Marion Bradley - The Mists of Avalon

"I cannot remember all the dream," Uther said, staring over her shoulder. "Only that we stood together on a great plain, and there was something like to the ring stones ... . What does it mean, Igraine, that we share one another's dreams?"

She said, feeling her voice catch in her throat as if she were about to weep, "Perhaps it means only that we are fated for one another, my king ... and my lord ... and my love."

"My queen, and my love ... " He met her eyes suddenly, a long look and a long question. "Surely the time for dreaming is over, Igraine." He thrust his hands into her hair, pulling out the pins, letting it tumble down over her embroidered collar and over his face; smoothed the long locks down with trembling hands. He rose to his feet, still holding her in his arms. She had never guessed at the strength in his hands. He crossed the room in two great strides, and laid her down on the bed. Kneeling at her side, he bent and kissed her again.

"My queen," he murmured. "I would you could have been crowned at my side at my kingmaking.... There were rites there such as no Christian man should know; but the Old People, who were here long before ever the Romans came to these isles, would not acknowledge me king without them. It was a long road I took to come there, and some of it, I am sure, was not anywhere in this world I know."

This reminded her of what Viviane had told her about the drifting of the worlds, apart in the mists. And thinking about Viviane brought to mind what Viviane had asked of her, and how reluctant she had been.

I did not know. I was so young then, and untried, I knew nothing, I did not know how all of me could be dissolved, torn, swept away ... .

"Did they ask of you that you should make the Great Marriage with the land, as was done in the old days? I know that King Ban of Benwick in Less Britain was so required ... " and a sudden, violent stab of jealousy went through her, that some woman or priestess might have symbolized for him the land he was sworn to defend.

"No," he said. "And I am not sure I would have done so, but it was not asked of me. The Merlin said, too, that it is he, as with every Merlin of Britain, who is sworn to die if need be, in sacrifice for his people-" Uther broke off. "But this can mean little to you."

"You have forgotten," she said, "I was reared in Avalon; my mother was priestess there and my eldest sister is now the Lady of the Lake."

"Are you a priestess too, Igraine?"

She shook her head, starting to say a simple no; then said, "Not in this life."

"I wonder ... " Again he traced the line of the imaginary serpents, touching his own with his other hand. "I have always known, I think, that I lived before-it seems to me that life is too great a thing to live it only once and then be snuffed out like a lamp when the wind blows. And why, when first I looked upon your face, did I feel that I had known you before the world was made? These things are mysteries, and I think it may be that you know more of them than I. You say you are no priestess, yet you had sorcery enough to come to me, the night of the great storm, and warn me. ... I think perhaps I should ask no more, lest I might hear from you what no Christian man should know. As for these"-again, with a fingertip, he touched the serpents-"if I wore them before this life, then perhaps that is why the old man, when he pricked them into my wrists the night of my kingmaking, told me that they were mine by right. I have heard that the Christian priests have driven all such serpents from our isles ... but I do not fear the dragons, and I wear them in token that I will spread my protection over this land like the dragon's wings."

"In that case," she whispered, "surely you will be the greatest of kings, my lord."

"Call me not so!" he interrupted fiercely, bending over her where she lay and covering her mouth with his.

"Uther," she whispered, as if in a dream.

His hands moved at her throat, and he bent to kiss her bare shoulder. But when he began to pull off her gown, she flinched and shrank away. Tears flooded her eyes and she couldn't speak, but he laid his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

He said softly, "Have you been so mishandled, my beloved? God strike me if you ever have anything to fear from me, now or ever. I wish with all my heart that you had never been Gorlois's wife. Had I found you first ... but what is done is done. But I swear to you, my queen: you will never have anything to fear from me." In the flickering light of the lamp, his eyes seemed dark, although she knew they were blue. "Igraine, I have-I have taken this for granted, because somehow I believed you must know how I feel. I know very little about your kind of woman. You are my love, my wife, my queen. I swear to you by my crown and by my manhood, you shall be my queen and I will never take another woman before you, or put you aside. Did you think I was treating you as a wanton?" His voice was trembling, and Igraine knew that he was stricken with fear-the fear of losing her. Knowing that he could fear too, knowing that he too was vulnerable, her own fear was gone. She put her arms around his neck and said clearly, "You are my love and my lord and my king, and I will love you as long as I live, and as long thereafter as God wills."

And this time she let him pull away her gown, and, naked, came willingly into his arms. Never, never had she guessed that it could be like this. Until this moment, despite five years of marriage and the birth of a child, she had been an innocent, a virgin, an unknowing girl. Now body and mind and heart blended, making her one with Uther as she had never been with Gorlois. She thought, fleetingly, that not even a child in its mother's womb could be so close ... .

He lay weary on her shoulder, his coarse fair hair tickling her breasts. He murmured, "I love you, Igraine. Whatever comes of this, I love you. And if Gorlois should come here, I will kill him before he can touch you again."

She did not want to think of Gorlois. She smoothed the light hair across his brow and murmured, "Sleep, my love. Sleep."

She did not want to sleep. Even after his breathing became heavy and slow, she lay wakeful, caressing him softly so as not to wake him. His chest was almost as smooth as her own, with only a little light, fair hair; she had somehow thought all men were heavy and hairy. The scent of his body was sweet, though heavy with sweat and the juices of love. She felt she could never have enough of touching him. At one and the same time she longed for him to waken and take her again in his arms, and jealously guarded his exhausted sleep. She felt no fear now, and no shame; what had been with Gorlois duty and acceptance had become delight almost unendurable, as if she had been reunited with some hidden part of her own body and soul.

At last she did sleep a little, fitfully, curled into the curve of his body. She had slept perhaps an hour when she was roused abruptly by commotion in the courtyard. She sat up, flinging her long hair back. Uther pulled her sleepily down.

"Lie still, dear love, dawn is still far away."

"No," she said, with sure instinct, "we dare not linger now." She flung on a gown and kirtle, twisting her hair up with shaking hands. The lamp had gone out and she could not find the pin in the darkness. At last she caught up a veil to throw over it, slid her feet into her shoes, and ran down the stairs. It was still far too dark to see clearly. In the great hall there was only a little glimmer of light from the banked fire. And then she came up sharp before a little stirring of the air, and stopped dead.

Gorlois stood there, a great sword cut on his face, looking upon her with unutterable grief and reproach and dismay. It was the Sending she had seen before, the fetch, the death-doom; he raised his hand, and she could see that the ring and three fingers had been cut away. His face bore a ghastly pallor, but he looked at her with grief and love, and his lips moved in what she knew was her name, although she could not hear in the frozen silence around them. And in that moment she knew that he, too, had loved her, in his own harsh way, and whatever he had done to hurt her had been done for love. Indeed, for her love he had quarreled with Uther, flung away honor and dukedom both. And she had returned his love with nothing but hatred and impatience; only now could she understand that even as she felt for Uther, so Gorlois had felt for her. Her throat cramped with anguish and she would have cried out his name, but the dead air moved and he was gone; had never been there at all. And at that moment the frozen silence around her was lifted and she heard men shouting in the courtyard.