A/N: The James Mallory novelizations mention in passing a forest of crystals within the Land of Magic. The author may have been using a metaphor but I am taking his description literally. Please forgive run-on sentences (the opening is the worst) and other errors. Try as I might my mind will not cooperate in seeking a path towards redemption. Forgiveness is asked in regard to the plausibility of this story as well. The dress I imagine Morgan wearing is reminiscent of styles worn by the subjects of Alphonse Mucha paintings.
~oOo~
A row of torches mounted at intervals along a wall cast golden light upon the bare limbs of Morgan le Fay. She leaned forward and carefully laid a tarot card among its kin in a spread on the floor. Hesitating, she deciphered the meaning of the card concealed by lengthening shadows, then placed another card from the deck beside it. Discovering the outcome, she paused again, unhappy with the results.
Frik was seated beside Morgan in the empty hall, casually eating from a wooden bowl of dried nuts and fruits. In his lap with its cover open was a substantial book, Fairy Stories, to which he was adding another chapter. He was comfortable enough in his relationship with Morgan to risk wearing a feathered cap as he played the role of a wordsmith. "Something amiss, my dear?" Frik asked, glancing up from the page. He was getting to a particularly unlikable year in history and welcomed a reprieve.
Morgan sighed, placing the deck in a drawstring pouch by her feet. She was listless, not having ventured from the castle for a considerable amount of time. The air was to her stifling. "The cawds keep telling me stwange things about my son. I don't want to wead them anymowe."
Frik had a few things to say about Mordred as well but tactfully kept his thoughts to himself. "Best not to pay them any heed."
"But I thought they didn't lie?"
"Well, they're open to interpretation." He closed his book, removed his cap and crossed his legs, leaning back. Morgan silently looked to the opposite wall, filled with a sense of unease. "If another person selected the same cards they more than likely would derive a different conclusion based on their own personal experiences."
"Where is it you go when you leave me, you and Mab?"
The question surprised Frik by its randomness. He paused. "Why, we usually return to Mab's realm, The Land of Magic. You know that."
"What's it like?" Though she had heard of it before, Morgan felt like hearing about it again. Imagining the realm was an escape from the tedium of seclusion.
"Oh, you'd like it there, Morgan. I find that Madame has the most wonderful taste when it comes to furnishings. Every room is exquisitely decorated. Crystals all over the place. Only the best..." His hands moved animatedly, index finger and thumb maintaining their hold on a dried apricot.
"This place, is it whewe Mab will take my son?" She gently pulled at the hem of her dress and stole an almond.
"In time... yes, I believe she will send Master Mordred to her realm."
"And you live thewe?" Morgan asked, aware that he was humoring her by retelling information. She envisioned herself in a room the same shade as violets, golden-blue rays of mellow light swaying on the walls as they reflected from an obscure pool. The air was light and she seemed to have chalk on her hands.
"Oh yes, along with all manner of magical beings. The place is practically overrun. You know, it's where I helped Master Merlin learn magic. I was his teacher. . . He was at times a most difficult student. But then, I suppose he is a most difficult person altogether."
Her jaw clinched with resentment as Frik relayed that Merlin had formerly lived in the Land of Magic. She hadn't forgotten that the wizard refused to use his talents, purposely abstaining from using the magic she would put to constant use. "What do you do thewe now?"
"Oh many, many things. I'm constantly on my feet. Madame always has something that needs seeing to, and of course I'm the one who sees to it." He sighed.
"Will you take me thewe?"
Frik blinked rapidly, the wistful smile faded from his face. "Morgan, I don-"
"Oh Fwik, please," Morgan pleaded as she moved closer to him, stroking his shoulders, arms and finally his neck and jawline. Her brown eyes glistened in the dull light. "I want to see whewe my son will leawn how to defeat Awthuw and become king... I am his mothew after all."
He cleared his throat. "I-I suppose it wouldn't hurt... Just for a moment or two. Madame is quite busy with Master Mordred even as we speak... We'll be there and back before she even notices we're missing." If Morgan had looked at Frik's face, she would have seen that it was contorted in misery. Who am I kidding? he mouthed without benefit of an audience.
Frik thought the practice of magic might perhaps raise his spirits. Valiantly he rose and seized one of Morgan's hands, spinning her in a slow pirouette as her costume was by enchantment transformed. Once finished, he performed another feat of magic to summon a looking-glass. Morgan promptly took the mirror from him and held it before her face, straining to observe her reflection in the ill-lit hall. Frik clapped his hands and the light from the surrounding torches grew in intensity.
Morgan's reflection yielded her svelte frame clad in a crushed velvet dress, mustard-yellow and sleeveless. At one shoulder were pinned two velvet roses, pink and red. Her eyes were shadowed and her lips dark. Her beauty was unparalleled by even the twilit sky and its pearls of constellations. "Whewe ever did this gown come from? I've not seen one like it before."
"It is a gown from another time, my love. But they won't mind you borrowing it, certainly not if they could see you. You're beautiful."
In the breathless silence of the room she found that she agreed.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Weady," she answered, her eyes meeting his as she clasped his hand.
