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Prologue

"When all was done, she turned to run

Dancing to the setting sun as he watched her

And ever more he thought he saw

A glimpse of her upon the moors forever."

From Ghost of a Rose by Blackmore's Night

"Who dares to call me?" Morgaine, Queen of the Faeries, stepped from the shadows, her snug black gown billowing around her knees, the jagged hem revealing slender legs clothed in soft doeskin boots. Long black hair rippled down her back setting off her fair skin. Large wings as dark as night, protruded from her bare shoulder blades.

"I, Roderick, call to you, my queen." He bent his head in a respectful bow, gazing in awe at her.

Morgaine stared at him like a predatory bird with her dark blue eyes. His shining tonsure and his drab brown robes revealed to her that he was one of the Christian monks who had taken over the island of Avalon. Her island. Now she was forced to hide within the mists. Frowning, she asked, "And what would a monk want with me?"

"We need your assistance. Saxon raiders are closing in. Petty kings fight one another instead of banding together to fight the true enemy, the Saxons."

"Why? Your God cannot help you?" Her thin mouth curved into a smirk. She noticed four monks cowering behind Roderick. They cast disapproving looks her way.

She flashed them a wicked smile, knowing that they were offended by the swell of her breasts rising from the top of her shoulder-baring gown, and by the circular goddess symbols that adorned her pale green sleeves and waist.

"Roderick, I warned you the demon would not help us." One of the monks whispered in Roderick's ear, but with Morgaine's preternatural gifts, she heard him.

"Demon...is that what you call us?"

"Hush, Fredrick, let me take care of this." Annoyance filled Roderick's voice. He shooed the other monk away with a wave of his hand.

"My queen, will you help us?"

"What will I receive in return for my help?"

He looked taken aback by her bold question. "I would think you would want to help us. You need us as much as we need you."

Morgaine's large black wings twitched with annoyance at the monk's insight. She needed the monk's support because half the country had already accepted the Christian God. "I will provide you with a king who will rule the whole land, but he must rule with a Christian hand and with the ways of the Goddess. To seal our agreement, his queen will be of the faery realm and a monk of my choosing will accompany him at all times. For this, the Saxon's will be defeated."

"Roderick, you cannot agree to this!" Fredrick looked upon Morgaine with anxious eyes.

"The one who will be High King has already been born." Morgaine had them in her grasp. The future High King was a boy being raised by a reliable family under the guidance of Myrddin, a druid and monk, who Morgaine trusted above all others.

"How can this be?" The one called Fredrick stared at her, wide-eyed. "How can she have this knowledge?"

"This is why you will grant my request."

"We have no choice but to give her what she desires. The Saxons cannot be defeated with our God alone." Roderick turned to Morgaine. "I will ensure that your requests are granted."

"Then it will be done." Morgaine stepped into the shadows, disappearing into the black-winged night. She had one more stop to make before calling the mists to take her home.

She entered the small village on silent wings. A bright white light emanated from the roundhouse where an important birth was taking place. A light rain fell, the silver droplets illuminated in the bright light. Shaking the rain from her wings, Morgaine entered the roundhouse.

She watched the birth from the far side of the tiny room, hidden in the shadows.

The babe was so white and soft she resembled a delicate white rose petal. The mid-wife quickly wrapped the babe in a blanket.

With a wave of her hand and a magical word, Morgaine put the mother into a deep sleep.

The mid-wife cleaned the babe and turned to Morgaine who waited patiently against the far wall.

"Is she the one we have been waiting for?" Morgaine spoke in a hollow voice. The child had to be half-human to be able to pass between both worlds and be content to live on the earthly realm.

The mid-wife nodded, pulling back the blanket, revealing the tiny white wings protruding from the babe's back. The babe squalled as cold air hit her naked body.

"Let me hold her." Morgaine stepped from the shadows, holding out her arms.

The mid-wife handed the babe to her, staring at Morgaine with deep respect.

The babe's eyes grew wide with wonder, her squalling stopped.

Morgaine held the babe, gazing deep into her bright blue eyes. Visions coursed through the faery woman's mind. What she saw caused her to gasp. The child was a blessing and possibly a curse to the land, but Morgaine sensed only goodness in the child. The babe had been born into a world of darkness and death. She was the light, the last hope that would keep the Goddess alive and bring peace to the land.

Morgaine turned to the mid-wife. "The mother will sleep until morning. When she wakes, she will have a child in place of this one." She would take this special babe to one of the women on Avalon who had just had one of her own.

"You have served Avalon well and I will not forget your loyalty."

"My queen." The mid-wife bowed.

The Queen of the Faeries waved her hand and in a flash of dark sparks, she and the babe were gone.

Chapter One

The child had grown into an enchanting maiden, her white blond hair curling to her hips, and her skin as white and soft as a white rose. She turned to Morgaine. Her heart-shaped lips, crimson-like crushed rowanberries, curved into a smile, and her sapphire colored eyes brightened.

"Morgaine!" Gwenhwyfar approached her, carrying herself with grace.

Morgaine kissed the maiden on the cheek. "My, how you have grown since I last saw you." Morgaine looked at her, perplexed. "Where are your wings?"

"I have learned to hide them." Gwenhwyfar smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride.

"You are learning very quickly, Gwenhwyfar." Morgaine took her hand. "I have something to show you." She led her to the stables. A white horse stood outside.

"She's beautiful! Can I touch her?"

"Yes. She is your horse, Gwenhwyfar."

"May I ride her?"

Morgaine helped the maiden onto the horse's back. She was a natural born rider. Gwenhwyfar looked like a goddess and Morgaine was pleased with her choice in the girl. She would make a lovely queen for Artorius.

"Gwenhwyfar, it is time for your lessons."

Gwenhwyfar looked upset that she could not continue riding, but she obeyed Morgaine and guided the horse over to her.

"You will have plenty of time to ride your horse tomorrow." Morgaine helped her off the horse.

"Thank you so much for the gift, my lady." Gwenhwyfar wrapped her arms around her and kissed Morgaine's cheek. Smiling, she ran off to her lessons.

Morgaine watched her go, feeling hopeful that Gwenhwyfar would make a perfect queen. She grabbed the horse's reins and took her inside the stables, handing her to an initiate named Mari. Believers in the Old Religion sent their daughters to Morgaine so they could learn the teachings of the Goddess.

She left the stables with a smile on her face. The meadow called to her, pulling at her heart. It was a special place to her, a place filled with special memories. She stepped between the two yew trees that shielded her secret meadow and a wooden bridge appeared, carrying her across the marshland. She followed the tree-lined path to her favorite meadow, enjoying the warm sun on her face.

Morgaine sat staring at the silver spring, listening to songbirds singing happy melodies from the shelter of the apple trees. Thunder rumbled from beyond the mists that shrouded the Isle of Avalon. Thoughts of what lay ahead troubled her mind. The monk spoke true when he said that she needed their help as well. It was true that her powers were weak on the earthly realm. She needed the monks to stay out of her way and not influence the High King with their Christian God.

Sighing, she lay down, closing her eyes, thinking of Lancelot. She missed his fiery touch. Melancholy weighed on her heart.

A large shadow blocked the sun.

"You are a fine sight to see, my dark beauty."

The familiar deep masculine voice sent shivers throughout her body. She opened her eyes. "Lancelot!" She noticed he was not wearing his armor or carrying his weapons. That meant he was staying at least for the night.

He plopped down next to her, stroking her long black hair. "I have missed you so." His kiss was soft, then hard and feverish. His tongue probed her mouth while his hand slipped her shoulder-baring gown off her shoulders, cupping her naked breast.

Morgaine pulled him down on top of her, his hard length pressing into her belly. "My lord, what a long sword you have," she purred. A rush of delightful tingles coursed through her entire body.

"The better to pleasure you with, my queen." He kissed her neck, trailing his lips down to her breasts.

She tore at his trousers, freeing his manhood.

"What's the hurry, my love? I want to savor this moment." He removed her gown, gazing at her naked body with desire. "You are as beautiful as I remember you." His nimble hand brushed down her belly to her nether lips, caressing her pink bud with skillful fingers.

Morgaine squirmed, groaning under his magic touch, her nipples hardening to sword tips. His strong warrior hands gently stroked her like a bard gently strums his beloved harp.

Lancelot bent his head, sucking and licking her sensitive pink bud, stopping just before she was ready to climax. He slid his finger inside of her, sliding it in and out, her wetness glistening in the sunlight.

It was no wonder that the delights of the flesh were so sacred to mortals. Morgaine reveled in his touch, a touch that left her squirming with unrestrained passion. It was like powerful magic sparked from his tongue and fingertips--unquenchable and overpowering like a roaring firestorm.

Morgaine panted, arching her hips. "I want you inside of me," she pleaded, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Lancelot tore off his colorful tunic and trousers, kneeling inside of her open legs. He lathed her nipples, his long black hair caressing her skin like a curtain of silk. His hardened cock rubbed against her belly, teasing her.

"I have had enough of your teasing." She toppled him back into the grass, straddling him.

Lancelot laughed, an amused look in his fiery eyes. "I was wondering what was taking you so long."

Rubbing her pelvis against his muscular thigh, she bent down, pulling his engorged cock into her mouth. She licked the sensitive tip, tasting his juices, salty and warm. Guiding him inside of her, she moved up and down, grinding her hips against him while squeezing him within her tight sheath. She wanted this moment to last, the sensation of flying engulfing her senses. Lancelot pulled and licked at her nipples. His touch was a cold fire. Shivers coursed down to her groin and she rubbed her sex against him, yearning to release the pent up pleasure.

