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The Sword of Mordred: Part III
- The Sword of Mordred: Part III -
It was upon the eve of the new year, when my famous... or rather, infamous... aunt, Morgan the Fey so decided that it would be much to my advantage in life to meet with her at a certain location out in some old woods which she called the Golden Woods, which lay far to the west from Cadbury Hill, beyond a series of small towns and farmlands. It was upon Cadbury Hill that my father Arthur had build Camelot and from which he ruled his kingdom, which came in time to bear that same name. Most people though were still inclined to refer to his kingdom as Logres, which was what it had been known as before ever the great fortress of Camelot had been raised upon the slopes of Cadbury Hill. I remembered how it was upon another new year's eve past, when my brother Gawain did embark upon a certain perilous quest at the instigation of the Green Knight... and I could not help but wonder what my journey out to meet with my aunt in the Golden Woods would bring. She had ceased to be welcome in Camelot for some time as she represented the darker aspects of the old ways that my father was beginning to fall out of love with. He had said that he longed to create a kingdom in which those of Pagan and Christian beliefs could be safe to coexist in peace and harmony, with no one being persecuted for their respective religions. But it was inevitable, that... even among people claiming to be seeking to live in peace... there would be times when unfortunate moments would occur when tempers would flare and fanatics on both sides would so be unwilling to see past their differences in order to continue to live in peace. It was usually those of the Christian faith who would start pushing the tensions further, for they looked down on the Pagans and in a dreadful example of self-righteous judgment they ever claimed that we who followed the old ways of our ancestors were wicked and consorting with demons, devils and dark powers. Most had no idea, the sort of dark powers I was indeed involved with! But it had nothing to do with my beliefs, and eveything to do with the dark goddess who was bound within the blade of the white-bladed sword that I carried. It had been some time since I had freed the sword from its' prison... deep beneath the mighty mountain of Yr Wyddfa, in Wales. Wherein it had lain ever since my father's champion, Llwch Lleminawg, had thus been parted from it. No one at Camelot thought ill of me for taking up the sword... and indeed, it was so believed by many that I had been blessed to be so favored to be the one to carry it. I noticed that as time went on, the metal of the sword's blade did not cease to be cold, and I needed to keep it sheathed at all times so that the chill of it was not found to be too biting. I kept it in my chambers mostly, hung upon a wall there, and only took the weapon down when I thought that I might face combat when upon this or that mission for the king. Arthur's official title was High King of Ynys Prydain... the ancient name that Britain was known by back then when he was still king. I did not know what might await me upon the way to the Golden Woods, and so upon this occasion I did indeed bring my sword with me. I did leave my horse at the stables in Camelot, and decided instead to travel out to the border of the Golden Woods in the company of a merchant caravan, which had the added protection of armed guards to escort it as it made its' way across the land. To me, this was less risky than tempting fate and traveling alone during a time when certain parts of the land still saw a consider amount of lawlessness... and it seemed always to be that the more daring of the outlaws oft aligned themselves with Pagan sympathies in order to paint it to be that they were championing the rights and freedoms of the folk who followed the old ways, and so were standing against the Christian invaders, as they painted the followers of Christ to be. It was an evil sign for the land, when even criminals were becoming political in their views, and sought justification... and validation... for their actions. Those were the ones I did not like to fight, because they were often of simple folk, and had only turned to banditry and other crimes in order to survive in a harsh world that in time seemed like it was becoming harsher rather than less so. My father was far from a tyrant, but many saw him as one, and my own sympathies remained with my fellow followers of the old ways rather than those of the Christian religion. I saw this trip to meet with my aunt as a break from the growing tension at Camelot, and believed it would be a simple vacation of sorts for me and a time to spend with family.
I dressed in a pair of loose, baggy red pants that were tucked into a pair of fur boots. It was winter still and I wished to dress warmly, though still fashionably by my own standards of such things. I paired that with a soft long-sleeved red blouse with wide sleeves that was laced in the front, which I so tucked into my pants. Over that, I wore a black soft leather vest, and about my waist I wore a black leather belt with a silver buckle. I fixed the sheath of my sword to my belt... and donned a fur cloak so that I would be as warm as possible. I wore a pair of soft, warm gloves upon my hands, black in color... and the red of my outfit contrasted interestingly with the pale snow white of my skin. People thought me an albino due to just how pale I was, and my grayish blue eyes made me look as if I were of the very winter season itself in all of its' cold glory. My hair was a pale, light blonde shot through with reddish highlights... and that was why I so oft favored the color red, when I was not wearing some combination of black and white. It went well with the highlights of my hair, I thought. I did not quite look wholly... human... for I had high cheekbones, rather tapered ears, delicate skin, and slender bones. This gave me a decidedly Elvish type of appearance, and this during a period of history in which the Elves were no longer living openly with humanity. But even so, the blood of Faerie ran strong in my mother and in my aunt, and in all of us who were my mother's children. But out of all my brothers, only my appearance bore the traits of Faerie this obviously and this distinctly. My hands were slender, artist's hands rather than the strong hands of most men... and people took me for a woman more oft than not, which I never minded. I had my father's nose which was a bit aquiline but not overly long... and I had a small mouth much like a pretty maiden's. My build was average, and I was hardly strong physically. My skills were more subtle, though I found that my new sword was far lighter and easier to wield than any I had attempted to use in the past... and there were moments when it seemed almost to guide my hand, as if it were doing the fighting for me, when the need for combat did arise. Like me, it was not something wholly of this world. We made a perfect team, in that way. I had named this magical sword Albion, and she seemed to like that name, I sensed.
I had eaten well and tended to any and all personal needs prior to setting out. I made preparations for an entire day prior to departing, and luckily my aunt's messenger had not specified an exact day or time for me to be at the Golden Woods by.... which allowed me plenty of time, to do everything correctly in. The merchants of the caravan whom I had booked passage with seemed the usual sorts... too absorbed in their own personal business to be all that chatty, and I knew that had they been more talkative I may have found the conversation to be boring anyway. A lot of my fellow knights did not like the idea that I was going to meet with Morgan, but I reminded them all she was my aunt and that I loved her. No one really can be said to have truly understood her, and to be honest most people did not understand me. So I always felt comfortable around Morgan because of that reason. We were both outcasts... both unusual. The passengers in the wagons were all given fur blankets to keep extra warm with, and I was grateful as the journey went on and on, to have that extra bit of warmth. It was not snowing out, but it had been the whole day previous, and the land was covered in a thin blanket of snow that did cast the lonely aspects of the countryside into more brooding forms than how they normally looked. The sky was gray, and all was gloomy out, with this reminding me of why it was I did not like the winter. I did not care much for the summer either, since being as pale as I was... I tended to burn a great deal, when out in the hot sun for too long. My favorite times of the year were spring and autumn. And I wished that I could see those pretty blossoms of springtime, or the pleasant colors of fall... anything really, rather than the bleak and colorless monotones of the winter season. I had the distinction of sitting next to a prostitute for the trip westward, and she had told me she had never seen a man with my skin color before. “I've seen some of the palest of men! But never one so white he'd probably turn invisible in all that snow.” she teased, but did not exaggerate my paleness one bit. She whispered to me at one point: “I'd like to lay with you, pale knight, if you'd like to have me!”. I smiled back at her, but did not reply. She was hardly my type at all.
She was shorter than me by a head or two, and had a certain plainness to her that said she was likely a peasant girl in addition to being a prostitute. She chatted on for a bit about her usual clients, and as I did suspect I found the conversation to be quite intolerably dull for the most part. “Great, she likes me even more now that I am ignoring her!” I thought to myself, noticing this peculiarity of hers. Finally, I said to her once it became evident she would not relent: “Girl, you do realize I am a knight of noble birth... do you not! My family would consider it a disgrace, if I carried on with a prostitute and encouraged her to lust after me so shamelessly. Could you not find something else to do, other than attempt to seduce me in such an obvious fashion?” She then remarked to me: “Oh, aye! I could think of plenty we could do if we were alone right now, instead of chatting on the back of this here wagon. I wonder... are you just as white between your legs as you look to be everywhere else? You know, if it is the whole idea of paying coin for pleasure... I'd let you do me for free. Love's no disgrace, to be sure!” and she had a very sad, it seemed, idea of love if she thought that lust was the same thing as love. I sighed, and endured this sort of banter for the duration of my trip. She actually touched me between my legs at one point, beneath the blanket we shared between the two of us. That did to be honest excite me quite a bit, and I let her do as she liked since this did make me smile and felt a lot better than I thought it might. The other passengers chuckled, and I felt rather awkward having this girl caressing my manhood in their presence like this. It was just not the way that I typically preferred to indulge in such things, and they could clearly see what the girl was doing due to the motions beneath the blanket and the look upon my face. She was not at all unpleasant to look at, this girl, I decided finally... and so I allowed her to take the shaft of my manhood out of my pants, though still beneath the blanket we had over our laps, and after that to duck her head beneath the covers where I felt her mouth closing over my manhood as she began to suck upon it with an expertise that came from her having done this a great deal with others in the past. I reached climax in her mouth, and she swallowed it all, thereafter poking her head back up from the covers. She produced a small cloth, cleaned her lips off with it, and handed it to me so I could clean myself between my legs. Once all this was done, and my manhood was back in my pants once more, the girl nestled her head on my lap whilst I thew the cloth over the side of the wagon to dispose of it. She fell asleep like that, and I caressed her dark blonde hair as I realized just how sorry I felt for her. I whispered to her: “Girl, could you tell me your name, if you do not mind?” but she was so asleep she never heard me ask. One of the other passengers shouted: “Why do you care what her name is, sir? She is just a whore! They're all alike near as I can tell.” and I saw that it was a large, rotund, dirty looking man who had said that just then. I said to him in reply: “Is that all you think she is? She is a woman... first, and foremost! No matter what her trade may be. When I conduct business with someone, I like to know their name... it does not matter what trade it is they ply. Nor, whether I pay for that business or otherwise.” and I could see in the eyes of that man, that he could not understand the truth in my words. He was a pig of a man, and as such he did not even see girls like this as human I think. Merely as an outlet for his pleasure. I wanted to strike him down with my sword, then and there, but I heard a woman's voice in my head telling me: “We can do better, Mordred! I doubt I'd like the taste of his blood anyway.” and it was a soft, seductive voice. It was the goddess whose body the sword was. “You are correct, goddess.” I said to her in my mind. That was how she and I communicated, through our thoughts. I allowed myself to fall asleep for a bit also... and that was about as eventful as the trip was. When I awoke, we had reached our destination already. It was a shorter trip than I had been expecting, and we must have covered the distance quickly. It looked a great deal farther on the maps I had consulted prior to setting out. I parted company with the passengers I had shared the road with, glaring hatefully at that man who had so irritated me with his words before... and I asked the prostitute: “Girl, I see that you, and pretty much everyone else, are all embarking at this village here as well. Are you safe here, or would you need some protection for a time?” The village we stopped at was a tiny one, on the border of the Golden Woods... it also seemed rather a miserable place.