In an instant they were on the stone steps outside Mab's palace. Morgan was transfixed by the enormity of the cave, and, in a state of profound amazement, she had difficulty deciding in which direction she should look. There was much to see wherever her gaze happened to fall, wonders she had before only dreamed of or imagined. Above her, floating serenely on the cool air, were dozens of faeries. Some were faithfully delivering precious stones or crystals to unknown destinations, others were in congregations flying empty-handed on errands. Their pale fluttering wings were a blur.
Along the stalagmites were small dwellings whose windows were alight. Housing for the fae, Morgan guessed. At the base of the rockface supporting Mab's grand palace was a stream framed on each side by stone, suspended as though a bridge. Morgan was tempted to place a hand in the water. It was so inviting. Silvery and pure. There was magic in the air; it was thick, akin to electricity. She inhaled the crisp, cleanness of it. There was an underlying scent of rain wettened stones mixed with a perfume she couldn't place; wonderful, exotic and intoxicating. She found herself instantly enamored with the land.
Giddy, she turned to Frik only to find that he was attentively studying her reaction. Though he had maintained the features of a swashbuckler, he had by some circumstance changed into the black ink-spotted jacket and uniform he typically wore while in service of the Queen. His thick fingers were intertwined.
Upon seeing her glowing face grow puzzled, Frik with his hands searched his body and face to discover he had reverted into the garb of a gnome. Flummoxed, he quickly and by magic changed back into his favored costume, the one that was in its creation immersed in rose water; the flared white shirt and close-fitting navy trousers.
Morgan rather favored his other outfit as well, she thought black was a good color on him, but she didn't bother telling him. She was of the opinion that Frik was handsome irregardless of his manner of dress. He already knew that. She stood reverently in place, twisting velvet fabric between her fingers as she looked above to the cave ceiling, the faeries and glittering crystals.
Some of the faeries took notice of Morgan's appearance and began to encircle her. A few eagerly took into their hands the ends of her curls and gently pulled on them, watching as they sprang back to her crown with release. One promptly stole from her abundant hair a strand of ribbon which led to the successive theft of hairpins, ribbons and beads by other awaiting fae, each eager to claim their own reward.
"Off with you! Shoo!" Frik attempted to drive them away. He brandished a folding fan and began to employ it, sending weak currents of air toward the fae.
In defiance, a faerie flew directly before Morgan's face and landed in her palm. It gifted her with a polished black pearl before it departed. Morgan smiled, enchanted. "Thank you," she said somewhat awkwardly as it flew away.
"I wouldn't bother talking to any of them. All you'll hear is nonsense."
Her arms fell to her sides, her feet hastefully in a circle retraced her steps as she groaned like a petulant child. "Oh couldn't you have just made them stop? Did they welly have to go away?"
"If I hadn't sent them away, they never would have left you alone, my dear. More would have arrived and exhibited the same behavior. . . Now come, let us embark on our tour. We mustn't tarry here."
Morgan and Frik visited several areas within the palace, including the schoolroom, Frik's chambers, and many other places significant in terms of their historical and magical value. Morgan did not always make her feelings known as she glimpsed areas of great beauty and wonder, but she enjoyed herself nevertheless.
In the fullness of time, at her behest, Frik transported Morgan to a room within the cave which kept behind its door a massive forest which consisted of hundreds of crystals shaped as trees. Ghostly and glowing, they sprouted from a seemingly endless mass of granite, their roots partially exposed. Covering their bases was a fine glittering powder made up of ground gems and crystals expelled of magic. By enchantment the cave ceiling was the skyline of a winter evening. Impenetrable clouds were backlit and of a gray-orange color and stretched onward as far as the eye could see. The distinct chill in the perfumed air matched the illusion of winter.
With reverence Morgan stepped inside. Though it was beautiful and brightly lit, there was an eerie cast to the area, a feeling which seemed to whisper of loss and secrets. Frik followed her, glancing cautiously to the empty shadows.
Morgan approached a tree and gently placed a hand on its cool trunk. As the prevailing wind passed through the area, she could hear crystal branches ring out overhead as they came in contact with the limbs of other trees. The sound was calming and akin to glass chimes. She stepped forward, under their domed boughs. Frik faithfully kept in step, his hands behind his back.
"I sincerely doubt Master Mordred will have reason to set foot in here, but I suppose there's no telling where his training might send him."
"Mowdwed should see this fow himself. I cewtainly won't be able to explain it to him pwopelly. No one could." As she spoke, she realized her breath was visible. A cloak quickly wove itself around Morgan's body. "Oh, thank you. How faw does the forest go?"
"I'm not quite sure. I've never explored it in full."
"Fwom hewe it looks like it nevew ends. It goes on and on fowevea. I'm going to see. . ." She began to run as fast and as far as her feet and lungs could take her, laughing as Frik tried to keep up. The air was frigid on her face, her eyes watered, but she continued until she could no longer withstand the discomfort of her normally inactive body. Stopping, Frik magically appeared in front of her, and she fell with him to the ground.
