Unnatural Feelings
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mists of Avalon or any of Marion Zimmer Brady's work.
Authors note: This is set in about the middle of the Mists of Avalon. Also an AU. One-sided slash. Read & Review!
*_*
By the Goddess, she is my *sister's* daughter. Igraine's daughter. Dear Igraine, who used to cling to me when she was small.
Morgaine, sweetest child...who is fast maturing. I wish I only noticed her growth in a mothering fashion. I wish I noticed her growth with the sort of wistful smile a mother wears when she knows her daughter is grown.
I wish I did not notice her maturity in this way.
I wish I did not hug her so often, just to feel her small breast pressed against me, or smell her hair. I wish that when it came time for the Novice Priestess' to bathe, that I did not hover nearby, hopefully trying to catch a glimpse of her sun-ripened body, naked in the water.
Goddess, what have I become?
These...unnatural feelings. Towards my own flesh and blood.
But do I have any right to feel disgusted at myself for these thoughts, when I think of what I had planned for her and Gwydion? I have never condemned this type of behaviour, never spoke out against it. I am not some swooning Christian maid, after all.
I think it is because I still remember her sitting on my knee when she was younger, so serious and another time when she sat beside me at a feast in Uther's court, so naive and young.
It was when she had her first bleeding, I think, that these feelings occurred.
No one had explained it to her. What was Igraine thinking? No one in the House of Maidens had bothered – surely every woman knew these things?
But Morgaine did not.
I remember coming to my home one summer's night, pushing open the door, only to be confronted with the sound of soft sobbing and darkness.
"Child?" I asked softly into the darkness. I knew no one would have intruded upon me but Morgaine.
"Lady?" She whimpered.
"What is it, child?" I smiled into the darkness. She really wasn't a child any longer. Fifteen, I realised, fifteen.
"There's something wrong with me," She replied.
"What?" I was instantly concerned, shutting the door after me and striding across the room to light a candle.
"No!" The sharpness in her tone caught me off guard. My eyebrows rose, but in the darkness she did not see. "I am sorry, Lady," She murmured contritely.
"No, no..." I went and stood by the dying embers in the grate. It cast soft glows across the room and in that gloom I could just make out a figure half- crouched by my bed. "Tell me,"
"I..." She sounded like she was about to cry again. "I..."
"Hush, it can't be that bad," Almost instinctively, I went forward and she rose up and threw herself into my embrace. I held her closely and that was the first time I noticed the subtle spices in the smell of her hair. She was pressed tight against me. "What is it?"
"This," She whispered. She gripped hold of my left hand and guided it downwards. Alarm spread in me as my hand touched her crotch. I had lain with my own gender before, of course, yet I was...inexperienced with them. Until Morgaine, I had always found men the more attractive sex. She pressed my fingers close to her skin and then I realised they where damp and sticky. I stood motionless for a moment, hand pressed in an inappropriate place...enjoying the strange sensation. I jerked away when I made that revelation. "Well?" She sounded distressed.
"Well...oh, child," I forced a laugh. "Surely you know of this? Did your mother not tell you?"
"No," She sounded less alarmed...more curious.
"You've have your first bleeding. It's actually very late," I replied. "Most girls – or should I say women? – are of childbearing age when they are a year or two younger than you,"
"Oh," She sounded vastly relieved.
"I'll light a candle now, shall I? No point in sitting in the darkness," With some flint, I lit the nearest candle and gasped.
Morgaine's grey smock was covered in blood. Just below the slight curve of her stomach, was sodden in the dark crimson, and her chest was streaked with it, as though she had wiped her hands in frustration. Her face was smudged and her hair damp. My robe was covered in it and so where my hands. "Mother Ceridwen, how long have you been here?"
"About four hours," She replied. "I...I ran away from the other Novices," She sounded deeply ashamed.
I was about to ask why she had not asked them for help, when I remembered what it was to be young. To be young meant to weep when laughed at. "Don't cry, Morgaine," I said gently. "Take off your smock. I probably have some spares here somewhere,"
I turned and began to look in my chest. I was sure Raven had left some of her clothes here on occasion. Not to mention, my own need for a change. I chose a simple black robe for me and a grey smock suitable for Morgaine's rank. I turned back to give her the clothes and was struck by how beautiful my niece really was.
She stood naked, face streaked with blood and tears, bronzed skin flushed, dark hair wild, thighs coated in blood. "What?" She asked.