The girl answered me, saying: “Aye, I am well enough, fear not! I carry a knife on me just in case, so no one ever messes with me. As for that fellow you gave the dirty look to, he's harmless enough despite him being a rude sort of man. So you needn't concern yourself with my well being! The name's Martha, if you'd like to be knowing it. No need to know my family name... best what I do doesn't get back to the lot of them anyway, else they'd disown me. I work at the brothel here in town, and the woman who runs it looks after us girls good and proper... we've our own hired blades to see no one brings us any harm. If you ever want something from me that you can only get through paying... come by sometime. And if it's a chat you're after... you can find me at the tavern most days around noon. I go there to have a drink and see if I can muster the courage to get started with another night's work. Takes more courage to do this... than you might realize. Farewell, sir knight!” and I called out to her as she walked away: “Martha! My name is Mordred... my father is the king, Arthur.” and she turned around and gave me a shocked look. “So you're a prince then! I'm honored, sir Mordred.” and she bowed a bit, before hastening off to be on her way. I never did see again after that... mostly because once I left that village behind me, I never did go back to it. It was these lives of the common people though, which fascinated me back then! Not the doings of my fellow knights, nor tales of heroes past. But the struggles of everyday people, who faced their own challenges... and somehow managed to find the courage to keep facing them. Day in, day out. I stopped by the office of a man who was said to be a local cartographer of sorts, who worked out of his cottage and had a great many maps at his disposal. He was a tall, lanky looking man who smiled like a fox when he saw me step into his shop. He said, in a certain tone that I could not decide whether it was mocking or sincere: “Well, isn't this a surprise! You'd be Mordred then, just as the messenger said... the fellow gave a rather vivid description of you. Welcome to my humble shop, sir!” to which I answered: “And you must be Roger, the fellow I was told runs this place! I was told to seek you out, so you could tell me just where in all the depths of the Golden Woods my aunt is waiting for me. She said I was thus to meet with her therein, but all the messenger I spoke with would say is that you knew the details. This is rather annoying, all these messengers conveying things back and forth in this way! I prefer direct and personal dealings to this. I wish my aunt was a more... direct... sort of woman.” to which Roger laughed a bit and exclaimed: “You do mean Morgan the Fey, do you not! That woman is a lot of things, but not one of those things is direct. You'll find the location on this map I have on the table here... the village is marked with a red circle, and your aunt's location is marked with a black circle. Fitting, when you think about it! Follow the trail I have marked on the map, and you should get to her with no mishaps. You'll not need to pay for the map, either... she's paid for it in advance.” and I received the map and said to the man: “Thank you, Roger! It was good doing business with you.” to which he said: “Mordred... if I may be frank with you... any business involving your aunt, is far from good. Whatever it turns out to be, I'd rather never know! So be a good lad, and never tell me.” I rolled up the map and requested a case for it, which I then attached to my belt, since the case had a hook on the end of it for that purpose. I walked on out of Roger's cottage and made my way in the direction of the forest. It being winter, the only green of those woods was that of evergreen trees... and the pines had a rich scent to them when wet from snow. I found the glare of the sun reflecting off the snow in spots to be annoying, since it pained my eyes. But it was easy enough not to glance in that direction as I made my way deeper and deeper into the woods. It did not appear to be a long hike, at least according to the map, which I consulted every so often as I did venture closer and closer to my destination. I spotted the occasional fox in the woods, and thought that I heard a bear once or twice, but was pleased to see that I was wrong about the bears. I heard the cry of wolves in the distance, but since it was early in the afternoon I was not as concerned as if it had been at night. I actually would not have gone into the forest if it was night! That was a good way to meet one's end, and not always from animals. Ere long, I found my way to what appeared to be an ancient broken stone tower, which looked to be in the process of being rebuilt. It was a small tower... rough, and gray.
I walked up to the front door of the tower... after being certain, that this was indeed the location I was looking for, which it was. I knocked upon the door, which was of sturdy oak... and waited for a reply of any kind. There was none, so I yelled loudly: “Morgan the Fey! It is I, your nephew Mordred. Pray... let me in! It is freezing outside here.” and I could hear her voice answer from within: “Oh, Mordred! Sorry if I did not hear you knocking, but I was rather deep in meditation... come on in, the door is not locked. The fire is warm in the hearth... and I've plenty of fur blankets just in case you need to get warmed up a bit quicker. We're a few hours until supper though, but I've some bread and fruits to spare if you happen to be hungry. And wine, if you're thirsty!” I entered the tower and saw it to be a pleasant, cozy interior, of the sort that was quite at odds with the somewhat shabby looking exterior of the place. There was an opulence to the furnishings... and a certain sense of style to the tapestries and other works of art that my aunt favored. She had exquisite taste in everything! She was sitting cross legged upon the bear skin rug that lay upon the floor in front of the fireplace. There were candles and torches illuminating everything, which made me instantly feel at home. To say that my aunt Morgan was beautiful, is like saying that in its' beauty the moon is a bright mistress. She was beyond beautiful! Her skin was as white as mine was, that same unnatural albino-like pallor that some found disconcerting. Her hair was raven black, and she wore it long, down all the way to her ankles. At the moment it looked like a dark cloak that was wild as it cascaded about her. Her eyes were so black, that they looked like the void between the stars... it was a blackness within them that was beyond night itself. She had high cheekbones and tapered ears just like my own... and, you could see the family resemblance between her and I much stronger than even with my mother and I. Her eyes were almond shaped in the exact same way that mine were, and sometimes, I felt when I gazed into them that I could see eternity itself looking back at me from theirs sparkling and dark depths. She was very voluptuously built, and had generous breasts, finely shaped hips, and a rather nice looking buttocks. She and I were always closer... far closer... than we should have been. I knew all too well how soft her skin was, and what it felt like to be between her thighs. What it felt like to touch those magnificent breasts! My mother said that Morgan had stolen me away from her using her arts of seduction, and I would be lying to say that being around my aunt felt very good for more reasons than one. She looked so much younger than her years too... and sometimes being around her was like being around an older sister rather than an aunt. If brothers and sisters were also lovers! She was wearing a long emerald green gown of the finest eastern silk, which was loose about her, and without a belt. Her feet were bare, and the gown was very low cut, showing how nicely Morgan's breasts did cleave. She wore around her neck a thin chain necklace from which hung a pendant crudely shaped like a horned skull, with tiny green gemstones for eyes. She had neatly trimmed bangs, which fell to just above her immaculately shaped eyebrows. It was a hairstyle I also wore, and I tended to keep my eyebrows just as perfectly shaped whenever I had the free time to tend to that need. I sat down on the rug next to her, as soon as I removed my cloak and got my boots off... making sure also to set my sword down on a table nearby. She smelled good! Her floral perfumes were always intoxicating to me. “Well, Mordred! How do you greet your favorite aunt?” she asked sweetly. Her voice was sinuous, sensual, and had power in it that seemed to enchant me whenever I heard her speak. I leaned in close and kissed her lips... softly, and tenderly at first, before going into a wet, passionate kiss of the deepest sort. I squeezed her breasts as I did this, and she smiled once our kiss was concluded... and she noticed that my hands were still at her bosom, and enjoying the feel of her body. Her breath quickened, as if she was anticipating a great deal of enjoyment, as she said to me: “That is better! You always know just how to please me... and I, you, Mordred my love. This is our little secret... just between us. No one ever needs to know! And I'll never tell... I'll never tell a soul.” she dove into a rhyme and began to recite some poetry to me. After she did so, she asked me what I thought of her style of poetry, and I said to her: “I love it, Morgan! I love everything about you.” after which she asked me: “Would you show me how much you love me?”