She rode the peak of the orgasm, fighting to hold on to the wonderful feeling it gave her, not wanting it to end. Their movements quickened and she allowed herself to let go. They exploded like a volcanic eruption. His hot seed shot into her like molten lava as she rode a wave of intense pleasure. She lay spent on top of him, resting her head against his hard chest. Her wings closed over them like a soothing blanket.

"You are not tired, are you? I'm not finished with you yet." He gently rolled her off of him and stroked her round butt. His touch awakened her desires and she yearned to have him again.

Morgaine looked down at his manhood, which was coming to life again. Smiling, she got up on all fours, sticking her butt in the air. "I know what you like."

"You know me so well." Lancelot knelt behind her. He reached around her, stroking her pink nub. His hardened cock brushed against her backside.

He slid into her from behind, moving in and out, grabbing onto her with both hands. Morgaine reached between her legs and stroked herself. Her juices slid beneath her fingers, lathing her bud. Pleasure tingled in her groin, soaring as if borne on wings.

Lancelot's thrusts grew faster and harder. She moved her pelvis in sync with his wild thrusts. Morgaine's body jerked with the climax as Lancelot came in a thunderous roar.

"Ahhh!" He grabbed her hips, pushing himself in as far as he could go.

They lay spent on the soft grass. Lancelot brushed her hair back from her face, tracing the blue crescent tattooed on her brow. "No other can please me as you can." His dark amber eyes were filled with love, but she knew he would not stay with her for long. There was a restlessness inside him that could not be tamed. Lancelot was half-faery, but his human side had a stronger pull on him. Restlessness ruled his heart.

She watched Lancelot rise and walk over to the bushes to relieve himself. His back was to her and she admired his muscles, his tight backside. He finished and strode toward her, his manhood swaying back and forth.

"Do you wish to bathe with me? The water looks very inviting."

Morgaine stared at his luscious hard body. "Yes, it does indeed."

He bent, taking her hand, helping her to stand. They swam in the pond, laughing and splashing each other like playful sprites. Wet and cold they fell onto the grass so the sun could warm them.

His thoughtful expression took on a look of sorrow.

"What troubles your mind?" Morgaine stared deep into his eyes.

"I have seen so much in such a short time--the horrors of warfare...I was not fond of the Romans, but they brought law and order to the land. Now only chaos rules." He broke off, looking down. "The world outside of here is so hard. How can you ignore it?"

"I do not ignore it. You and I are different, but we both fight our battles. You are a warrior and fight only what you can see. I am a sorceress and fight the unseen." She stroked his hand, tracing the blue dragon that encircled his forearm. "You are not alone, Lancelot."

Lancelot pulled her close to him, his strong arms surrounding her in a tender embrace. She wished they could stay like this forever.

"Lancelot, do you remember the first time we met in this meadow?"

He chuckled, deep and resonating. "How could I ever forget that day? What was I? Thirteen winters old?"

"Yes, and as arrogant as ever," she added.

"I stole an apple from that tree over there."

"After sneaking into my private meadow when you were warned to stay away." She narrowed her eyes at him, but her tone was light, playful.

"I will never forget the look of anger that filled your face, Morgaine." He touched her cheek. "You are so beautiful when you are angry." His tender voice rolled over her like a soft veil of mist.

"And I could not stay angry at a boy with the courage to stand up to me."

"I remember what I said to you that day. I told you that I stole the apple to give to the most beautiful woman on Avalon and I handed the apple to you."

"You have always been able to talk your way out of the most dangerous situations."

He cupped her chin, turning her face upward, and gazed into her eyes with adoration. "I meant what I said to you on that long ago day. I may have been a boy, but I knew what true beauty was."

"Charming or not, I still marched you back to your mother."

He smiled. "Yes you did and I could not leave my house for a fortnight as punishment. For an adventurous boy, that was pure torture."

"And two years later you left Avalon." Her eyes grew thoughtful.

"But I never forgot about you and when I returned after four turns of a year, I came back to your secret meadow."

"You never did learn your lesson to stay away from my secret meadow," she teased. "And I am thankful for that."

He gazed down at her naked body. "You were a lovely vision to a hardened young warrior."

"I wanted to wring your young neck for spying on me as I bathed in the pond, but when I saw how you had grown into a man..."

He gave her a fiery kiss. "You could not resist me," he grinned, placing her hand on his manhood, which was springing to life again. "My cock still hardens when I think of that day."

"I went against everything I believed, but the sight of you, tall and handsome, with your flashing eyes and long black hair flowing like a dark river down your shoulders...well, I had to have you. Pure male power emanated from you." She licked her lips, staring with lust at his warrior's body. Grasping his hand, she placed it on her sex, still slick with her juices.

"I cannot get enough of you," he murmured, his deep voice rippling with desire as he mounted her in one easy movement, impaling her willing sheath.

Her legs wound tight around him and she arched her hips, pulling him deeper. She stared into his fiery eyes, moving in synch to his wild thrusts. In her heart she knew she would never feel as deeply for another as she felt for her Black Warrior.

"Now," she cried, grasping onto his tight backside as she pulsated around him. He came in a violent surge, burying his face into her neck, whispering, "I love you, my dark beauty."

"And I you, my handsome Black Warrior." She brushed his long hair away from his sweat-streaked face, kissing him with tender strokes.

"All of this coupling has made me famished." Lancelot winked at her.

"I can remedy that."

"How? There is no food here." He glanced over at the apple trees that bloomed with fragrant white flowers. The apples had just started to grow and would not ripen until fall.

She got up and strolled to where their pile of clothes lay and rummaged in a leather bag, producing a ripe reddish golden apple and a whetted dagger.

Propping himself up with his elbow, his eyes followed her as she walked back to him, an approving glint in his amber eyes.

"This is from last fall's bountiful harvest. I always keep an apple or two with me." With the whetted dagger, she cut the apple into slices. Reclining next to him, she faced him, feeding a slice to him.

"Mmmm. Your apples are the sweetest."

"You can taste my apples whenever you like," she purred.

Though they had been lovers for many years, there were still some thoughts she kept to herself. There was a time soon after he had been born that Morgaine wanted to send him away from Avalon for good as punishment to his mother for her defiance. At the time, Morgaine was also concerned that he may be too much like his human father. Myrddin had convinced her not to send the baby away. She was glad she had listened to the wise druid that day.

They finished the apple and she nuzzled into his chest. "How long are you staying this time?" She felt him stiffen at her question.

"I am uncertain. I was hoping to stay with you for a couple of days and then I am going to visit my mother. After that I am not sure what I am doing."

She knew he would never stay long. Even for her.

* * *

Excitement filled her at the thought of spending time with him and she hurried to the cluster of roundhouses near the apple orchards. As she turned the corner, she hesitated.

In the shelter of an apple tree, Myrddin was giving a harp lesson to one of the older initiates, a pretty maiden with fair skin and auburn hair. They were laughing at something humorous the maiden had just said. Myrddin's blue eyes gleamed with merriment.

Nimue noted with jealousy how the maiden smiled sweetly up at him as he reached around her to position her fingers on the harp strings, his hand covering her hand, gently showing her how to pluck the strings.

He had taught Nimue to play the harp in the same way and it had sent a pleasant flush throughout her body when he leaned close to her, touching her hand.

She could not understand the feelings of jealousy she was having at the sight of him giving the pretty maiden a harp lesson. She had no claims on him. He was free to be with any maiden he chose to be with. Still, she could not stand to witness his flirtation.

Infuriated, she whirled around and left without speaking.

She brooded in her cavern home by the lake, trying to understand her feelings for the druid when the sound of heavy footsteps plodded down the stone steps to her home.

"Nimue? May I enter?"

Myrddin stood at the entrance, waiting to be invited in. The deer hide that covered the entrance in winter months was pulled back from the crude doorway that was formed by water eroding the ancient rock.

"Yes, you may enter." She gave him a hard look.

"I saw you earlier and I came to see what you wanted to see me about." He smiled at her as if nothing were amiss.

"We were supposed to have a harp lesson, but I see that you were already enjoying the one you were giving to that red-haired maiden. And you had promised to teach me some of your magic." She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and gave him a scathing look.

He arched his thick tawny brows, his expression one of great confusion. "I apologize that I forgot about your lessons."

"Well, maybe you do not need to give me anymore lessons. I have better things to do with my time."

"Are you upset that I forgot your lesson or are you upset that I was giving Caitlin a lesson?" He studied her with a baffled expression on his face.

"I am not upset," she huffed, folding her arms, frowning.

"Nimue, you cannot lie to me. I can see into your heart and I know something troubles you." He approached her, touching her arm. "I am confused. You have made it quite obvious that you do not want me as a lover."

"It seems you have plenty of other lovers so why would you need me?" she pouted, confused by her own anger just as much as he was.

"You are acting like a child," he scolded. "Perhaps I should put you over my lap and swat you on the backside." He grabbed her in a strong hold and sat on a chair, pretending to put her over his lap.

"Stop!" She fought him with the strength of a blacksmith, but he was strong for a holy man.

"Will you promise to behave?"

"Yes. I promise. Just let me go." She struggled, kicking and flailing her arms.

"Very well." He released her and she sat up on his lap, feeling a mixture of contentment and excitement to be in such an intimate position with him.

