Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. I mean no harm, and offer only my deepest respect to the author and those who currently hold copyright. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery…
Morgaine speaks:
I take my place on the crest of the hill, inside the small circle of stones placed there eons before. The prayer position comes as easily to me now as ever, even after so many months. I place my hands on the upturned soles of my feet and gaze to the west at the setting sun of the Autumnal Equinox.
A sense of peace fills me as I meditate on the past season. The harvest had gone well. I feel the stubble of the wheat beneath me, cut short by my own hand so as not to disturb the sanctity of this place. I alone can find this place now. The grain I bring back to Avalon is thought to be sacred. We have so little, that even a basket of grain to make some bread lightens the minds of the other priestesses. Being the only one who can part the fog, even if it is only to this place between worlds, I bear a heavy burden.
Only five of us remain in Avalon. The rest have disappeared into Fairy, gone to join the feast at the table of the Queen. The meager living we eke out alone here - simple bread and fish, fruit and water - cannot compare with the bounty of her table and the pleasures of her consorts. I remember the temptations. They call to me every day. I am only human. But I must resist.
I do not tell the others of the changes I see Beyond. Though my hilltop is between the worlds, I can see them both. I cannot pierce the veil to the Outside and travel into the world of Men. But in places, where the veil thins, I can look through and see what has become of those who were once my people.
Arthur's castle has decayed and disappeared. Others rose to take its place, but not could recall its splendor. The church of the White Christ where Gwenhwyfar spent her first and last days also lays in ruin. All that remains is the bell tower on top of the Tor. Pilgrims now come from far and wide to visit the place and wonder at what might have been. Though I can still hear the bells ringing, Arthur and Gwenhwyfar and all of the lives and struggles of Camelot are but a myth in the world of Men. Were I to tell the others that we are all but forgotten, I fear they would give up hope.
I try to lead my tiny flock to the arms of the Goddess once more. But one by one they slip away, yielding to the lure of a full stomach and a warm bed and everlasting life in the world of Fairy. I do not blame them. Soon, only I will remain. But I will come here to this hilltop every season to sow, tend, and reap my grain, to see the sun beyond the clouds, and to pray for the strength to see another harvest come. Even as I betrayed Her once, I must not let the Goddess be forgotten. She will live as long as even one remembers.
Perhaps one day our story will be told, and the Goddess will walk the earth again. But as long as she sleeps, we wait. I wait. Until there are others to tell Her story, I cannot rest in peace.