I asked her to name anything, and that I would do it to please her. She smiled mischievously, as soon as I said that, and put her middle finger of her left hand into her mouth.... sucking on it suggestively. It made me blush a bit seeing her do that, seeing her finger moving in and out of her soft, full lips as she did so. We had coupled so many times in the past, she and I... and no child had ever been born from it. I was unable to father a child, it seemed, and because of that reason... I always suspected that Morgan did see me as an easy means of indulging in as much sexual enjoyment as she liked, without the worry that comes from the thought that a child might be born from it. But sometimes, she would say certain things that made me wonder if perhaps she loved me far more deeply than her own lawful husband, king Urien Rheged of Gwyr. Her son by him, Owain, was considered by many to be a great hero and a quite natural leader of men... just like his father had ever been... but despite such renown, Urien was not known to be a kind man, or even perhaps a good one. Morgan never spoke much of her marriage, but sometimes my aunt would say to me, especially after we had made love together: “You do not know the sacrifices that I have had to make in my life, Mordred! An unhappy marriage to a man less good than his people think him to be... an evil reputation because I keep to the old ways and I will not bow the knee to Christ... and the pain of knowing certain things of which I cannot speak to anyone. But... at least in these moments... when laying here with you, like this, I can forget all of that and simply be Morgan. Not a queen, not a high priestess of the old ways, not a goddess. Just Morgan! And in your eyes, I can see that is enough.” I waited for her to name the task she wished to set me to, and then at last it came. She said unto me, her voice crying and trembling a bit as she did so: “Mordred... I am not happy at all in my marriage to king Urien! He is a wicked man... and has in the past beaten me very cruelly, treating me less like a wife to him and more like property he owns that he can do whatever he likes with. But I am no man's property! And I will not be treated like such even by a king. I have hired someone to deal with my husband... and within the next several days, the deed will be completed and I shall be a widow. The assassin's name, is Llofan Llaf Difo, and history will remember him and him alone as the one who ended Urien's life. At least, until he tells of my involvement in the matter! After that, I would probably face exile or death for my part in these doings. Were I ever intending to go back to Gwyr, which I am not! I already left a note saying that I was leaving Urien's kingdom and never returning, and pointing a false trail all the way to the Orkney Islands, and the domain of my sister Morgause. The folk of Gwyr would never dare provoke the wrath of the Witch Queen of Orkney, and since I will not be present when the assassination of my husband takes place... no one of any intelligence will blame me. They will probably suspect Owain, if anyone, and he being a knight of the Round Table whom you yourself have served with in the past... it would not be wise to place the blame on him. So this, they will not do! The last time I attempted to do something like this, I ended up disgraced in public for my part in the matter. You remember... the time I speak of, when I convinced my lover at the time, Accolon of Gaul, to act as the assassin! He bit off a bit more than he expected, when he picked a time to strike in which Arthur was present for it. And the fool sought to match his sword against the might of Arthur's! A sword that has no equal. How did he expect it was going to end? His death was his own doing, and I miss him not. A fool is never worth my time... but you are no fool, Mordred my love. You are wiser than your living years! In that, we are kindred in ways far deeper than either of us might realize.” I did not understand what exactly she wanted of me. I asked her: “Aunt Morgan... beautiful Morgan... is there some reason, you tell me all of this! Do you so seek to involve me in these matters, in some way?” and she seemed to regain her train of thought once I said that to her. Her thoughts had seemed to be wandering, previously. She explained to me: “I need to know that... should the man I put up to do this succeed where Accolon failed, and should my part in the death of Urien be made known to all, you will not seek to disown me from your heart. I need to know... in the end... that you will remain as loyal to me as you ever have. All of my most loyal servants are with us here at the tower, all who know of what it is that I have set in motion. I wanted you here... with us!”
I could hear the servants about the tower now, and realized finally that were not alone here. It did not matter if they knew about Morgan and I and how close we were... how we loved each other... they were her most loyal of all, and would also tell no one. I said to her, earnestly: “You have my word! As ever it was, and as always it shall be... my loyalty is to you, Morgan, even over my loyalty to Arthur himself.” and she clapped her hands in a somewhat childish way once I said that. “Yes! Yes, my love... I will be free soon, very soon now. No longer bound with unseen chains to a beast of a man. I will be wholly and totally yours after that, Mordred! I will pledge myself to you, after that. And together, we will one day... perhaps one day soon... create our own kingdom to rule together. Would you like to be a king? I think, if I may be so bold as to suggest such a thing, that you would make a far better king than your father is.” and that was how the seeds were sown, that one day would result in my attempt to claim the throne of Camelot and take it away from my father. That was how it began. I remained with Morgan at that tower until springtime, as we awaited to hear news of how the assassination of king Uriens went. Word was delivered unto us by yet another of my aunt's messengers that the king was slain, and that not only was Llofan Llaf Difo the one blamed for it... but the assassin himself had said he did it at the instigation of the king's own ally Morcant Bwlch. For some time, Morcant had been jealous of the king due to all his many victories and feats of arms... and was convinced that he could do better if the king was out of the way once and for all. It seemed that Morgan had chosen well indeed! Since her own involvement in the matter of her husband's death was never made known, and if anyone had ever suspected it then they had chosen to voice this only in whispers and never in public... my aunt was able to rest easy. All anyone so said of her... was that she was wise to get away from Uriens whilst she still could, since they reasonably assumed that the assassin could just as well have slain her along with the king. Morgan's son Owain did receive his father's title and authority as king, inheriting everything upon his father's death. This made it necessary for the young knight to abandon his role at Camelot in order to return home and accept there the kingship that was offered him. Whilst Arthur reigned as the High King over the entire country, yet were there many kings both great and small who ruled their own lands beneath him. Thus, it was not a strange thing to lose a knight in this way... and for the most part everyone treated Owain's ascent to the throne of his homeland as a joyous though solemn occasion. Through all of this, I remained there with Morgan at her tower in the Golden Woods, and during the remaining winter months she tutored me in the intricacies of black magic, sorcery, and the summoning of spirits and demons, as well as the arts of necromancy and various forms of divination. I became her apprentice in the dark arts, and threw myself into that role as never before, devouring all the lessons she put before me more eagerly than my sword had ever devoured the blood of its' victims. I gave myself wholly over to the old ways, and renounced... at last... any and all remaining trappings of Christianity such as remained in my life. I partook in many rites, rituals, and sacrifices to the gods of the land, and I learned just why it was that people said that my aunt Morgan was a goddess. She revealed the deepest parts of her soul to me, and I laid bare for her the deepest parts of my own... we spoke of what transpired at Yr Wyddfa, and I confessed to her that I did at times hear the voice of the nameless goddess who dwelt within the form of my sword Albion. After one such conversation, she asked me to unsheathe the sword, and let her touch it. I did as she bade me, putting the sword upon the stone altar that Morgan had set up in the cellars of her tower. The sword, it was every bit as pale and lethal looking as I had remembered! The blade was whiter than snow is even, if such a lightness could be possible in a physical object... the hilt was also white as snow, with thick white leather wrappings about the handle to make it comfortable to hold with either one hand or two. It had an ornate cross guard... that almost appeared to be made of ivory... but which was of something far stronger, and likely more alien. Set into the bottom of the weapon's pommel was a blood red ruby, and a larger more circular cut ruby was set into the center of the front part of the crosspiece, with a twin to it set into the back. The rubies sparkled, like crimson eyes... and the sword felt like unto a living thing.