A huge smile lit up her face. "Is swatting a female's backside something they teach you in the druid college and the Christian church?" Myrddin was normally so serious as a respected druid and monk, but he was more playful when he was with her, which she found to be an endearing quality about him.

"I will never tell," he smirked, pulling her close to him. "Why do you torment me so?" He moved close as if to kiss her, but she turned her face away in a subtle shift of her chin.

A solemn look filled her eyes. "I do not know what is wrong with me," she sighed. Confusion filled her heart where he stood. She had known him for a long time and she felt something when he was near, but another part of her pushed him away.

"Well, I must take my leave of you now. Morgaine needs to see me."

She sprung off of his lap. "Will I have my lessons tomorrow?"

"Of course. I will remember this time. I promise." He paused. "We will have to find a secret place where I can teach you some of my magic because Morgaine will not approve of me doing that."

"I know just the place." She bid him farewell and stood, pondering why she always pushed him away. She thought that part of the reason she pushed him away was that she was sure that Morgaine would never consent to them being together and she did not want her heart broken again. And there was another more painful reason why she pushed him away.

* * *

Willow trees and a few large twisted oak trees surrounded the lake. Mist swirled like ghostly fingers crawling across the top of the dark water.

"Nimue! It is I, Morgaine!" She walked on carpets of moss and fern to the edge of the lake.

The water rippled and Nimue appeared, her white skin blending with the mist so that she was almost invisible. Her long hair was also white like swan's feathers, and Morgaine noted that Nimue's son, Lancelot, inherited his dark coloring from his human father. Nimue Morgaine with a warm smile, watching her with clear green eyes. "What brings you here, Morgaine? My son is not here." Silver droplets of water glided down her flaxen skin.

Morgaine ignored her last comment. It was Nimue's way of hinting that Morgaine did not visit often. "I need you to craft me the finest sword, one that will make the bearer invincible."

Nimue arched her blonde brow. "An invincible sword is dangerous in the wrong hands."

"Let me worry on that. Will you do this for me?" Morgaine asked.

"Of course, my queen." Nimue nodded.

"That is all. I will come for it when it has been forged." Morgaine turned to leave.

"When I see Lancelot, I will tell him you came looking for him." Nimue descended into the lake.

Morgaine stopped. "That is not true. I did not come here to find him."

Nimue smiled, a knowing look in her clear eyes.

Morgaine could not hide her true feelings from Nimue, which was why she preferred to keep her distance from her. There were things that she did not need to know.

She sighed. Nimue spoke true. She had hoped to find him here. She wanted to see him before he left...again. This time she was the one who was sending him away and it made her heart ache.

* * *

The water comforted her troubled mind, softening the painful memories. She remembered back to when she first met Taren. The memory was as clear as if it had just happened yesterday...

Before invaders came to the island, it was safe to venture outside of Avalon. Nimue used to enjoy visiting the neighboring settlement and bartering for trinkets in the marketplace. Morgaine frowned on her activities, but did not forbid her to do it.

One warm spring day, Nimue strolled through the marketplace, admiring some expertly crafted bronze armbands when a young man caught her attention.

He wore a finely woven cloak and a torc made of the finest gold. Accompanying him, were five warriors. She knew this man was a chieftain. His long black hair shone like fine silk and his amber eyes gleamed like fire. He stopped at an open forge that she had just visited.

She watched as he picked up an iron sword, admiring it.

Nimue approached, calling up the courage to speak to this fascinating man. "My lord, I do not think you want to purchase that sword."

He turned his flashing amber eyes on her. Curiosity filled his face. "And why not?" His voice was deep, rippling over her like thick honey. There was a mocking tone to his question.

Nimue extended her hand. "Allow me to show you the imperfections in this blade."

Amused laughter erupted from his warriors.

He held out his hand, motioning for them to quiet down. "I would like to hear what this beautiful maiden with the blue brow has to say."

She raised the sword and spread her legs in a fighting stance. "Take up your sword and strike at me with all your strength as if you were in the midst of battle."

Snickers erupted from his warriors.

"Are you mad?" He arched his dark brow, eyeing her with disbelief.

Nimue held her stance, waiting for him to strike at her.

Unsheathing his sword, he drew it and faced her. With little warning, he struck at her, his battle fury unleashed.

Moving with lightning speed, she deflected his strike. The blade she wielded shattered into two pieces.

She stepped back out of the way of the falling piece, careful not to let the sharp edges cut her. As a faery blacksmith, she was the only one of the Fae not weakened by being near or touching iron, but if iron were to pierce her skin, it could be fatal to her.

The amber-eyed noble and his warriors stared at her with open-mouthed wonder.

"This blade was forged for sharpness, but not for strength. If you wielded this sword in a real battle, you might have died."

"How did you know that?" asked the handsome chieftain.

She gave him a playful smile. "I cannot give my secrets away to someone I do not know."

Turning to the merchant, she said, "Cadoc, I will replace this broken sword with one of my own. If you pay me a visit me on Avalon, I will gladly show you my technique to strengthen the blade."

"I would be most grateful." Cadoc bowed to her with deep respect.

Nimue turned her attention back to the amber-eyed warrior.

"Is Avalon the mysterious Isle of women and druids?" he asked.

She nodded.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Taren, king of the Trinovantes."

"Well, Taren of the Trinovantes, I must take my leave of you now. Farewell."

"Wait. You did not tell me your name."

She turned to him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "No, I did not."

"I wish to show you my gratitude for saving my life. I hear that Avalon is heavily guarded. How will I get past the guards if I do not know your name?"

"I am sure you will find a way." She gave him an inviting smile and turned to go.

She heard Taren address Cadoc. "Who was that enchanting maiden?"

"That is Nimue, master smith of the Isle of Avalon."

Smiling, she continued on her way, knowing that she would be seeing the handsome Taren soon.

The thought came to her that Morgaine hid something from her, which was why she only came to see her when she needed something from her. Nimue had a strange feeling that what Morgaine hid from her had to do with Taren.

A new purpose grew inside Nimue to remove the mask that Morgaine wore so well in her presence. She would have to use caution with the Queen of Faeries whose wrath was as dangerous as a winter blizzard.

Floating in the lake, Nimue tried to form a careful plan, but it would not be easy to break through Morgaine's carefully built walls.

"Nimue."

She was pulled away from her thoughts by the familiar gruff voice.

"Myrddin, what brings you to my lake?" She pretended indifference at his visit, but inside her heart pounded like a galloping steed.

"I wanted to see you before I leave Avalon."

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of him leaving, but she kept her face impassive. "I have time to visit with you." She emerged from the water, enjoying his discomfort at how brazen she was to step out naked before him.

He blushed and averted his eyes.

It amused her to see the normally stoic druid blushing like a timid boy.

"Would you be so kind as to hand me my tunic?"

With eyes down, he handed her the tunic and turned around while she dressed.

She pulled on the blue tunic that fell to mid-thigh and belted it with a silver chain belt. "You can turn your blushing face around now." She finished dressing by pulling soft doeskin boots over her long legs. "It seems you have been living among the pious monks for too long, Myrddin." She remembered when he would shamelessly pursue her. Just a few days ago after he had taught her some of his magic, he had tried to seduce her. She had turned him away, but his newfound modesty was exciting to her.

"I merely wish to respect your feelings." His usually sharp blue eyes softened with affection whenever he was around her.

"Have you given up your chase?" Her tone was mocking.

"You made it quite clear the other day that you do not care for me in the carnal way." He stared at her with shrewd eyes as if he were looking right through her. It was unsettling to her and she averted her eyes.

"I do not understand you, Nimue. Sometimes I feel that you like me, and at other times, I feel that you despise me. I will not keep making a fool of myself. If you wish to be with me in the carnal way, you will have to be the one to make the first move."

Nimue had always fought her feelings for the druid--she sensed a darkness in him that unsettled her, but they had shared a brief kiss long ago that left her wondering about him as a lover. Only she could not bring herself to act on her curiosity. Something kept pulling her away from him. "I do not understand what is going on in my own mind sometimes, but I will take your words to heart."

He nodded. "Either way, I still enjoy spending time with you."

She studied him, noting his drab monk habit and his forehead shaved still in the druid tonsure. She knew that Morgaine and Myrddin were up to something. "Does your leaving have something to do with Morgaine's request that I forge an invincible sword?"

His face took on a stern look. "You know I cannot discuss my business with you. Morgaine would not approve."

Her bow lay on a nearby rock. "Would you like to see if you can best me with a bow?" She gave him a sly smile and pulled her wet locks into one long braid, tying it with a leather thong.

"My lady, you know that I am not as skilled as you in the art of weaponry."

"I would like to teach you. You have taught me much about music and magic. I wish to return the favor." She strolled over and picked up her bow and quiver of arrows. "I crafted these arrows myself out of black cherry wood. They are swifter than arrows made of elder."

He ran a hand along the smooth shaft of one of the arrows, admiring her skill. "You are a woman of many talents, Nimue," he complimented her, his eyes filled with admiration for her.

Trying to hide the blush that crept up her face, she concentrated on giving him a lesson. "You will aim for that target over there that I crafted from soft wool and goat skins." She handed him the bow and showed him how to nock the arrow. "Your stance should be more like this." She placed her hands on his hips, straightening his back, aware of the electrifying sensation that passed between them.