"You have grown," I managed huskily, blushing at my sudden arousal.
She laughed delightedly and hugged me again. I have never been more uncomfortable. This small, warm, naked body in my arms...I smiled and detangled myself, quickly turning away.
I cannot describe the anger I felt when I saw Galahad with her. Lancelet he likes to be called, does he? Named for his bravery fighting Saxons? Bah! I sat before the pool, clutching my knees. Surely she would not forget her promise? Her virginity was sacred, after all.
She did not forget.
I still remember her anger and disbelief when she realised she had lain with Gwydion – now named Arthur. Oh, dear child, did you not realise how much pain it caused me to send you to him? To let you surrender yourself to him? When it should have been me?
She comes to me in the night sometimes, long after she left. Her face is still clear in my memory, her smell still there, the touch of her skin on mine.
There is one dream that is frequent. I sit by the waters edge, alone, in the dark, a cool breeze blowing, ruffling the reeds. My hair is down and I wear a dark robe, very much like the one I wore on her first bleeding.
She comes out of the mists. "Morgaine," I murmur, reaching up to embrace her in a motherly fashion.
I catch her in my arms and she sinks down so that she sits in my lap. She is much too big, of course, yet there is something strangely right about this.
She caresses my cheek and kisses me. At first, I think it is a simple peck on the lips, like the kisses I gave my sisters, but when it deepens and her mouth opens, I know it is not. When we break apart, I half-gasp: "Morgaine –"
"Hush," she murmurs back, kissing my neck with soft lips. "Why spoil this with words?"
She is right. I have no protests as she pushes me backwards onto the grass and begins unfastening my robe with trembling hands.
I wake up sweating and very often shouting. The Priestesses who attend me have often come to me when they hear my cries, but they have stopped doing that. They do not know the contents of this dream – nor would I want them to – but they know that I would not care to discuss it.
Only Raven keeps coming. I find her standing at the end of my bed a secret, sad smile on her face. I think she knows. Mutedly, she sees more than all the others who can talk do.
Sometimes I stand by the shores hoping Morgaine will return. Every time the barge comes to deliver its passengers, I hope. I do not know how long it will be before she returns. Or if she ever will.
I wonder if I ever will hear the words: "Viviane...my lover..." in the place of: "Viviane...my mother..."
~
The End
Read and Review
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mists of Avalon or any of Marion Zimmer Brady's work.
Authors note: This is set in about the middle of the Mists of Avalon. Also an AU. One-sided slash. Read & Review!
*_*
By the Goddess, she is my *sister's* daughter. Igraine's daughter. Dear Igraine, who used to cling to me when she was small.
Morgaine, sweetest child...who is fast maturing. I wish I only noticed her growth in a mothering fashion. I wish I noticed her growth with the sort of wistful smile a mother wears when she knows her daughter is grown.
I wish I did not notice her maturity in this way.
I wish I did not hug her so often, just to feel her small breast pressed against me, or smell her hair. I wish that when it came time for the Novice Priestess' to bathe, that I did not hover nearby, hopefully trying to catch a glimpse of her sun-ripened body, naked in the water.
Goddess, what have I become?
These...unnatural feelings. Towards my own flesh and blood.
But do I have any right to feel disgusted at myself for these thoughts, when I think of what I had planned for her and Gwydion? I have never condemned this type of behaviour, never spoke out against it. I am not some swooning Christian maid, after all.
I think it is because I still remember her sitting on my knee when she was younger, so serious and another time when she sat beside me at a feast in Uther's court, so naive and young.
It was when she had her first bleeding, I think, that these feelings occurred.
No one had explained it to her. What was Igraine thinking? No one in the House of Maidens had bothered – surely every woman knew these things?
But Morgaine did not.
I remember coming to my home one summer's night, pushing open the door, only to be confronted with the sound of soft sobbing and darkness.
"Child?" I asked softly into the darkness. I knew no one would have intruded upon me but Morgaine.
"Lady?" She whimpered.
"What is it, child?" I smiled into the darkness. She really wasn't a child any longer. Fifteen, I realised, fifteen.
"There's something wrong with me," She replied.
"What?" I was instantly concerned, shutting the door after me and striding across the room to light a candle.
"No!" The sharpness in her tone caught me off guard. My eyebrows rose, but in the darkness she did not see. "I am sorry, Lady," She murmured contritely.
"No, no..." I went and stood by the dying embers in the grate. It cast soft glows across the room and in that gloom I could just make out a figure half- crouched by my bed. "Tell me,"
"I..." She sounded like she was about to cry again. "I..."
