamed. Gwen smiled. “But they do give hugs.” She opened her arms. “Come here.”
With one last look at the rug and still hitching up her dress, Morgana waddled squelchily over to her friend, allowing herself to be hugged.
“Hush, now,” Gwen soothed as Morgana started to weep, “all will be over soon and you will have your babes in your arms.”
“But what if I cannot do it?” Morgana breathed fearfully. “What if I cannot bear the pain or what if they just cry and I cannot make them stop? What if I die? What if they die?”
“Hush,” Gwen quieted, holding Morgana at arm’s length.
“I need her,” Morgana whimpered.
Gwen smiled and brushed Morgana’s hair back out of her face. “I know.”
~*~
With a few words of praise in her ancestral tongue and a soothing pat to the neck, Morgause bid Nightmare farewell for the night and jogged out of the stables. All in all, the first day of the tournament had been a successful one. She had taken the early lead and would enter tomorrow’s hand to hand combat round with the highest score, giving her the advantage of picking their weapon. It would be the sword - that great leveller of men. With maces or battle-axes she would be easily outmatched by her competitors strength. But with a sword in her hand, she could lead them on a merry -
“Morgause.”
Morgause’s chain of thought was abruptly cut off by the sound of the King’s voice.
“Your Highness,” she spluttered. Her surprise made her bow unsteady. Why had the King come to talk to her? And what was he doing in the stable block? Surely even he could not be disappointed with her performance.
“The Queen has requested you attend her in her chambers,” Uther proclaimed, his words clipped with annoyance at being the messenger. “She…” He seemed unable to find the words. “My lady wife is to give me my son tonight.”
Morgause felt like someone had dropped a cold stone down through her belly.
“Come,” the King commanded.
PART 2