"Now, pull the bowstring back using these three fingers on the arrow and string." She reached around him, placing her hand on his to show him how to hold the arrow. Nimue was a tall woman and Myrddin stood about a hand taller than she. When she reached around him, her breasts brushed against his back. Her nearness to him sent an unexpected flush to her face. "Pull the bowstring back to about your chin and straighten your bow arm toward the target." She studied his form with a critical eye. "You will want to aim slightly lower than the target. And remember, when you release the arrow, you are not plucking your harp strings; let the string roll off of your fingers.

"You have a warrior's stance," she observed, admiring his tall body and his broad shoulders straining against the loose fabric of his monk habit.

Nimue stepped back and watched him aim and release the arrow, which sang through the air and hit the target. "You have done this before." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Not in many years and not under such exquisite tutelage." His eyes twinkled with playfulness.

"Well, your lesson is over."

"I hope our visit is not coming to an end just yet." He laid the bow down on the rock and turned to her.

Nimue motioned for him to come sit with her under the shelter of a twisted oak.

"Would you tell me what you can of your impending journey?" she asked.

"I am traveling to the summer country to advise a young warlord who has been victorious against the ferocious Saxons."

A sudden realization hit her that the sword she was to forge was for this young warlord. "It sounds like a grand adventure. I wish I could leave here sometimes." She missed leaving Avalon to visit the nearby marketplaces, but with Saxons raiding the island, the marketplaces had closed down, the merchants staying within the safety of the hillforts. The merriment that had once filled the land dimmed with the arrival of the Saxons who swept over the island like a vicious dark storm cloud that destroyed everything in its wake.

"You do not want to leave here. Nothing can compare to the beauty of Avalon. You know all too well how brutal the world is outside of here." His hand covered her hand in a gesture of comfort.

She did not pull her hand away. His tender touch was a comfort to her. "How long will you be gone this time?"

"It is unclear how long I will be gone." His blue eyes had a troubled light in them.

Nimue was not sure what this meant. Either he really did not know, which was unusual for him, or he knew and did not want to tell her.

Myrddin looked toward the lake. "Ah, I see your ducks have had some ducklings."

She smiled. "I enjoy watching them. Animals seem to take such joy in everything around them. There is no darkness in their hearts."

"That is the wonder of the Goddess's creatures."

"Ducks mate for life. Even they can find true love so all is not lost for me I suppose." A wistful light filled her eyes.

"No. You must not give up hope. You have much to give to a man." He gave her an encouraging smile.

They sat for a while in comfortable silence enjoying the mild spring day and watching the ducklings. One thought filled her mind--if she could not accept him as a lover, she welcomed him as a friend.

"I regret that I must take my leave of you now." He stood, helping her to her feet.

"Well, I confess that I will miss you. Your presence is somewhat comforting and I enjoy our visits."

"I enjoyed my archery lesson immensely." He winked at her.

On an impulse, she leaned in and kissed his lips. Desire rippled through her body, a feeling she had not felt in years. "Farewell, Myrddin. May the sun warm your face and the moon light your way on your journey."

His eyes brightened in surprise at her bold move. "Farewell."

Her lips still tingled from the kiss. She watched him leave the meadow, thinking about what she felt when she kissed him this time. A small piece of his heart had been revealed to her. It was clear to her that he had strong feelings of love for her and no one else. She had no reason to be jealous of Caitlin or any other pretty maiden.

She thought that maybe there was another way to find out what secret Morgaine kept from her. Myrddin was the one person who Morgaine confided in. Perhaps by getting close to him Nimue could find out what lay heavily guarded in Morgaine's heart. But she cared about Myrddin and did not want to use him like that. Still, she wondered what she could learn from him.

High in a twisted oak, a raven croaked, harsh and foreboding like a horn of battle. Staring up at the raven, she remembered when she had heard that chilling sound before. A wintry hand twisted her heart. Despite the passionate kiss she shared with Myrddin, she was convinced she would never find room in her heart for love again.

* * *

Lancelot stroked his horse's black velvety nose and checked the saddle to make sure it was on tight. The horse whinnied, nuzzling his shoulder, searching for a treat. "Well, it looks like we are ready to go, boy."

He guided his horse to the wide flat boat that would take them across the water and through the mists to the earthly realm, nodding to the cloaked being who would ferry them across. As they cast off, Lancelot turned to look back at the shore, half-hoping to see Morgaine standing there. Perhaps then he would be compelled to stay with her. Perhaps not. He was so unsure of his feelings for her. He loved her...and yet...something was missing.

The boat glided through the water, slipping between the thick mist barriers that separated the two worlds. The small Christian church came into view. Church bells rang out, echoing off the mist, sounding like otherworldly music.

They reached the shore and Lancelot took a reluctant step off the boat. It was always hard for him to leave, but he felt it was something he had to do. The boat cast off, leaving him alone. He vaulted onto his horse, gently prodding him to trot, to where, Lancelot was not sure yet. An unseen hand guided him, carrying him away from Avalon.

* * *

The cloaked being that had ferried Lancelot across the mists lifted the cloak from her face. Morgaine stared at the space where Lancelot had stood only a moment ago. She had been tempted to reveal her identity to him and touch him one more time, but she knew it would only hurt more to let him go.

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched him disappear into the woodlands. His black armor and cloak blended with the black horse, giving him the appearance of a centaur, half-man, half-horse. And his long black hair resembled a horse's mane, flowing down his back. His metal weapons--his bronze shield and iron sword, stood out from the rest of him, glinting in the streaming daylight.

"Farewell..." she whispered to the air.

She guided the boat back to the mists, waving her hand and speaking in the ancient tongue, opening the invisible doorway that would take her back to the faery realm. The apple orchards were always a welcome sight, the sweet, enticing scent of the blooming trees filling the air. She watched some young female initiates as they filled their water jugs. Their soft laughter reached Morgaine's ears, and she wondered at their innocence.

Stepping off the boat, Morgaine walked to her house. The small roundhouse sat off by itself, surrounded by woodlands of beech, ash and yew. She stepped inside and the heat from the central fire wrapped itself around her. Stripping off the heavy cloak, she sat on her leather chair, staring into the dancing flames. Her home felt empty, now that Lancelot had gone.

She looked at the bed they had shared with cheerless eyes, touching her bruised lips that were still sore from his fervent kisses. It pained her to have to send him away, but she could never love any man, even Lancelot, with all of her heart. She could only give half her heart to a man, the other half would always belong to Avalon. And Avalon needed him to do her bidding.

Morgaine's eyes were drawn to the blue dragon that adorned the far wall above her bed. It reminded her of what still needed to be done. She had no time for brooding.

She pushed herself off the chair and walked to the small table. Her eyes searched the table filled with crystals, goblets and bowls of herbs for the item she needed. She walked over to the large wooden chest at the foot of her bed, flinging it open. "Ah, there you are." She grasped a fist-sized amethyst cluster, enjoying the feel of the cool crystals against her skin. She grazed her fingers along the power points of the cluster, running her fingers down the smooth shafts to the gleaming white base.

The amethyst was her centering stone, the one she needed when she had to reach into the far places in her mind's eye. She sat on her chair, holding the sparkling purple stone cluster cupped in both hands. Her eyes were drawn to the fire, the licking flames seeming to reach out toward her. The crystals grew hot in her hand, but she did not let go of it. Images formed in the golden flames, showing her what was to be done. A pleased smile formed on her lips. Her Goddess had not forsaken her.

* * *

The magnificent hillfort spread its noble wings across the top of a ridge in the land of the summer country. Lancelot knew this to be the home of the invincible warlord, Artorius, who was a king of the Silures tribe. Lancelot felt that his journey ended here. He guided his horse up a slight ascent through a tree-lined path. The majestic trees towered over him, giving him the sensation that he was passing into the Otherworld. A formidable gatehouse made of stone and timber loomed before him.

Two guards approached, eyeing him with suspicion. "Who are you and what do you want?"

Lancelot smiled, mocking them. "My business is with Artorius and not with the likes of either of you."

"Be gone with you or you will meet your end on the tip of my sword blade." The larger of the two guards stepped forward, his hand on his sword hilt.

Lancelot dismounted, facing the guard. "I have been riding most of the day. Can we be quick about it?" He pulled his sword from its leather sheath on his back. The smooth ivory and bronze hilt, decorated with obsidian and moonstones, became a part of him.

The guard scowled at him, pulling his sword in a fury. "I will silence that insolent mouth, young whelp."

Lancelot thrust forward with lightning speed, unarming the stunned guard. Turning to the other guard, Lancelot held his sword at the guard's exposed throat, the whetted blade nicking his skin. "Do you also wish to challenge me?"

The guard shook his head, careful to avoid the sharp blade. "We will announce your visit to Artorius. Whom should we say is paying him a visit?"

Lancelot lowered his sword. "Tell him Lancelot of the Lake is here to serve him."

The two guards motioned to the guards in the gate tower to open the colossal gates. Lancelot grabbed his horse's reins, guiding him inside the fortress, following a cobbled roadway.

The fortress was more impressive on the inside. Soldiers practiced fighting techniques in one large area near rows of what looked like soldiers' barracks. A rectangular building that looked like a large feasting hall sat in a corner of the fortress, and wattle and daub roundhouses were grouped together throughout the area. The settlement looked like it could accommodate at least one thousand soldiers and their families.

An impressive palatial house styled like a Roman villa sat in the middle of the hillfort. A standard of a blue dragon fluttered in the slight breeze near the arched gate to the villa. Lancelot knew this was the house of the king. The guards motioned for Lancelot to wait as his visit was announced to the warlord. A soldier took his horse to the stables at the far end of the fortress.