She touched the index finger of her left hand to the sword's blade, and immediately there did begin to form a black inky mass upon the part of the metal that she had touched. The mass spread very rapidly... until the entire length of the blade was now blacker than even pitch darkness is. This then spread to the hilt, until the whole of the sword was as if it were comprised of living shadow except for the rubies. Its' terrible, glaring eyes! For they seemed to glare more than sparkly now, and there was something within the weapon that was even more alive then before. “What does this mean?” I asked my aunt, who said of the strange occurrence: “Mordred... this weapon, it is of my soul's very substance, as if it were at some point in the distant past, originally a literal part of me. I do not know... how such a thing ever first came to be... but here it is, and when I touched it just now I could see memories. My own memories, of lives and incarnations past! Old names, old faces that I wore... back when the ancient Faerie folk lives more openly in the lands of this world than they do today. When you hold this weapon, you are holding a part of me in your hands! She who is bound within it, is another aspect of me. The darkest aspect, the part of me that I dare never allow to do whatsoever it might desire, lest the world suffer for it. I could think of no one I would feel safe entrusting this to... except for you. I was meant to receive this, I think, but my life took a different path than that of a warrior. Since you are a warrior, then it was meant for you rather than me! It is the physical representation of the deep bonds that we share, and the love we feel for each other. Yes, love! A sword normally can deal only death... but this sword has the power to change things in the world, and not always through conflict. If you do hear its' voice, listen to it always, and never fail to heed its' counsel. For it is my voice, in a way, and will never lead you astray. Now Mordred... touch the sword's blade exactly the same way you saw me do it! I wish to test something I suspect, by having you do so.” I then did as she asked, and placed the index finger of my own left hand to the metal of the sword's blade. Suddenly, a white mass began to form, spreading all over the weapon until it was white once again and black no longer. “How strange! It turned back.” I remarked, and Morgan told me all that this meant, stating: “Whoever touches the blade... it responds to them, by revealing something of their own nature, making the nature of its' wielder a part of itself in a kind of symbiosis. To some, it would be hot to the touch! To others, colder than ice might be. For still others, it could be a venomous blade.” I asked Morgan then: “So does that mean that your nature is darker than night?” and she replied by thus explaining: “That is not why it turned black at my touch, Mordred. I am not the woman people think me to be! I am... an incarnation of Death, in this world. But that does not make me evil! For as Death, I am merciful when mercy is needed. I must be compassionate as well, and show my mercy equally to all. If someone is dying, and in need of release from great pain or agony... I cannot refuse to grant them this. I am both this woman whose form you find so beautiful, this Morgan the Fey... and I am the force that so snuffs out all life when the time has come for the course of that life to end. But through me, lies also the path to rebirth! The great and terrible golden cauldron you beheld in that place deep beneath Yr Wyddfa was a physical manifestation of the means by which all souls that perish are reborn. I am more than just my father's daughter! And aye, I know well who my true father was. I am the very thing, that even he in the end must bow before... and before even the universe and all within it existed, I was ancient already. Do you think it was merely to be free of his abuse that I took the life of king Urien? No! It was his time to perish, and as Death it fell to me to see that he met his end in the way he was destined to. If you ever thought that death was cruel, or that there was no meaning in it... know that I am not, and that there is.” And from her own lips, came the confirmation of all that I had suspected regarding my aunt's true and most terrible identity. But rather than being repulsed by her, I felt even more in love with her than ever! I asked her: “So what does that make me, that the weapons reacts the way that it does at my touch?” to which she answered truthfully: “It means, you are the yang to my yin, as they say in the far east! You... are the twin light to my endless ebony darkness. What I am... you are a mirror of. We are meant to be a couple, Mordred! We are soulmates, and if I am a goddess then you are a god. Together, we can be all.”
Every word she said, everything she revealed unto me in that moment... felt right, true, and deeper in its' truth than any I had known before in that life. Come springtime, I would have some hard choices to make. “Morgan...” I began, and then she placed her index finger to my lips in order to urge me to then be silent. She shushed me, and then whispered: “Mordred! Say nothing else right now. Nothing remains that needs to be said between us, my beloved eternal. Claim me now as your bride! Seeing me as such, for the first time in your life. Make love... to Death... and let it change you. After that, I will have a bit of a quest for you to undertake. Not a test, not like so many things have been for you thus far. Merely, a journey in search of something important. Something the world has forgotten, but needs to remember.” She was wearing the same beautiful, soft green gown that she had on when I first came to her in answer to her summons, when I arrived at this tower cold and weary from the winter, and from the long ride to get to this part of the land. I strode up to her, and seized her in my arms. She was a head shorter than I was, and her body felt perfect pressed up against mine. She giggled as she felt the hardness between my legs, the fierce way that I pressed it into her crotch. “Oh yes! Do it just as you like, Mordred, do not be afraid to be rough with me... take me as roughly, and as hard, as you want to. Hold nothing back! This is how it always should have been, between us.” I grabbed her breasts and squeezed them a lot harder than I had ever done before, which made Morgan gasp a little. Her nipples felt very hard as I played a bit with them through the delicate fabric of her gown. She wrapped her arms around me, ensuring that I would not pull away. Not that I intended to! I wanted her, very badly, more than I had ever wanted any woman previously in my life. And I intended to have her. I tore her gown open with both hands, and I ripped it down to her waist, where I continued to pull it downward until the gown lay at her feet. She pulled her hands out of the sleeves as I did this, allowing herself to be totally stripped. She was naked now except for a loin cloth, which was wrapped between her legs. I seized the cleft of her womanhood in my right hand, and squeezed it, then fingered it a bit before tearing the loincloth off of her body and smiling lewdly. I did not need to be polite with her! She would not want me to be. I grabbed one of her hands, and forced her to feel my growing bulge between my legs. “Hmm, very nice! I like what I feel, my love.” she said, her voice purring lustfully as she began to feel my manhood in a way that said: “I want you! I want you badly.” I dragged her over to the soft pile of blankets, cushions and pillows that lay on the floor near the altar. There, I dragged her down unto them and forced her legs open. I threw off all of my own clothes, and began to rain kisses upon my aunt's face, licking and kissing and lusting for her with all my heart's desiring. No! She was no aunt no longer... she was my beloved now, and it was time I embraced this truth fully. I kissed her lips passionately, and we kept kissing as I entered her. I did not enter her gently, and she cried out a bit from the force of how vigorously I took her. I pulled her hair a bit in my hands, as I heaved up and down upon her, feeling how wet and moist she was. The shaft of my manhood was moving in and out of her ever more rapidly, and she was breathing heavier and heavier, practically panting as our coupling bodies became soaked with sweat. She did grind a bit with her hips, as her body got more and more into the rhythm of our intercourse. I thought briefly of that prostitute Martha from before, and for some reason this made me become even more excited. For I had wanted her like this, I realized! Nobility be damned. Almost sensing my thoughts, Morgan said to me in between her panting and other sounds born of our lovemaking: “If you ever desire any woman, in the future, Mordred... the way that you desire me right now... then just claim her, just take her. Oh gods, yes, just claim her! Just like how you are claiming, and taking, me. There are many woman who are just like me, who enjoy that kind of love. Your mother... she should have told you about that by now. Or let you practice with her! She's such a naughty slut, my sister is. And, how far removed is it... from doing it with your own brother, to doing it with your son?” I could not believe I found that thought arousing, but something in Morgan's manner and the way she worded things brought out perversity in me that I never knew existed. Before long, I did climax within my aunt, and she had reached climax as well. I cried out.
So great was my ecstasy and the heat of the moment... that I cried out! And, Morgan did likewise. We fell asleep together in each other's arms a bit later on, and I did dream about her. When I awoke, I found that she was not there. I did not even know what the hour was! It had been at least midnight when we so engaged in our acts of love. Love? Oh yes, I did truly and deeply love her... but what we did together, it was not about love on this occasion. It was lust we felt for each other just then, pure and simple. Never again, would our relationship be the same! After that... it could not be. I took some time to wash up and to get dressed in some fresh clothes... mostly things that I picked for comfort, since I was not planning on going anywhere at the moment. I made sure my sword was still on the altar where we had left it, and it was. I put it back in its' sheath, and then went to look for Morgan, whom I found reading some scrolls in the tower's library. She saw me enter, and smiled as she said: “Hello there, beloved! There is, did I so not remark before... a certain quest that I need you to undertake for me? When your father Arthur first... in his youth... come to power in the land as its' rightful High King, he committed a very foolish act. One that was born of arrogance and which angered the ancient gods and goddesses of this country. Thinking he alone could protect this land from all possible threats... he dug up from its' resting place, the head of the noble hero Bran the Blessed. Bran was a god, Mordred! A powerful god... whose good graces, were said to be more than enough to ensure the land's protection. But only so long as the head so remained in the place where it had been interred for so many generations! Arthur believed that this was only an old Pagan superstition, and sought to prove it as such. What became of the head after this act of sacrilege... he neither knew nor cared. He simply gave it into the care of his chief druid Merlin, and told him to get rid of it. Now, what do you think Merlin did with the head?” I thought about it for a moment, and tried to consider all I knew about Merlin compared to all I knew about my father. I offered: “He would have secreted it away somewhere! He would never have gotten rid of it outright. That was honestly never at all Merlin's way... even if it was Arthur's.” and Morgan clapped her hands, in that childish way that she did so often like to do. She said, cheerfully: “Very good, Mordred! Very good indeed. Yes, he kept it... for a time... before giving it into the care of another group of druids, one that he entrusted with keeping it safe and secret. Far away from the knowledge of the king! Someplace where no Christian would ever think to look for it, either. But I have discovered the key to unlocking its' location! There was a knight from Camelot, who had gone in search of the Holy Grail several months ago... who it was, is not at all important. The point is, he turned up at the church in the village just beyond the Golden Woods... you know, the village where Roger works. That village! He was bragging of all he had seen and of how very close he believed he had gotten to actually obtaining the Holy Grail. Now, none of this is important for us, save for the fact that he claimed to have borne witness to a large golden plate upon which was sat a bearded man's head which spoke to him in an ancient language he could not understand. This happened at a castle, so he claimed, which could be reached beyond a great wasteland. He worded it all so very... very, vaguely... but in his ranting, raving account there were countless clues as to where one might seek to look should they choose to follow in his footsteps. One of my servants was out at the village, and so that is how I came to learn of these events at all! I have been piecing together, as best as I am able to, a possible course that one could take in order to discover the location of that castle. For some time now, I had meant to send you in quest of Bran's head... but now, with this new information, we actually have a bit of something to go on. Of course, you will not depart right away! Rather, you will wait until the first warm week of springtime, and by then I should have figured out precisely where to send you. This man who seems to have found it did not know what he found! He thought it was the head of John the Baptist and claimed the whole thing was a holy miracle. If only he knew, just how holy this is! But, not at all in the way he thinks. You will know better, the true nature of the head, when you do find it. Oh, and once you do have it... I want you to bring it back here to me. Then, we shall discuss what is to be done with it once and for all!” I bowed deeply to Morgan, took her right hand, and kissed it. “As you desire.” I said.
