Marion Bradley - The Mists of Avalon

If it is a dream born of my own imagination, if he is not there, I will walk a little in the moonlight to cool my fever and then go back to my bed, there will be no harm done. But the picture persisted in her mind and she knew that Lancelet was there alone, like herself wakeful.

He too was of Avalon... the sun tides run in his blood too.... Morgaine, slipping quietly out of the door past the drowsing watchman, cast a glance at the sky. The moon, a quarter full, flooded down brightly into the stone-flagged space before the stables. No, not here; around to the side ... . For a moment Morgaine thought, He is not here, it was a dream, it was my own fantasy. She almost turned about to go back to her bed, suddenly flooded with shame; suppose the watchman should come upon her here, and all would know that the King's sister crept about the house after all honest folk were asleep, no doubt bent on harlotries-

"Who is it? Stand, show yourself!" The voice was low and harsh; Lancelet's voice. Suddenly, for all her exultation, Morgaine was afraid; her Sight had shown truly, but what now? Lancelet's hand had gone to his sword; he looked very tall and thin in the shadows.

"Morgaine," she said softly, and he let his hand fall from his sword. "Cousin, is it you?"

She came out of the shadows, and his face, keen and troubled, softened as he looked at her.

"So late? Did you come to seek me-is there trouble within? Arthur -the Queen-"

Even now he thinks only of the Queen, Morgaine thought, and felt it like a tingling in her fingertips and the calves of her legs, anger and excitement. She said, "No, all is well-as far as I know. I am not privy to the secrets of the royal bedchamber!"

He flushed, just a shadow on his face in the darkness, and looked away from her. She said, "I could not sleep ... how is it you ask me what I am doing here when you yourself are not in your bed? Or has Arthur made you his night watchman?"

She could sense Lancelet smile. "No more than you. I was restless when all around me slept-I think perhaps the moon has gotten into my blood." It was the same phrase she had used to Elaine, and somehow it struck her as a good omen, a symbol that their minds worked in tune and that they responded one to the call of the other as a silent harp vibrates when a note on another is struck.

Lancelet went on, speaking softly into the darkness at her side, "I am restless these nights, thinking of so many nights of battle-" "And you wish yourself back in battle like all soldiers?" He sighed. "No. Although perhaps it is unworthy of a soldier to dream early and late of peace."

"I do not think so," Morgaine said softly. "For what do you make war, except that peace may come for all our people? If a soldier loves his trade overmuch, then he becomes no more than a weapon for killing. What else brought the Romans to our peaceful isle, but the love of conquest and battle for its own sake?"

Lancelet smiled. "Your father was one of those Romans, cousin. So was mine."

"Yet I think more of the peaceful Tribes, who wanted no more than to till their barley crops in peace and worship the Goddess. I am of my mother's people-and yours."

"Aye, but those mighty heroes of old we spoke of before-Achilles, Alexander-they all felt war and battle the proper business of a man, and even now, in these islands, it has come to be that all men think of battle first and peace as no more than a quiet and womanly interlude." He sighed. "These are heavy thoughts-it is no wonder sleep is far from us, Morgaine. Tonight I would give all the great weapons ever forged, and all the gallant songs of your Achilles and Alexanders for an apple from the branches of Avalon ... ." He turned his head away. Morgaine slipped her hand within his own.

"So would I, cousin."

"I do not know why I am homesick for Avalon-I did not live long there," Lancelet said, musing. "And yet I think it is the fairest place on all earth-if indeed it is on this earth at all. The old Druid magic, I think, took it from this world, because it was all too fair for us imperfect men, and must be like a dream of Heaven, impossible ..." He recalled himself with a little laugh. "My confessor would not like to hear me say these things!"

Morgaine chuckled, low. "Have you become a Christian then, Lance?"

"Not a good one, I fear," he said. "Yet their faith seems to me so simple and good, I wish I could believe it-they say: believe what you have not seen, profess what you do not know, that is more virtuous than believing what you have seen. Even Jesus, they say, when he rose from the dead, chided a man who would have thrust his hands into the Christ's wounds to see that he was not a ghost or a spirit, for it was more blessed to believe without seeing."

"But we shall all rise again," said Morgaine, very low, "and again and again and again. We do not come once and go to Heaven or their Hell, but live again and again until we are even as the Gods."

He lowered his head. Now that her eyes were accustomed to the dimness of the moonlight, she could see him clearly, the delicate line of temple curving inward at the eye, the long, narrow sweep of the jaw, the soft darkness of his brows and his hair curling over it. Again his beauty made a pain in her heart. He said, "I had forgotten you were a priestess, and you believe ... ."

Their hands were clasped lightly; she felt his stir within her own and loosed it. "Sometimes I do not know what I believe. Perhaps I have been too long away from Avalon."

"Nor do I know what I believe," he said, "but I have seen so many men die, and women and little children in this long, long war, it seems that I have been fighting since I grew tall enough to hold a sword. And when I see them die, I think faith is an illusion, and the truth is that we all die as the beasts die, and are no more ever-like grass cut down, and last year's snow."

"But these things too return again," Morgaine whispered.

"Do they? Or is this the illusion?" His voice sounded bitter. "I think perhaps there is no meaning in any of it-all the talk of Gods and the Goddess are fables to comfort children. Ah, God, Morgaine, why are we talking like this? You should go to your rest, cousin, and so should I-'

"I will go if you wish it," she said, and even as she turned away, happiness surged through her because he reached for her hand.

"No, no-when I am alone I fall prey to these fancies and wretched doubts, and if they must come I would rather speak them aloud so I can hear what folly they are. Stay with me, Morgaine-"

"As long as you wish," she whispered, and felt tears in her eyes. She reached out and put her arms around his waist; his strong arms tightened about her, then loosened, remorsefully.

"You are so little-I had forgotten how little you are-I could break you with my two hands, cousin ... ." His hands strayed to her hair, which she had bundled loose under her veil. He stroked it; twined an end of it around his fingers. "Morgaine, Morgaine, sometimes it seems to me that you are one of the few things in my life which is all good-like one of those old fairy folk they tell of in legends, the elf-woman who comes from the unknown land to speak words of beauty and hope to a mortal, then departs again for the islands of the West and is never seen again-"

"But I will not depart," she whispered.

"No." At one side of the flagged yard there was a block where sometimes men sat waiting for their horses; he drew her toward it and said, "Sit here beside me-" then hesitated. "No, this is no place for a lady-" and started to laugh. "Nor was the stable that day-do you remember, Morgaine?"

"I thought you had forgotten, after that devil horse threw you-"

"You should not call him devil. He has saved Arthur's life in battle more than once, and Arthur would think him guardian angel instead," Lancelet said. "Ah, that was a day of wretchedness. I would have wronged you, cousin, to take you like that. I have often longed to beg your pardon and hear you grant me forgiveness and say you bore me no malice-"