One of the guards guided him through the gate and into a courtyard with pathways lined in bluebells and primroses. The lingering scent of fresh flowers filled the air. Stone fountains and statues of lost Roman gods stood as sentinels throughout the vast courtyard. A covered walkway with an arched roof, supported by columns, surrounded the entire house, and various doorways opened from the covered walkway into the extraordinary house.

Lancelot stepped inside to a majestic palace filled with brightly colored silk curtains and a chair made of bronze and gold. A large golden cross stood on a pedestal near the chair and opposite the cross was a stone altar to the forest goddess, Artio--the Bear. A large stone hearth fire burned in the center of the room and torches burned on poles throughout the house. Roman style mosaics, depicting scenes from Roman and Greek mythology, covered the floor.

A tall man with golden hair approached him, welcoming him with a friendly smile. "I have been waiting for you, Lancelot of the Lake." He wore a fine cloak of purple and gold, befitting for a noble warlord.

"My lord." Lancelot bowed his head in respect for the young warlord who had gained respect for winning battles against the ferocious Saxons.

Someone moved in the shadows behind Artorius.

"Your vision was true, Myrddin." Artorius stepped aside and Myrddin approached.

Lancelot knew Myrddin. Though he wore the brown robes of a monk, Lancelot knew that he was really a druid and a frequent visitor of Morgaine's on Avalon. Lancelot realized Morgaine was the one who had guided him to Artorius. He nodded his head toward Myrddin.

"Lancelot, I heard you bested my guards." Artorius smiled, an amused twinkle in his gray eyes.

"It was quite easy to do, my lord. Perhaps I should teach them the proper way to hold a sword."

Artorius stared hard at him and broke into laughter. "I like your boldness, Lancelot of the Lake. Welcome to my fortress." He gestured for him to step outside. "Let me show you around the fortress."

They passed a young woman with three children. Artorius paused to greet her. "Muirne, you look beautiful today."

"My lord." She looked up at him, smiling shyly. "I wanted to give my thanks to you for the deer you gave to us. My family is grateful for your kindness." She bowed her head to show her respect.

He took her hand. "I know how difficult it has been for you to survive."

She bowed to him. "Good day to you, my lord."

Artorius walked on, turning to Lancelot. "She lost her husband in the last Saxon battle and she has no one to hunt for her family. I try to help her out when I can."

Lancelot was amazed at his generosity and kindness and at that moment, he knew that Artorius would be High King.

Chapter Two

Morgaine gazed into the dark pool, watching the bloody battle with a fearful heart. This battle was the decisive battle in the fight against the ruthless Saxons. It was also the battle that would give Artorius the glory he needed to be proclaimed as High King of all of Britain.

The Saxons were fearless, swinging bloodied axes and slashing swords, their wild hair whipping around them like the tangled tails of great beasts. The Saxon gods were gods of war from the ice-covered lands to the north--the sunless winter lands of death.

Artorius led the battle with his invincible sword. The center of the sword hilt was adorned with rubies, representing the element of fire flowing with aggression, ambition and endurance. Rubies were known to turn pale when the wearer was in physical danger and these rubies were a bright red--a sign that Morgaine was pleased to see. Black obsidian and carnelians adorned the edges of the hilt. Black obsidian was for protection and banishing negativity associated with killing. Carnelians, glowing bright with the power of the invincible sun, improved physical stamina.

The stones gleamed in the daylight, their power flowing into Artorius. The soon-to-be High King resembled a sun god with his flowing golden locks and mighty sword. He raised his sword and the blue dragon entwined around his forearm was visible, the mark of the Goddess.

Her heart leapt when she saw her Lancelot, so handsome and fierce in his black padded leather and ring mail shirt. His bronze and black helmet was crested to look like a raven's head lending him an otherworldly air. Like a seasoned warrior he commanded his cavalry unit, his men looking upon him with deep respect. With his battle fury raised, he fought alongside his men like a true warrior so gallant on his armored steed, fighting his way through the Saxons, slashing with his sword, Secace. His fearlessness and passion on the battlefield amazed and excited her. He seemed unfazed by the blood that covered him from head to toe giving him the appearance of a fierce war god. It was as if the blood of his enemies gave him even greater powers. "Be safe, my love," she whispered. Though he was half-faery, he could be mortally wounded.

He paused, looking upward, as if he had heard her voice. Lancelot had been gone for more than one turn of a year. It seemed like an eternity to her. She missed his passionate kisses and the wondrous feel of his skillful touch when they coupled.

She watched as Lancelot brought his horse next to Artorius's horse, their mounts butted up against each other in a dangerous move that could send them both to the ground, trampled under powerful hooves. Saxon warriors surrounded them swinging their terrible weapons, and banging their leather shields in an awful uproar. With a fearful heart, Morgaine watched Lancelot and Artorius fight off the Saxons. Artorius's invincible sword came close to Lancelot's neck, but it was as if the two were in sync and trusted one another as they battled the Saxons with all their might. Morgaine was amazed at their magic on the battlefield and her heart sang with pride at their courage.

Morgaine's fear vanished when it was clear to her that the Saxons were losing the battle. Blood and gore coated the shoreline, rivulets of blood flowed into the river like crimson tears. Though she had tried to tune out the terrible sounds of battle, the screams and moans of the wounded filled the air along with horse's whinnies, mingling with the gentle sound of lapping water. Ravens and crows descended on the battleground in a dark swarm of feathers, talons and sharp beaks. Morgaine reached in the pool, shattering the vision with a touch of her hand. She did not need to see anymore. There was work to be done before Artorius was to be proclaimed High King.

* * *

The fair-haired warrior leaned against a wooden post near the soldier barracks. "So, do you think you could best me?" His infectious grin lit up the gloomy day.

Lancelot sized him up. "Let's find out. Whoever draws first blood is the winner."

They grabbed their swords and shields and moved in a slow circle, staring into each other's eyes, waiting for one of them to strike. Lancelot moved in his fighting stance with left foot forward, his body slightly turned, shield covering his front and sword raised to strike. The fair-haired one faked a thrust, but Lancelot anticipated this and blocked the real thrust with his sword. The clash of metal on metal sang in the air. Shockwaves from the blows reverberated through Lancelot's shoulder.

A crowd of soldiers gathered, cheering them on.

Lancelot tried one of his favorite moves, dropping his shield as if to leave himself open to his opponent. A glint filled the fair-haired warrior's eyes and he struck at Lancelot's left shoulder. Moving with lightning speed, Lancelot blocked the sword thrust with his shield, bringing his sword down toward his opponent's right shoulder. The fair-haired warrior moved with speed to match Lancelot, blocking the thrust with his shield in an impressive upward maneuver.

Each time one of them would thrust, the other knew what the other one was going to do.

It was eerie how they seemed to know what the other one would do. No matter what moves he made, Lancelot could not best him. They grew weary from the long fight, and collapsed into a heap, laughing.

"What's your name? I have not seen you before," Lancelot said, trying to catch his breath.

"My name is Gareth. I arrived a few days ago." He smiled, his green eyes filled with mischief. "And you are Lancelot, the formidable warrior in black who everyone is talking about."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You knew every move I was going to make." Lancelot stood, offering his hand to the agile warrior.

Gareth took his hand, standing. "I know not what unknown force guided my sword arm. For some reason, I just knew what you were going to do." He arched a fair brow. "You knew my moves as well. Maybe we are long lost brothers," he laughed.

Lancelot liked the fair-haired warrior with the infectious smile and carefree laughter.

Artorius appeared, his two sleek hunting hounds at his heels. "Grab your lances," he ordered.

Lancelot, Gareth and the other chief warriors rode behind Artorius out the gates and down the well-worn hunting path. He let loose the hounds and they ran on the trail of the scent of some hapless beast. Their spine-tingling baying signaled that they had something cornered.

Artorius motioned for them to group into three men and circle the prey.

Gareth, Lancelot and Artorius grouped together. Following the baying hounds, their bridles and harnesses jangled as they raced toward the hunt.

Lancelot sensed they were being watched and the hair on the back of his neck tingled. The hounds were far away. Something else was out there and it was close.

Gareth looked at him as if he also sensed something and they slowed their horses. Artorius did not notice that they had slowed down.

Lancelot was about to shout out a warning to the warlord when something moved out of the bushes near Artorius, causing his horse to rear up, sending the king to the hard ground.

A giant boar charged at Artorius and his horse. Lancelot moved like an arrow shot, releasing his swift ash wood lance with a roar. The lance hit the boar in the heart, killing it instantly.

Artorius was still on the ground, the lifeless boar a hand's length away from him, its fierce yellow eyes staring straight ahead and its razor sharp tusks just missing his abdomen.

Lancelot realized that Artorius came close to a horrible death.

Gareth's eyes were round with amazement. "My lord, are you hurt?"

Artorius shook his head. He stood, calming his terrified horse.

"Great fires of eternal torment! That is one huge boar." Gareth dismounted to examine the boar. "We are having a great feast tonight." He smiled up at Lancelot.

"I owe you thanks, Lancelot. You saved my life." Artorius patted his horse's head, glancing down at the boar, a wary look in his eyes.

"How are we going to get this back to the fortress?" Gareth scratched his head, staring at the giant carcass.

A galloping rider approached them. Myrddin brought his horse to a sudden halt, kicking up a swirl of dust, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. A look of relief seemed to wash over him.