It was upon the eve of the new year, when my famous... or rather, infamous... aunt, Morgan the Fey so decided that it would be much to my advantage in life to meet with her at a certain location out in some old woods which she called the Golden Woods, which lay far to the west from Cadbury Hill, beyond a series of small towns and farmlands. It was upon Cadbury Hill that my father Arthur had build Camelot and from which he ruled his kingdom, which came in time to bear that same name. Most people though were still inclined to refer to his kingdom as Logres, which was what it had been known as before ever the great fortress of Camelot had been raised upon the slopes of Cadbury Hill. I remembered how it was upon another new year's eve past, when my brother Gawain did embark upon a certain perilous quest at the instigation of the Green Knight... and I could not help but wonder what my journey out to meet with my aunt in the Golden Woods would bring. She had ceased to be welcome in Camelot for some time as she represented the darker aspects of the old ways that my father was beginning to fall out of love with. He had said that he longed to create a kingdom in which those of Pagan and Christian beliefs could be safe to coexist in peace and harmony, with no one being persecuted for their respective religions. But it was inevitable, that... even among people claiming to be seeking to live in peace... there would be times when unfortunate moments would occur when tempers would flare and fanatics on both sides would so be unwilling to see past their differences in order to continue to live in peace. It was usually those of the Christian faith who would start pushing the tensions further, for they looked down on the Pagans and in a dreadful example of self-righteous judgment they ever claimed that we who followed the old ways of our ancestors were wicked and consorting with demons, devils and dark powers. Most had no idea, the sort of dark powers I was indeed involved with! But it had nothing to do with my beliefs, and eveything to do with the dark goddess who was bound within the blade of the white-bladed sword that I carried. It had been some time since I had freed the sword from its' prison... deep beneath the mighty mountain of Yr Wyddfa, in Wales. Wherein it had lain ever since my father's champion, Llwch Lleminawg, had thus been parted from it. No one at Camelot thought ill of me for taking up the sword... and indeed, it was so believed by many that I had been blessed to be so favored to be the one to carry it. I noticed that as time went on, the metal of the sword's blade did not cease to be cold, and I needed to keep it sheathed at all times so that the chill of it was not found to be too biting. I kept it in my chambers mostly, hung upon a wall there, and only took the weapon down when I thought that I might face combat when upon this or that mission for the king. Arthur's official title was High King of Ynys Prydain... the ancient name that Britain was known by back then when he was still king. I did not know what might await me upon the way to the Golden Woods, and so upon this occasion I did indeed bring my sword with me. I did leave my horse at the stables in Camelot, and decided instead to travel out to the border of the Golden Woods in the company of a merchant caravan, which had the added protection of armed guards to escort it as it made its' way across the land. To me, this was less risky than tempting fate and traveling alone during a time when certain parts of the land still saw a consider amount of lawlessness... and it seemed always to be that the more daring of the outlaws oft aligned themselves with Pagan sympathies in order to paint it to be that they were championing the rights and freedoms of the folk who followed the old ways, and so were standing against the Christian invaders, as they painted the followers of Christ to be. It was an evil sign for the land, when even criminals were becoming political in their views, and sought justification... and validation... for their actions. Those were the ones I did not like to fight, because they were often of simple folk, and had only turned to banditry and other crimes in order to survive in a harsh world that in time seemed like it was becoming harsher rather than less so. My father was far from a tyrant, but many saw him as one, and my own sympathies remained with my fellow followers of the old ways rather than those of the Christian religion. I saw this trip to meet with my aunt as a break from the growing tension at Camelot, and believed it would be a simple vacation of sorts for me and a time to spend with family.
I dressed in a pair of loose, baggy red pants that were tucked into a pair of fur boots. It was winter still and I wished to dress warmly, though still fashionably by my own standards of such things. I paired that with a soft long-sleeved red blouse with wide sleeves that was laced in the front, which I so tucked into my pants. Over that, I wore a black soft leather vest, and about my waist I wore a black leather belt with a silver buckle. I fixed the sheath of my sword to my belt... and donned a fur cloak so that I would be as warm as possible. I wore a pair of soft, warm gloves upon my hands, black in color... and the red of my outfit contrasted interestingly with the pale snow white of my skin. People thought me an albino due to just how pale I was, and my grayish blue eyes made me look as if I were of the very winter season itself in all of its' cold glory. My hair was a pale, light blonde shot through with reddish highlights... and that was why I so oft favored the color red, when I was not wearing some combination of black and white. It went well with the highlights of my hair, I thought. I did not quite look wholly... human... for I had high cheekbones, rather tapered ears, delicate skin, and slender bones. This gave me a decidedly Elvish type of appearance, and this during a period of history in which the Elves were no longer living openly with humanity. But even so, the blood of Faerie ran strong in my mother and in my aunt, and in all of us who were my mother's children. But out of all my brothers, only my appearance bore the traits of Faerie this obviously and this distinctly. My hands were slender, artist's hands rather than the strong hands of most men... and people took me for a woman more oft than not, which I never minded. I had my father's nose which was a bit aquiline but not overly long... and I had a small mouth much like a pretty maiden's. My build was average, and I was hardly strong physically. My skills were more subtle, though I found that my new sword was far lighter and easier to wield than any I had attempted to use in the past... and there were moments when it seemed almost to guide my hand, as if it were doing the fighting for me, when the need for combat did arise. Like me, it was not something wholly of this world. We made a perfect team, in that way. I had named this magical sword Albion, and she seemed to like that name, I sensed.
I had eaten well and tended to any and all personal needs prior to setting out. I made preparations for an entire day prior to departing, and luckily my aunt's messenger had not specified an exact day or time for me to be at the Golden Woods by.... which allowed me plenty of time, to do everything correctly in. The merchants of the caravan whom I had booked passage with seemed the usual sorts... too absorbed in their own personal business to be all that chatty, and I knew that had they been more talkative I may have found the conversation to be boring anyway. A lot of my fellow knights did not like the idea that I was going to meet with Morgan, but I reminded them all she was my aunt and that I loved her. No one really can be said to have truly understood her, and to be honest most people did not understand me. So I always felt comfortable around Morgan because of that reason. We were both outcasts... both unusual. The passengers in the wagons were all given fur blankets to keep extra warm with, and I was grateful as the journey went on and on, to have that extra bit of warmth. It was not snowing out, but it had been the whole day previous, and the land was covered in a thin blanket of snow that did cast the lonely aspects of the countryside into more brooding forms than how they normally looked. The sky was gray, and all was gloomy out, with this reminding me of why it was I did not like the winter. I did not care much for the summer either, since being as pale as I was... I tended to burn a great deal, when out in the hot sun for too long. My favorite times of the year were spring and autumn. And I wished that I could see those pretty blossoms of springtime, or the pleasant colors of fall... anything really, rather than the bleak and colorless monotones of the winter season. I had the distinction of sitting next to a prostitute for the trip westward, and she had told me she had never seen a man with my skin color before. “I've seen some of the palest of men! But never one so white he'd probably turn invisible in all that snow.” she teased, but did not exaggerate my paleness one bit. She whispered to me at one point: “I'd like to lay with you, pale knight, if you'd like to have me!”. I smiled back at her, but did not reply. She was hardly my type at all.
She was shorter than me by a head or two, and had a certain plainness to her that said she was likely a peasant girl in addition to being a prostitute. She chatted on for a bit about her usual clients, and as I did suspect I found the conversation to be quite intolerably dull for the most part. “Great, she likes me even more now that I am ignoring her!” I thought to myself, noticing this peculiarity of hers. Finally, I said to her once it became evident she would not relent: “Girl, you do realize I am a knight of noble birth... do you not! My family would consider it a disgrace, if I carried on with a prostitute and encouraged her to lust after me so shamelessly. Could you not find something else to do, other than attempt to seduce me in such an obvious fashion?” She then remarked to me: “Oh, aye! I could think of plenty we could do if we were alone right now, instead of chatting on the back of this here wagon. I wonder... are you just as white between your legs as you look to be everywhere else? You know, if it is the whole idea of paying coin for pleasure... I'd let you do me for free. Love's no disgrace, to be sure!” and she had a very sad, it seemed, idea of love if she thought that lust was the same thing as love. I sighed, and endured this sort of banter for the duration of my trip. She actually touched me between my legs at one point, beneath the blanket we shared between the two of us. That did to be honest excite me quite a bit, and I let her do as she liked since this did make me smile and felt a lot better than I thought it might. The other passengers chuckled, and I felt rather awkward having this girl caressing my manhood in their presence like this. It was just not the way that I typically preferred to indulge in such things, and they could clearly see what the girl was doing due to the motions beneath the blanket and the look upon my face. She was not at all unpleasant to look at, this girl, I decided finally... and so I allowed her to take the shaft of my manhood out of my pants, though still beneath the blanket we had over our laps, and after that to duck her head beneath the covers where I felt her mouth closing over my manhood as she began to suck upon it with an expertise that came from her having done this a great deal with others in the past. I reached climax in her mouth, and she swallowed it all, thereafter poking her head back up from the covers. She produced a small cloth, cleaned her lips off with it, and handed it to me so I could clean myself between my legs. Once all this was done, and my manhood was back in my pants once more, the girl nestled her head on my lap whilst I thew the cloth over the side of the wagon to dispose of it. She fell asleep like that, and I caressed her dark blonde hair as I realized just how sorry I felt for her. I whispered to her: “Girl, could you tell me your name, if you do not mind?” but she was so asleep she never heard me ask. One of the other passengers shouted: “Why do you care what her name is, sir? She is just a whore! They're all alike near as I can tell.” and I saw that it was a large, rotund, dirty looking man who had said that just then. I said to him in reply: “Is that all you think she is? She is a woman... first, and foremost! No matter what her trade may be. When I conduct business with someone, I like to know their name... it does not matter what trade it is they ply. Nor, whether I pay for that business or otherwise.” and I could see in the eyes of that man, that he could not understand the truth in my words. He was a pig of a man, and as such he did not even see girls like this as human I think. Merely as an outlet for his pleasure. I wanted to strike him down with my sword, then and there, but I heard a woman's voice in my head telling me: “We can do better, Mordred! I doubt I'd like the taste of his blood anyway.” and it was a soft, seductive voice. It was the goddess whose body the sword was. “You are correct, goddess.” I said to her in my mind. That was how she and I communicated, through our thoughts. I allowed myself to fall asleep for a bit also... and that was about as eventful as the trip was. When I awoke, we had reached our destination already. It was a shorter trip than I had been expecting, and we must have covered the distance quickly. It looked a great deal farther on the maps I had consulted prior to setting out. I parted company with the passengers I had shared the road with, glaring hatefully at that man who had so irritated me with his words before... and I asked the prostitute: “Girl, I see that you, and pretty much everyone else, are all embarking at this village here as well. Are you safe here, or would you need some protection for a time?” The village we stopped at was a tiny one, on the border of the Golden Woods... it also seemed rather a miserable place.
