For the next two weeks, Gorlois and Morgana were uneasy with each other. An air of discontent permeated the household, irritating the warrior. He never knew whether he'd return from battle, and he hated that he and his daughter were not on good terms. He would sooner run himself through than leave her with less than absolute adoration in her heart.
Resultantly, Morgana grew even more distant, sensing that her father was upset with her--though she was perceptive enough to realize that it was not anger with which he regarded his only child. After nearly a fortnight of this silence between them, Gorlois sat down to supper and addressed her.
"Morgana, love, methinks we should discuss what's troubling us. Each should speak. Would you like to go first?"
The pair had surprisingly good communication. A year after Morgana's birth, so the story went, her mother, Eileen, took very ill. On her deathbed, King Uther had called for the woman to be treated by his physicians in Camelot, but the long journey was simply too much for the woman. She died on the road to the ships at Ath-cliath. Since then, completely broken by the death of his life's love, Gorlois swore to raise his daughter as his wife would have wanted: with sincerity, openness of heart and mind, and the ability to tell one another everything.
"Yes, Da," his daughter replied. So mature for her age, he thought admiringly--but then, she was her mother's daughter in every respect. "I feel sad when I think of the poor Druid children--and their mams and das. They're going to have to die because of something they can't control. You told me once that magic chooses its vessels, not the other way around. So then, if they do not choose to have these abilities, why do they have to die? It doesn't seem right. You've always told me that King Uther is a good and noble man, and that he looks out for his people's best interests, but I don't see how this is good or noble or any better than a warlord killing everyone for his own wants."
The outpouring of derision for the King surprised Gorlois somewhat, but he didn't feel that now was the right time to imply to his child that her statements were treasonous. He nodded slowly.
"I see what you are saying, Morgana, and...I have been thinking on this for this past fortnight. You make some very good points. Unfortunately, to deny the King in his request for my help would be tantamount to betraying him. I have already pledged my support and my armies to him. How can I withdraw that without giving Uther a reason to turn his military on us?"
Morgana's countenance flitted between puzzlement and consideration. "I hadn't thought of it like that," she said.
"You see, child, there are many things to consider when making military decisions. There is no other way to keep magic from growing--from the users growing in number--than to exterminate it. Distasteful though it may be, it is the only way."
"Wasn't our ancestor a Druid?" Morgana asked suddenly.
Gorlois' face for an instant was shocked, and then he hid it in a mask of concentrated, feigned confusion. "Not that I can say, my dear--where did you get the idea that we have Druid in our family lines?"
"From Melia," replied his daughter, unphased. Melia, Morgana's wet-nurse, had been handmaiden to Eileen before Morgana's birth, and had a daughter about four or five years older than Morgana herself. Though Morgana was rapidly becoming too old to need a nurse, the woman was adept at a thousand little chores, and Faye, her daughter, would fetch a fair dowry when she married. For these reasons, Gorlois kept the woman in his household; after this rumour, however, he thought he might reconsider that particular charitable act.
"Melia must have misheard someone," Gorlois answered her, "For we are Eireann men--and women--to the last."
Morgana thought about this for a moment and nodded. "She must be mistaken. But what of the Druids, then, Da?"
Gorlois sighed softly. "I do not know their fate. I am no soothsayer. I will...I will attempt to speak of this to King Uther when next I see him. I am to attend him at Ui Faelain in three days. Perhaps we can discuss it then. I wish to know his mind fully on the subject, and as he trusts me with his life, I would that he might trust me with his mind as well."
This discussion broke the ice, and Gorlois and Morgana were able to return to their usual jocundity that night.
Unusual due to his pressing duties, Gorlois was able to see Morgana to bed that night. She had a large room with high ceilings and a huge four-poster bed. Her tick was stuffed with fine goosedown. Gorlois had won it in battle, a spoil of war many years past, when Morgana was but three or four years old. Her bedchamber was her favorite place in the castle, even better than the warm kitchen hearth.
Morgana sat up in bed, reading her letters off of a scrap of vellum she'd cajoled out of a merchant who had stopped at their home a week earlier. For a child, and a girl, she was certainly well-educated; Gorlois saw to that. He wanted his little girl to grow into a lady who would be good for more than a pretty face to decorate a warlord's bed.
"Da, when did you say you were leaving for Ui Faelain? Three days, was it?"
"Yes, love," her father said.
"All right. Will you," she began, changing the subject, "tell me the story about my birth and the soothsayer again?"
Her father scratched his dark beard. Morgana got her hair color from him, but the waves came from her mother's side.
"I suppose I could drum up some enthusiasm," he answered with a twinkle in his eye. "It was a dark and stormy eve--"
"Da!" Morgana interrupted, giggling, "You're making that up! 'Twas a bright, sunny summer afternoon!"
"Ah, so it was!" He pretended to be surprised at his "mistake". "Well, then, I guess there are no spirits in this tale, it being so sunny."
"But there is a soothsayer!" Morgana insisted.
With a chuckle, Gorlois continued his story, embellishing a bit here and there. By the time he finished, Morgana looked up at him through heavily-lidded eyes, nearly asleep.
"Da, I'm glad you'll talk to King Uther," she murmured.
"Anything for you, child," he whispered, kissing her forehead.
Outside the window, the moon rose silently, lighting the courtyard dimly.
Perhaps there was someone watching this touching scene between father and daughter. Perhaps it was a trick of the light through the trees.