Dismounting, he stood next to Artorius, placing his hand on the king's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "Memento mori," he said to Artorius.

"You will have to translate that. You know I am not well versed in the Roman tongue. I only know a few phrases." Artorius's voice was tinged with annoyance.

"Yes, perhaps if you had paid more attention to my lessons," Myrddin admonished like he would a boy and not a king.

"Remember that you are mortal," Lancelot answered, staring at the fallen beast.

Myrddin nodded. "I see that someone paid attention during his lessons."

Artorius turned his attention to Lancelot. "So, Lancelot of the Lake, I see you are an excellent hunter as well as a warrior. And a learned man." Artorius smiled. "It seems we have much to be thankful for on this day." He nodded to Lancelot and turned to Gareth. "Bring the wagon."

A troubled look filled Myrddin's eyes.

Artorius seemed to be taking Myrddin's warning too lightly.

Lancelot stared at the unusually large boar, wondering if the beast had been sent as a warning to Artorius.

* * *

Love. It had made her so happy once that she felt she could fly without her wings, and it had crushed her heart like a trampling hoof, leaving her with a constant ache in her chest. She thought how love and pain seemed to fit together like a sword to its sheath.

Nimue sat beneath the twisted oak that she had sat beneath so many times before with Myrddin. Staring with reflective eyes at the spot he usually sat in, loneliness filled her heart.

Picking up her lyre, she strummed out a melody. Thoughts of Myrddin came into her mind, the feel of his lips and his comforting presence. He knew her better than anyone. It was as if they had known each other for all time. Except for the coupling, she had shared more with him than she had ever shared with Taren...and yet she still pushed him away.

"Can you hear me calling you, Myrddin?" she whispered to the heavens.

She sang, thinking of the man she loved, the words flowing from her lips with ease.

Myrddin.

When he was with her, her heart sang of happiness, soaring on the air with wings.

Would she have the courage to open her heart to him? Would she have the courage to feel love and pain again?

She had a dream the night before that she was wed to Myrddin. They were happy together and then he was taken from her just as Taren had been taken from her. The dream had been disturbing to her and she wondered if it was a premonition.

A hawk landed nearby, staring at her with its predatory eyes. Its eyes reminded her of Myrddin's shrewd eyes. Even its tawny feathers and quiet demeanor reminded her of Myrddin. Its presence was comforting to her. It watched her for a while, its predatory eyes filled with a thoughtful light and flew off. She watched as it soared high up in the sky, flying in a spiral formation. Sadness filled her heart when it flew from her sight.

She realized just how much she missed Myrddin--the gruff sound of his voice, his deep voice harmonizing with her higher voice when they sang together, the sparkle in his eyes when he smiled at her, and the playfulness that he only revealed when he was around her. Thinking about the disturbing dream, she realized that she would rather have loved Myrddin and lost him then to never have loved him at all.

* * *

Morgaine and Gwenhwyfar stood below the lush green conical tor before the entrance to the sacred labyrinth, the only sound the gentle lapping of the water a few feet away.

The setting sun cast an eerie pink light, filtering through the swirling mists that encircled the tor.

"Tonight you will pass into the labyrinth for your final initiation into the secret rites of the Goddess. Remember, the spiral labyrinth represents the soul's journey through life, death and rebirth. Imagine that the labyrinth is a dragon, the Earth Mother, coiled around the tor, alive with the natural energies of the earth and the sky. Embrace them and you will be reborn."

"Does anyone ever get lost in the labyrinth and never return?" Gwenhwyfar asked, staring with wariness at the pitch-black entrance.

"Only those with fear and doubt in their heart." Morgaine touched her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "Enter with a clear mind and you will have nothing to worry about. Let the dragon guide you."

Gwenhwyfar nodded, entering the blackness of the twisting subterranean labyrinth and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Initiates were not allowed to carry a torch. They had to find their own way out without light just as a newborn fought to leave its mother's dark womb.

Raising her hands to the twilight sky, Morgaine closed her eyes so that she could see through Gwenhwyfar's eyes and feel her emotions as Gwenhwyfar fought her way through her journey.

She felt Gwenhwyfar try to clear her mind of all fear and doubt, embracing the darkness, allowing her mind to take her through the narrow passageways of the labyrinth.

A sudden whirlwind forced its way through the labyrinth, twisting and turning like a dragon roaring to be released from its black prison. Gwenhwyfar fought the forceful wind, pushing onward through the labyrinth, pressing her body against the earthen wall. She thought only of the blissful light that would greet her at the end of her journey.

Morgaine was impressed by her courage.

The whirlwind died down and a feeling of calm and serenity washed over Gwenhwyfar. She allowed her intuition to guide her deep into the labyrinth and find her way back out of the twisting maze.

Morgaine watched with pride as Gwenhwyfar walked toward the pale light of the full moon illuminating the exit of the labyrinth. She had made it safely out.

Morgaine congratulated her for passing her initiation. "The Goddess welcomes you. You have been reborn."

Gwenhwyfar smiled. "I could not have done it without your guidance. All that you have taught me helped me to find the light."

Though Morgaine was pleased that Gwenhwyfar had passed her initiation, something bothered her. She had sensed some lingering fear and doubt inside of Gwenhwyfar, yet the Goddess still welcomed her, allowing her find her way out of the labyrinth.

This had never happened before. Morgaine gazed up at the full moon for answers, but the moon floated behind a thin veil of mist, serene and unwavering.

Chapter Three

The fortress was alive with a celebration in honor of the recent victorious battles against the Saxons. Everyone was packed into the feasting hall where the long tables were filled with food and drink. Mead and wine flowed like an endless river. Music, singing and boisterous laughter filled the feasting hall. Artorius sat in his honored place at the table, grinning proudly at his chief warriors.

Torches in sconces burned along the walls and a fire burned in the center of the dim hall chasing away the chill in the darkened hall. Flickering firelight revealed luxurious wall hangings on the walls depicting battles of fierce creatures and powerful gods and goddesses. Battle shields and lances hanging on the walls lent an invincible air to the feasting hall. One banner stood out from the other wall hangings. The banner depicting the blue dragon symbolized the strength of Artorius's army.

Through the smoky haze filling the hall, Lancelot observed the differences in the soldiers. Most were a mixed race of Roman and Celtic stock, but some were clearly Celtic. The true Celts wore brightly colored tunics and cloaks. They adorned themselves with gold torcs and armlets. Their hair was long and their mustaches were so long that they were soaked with mead.

Two men fought over the large portion of a swine--the hero's portion to the ancient Celts. Lancelot drew his dagger, throwing it into the middle of the men's hands, cutting the portion in half. The feasting hall grew silent. "There will be no fighting today. Today we celebrate."

"Lancelot speaks true. There will be no fighting today," Artorius commanded. "Now, let us eat!" He clapped his hands together and the celebration continued.

Fair maidens danced near the fire to the beat of the lively music. One of them beckoned Lancelot with a playful glance to join her. He avoided her gaze.

Lancelot rose from the table and walked outside to clear his head. It was a pleasant spring day with just a touch of chill left from the dying winter. A soft breeze brought the scent of blooming flowers. He smelled roses, sweet and innocent. The lively sounds from the feasting hall faded away. He walked up to the gatehouse tower, gazing out over the valley. A town filled with merchants, metalworkers and other craftsmen had been built below in the valley. Off in the distance, he saw the green mound where Avalon lay hidden within the thick mists.

His thoughts turned to Morgaine. He imagined her, a striking beauty in her black shoulder-baring gown, the swell of her creamy breasts rising from the top of the gown. He missed her touch and he yearned to see her again. "I will see you soon, my dark beauty." A single beam of sunlight reached down from the heavens and struck the green mound, bathing it in golden dust.

"Lancelot of the Lake, why are you not enjoying the celebration?" the deep voice of Artorius called out.

Lancelot turned to see Artorius staring at him with curiosity. "I needed some fresh air, my lord."

"You seem...distracted."

"I suppose I yearn for my homeland and my lady."

"I was not aware that you had a woman. What is she like?"

Lancelot gazed at the golden beam of sunlight. "She is like no other, my lord. She is like a calm dark night with singing stars and tender moonlight."

"Why is she not here with you?"

"She will never leave her home and I cannot stay there." Lancelot let slip a look of regret for a moment.

Artorius placed a comforting hand on Lancelot's shoulder. "How terrible that must be...to be away from the one your heart covets." Lancelot felt brotherly love for this man. A sudden thought filled his head--he would even die for him if it came to that.

Lancelot nodded. "It is something I must live with."

"I hope my queen is as captivating. Myrddin told me I will wed her soon after I am proclaimed High King in three days." His eyes filled with longing. "I only know her name, but it is the most beautiful name...Gwenhwyfar."

"If you do find true love in your heart, my lord, do not let it escape." Lancelot gazed into the eyes of the future High King, and knew he would love with all his heart. Artorius was not a man to do something with half a heart.

"Come back inside. You have fought by my side as we brought the Saxons to their knees, and I want you by my side at this celebration." Artorius smiled, his eyes filled with admiration.

His infectious smile spread to Lancelot who felt his somber mood changing to one of happiness. He was certain he would die for this man.

* * *

A full moon lit up the grove, spilling silvery blue light onto the majestic oak trees and standing stones. Morgaine needed the moon's power to complete a spell, one that would ensure the joining of Gwenhwyfar to Artorius. She set the silver goblet on one of the flat altar stones. Stepping back, she removed her short cloak of soft doeskin lined at the bottom with powerful raven feathers. Her naked skin glowed silver blue in the moonlight.