The girl answered me, saying: “Aye, I am well enough, fear not! I carry a knife on me just in case, so no one ever messes with me. As for that fellow you gave the dirty look to, he's harmless enough despite him being a rude sort of man. So you needn't concern yourself with my well being! The name's Martha, if you'd like to be knowing it. No need to know my family name... best what I do doesn't get back to the lot of them anyway, else they'd disown me. I work at the brothel here in town, and the woman who runs it looks after us girls good and proper... we've our own hired blades to see no one brings us any harm. If you ever want something from me that you can only get through paying... come by sometime. And if it's a chat you're after... you can find me at the tavern most days around noon. I go there to have a drink and see if I can muster the courage to get started with another night's work. Takes more courage to do this... than you might realize. Farewell, sir knight!” and I called out to her as she walked away: “Martha! My name is Mordred... my father is the king, Arthur.” and she turned around and gave me a shocked look. “So you're a prince then! I'm honored, sir Mordred.” and she bowed a bit, before hastening off to be on her way. I never did see again after that... mostly because once I left that village behind me, I never did go back to it. It was these lives of the common people though, which fascinated me back then! Not the doings of my fellow knights, nor tales of heroes past. But the struggles of everyday people, who faced their own challenges... and somehow managed to find the courage to keep facing them. Day in, day out. I stopped by the office of a man who was said to be a local cartographer of sorts, who worked out of his cottage and had a great many maps at his disposal. He was a tall, lanky looking man who smiled like a fox when he saw me step into his shop. He said, in a certain tone that I could not decide whether it was mocking or sincere: “Well, isn't this a surprise! You'd be Mordred then, just as the messenger said... the fellow gave a rather vivid description of you. Welcome to my humble shop, sir!” to which I answered: “And you must be Roger, the fellow I was told runs this place! I was told to seek you out, so you could tell me just where in all the depths of the Golden Woods my aunt is waiting for me. She said I was thus to meet with her therein, but all the messenger I spoke with would say is that you knew the details. This is rather annoying, all these messengers conveying things back and forth in this way! I prefer direct and personal dealings to this. I wish my aunt was a more... direct... sort of woman.” to which Roger laughed a bit and exclaimed: “You do mean Morgan the Fey, do you not! That woman is a lot of things, but not one of those things is direct. You'll find the location on this map I have on the table here... the village is marked with a red circle, and your aunt's location is marked with a black circle. Fitting, when you think about it! Follow the trail I have marked on the map, and you should get to her with no mishaps. You'll not need to pay for the map, either... she's paid for it in advance.” and I received the map and said to the man: “Thank you, Roger! It was good doing business with you.” to which he said: “Mordred... if I may be frank with you... any business involving your aunt, is far from good. Whatever it turns out to be, I'd rather never know! So be a good lad, and never tell me.” I rolled up the map and requested a case for it, which I then attached to my belt, since the case had a hook on the end of it for that purpose. I walked on out of Roger's cottage and made my way in the direction of the forest. It being winter, the only green of those woods was that of evergreen trees... and the pines had a rich scent to them when wet from snow. I found the glare of the sun reflecting off the snow in spots to be annoying, since it pained my eyes. But it was easy enough not to glance in that direction as I made my way deeper and deeper into the woods. It did not appear to be a long hike, at least according to the map, which I consulted every so often as I did venture closer and closer to my destination. I spotted the occasional fox in the woods, and thought that I heard a bear once or twice, but was pleased to see that I was wrong about the bears. I heard the cry of wolves in the distance, but since it was early in the afternoon I was not as concerned as if it had been at night. I actually would not have gone into the forest if it was night! That was a good way to meet one's end, and not always from animals. Ere long, I found my way to what appeared to be an ancient broken stone tower, which looked to be in the process of being rebuilt. It was a small tower... rough, and gray.
I walked up to the front door of the tower... after being certain, that this was indeed the location I was looking for, which it was. I knocked upon the door, which was of sturdy oak... and waited for a reply of any kind. There was none, so I yelled loudly: “Morgan the Fey! It is I, your nephew Mordred. Pray... let me in! It is freezing outside here.” and I could hear her voice answer from within: “Oh, Mordred! Sorry if I did not hear you knocking, but I was rather deep in meditation... come on in, the door is not locked. The fire is warm in the hearth... and I've plenty of fur blankets just in case you need to get warmed up a bit quicker. We're a few hours until supper though, but I've some bread and fruits to spare if you happen to be hungry. And wine, if you're thirsty!” I entered the tower and saw it to be a pleasant, cozy interior, of the sort that was quite at odds with the somewhat shabby looking exterior of the place. There was an opulence to the furnishings... and a certain sense of style to the tapestries and other works of art that my aunt favored. She had exquisite taste in everything! She was sitting cross legged upon the bear skin rug that lay upon the floor in front of the fireplace. There were candles and torches illuminating everything, which made me instantly feel at home. To say that my aunt Morgan was beautiful, is like saying that in its' beauty the moon is a bright mistress. She was beyond beautiful! Her skin was as white as mine was, that same unnatural albino-like pallor that some found disconcerting. Her hair was raven black, and she wore it long, down all the way to her ankles. At the moment it looked like a dark cloak that was wild as it cascaded about her. Her eyes were so black, that they looked like the void between the stars... it was a blackness within them that was beyond night itself. She had high cheekbones and tapered ears just like my own... and, you could see the family resemblance between her and I much stronger than even with my mother and I. Her eyes were almond shaped in the exact same way that mine were, and sometimes, I felt when I gazed into them that I could see eternity itself looking back at me from theirs sparkling and dark depths. She was very voluptuously built, and had generous breasts, finely shaped hips, and a rather nice looking buttocks. She and I were always closer... far closer... than we should have been. I knew all too well how soft her skin was, and what it felt like to be between her thighs. What it felt like to touch those magnificent breasts! My mother said that Morgan had stolen me away from her using her arts of seduction, and I would be lying to say that being around my aunt felt very good for more reasons than one. She looked so much younger than her years too... and sometimes being around her was like being around an older sister rather than an aunt. If brothers and sisters were also lovers! She was wearing a long emerald green gown of the finest eastern silk, which was loose about her, and without a belt. Her feet were bare, and the gown was very low cut, showing how nicely Morgan's breasts did cleave. She wore around her neck a thin chain necklace from which hung a pendant crudely shaped like a horned skull, with tiny green gemstones for eyes. She had neatly trimmed bangs, which fell to just above her immaculately shaped eyebrows. It was a hairstyle I also wore, and I tended to keep my eyebrows just as perfectly shaped whenever I had the free time to tend to that need. I sat down on the rug next to her, as soon as I removed my cloak and got my boots off... making sure also to set my sword down on a table nearby. She smelled good! Her floral perfumes were always intoxicating to me. “Well, Mordred! How do you greet your favorite aunt?” she asked sweetly. Her voice was sinuous, sensual, and had power in it that seemed to enchant me whenever I heard her speak. I leaned in close and kissed her lips... softly, and tenderly at first, before going into a wet, passionate kiss of the deepest sort. I squeezed her breasts as I did this, and she smiled once our kiss was concluded... and she noticed that my hands were still at her bosom, and enjoying the feel of her body. Her breath quickened, as if she was anticipating a great deal of enjoyment, as she said to me: “That is better! You always know just how to please me... and I, you, Mordred my love. This is our little secret... just between us. No one ever needs to know! And I'll never tell... I'll never tell a soul.” she dove into a rhyme and began to recite some poetry to me. After she did so, she asked me what I thought of her style of poetry, and I said to her: “I love it, Morgan! I love everything about you.” after which she asked me: “Would you show me how much you love me?”