She laughed when she was able to find her breath. His laughter followed as they realized themselves and straightened, to lie on their backs and look upwards. Viewing the crystal trees and heavens from the ground was both breathtaking and disorienting. Neither sight was of the world Morgan knew. The branches seemed to bend and swell before her in the clouded sky. The wind increased, and on it the sound of shifting glass was sent to other areas as well. She closed her eyes and felt herself seem to fall through the stone on which she was resting, starting from the base of her skull, the considerable weight behind her eyes.
Frik thoughtfully looked to the distance. "I could almost swear I sometimes used to hear birds in here... I wonder... but that's all been so long ago..."
Morgan's eyes remained closed. "Isn't that one now?" She propped herself up on her elbows, finding pain in her bones, then, with Frik's aid, hesitantly came to stand on her feet. "I thought I heawd a biwd in flight..."
A sudden flash of lightning lit the cavernous room as Queen Mab entered the room. She arrived in the near distance, beside the trees, then instantaneously came to stand beside them. In the divine illumination of the forest, she radiated a blackened mist. Her pale skin glistered, her raven hair was made of the threads of night. Her fine array was of a shade of blue so dark it appeared black. "A faerie informed me of the presence of a visitor in my realm. Frik, what is she doing here?!" Her fists were clenched as she loomed before them. Her flowing cape was damp with sea mist. In truth Mab had known of their visit from the moment they set foot on her land but she'd been otherwise engaged. As time did not pass in the realm, they'd the same as been gone for only a matter of seconds.
Frik fidgeted with his fingers. He did not make eye-contact. "W-well, Madame, Morgan wanted to see your realm, a-and, as you have been known to bring mortal lovers to the Land of Magic, even if briefly - some, why, some were here for seven years, if not more... I thought, or rather, I hoped -"
"But they were my lovers, Frik! I realize the experience of having and actually maintaining a lover is new for you, but you mustn't assume you have the same rights as I do! This is my realm. I'm its Queen. You are in my employment."
"A fact that has not escaped my notice, Madame. But permit me if you will to speak. Would it not aid your cause to allow some mortals to behold firsthand the glory of your power rather than hide it away? To enable them to see the majesty of the Old Ways? And... well, Madame, Morgan is the mother of the future King of England. It feels as though we owe her something."
"Youw palace is vewy beautiful, Mab. I've enjoyed seeing whewe my son will one day visit," Morgan added, without fear.
Queen Mab regarded the pair with profound distaste. Her shrewd eyes were alight with fury. In one hand she held a crystal, and shining as though he were trapped within, Morgan could see her son in miniature contentedly sleeping in his room. "Go! Leave now. I will not suffer fools gladly."
Morgan and Frik quickly disappeared. Before they reappeared in the main hall of Tintagel Castle, Mab's voice could be heard in their minds, severe and threatening, warning them to not make the same mistake twice. Frik had seen firsthand what could happen to a person guilty of much less. He and Morgan were fortunate to have escaped unscathed. Mab must have had more pressing matters on her mind to have not acted on her anger.
The pair gradually made their way through the main hall and out, to paths leading to other rooms in the castle. No time had passed in the mortal world. It was still night and the castle remained lit by torches.
A Roman style gown clung to Morgan's frame as she slowly made her way toward a table and its two chairs, the magic of her previous dress having worn off. Feeling very tired, she ungracefully threw herself in a chair. Frik claimed its opposite. A platter materialized on the table containing various meats, breads and cheeses. A bottle of mead and two glasses also appeared, along with Morgan's worn Tarot deck.
"Why don't you try reading my cards, Morgan, if you're up to it? At the moment I'm feeling anything but secure."
"Alwight." Morgan sighed. She straightened from her slouching position, tore off the end from a loaf of bread and pushed it into her mouth. Her thoughts were still with The Land of Magic as she began to shuffle cards. "I can't undewstand why Mab insists on staying here in Tintagel evewy day when we could all stay in The Land of Magic for a little while at least. Wouldn't it make sense for Mowdwed to stawt twaining now instead of waiting until Awthuw wetuwns?" She shook her head and reached for more bread and some cheese."It simply can't compwehend it. What do we achieve hewe that can't be achieved thewe?"
Frik's gaze darted to the neighbouring room, the air. His hands were raised as if to urge Morgan to stop speaking lest Mab should hear. "Madame works in mysterious ways."
"Thewe isn't neawly so much to do hewe, though. In fact, thewe's hawdly anything to do once you've alweady done it ten, twelve or a hundwed times!" Her nimble fingers ceased their movement, having set out the desired number of cards for her spread. Though distracted, she surveyed their faces.
"Well, my dear, there are some things that I never tire of, no matter what. You being chief among them."
She was slow to catch his words, still focused. Her initial reply was a brief laugh that remained low and humming in the tower of her throat. She crossed her arms on the table, over the cards, and smiled as she looked at him. "Nevew?"
"No, not ever. Not with you." He placed a hand over hers. "I'm sorry you weren't able to see more of The Land of Magic."
"Oh Fwik, don't be. I loved what I saw and am happy we went. I feel fowtunate to have been thewe."
"I think, all things considered, Morgan, you and I are both exceptionally fortunate."
~oOo~