She turned her face toward the moon, raising her arms to draw down the moon's great power. Chanting in an ancient language, her voice rose and fell with the gentle spring breeze. When she finished, she covered the goblet with a green silk scarf. She reached for her cloak.

"You will not be needing that, my dark beauty." Lancelot's rumbling voice flowed over her, filled with longing.

She turned to him, unashamed of her nakedness. Her nipples hardened at the sight of him dressed in his black armor. He wore his sword sheathed on his back and his shield slung over his shoulder on a strap. Raw maleness emanated from him and she recalled his courage on the battlefield. Her sex tingled with desire. "I think we have a problem. You are wearing too many clothes."

"I can remedy that, my lady."

"Wait. Allow me." She approached him and proceeded to unbuckle his thick leather belt, brushing her hand against his cock. She smiled, pleased that it was already quite hard.

"I cannot wait for you to undress me." He flung off his shield and tore at the clasps on his sleeveless leather armor he wore over the ring mail. The ring mail shirt was a challenge and Morgaine helped him remove the heavy shirt.

"I liked it better when warriors fought naked," she purred in his ear. She ran her hands down his chest to his flat stomach, tracing the dark trail to his groin.

"If I were to do that now, my fellow warriors would think me a madman."

While he removed his tunic, Morgaine had removed his boots and untied his leather trousers. She knelt and took his manhood into her warm mouth, cupping his balls with her other hand.

"By the gods, woman," Lancelot groaned, pushing himself deep into her throat. He gently pulled her off and to her feet, kissing her hard with unrestrained passion. He smelled of leather and musk. Her body felt as if it were on fire.

He lifted her and with gentle hands positioned her onto his pulsating cock. She used her wings for balance as she rode him, squeezing him inside her tight wet sheath. Having him inside of her made her feel whole and she realized how much she loved him.

Lancelot leaned against an oak tree, thrusting deeper inside of her while suckling her nipples. His tongue encircled her nipples and his gentle bites sent shivers throughout her body. Fire and ice engulfed her.

"Lancelot." She whispered his name as if he were a sacred god.

His thrusts grew faster, desperate for release. He thrust deep to her sacred core and he came, his hot seed burning her like a welcome fire on a bitter cold night. Her pelvis pulsed with pleasure as wave after wave tore through her, sending a warm flush up to her face.

He held her tight, burying his head in her dark lustrous hair. "I have missed you so much."

"And I you." She ran her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.

* * *

Lancelot gazed down at her sleeping face. She looked so innocent and peaceful when she slept. He got up and searched for something to drink. A silver goblet sat on the table. Removing the green silk scarf that covered the goblet, he drank from the goblet and almost gagged. It tasted like burnt wood. Grimacing, he sat it back down on the table.

Morgaine stirred. "Come back to bed and keep me warm."

"I cannot sleep."

"Who said we would be sleeping?" He saw her mischievous smile in the faint glow of the firelight.

He snuggled into the soft goose feather bed. Morgaine was stretched out on her side in front of him, facing away from him. He turned onto his side, pressing his naked body against her backside. Sliding his hand between her legs, he caressed her soft pink petals. She was warm and already wet for him. Moaning, she rubbed her body against him.

"Sit up," he commanded. He wanted to drink of her sweet juices.

"Yes, my lord." Her seductive voice rippled over him, arousing him. She sat up on the bed, spreading her legs.

He knelt in front of her with his hands gripping her hips, pressing his mouth against her warm rigid bud. Her sweet womanly scent made his cock harden. His tongue darted out, licking her pink nub. Morgaine let out a soft sigh, her hips bucking beneath his touch. He sucked and licked her until her pelvis quivered and her sweet juices coated his lips. Lancelot eagerly lapped up her sweet nectar.

She lay back against the wall and he straddled her, gazing at her with love. "You are truly enchanting," he murmured.

He easily slid into her wet sheath. She was perfect for him--so warm and tight, the perfect sheath for his male steel. He thrust inside of her, slow and sensual, savoring the electrifying feel of her around him. His pleasure climbed higher and his thrusts quickened, his cock aching for release. He waited until he felt her pulsating around him before he exploded inside of her and collapsed next to her on the bed.

"I wish this moment could last forever." He kissed her shoulder.

"Let us not think of that now." Morgaine lay down, closing her eyes.

Lancelot frowned. He was the one who always ran away, but she was the one who closed off a part of her heart to him. He lay down, burrowing into her backside and savoring their time together. Once the wedding between Artorius and the mysterious Gwenhwyfar was over, Lancelot would be leaving her, possibly for good. His duty now was to Artorius, the High King of Britain.

* * *

Morgaine watched as an initiate helped Gwenhwyfar dress in her finest clothes for her joining with Artorius. The monks had agreed that there would be two ceremonies: one in the faery realm and one presided over by a Christian monk in the earthly realm.

Gwenhwyfar's long flaxen hair was combed out to a lustrous sheen, the silky curls reaching to the small of her back. A circlet of silver adorned her head; a moonstone crescent gleamed in the center of the headband. On her arms she wore golden armlets and around her delicate neck, a golden torc of the finest gold. Her blue dress matched the bright blue of her eyes, gathering at her chest to show off her full breasts. Silver and gold strands lined the dress, representing the moon and the sun. On her small feet were the finest leather sandals decorated with sapphires and moonstones.

"You are the most beautiful bride." Morgaine gave her an approving smile.

"Do you know what my husband looks like?" Gwenhwyfar's cheeks flushed with excitement.

"He is very handsome." Morgaine gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

"What if I do not find my husband pleasing or he does not find me pleasing?" A worried look shadowed her exquisite face.

"My sweet maiden, a man would have to be sightless to not find you pleasing. And as for finding your husband pleasing, you do not need to worry on that." Morgaine thought of the love potion. "He will be arriving soon and I must oversee the details for the ceremony. Will you be fine on your own?"

Gwenhwyfar nodded, but her eyes still held a shadow of uncertainty.

"You are going to make the loveliest queen, Gwenhwyfar. Do not worry." She shot her a reassuring smile as she left the room.

* * *

"Gwenhwyfar, why such a look of sorrow on this joyous day?" Nimue asked.

"I am frightened. Morgaine assures me that all is well, but what if I do not love my new husband?" Gwenhwyfar frowned, marring her beautiful face.

"Why would you think that?"

"I don't know," she sighed.

Nimue's heart went out to the maiden who had no say in her own destiny. "Love is something that grows with time so do not expect to love him immediately. Give it some time." Nimue remembered with sadness what it was like to be in love.

"I heard that my future husband is a ruthless warlord who has killed many men in battle. His brutal nature frightens me."

Nimue smiled, amused at her innocence, so much like a blossoming white rosebud. "It is true--he is a fierce warlord, but there is something you need to know about such men as he. Though they are ruthless on the battlefield, most are tender in the bedchamber. I believe this to be true of your Artorius."

Nimue's heart filled with a feeling of nostalgia--her own lover had been such a man.

"Thank you, Nimue. I feel much better now."

"You still look a touch pale. It is rather stuffy in here. Perhaps some fresh air is what is needed. Why not take a walk?"

Gwenhwyfar nodded. "I would love to take a walk, but Morgaine does not want Artorius to see me until the ceremony."

"She would have you confined in here all day?" Nimue shook her head, thinking how Morgaine could be heartless at times, though she probably did not mean to be. "There is a secluded meadow that you can visit. Morgaine does not allow anyone there, but I think she would make an exception to you on your special day." She wrapped a light cloak around Gwenhwyfar so her dress would stay clean.

"Will you go there with me?"

"No, I regret that I cannot go there with you, but I will take you to the hidden path." Myrddin had been gone for a long time. Nimue was filled with anticipation at seeing him again at the wedding ceremony, and she wanted to make herself so beautiful for him that he could not resist her. She wanted tonight to be the night that she finally gave her heart to him.

They walked outside, avoiding the main road. Nimue stopped before two yew trees.

Gwenhwyfar stared between the two trees. "I do not see a path. All I see are marshlands and thick bushes."

"Follow me." Nimue approached the center of the two trees and a wooden bridge appeared that spread over the marshlands to a beautiful tree-lined path leading to a small meadow.

Nimue watched her face as Gwenhwyfar caught a glimpse of a shimmering silver spring. Apple trees with their spring blossoms, and dazzling red, white and yellow honeysuckle grew in abundance throughout the meadow. "It is beautiful."

Nimue took her hands. "I will see you later at your wedding ceremony. Will you be fine now on your own?"

Gwenhwyfar nodded. "I am not so frightened now."

"Your cheeks have already gained their rosy blush and your eyes are brighter." Nimue kissed her on the cheek. "You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen."

Gwenhwyfar smiled. "Nimue, you are so kind to me. Thank you." She turned and strolled down the hidden path.

Nimue watched her with a feeling of kinship for the innocent maiden. Gwenhwyfar seemed so much like Nimue used to be before tragedy darkened her heart. She thought with some resentment that Morgaine had been controlling her destiny as she now controlled Gwenhwyfar's destiny.

They had argued in this very spot many years past during the first year of the Roman invasion. Though many years had past, Nimue had not forgotten Morgaine's harsh words...

"Nimue, I know you have been leaving Avalon to meet with Taren."

"And so what if I am?" she answered with insolence, forgetting her place in the presence of the queen.