I asked her to name anything, and that I would do it to please her. She smiled mischievously, as soon as I said that, and put her middle finger of her left hand into her mouth.... sucking on it suggestively. It made me blush a bit seeing her do that, seeing her finger moving in and out of her soft, full lips as she did so. We had coupled so many times in the past, she and I... and no child had ever been born from it. I was unable to father a child, it seemed, and because of that reason... I always suspected that Morgan did see me as an easy means of indulging in as much sexual enjoyment as she liked, without the worry that comes from the thought that a child might be born from it. But sometimes, she would say certain things that made me wonder if perhaps she loved me far more deeply than her own lawful husband, king Urien Rheged of Gwyr. Her son by him, Owain, was considered by many to be a great hero and a quite natural leader of men... just like his father had ever been... but despite such renown, Urien was not known to be a kind man, or even perhaps a good one. Morgan never spoke much of her marriage, but sometimes my aunt would say to me, especially after we had made love together: “You do not know the sacrifices that I have had to make in my life, Mordred! An unhappy marriage to a man less good than his people think him to be... an evil reputation because I keep to the old ways and I will not bow the knee to Christ... and the pain of knowing certain things of which I cannot speak to anyone. But... at least in these moments... when laying here with you, like this, I can forget all of that and simply be Morgan. Not a queen, not a high priestess of the old ways, not a goddess. Just Morgan! And in your eyes, I can see that is enough.” I waited for her to name the task she wished to set me to, and then at last it came. She said unto me, her voice crying and trembling a bit as she did so: “Mordred... I am not happy at all in my marriage to king Urien! He is a wicked man... and has in the past beaten me very cruelly, treating me less like a wife to him and more like property he owns that he can do whatever he likes with. But I am no man's property! And I will not be treated like such even by a king. I have hired someone to deal with my husband... and within the next several days, the deed will be completed and I shall be a widow. The assassin's name, is Llofan Llaf Difo, and history will remember him and him alone as the one who ended Urien's life. At least, until he tells of my involvement in the matter! After that, I would probably face exile or death for my part in these doings. Were I ever intending to go back to Gwyr, which I am not! I already left a note saying that I was leaving Urien's kingdom and never returning, and pointing a false trail all the way to the Orkney Islands, and the domain of my sister Morgause. The folk of Gwyr would never dare provoke the wrath of the Witch Queen of Orkney, and since I will not be present when the assassination of my husband takes place... no one of any intelligence will blame me. They will probably suspect Owain, if anyone, and he being a knight of the Round Table whom you yourself have served with in the past... it would not be wise to place the blame on him. So this, they will not do! The last time I attempted to do something like this, I ended up disgraced in public for my part in the matter. You remember... the time I speak of, when I convinced my lover at the time, Accolon of Gaul, to act as the assassin! He bit off a bit more than he expected, when he picked a time to strike in which Arthur was present for it. And the fool sought to match his sword against the might of Arthur's! A sword that has no equal. How did he expect it was going to end? His death was his own doing, and I miss him not. A fool is never worth my time... but you are no fool, Mordred my love. You are wiser than your living years! In that, we are kindred in ways far deeper than either of us might realize.” I did not understand what exactly she wanted of me. I asked her: “Aunt Morgan... beautiful Morgan... is there some reason, you tell me all of this! Do you so seek to involve me in these matters, in some way?” and she seemed to regain her train of thought once I said that to her. Her thoughts had seemed to be wandering, previously. She explained to me: “I need to know that... should the man I put up to do this succeed where Accolon failed, and should my part in the death of Urien be made known to all, you will not seek to disown me from your heart. I need to know... in the end... that you will remain as loyal to me as you ever have. All of my most loyal servants are with us here at the tower, all who know of what it is that I have set in motion. I wanted you here... with us!”
I could hear the servants about the tower now, and realized finally that were not alone here. It did not matter if they knew about Morgan and I and how close we were... how we loved each other... they were her most loyal of all, and would also tell no one. I said to her, earnestly: “You have my word! As ever it was, and as always it shall be... my loyalty is to you, Morgan, even over my loyalty to Arthur himself.” and she clapped her hands in a somewhat childish way once I said that. “Yes! Yes, my love... I will be free soon, very soon now. No longer bound with unseen chains to a beast of a man. I will be wholly and totally yours after that, Mordred! I will pledge myself to you, after that. And together, we will one day... perhaps one day soon... create our own kingdom to rule together. Would you like to be a king? I think, if I may be so bold as to suggest such a thing, that you would make a far better king than your father is.” and that was how the seeds were sown, that one day would result in my attempt to claim the throne of Camelot and take it away from my father. That was how it began. I remained with Morgan at that tower until springtime, as we awaited to hear news of how the assassination of king Uriens went. Word was delivered unto us by yet another of my aunt's messengers that the king was slain, and that not only was Llofan Llaf Difo the one blamed for it... but the assassin himself had said he did it at the instigation of the king's own ally Morcant Bwlch. For some time, Morcant had been jealous of the king due to all his many victories and feats of arms... and was convinced that he could do better if the king was out of the way once and for all. It seemed that Morgan had chosen well indeed! Since her own involvement in the matter of her husband's death was never made known, and if anyone had ever suspected it then they had chosen to voice this only in whispers and never in public... my aunt was able to rest easy. All anyone so said of her... was that she was wise to get away from Uriens whilst she still could, since they reasonably assumed that the assassin could just as well have slain her along with the king. Morgan's son Owain did receive his father's title and authority as king, inheriting everything upon his father's death. This made it necessary for the young knight to abandon his role at Camelot in order to return home and accept there the kingship that was offered him. Whilst Arthur reigned as the High King over the entire country, yet were there many kings both great and small who ruled their own lands beneath him. Thus, it was not a strange thing to lose a knight in this way... and for the most part everyone treated Owain's ascent to the throne of his homeland as a joyous though solemn occasion. Through all of this, I remained there with Morgan at her tower in the Golden Woods, and during the remaining winter months she tutored me in the intricacies of black magic, sorcery, and the summoning of spirits and demons, as well as the arts of necromancy and various forms of divination. I became her apprentice in the dark arts, and threw myself into that role as never before, devouring all the lessons she put before me more eagerly than my sword had ever devoured the blood of its' victims. I gave myself wholly over to the old ways, and renounced... at last... any and all remaining trappings of Christianity such as remained in my life. I partook in many rites, rituals, and sacrifices to the gods of the land, and I learned just why it was that people said that my aunt Morgan was a goddess. She revealed the deepest parts of her soul to me, and I laid bare for her the deepest parts of my own... we spoke of what transpired at Yr Wyddfa, and I confessed to her that I did at times hear the voice of the nameless goddess who dwelt within the form of my sword Albion. After one such conversation, she asked me to unsheathe the sword, and let her touch it. I did as she bade me, putting the sword upon the stone altar that Morgan had set up in the cellars of her tower. The sword, it was every bit as pale and lethal looking as I had remembered! The blade was whiter than snow is even, if such a lightness could be possible in a physical object... the hilt was also white as snow, with thick white leather wrappings about the handle to make it comfortable to hold with either one hand or two. It had an ornate cross guard... that almost appeared to be made of ivory... but which was of something far stronger, and likely more alien. Set into the bottom of the weapon's pommel was a blood red ruby, and a larger more circular cut ruby was set into the center of the front part of the crosspiece, with a twin to it set into the back. The rubies sparkled, like crimson eyes... and the sword felt like unto a living thing.
She touched the index finger of her left hand to the sword's blade, and immediately there did begin to form a black inky mass upon the part of the metal that she had touched. The mass spread very rapidly... until the entire length of the blade was now blacker than even pitch darkness is. This then spread to the hilt, until the whole of the sword was as if it were comprised of living shadow except for the rubies. Its' terrible, glaring eyes! For they seemed to glare more than sparkly now, and there was something within the weapon that was even more alive then before. “What does this mean?” I asked my aunt, who said of the strange occurrence: “Mordred... this weapon, it is of my soul's very substance, as if it were at some point in the distant past, originally a literal part of me. I do not know... how such a thing ever first came to be... but here it is, and when I touched it just now I could see memories. My own memories, of lives and incarnations past! Old names, old faces that I wore... back when the ancient Faerie folk lives more openly in the lands of this world than they do today. When you hold this weapon, you are holding a part of me in your hands! She who is bound within it, is another aspect of me. The darkest aspect, the part of me that I dare never allow to do whatsoever it might desire, lest the world suffer for it. I could think of no one I would feel safe entrusting this to... except for you. I was meant to receive this, I think, but my life took a different path than that of a warrior. Since you are a warrior, then it was meant for you rather than me! It is the physical representation of the deep bonds that we share, and the love we feel for each other. Yes, love! A sword normally can deal only death... but this sword has the power to change things in the world, and not always through conflict. If you do hear its' voice, listen to it always, and never fail to heed its' counsel. For it is my voice, in a way, and will never lead you astray. Now Mordred... touch the sword's blade exactly the same way you saw me do it! I wish to test something I suspect, by having you do so.” I then did as she asked, and placed the index finger of my own left hand to the metal of the sword's blade. Suddenly, a white mass began to form, spreading all over the weapon until it was white once again and black no longer. “How strange! It turned back.” I remarked, and Morgan told me all that this meant, stating: “Whoever touches the blade... it responds to them, by revealing something of their own nature, making the nature of its' wielder a part of itself in a kind of symbiosis. To some, it would be hot to the touch! To others, colder than ice might be. For still others, it could be a venomous blade.” I asked Morgan then: “So does that mean that your nature is darker than night?” and she replied by thus explaining: “That is not why it turned black at my touch, Mordred. I am not the woman people think me to be! I am... an incarnation of Death, in this world. But that does not make me evil! For as Death, I am merciful when mercy is needed. I must be compassionate as well, and show my mercy equally to all. If someone is dying, and in need of release from great pain or agony... I cannot refuse to grant them this. I am both this woman whose form you find so beautiful, this Morgan the Fey... and I am the force that so snuffs out all life when the time has come for the course of that life to end. But through me, lies also the path to rebirth! The great and terrible golden cauldron you beheld in that place deep beneath Yr Wyddfa was a physical manifestation of the means by which all souls that perish are reborn. I am more than just my father's daughter! And aye, I know well who my true father was. I am the very thing, that even he in the end must bow before... and before even the universe and all within it existed, I was ancient already. Do you think it was merely to be free of his abuse that I took the life of king Urien? No! It was his time to perish, and as Death it fell to me to see that he met his end in the way he was destined to. If you ever thought that death was cruel, or that there was no meaning in it... know that I am not, and that there is.” And from her own lips, came the confirmation of all that I had suspected regarding my aunt's true and most terrible identity. But rather than being repulsed by her, I felt even more in love with her than ever! I asked her: “So what does that make me, that the weapons reacts the way that it does at my touch?” to which she answered truthfully: “It means, you are the yang to my yin, as they say in the far east! You... are the twin light to my endless ebony darkness. What I am... you are a mirror of. We are meant to be a couple, Mordred! We are soulmates, and if I am a goddess then you are a god. Together, we can be all.”