"You will not speak to me with such impudence!" Morgaine's eyes bit into her like sharp thorns.

"Yes, my queen. Please forgive my insolence." Morgaine's wrath was not something to be taken lightly.

Morgaine stared hard at her. "I forbid you to see him."

"May I ask why?"

"His alliances are...questionable. I have arranged for you to wed someone who I trust with the future of Avalon."

Nimue's eyes filled with bitter tears and she held the unkind words in that she wanted to spew at Morgaine. "Yes, my queen." It would do no good to tell her that she loved Taren with all her heart, and that he made her so happy. Morgaine did not care for such frivolous emotions--she cared only for Avalon.

Nimue was torn back into the present by the loud rumbling of a wagon on the main road up ahead.

The memory had stirred old feelings to the surface and she knew that Morgaine could not hide her thoughts from her forever. It was time Nimue learned the truth of what happened to her beloved Taren.

* * *

The warm spring day sang of new love and the promise of peace under the reign of the High King, Artorius. Lancelot tried to focus his thoughts on that and not on his own troubles. Morgaine had no time for him now because of the pending ceremony and he was left to fend for himself. He strolled through the meadow, enjoying the warmth of spring. A blond maiden stood in the meadow, staring off into the distance. He had never seen her before.

She turned to him with eyes alight with wonder. "Are you the one?"

"The one?" Her fair beauty enchanted him and her sweet smile melted his heart. He wanted to reach out and run his fingers through her silky blond curls.

"My future husband, the High King of Britain." Her lips were so red he could taste their sweetness.

His heart sank. She thought he was Artorius. "You must be Gwenhwyfar. I am Lancelot. And not your future husband, my lady."

"Oh. You look like a king." She seemed disappointed. Her innocence was very becoming.

"I must be going now, my lady. It is a pleasure to have met you." He took her hand and kissed the top of her delicate hand. Her skin was as soft and white as a white rose petal. Something akin to an electric shock passed between them. Her eyes widened and her cheeks blushed to pink.

He turned and left before anything else could be said. What was he thinking? Gwenhwyfar belonged to Artorius, his king and brother. And he loved Morgaine.

* * *

Myrddin performed the ceremony in the sacred grove of the ancient stones. Artorius looked regal in an embroidered tunic of dark blue with gold trim. He wore the crown of the summer king, a wreath of holly and thistle. A polished gold torc encircled his neck. His blond hair was combed away from his face, flowing down to his shoulders in golden waves. Gwenhwyfar looked small standing next to the tall, gallant warlord. Morgaine thought they made a striking couple with their matching golden locks.

All of the maidens of the island were present for the ceremony as were Artorius's thirty-two chief warriors, including Lancelot. Morgaine's gaze rested on him. She thought he looked so handsome in his finest tunic of black and red. He stood out from the rest of the men. It was as if an aura of sparkling light encircled him. He caught her staring at him and shot her a smile, but he turned his attention back to the ceremony.

Since it was Beltaine, the barriers between the worlds were down and the human guests were allowed safe passage into the faery realm for one day.

The ceremony ended with Artorius and Gwenhwyfar sharing a drink from the sacred goblet. Morgaine had added some honey to the mixture to improve the taste and it seemed to work because neither of them made an unpleasant face.

Tables were set up in the grove covered with generous portions of food and drink. The air was scented with the delectable aromas of roasting meat and fresh-baked honey bread. Artorius and Gwenhwyfar were seated at the head of the table, smiling. A regal aura surrounded the newly wed couple. There was no doubt that they were the true king and queen of all of Britain. Morgaine was pleased with herself.

Morgaine's attention turned to Lancelot. He had a brooding look in his eyes that bothered her. Something did not feel true to her. She followed his brooding gaze and saw that he was staring at Gwenhwyfar. Gwenhwyfar looked at him and quickly looked away when she saw Morgaine staring at her. A wintry hand closed over Morgaine's heart and squeezed.

Lancelot reached over and held her hand. "Perhaps we can sneak away for a while," he whispered. He grinned at her, desire filling his dark eyes.

She thought that maybe she was being foolish to think that he had eyes for Gwenhwyfar. What man would not think her the fairest maiden on her wedding day? She smiled back at him and reached her hand under the table, rubbing his inner thigh near his manhood. His knee jerked, rattling the oak table. All eyes turned toward them.

Morgaine and Lancelot laughed, knowing looks passing between them.

The feasting ended and the dark fingers of twilight touched the sky. Bonfires were lit in the center of the sacred grove to celebrate the joining of the new High King and his queen, and also to celebrate Beltaine--the coming of summer and new beginnings.

Musicians played lively music on their harps and lyres, plucking and strumming, while drums beat out the rhythm of frolicking lovers.

Gwenhwyfar and Lancelot danced their wedding dance, gazing into each other's eyes with new love.

Another tune started up that was reminiscent of nighttime faery revels. Lancelot grabbed Morgaine's hand, leading her around the grove. His dark eyes gazed into hers with deep affection. She brushed off her earlier misgivings, certain that she was the one he loved.

* * *

Nimue watched the celebration from the shadow of a wide oak. Bonfires bathed the grove in a warm glow and couples danced around, their eyes lit up with love. Her eyes followed Lancelot and Morgaine as they danced around the grove. Troubled thoughts filled her heart.

She noticed how Gwenhwyfar's eyes lit up as she gazed at her new husband and the tender way he touched her. Nimue smiled, certain that Artorius would take good care of her.

She searched the grove for Myrddin. They had been unable to converse during the feast and now she could not find him. He had been gone for some time and she worried that perhaps he had found another to love. As if he sensed her thinking about him, he appeared in front of her, so imposing in his ceremonial robes, white and sparkling with silver spirals, befitting a druid of the highest order. A powerful aura emanated from him that was exciting to her.

"Would you care to dance, my lady?" Myrddin stood before her, his blue eyes filled with joy to see her.

"I did not know that druids were allowed such frivolity."

"From time to time we are allowed to partake in the pleasures of life. And this is a day of great joy, is it not?" His eyes twinkled with merriment.

She remembered the last kiss they had shared and a warm flush rose inside of her. Seeing him again made her realize how much she had missed him. "Well, it is a joyous occasion after all and the air is singing of love on this Beltaine eve." She held out her hand for him to grasp, her heart fluttering with eagerness to be near him.

He pulled her out into the clearing and they rose and dipped to the rhythm of the faery music. Her cheeks flushed with the thrill of the dance and the arousing touch of such a striking man. "I have missed you," he whispered when the steps of the dance carried her close to him.

The enchanting music cleared her mind, burying her troubling thoughts deep inside her. As they danced, Nimue admired him, thinking how pleasing to the eye he was. His hawk-like features made him appear both wise and dangerous, and his long tawny hair fell in fiery waves around his face.

The captivating music and having him so close to her attracted her to the handsome druid. Deep desires rose to the surface. She wanted to feel his soft hair touch her naked skin as he delivered kisses down her body. Tingles of anticipation coursed through her body at the thought of coupling with him. She decided she would open her heart to him tonight.

The music escalated into a faster beat and Nimue pulled Myrddin into the shadows away from the bonfires.

"My lady, what is on your mind tonight?" His eyes filled with a hopeful light.

"The magic of this day has softened my feelings for you," she purred into his ear, pulling him deeper into the trees to a secluded place surrounded by thick bushes.

She leaned in, brushing up against him. "Perhaps I was too hasty to reject your advances all these years and I have missed you as well. It seems my heart has grown fonder for you in your long absence." She pressed her body to his, stroking his thigh.

"Are you sure you are ready for this?" His tender gaze stirred her heart even more.

"Yes."

Holding her face in his hands, he kissed her with passion, letting his guard down, his feelings flowing into her.

His fiery kiss excited her, sending quivers to her sex.

His nimble fingers undressed her and he laid her down on a soft bed of ferns. "You are as enchanting as a glorious sunrise," he murmured, lathing her breasts with his silky tongue, his hair brushing her body like tiny feathers.

Her body trembled and burned from his magic touch.

His silken tongue trailed down her stomach to her secret places, caressing her rigid bud with the skill of an experienced lover. His caresses grew in intensity and Nimue could not hold back any longer. A soft moan escaped her lips and she arched her back, coming in violent waves.

He removed his ceremonial robes and knelt above her, his hardened shaft touching her thigh. "I have waited for this for so long, Nimue," he whispered, his voice rough with want. Admiring his body in the dim light, she noted that he had the hard body of a warrior, not the soft body of a holy man. Her sex throbbed with the desire to have him inside of her.

He plunged into her wetness and she arched her back, sliding him deeper into her tight sheath. She felt all of him, body and soul, as he thrust his mighty cock into her.

Nimue moved her hips in sync with his motions, feeling them join as one. Her sensitive bud slid against him and lightning strikes of pleasure sparked inside of her. Closing her eyes, she imagined that they were as one, an arrow plucked from a bowstring, soaring high above the clouds before plunging back to earth. She sank her long fingernails into his back as the waves of pleasure rolled over them. His seed spilled into her, filled with hidden feelings that he could not hold back from her.

Her eyes shot wide open with shock and grief at what she had just learned from Myrddin.

She pushed him off of her.

"Nimue, what is wrong?" His tender voice rolled over her, but his treacherous heart did not lie.

"I must go." Without meeting his gaze, she hurried to get dressed and ran back to the bonfires.

"Nimue!" he called after her, but she ignored him, her heart pounding with distress at what she had discovered buried deep in his heart.

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