Every word she said, everything she revealed unto me in that moment... felt right, true, and deeper in its' truth than any I had known before in that life. Come springtime, I would have some hard choices to make. “Morgan...” I began, and then she placed her index finger to my lips in order to urge me to then be silent. She shushed me, and then whispered: “Mordred! Say nothing else right now. Nothing remains that needs to be said between us, my beloved eternal. Claim me now as your bride! Seeing me as such, for the first time in your life. Make love... to Death... and let it change you. After that, I will have a bit of a quest for you to undertake. Not a test, not like so many things have been for you thus far. Merely, a journey in search of something important. Something the world has forgotten, but needs to remember.” She was wearing the same beautiful, soft green gown that she had on when I first came to her in answer to her summons, when I arrived at this tower cold and weary from the winter, and from the long ride to get to this part of the land. I strode up to her, and seized her in my arms. She was a head shorter than I was, and her body felt perfect pressed up against mine. She giggled as she felt the hardness between my legs, the fierce way that I pressed it into her crotch. “Oh yes! Do it just as you like, Mordred, do not be afraid to be rough with me... take me as roughly, and as hard, as you want to. Hold nothing back! This is how it always should have been, between us.” I grabbed her breasts and squeezed them a lot harder than I had ever done before, which made Morgan gasp a little. Her nipples felt very hard as I played a bit with them through the delicate fabric of her gown. She wrapped her arms around me, ensuring that I would not pull away. Not that I intended to! I wanted her, very badly, more than I had ever wanted any woman previously in my life. And I intended to have her. I tore her gown open with both hands, and I ripped it down to her waist, where I continued to pull it downward until the gown lay at her feet. She pulled her hands out of the sleeves as I did this, allowing herself to be totally stripped. She was naked now except for a loin cloth, which was wrapped between her legs. I seized the cleft of her womanhood in my right hand, and squeezed it, then fingered it a bit before tearing the loincloth off of her body and smiling lewdly. I did not need to be polite with her! She would not want me to be. I grabbed one of her hands, and forced her to feel my growing bulge between my legs. “Hmm, very nice! I like what I feel, my love.” she said, her voice purring lustfully as she began to feel my manhood in a way that said: “I want you! I want you badly.” I dragged her over to the soft pile of blankets, cushions and pillows that lay on the floor near the altar. There, I dragged her down unto them and forced her legs open. I threw off all of my own clothes, and began to rain kisses upon my aunt's face, licking and kissing and lusting for her with all my heart's desiring. No! She was no aunt no longer... she was my beloved now, and it was time I embraced this truth fully. I kissed her lips passionately, and we kept kissing as I entered her. I did not enter her gently, and she cried out a bit from the force of how vigorously I took her. I pulled her hair a bit in my hands, as I heaved up and down upon her, feeling how wet and moist she was. The shaft of my manhood was moving in and out of her ever more rapidly, and she was breathing heavier and heavier, practically panting as our coupling bodies became soaked with sweat. She did grind a bit with her hips, as her body got more and more into the rhythm of our intercourse. I thought briefly of that prostitute Martha from before, and for some reason this made me become even more excited. For I had wanted her like this, I realized! Nobility be damned. Almost sensing my thoughts, Morgan said to me in between her panting and other sounds born of our lovemaking: “If you ever desire any woman, in the future, Mordred... the way that you desire me right now... then just claim her, just take her. Oh gods, yes, just claim her! Just like how you are claiming, and taking, me. There are many woman who are just like me, who enjoy that kind of love. Your mother... she should have told you about that by now. Or let you practice with her! She's such a naughty slut, my sister is. And, how far removed is it... from doing it with your own brother, to doing it with your son?” I could not believe I found that thought arousing, but something in Morgan's manner and the way she worded things brought out perversity in me that I never knew existed. Before long, I did climax within my aunt, and she had reached climax as well. I cried out.
So great was my ecstasy and the heat of the moment... that I cried out! And, Morgan did likewise. We fell asleep together in each other's arms a bit later on, and I did dream about her. When I awoke, I found that she was not there. I did not even know what the hour was! It had been at least midnight when we so engaged in our acts of love. Love? Oh yes, I did truly and deeply love her... but what we did together, it was not about love on this occasion. It was lust we felt for each other just then, pure and simple. Never again, would our relationship be the same! After that... it could not be. I took some time to wash up and to get dressed in some fresh clothes... mostly things that I picked for comfort, since I was not planning on going anywhere at the moment. I made sure my sword was still on the altar where we had left it, and it was. I put it back in its' sheath, and then went to look for Morgan, whom I found reading some scrolls in the tower's library. She saw me enter, and smiled as she said: “Hello there, beloved! There is, did I so not remark before... a certain quest that I need you to undertake for me? When your father Arthur first... in his youth... come to power in the land as its' rightful High King, he committed a very foolish act. One that was born of arrogance and which angered the ancient gods and goddesses of this country. Thinking he alone could protect this land from all possible threats... he dug up from its' resting place, the head of the noble hero Bran the Blessed. Bran was a god, Mordred! A powerful god... whose good graces, were said to be more than enough to ensure the land's protection. But only so long as the head so remained in the place where it had been interred for so many generations! Arthur believed that this was only an old Pagan superstition, and sought to prove it as such. What became of the head after this act of sacrilege... he neither knew nor cared. He simply gave it into the care of his chief druid Merlin, and told him to get rid of it. Now, what do you think Merlin did with the head?” I thought about it for a moment, and tried to consider all I knew about Merlin compared to all I knew about my father. I offered: “He would have secreted it away somewhere! He would never have gotten rid of it outright. That was honestly never at all Merlin's way... even if it was Arthur's.” and Morgan clapped her hands, in that childish way that she did so often like to do. She said, cheerfully: “Very good, Mordred! Very good indeed. Yes, he kept it... for a time... before giving it into the care of another group of druids, one that he entrusted with keeping it safe and secret. Far away from the knowledge of the king! Someplace where no Christian would ever think to look for it, either. But I have discovered the key to unlocking its' location! There was a knight from Camelot, who had gone in search of the Holy Grail several months ago... who it was, is not at all important. The point is, he turned up at the church in the village just beyond the Golden Woods... you know, the village where Roger works. That village! He was bragging of all he had seen and of how very close he believed he had gotten to actually obtaining the Holy Grail. Now, none of this is important for us, save for the fact that he claimed to have borne witness to a large golden plate upon which was sat a bearded man's head which spoke to him in an ancient language he could not understand. This happened at a castle, so he claimed, which could be reached beyond a great wasteland. He worded it all so very... very, vaguely... but in his ranting, raving account there were countless clues as to where one might seek to look should they choose to follow in his footsteps. One of my servants was out at the village, and so that is how I came to learn of these events at all! I have been piecing together, as best as I am able to, a possible course that one could take in order to discover the location of that castle. For some time now, I had meant to send you in quest of Bran's head... but now, with this new information, we actually have a bit of something to go on. Of course, you will not depart right away! Rather, you will wait until the first warm week of springtime, and by then I should have figured out precisely where to send you. This man who seems to have found it did not know what he found! He thought it was the head of John the Baptist and claimed the whole thing was a holy miracle. If only he knew, just how holy this is! But, not at all in the way he thinks. You will know better, the true nature of the head, when you do find it. Oh, and once you do have it... I want you to bring it back here to me. Then, we shall discuss what is to be done with it once and for all!” I bowed deeply to Morgan, took her right hand, and kissed it. “As you desire.” I said.
Published 6th Dec 2022
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