"Hush, it can't be that bad," Almost instinctively, I went forward and she rose up and threw herself into my embrace. I held her closely and that was the first time I noticed the subtle spices in the smell of her hair. She was pressed tight against me. "What is it?"
"This," She whispered. She gripped hold of my left hand and guided it downwards. Alarm spread in me as my hand touched her crotch. I had lain with my own gender before, of course, yet I was...inexperienced with them. Until Morgaine, I had always found men the more attractive sex. She pressed my fingers close to her skin and then I realised they where damp and sticky. I stood motionless for a moment, hand pressed in an inappropriate place...enjoying the strange sensation. I jerked away when I made that revelation. "Well?" She sounded distressed.
"Well...oh, child," I forced a laugh. "Surely you know of this? Did your mother not tell you?"
"No," She sounded less alarmed...more curious.
"You've have your first bleeding. It's actually very late," I replied. "Most girls – or should I say women? – are of childbearing age when they are a year or two younger than you,"
"Oh," She sounded vastly relieved.
"I'll light a candle now, shall I? No point in sitting in the darkness," With some flint, I lit the nearest candle and gasped.
Morgaine's grey smock was covered in blood. Just below the slight curve of her stomach, was sodden in the dark crimson, and her chest was streaked with it, as though she had wiped her hands in frustration. Her face was smudged and her hair damp. My robe was covered in it and so where my hands. "Mother Ceridwen, how long have you been here?"
"About four hours," She replied. "I...I ran away from the other Novices," She sounded deeply ashamed.
I was about to ask why she had not asked them for help, when I remembered what it was to be young. To be young meant to weep when laughed at. "Don't cry, Morgaine," I said gently. "Take off your smock. I probably have some spares here somewhere,"
I turned and began to look in my chest. I was sure Raven had left some of her clothes here on occasion. Not to mention, my own need for a change. I chose a simple black robe for me and a grey smock suitable for Morgaine's rank. I turned back to give her the clothes and was struck by how beautiful my niece really was.
She stood naked, face streaked with blood and tears, bronzed skin flushed, dark hair wild, thighs coated in blood. "What?" She asked.
"You have grown," I managed huskily, blushing at my sudden arousal.
She laughed delightedly and hugged me again. I have never been more uncomfortable. This small, warm, naked body in my arms...I smiled and detangled myself, quickly turning away.
I cannot describe the anger I felt when I saw Galahad with her. Lancelet he likes to be called, does he? Named for his bravery fighting Saxons? Bah! I sat before the pool, clutching my knees. Surely she would not forget her promise? Her virginity was sacred, after all.
She did not forget.
I still remember her anger and disbelief when she realised she had lain with Gwydion – now named Arthur. Oh, dear child, did you not realise how much pain it caused me to send you to him? To let you surrender yourself to him? When it should have been me?
She comes to me in the night sometimes, long after she left. Her face is still clear in my memory, her smell still there, the touch of her skin on mine.
There is one dream that is frequent. I sit by the waters edge, alone, in the dark, a cool breeze blowing, ruffling the reeds. My hair is down and I wear a dark robe, very much like the one I wore on her first bleeding.
She comes out of the mists. "Morgaine," I murmur, reaching up to embrace her in a motherly fashion.
I catch her in my arms and she sinks down so that she sits in my lap. She is much too big, of course, yet there is something strangely right about this.
She caresses my cheek and kisses me. At first, I think it is a simple peck on the lips, like the kisses I gave my sisters, but when it deepens and her mouth opens, I know it is not. When we break apart, I half-gasp: "Morgaine –"
"Hush," she murmurs back, kissing my neck with soft lips. "Why spoil this with words?"
She is right. I have no protests as she pushes me backwards onto the grass and begins unfastening my robe with trembling hands.
I wake up sweating and very often shouting. The Priestesses who attend me have often come to me when they hear my cries, but they have stopped doing that. They do not know the contents of this dream – nor would I want them to – but they know that I would not care to discuss it.
Only Raven keeps coming. I find her standing at the end of my bed a secret, sad smile on her face. I think she knows. Mutedly, she sees more than all the others who can talk do.
Sometimes I stand by the shores hoping Morgaine will return. Every time the barge comes to deliver its passengers, I hope. I do not know how long it will be before she returns. Or if she ever will.
I wonder if I ever will hear the words: "Viviane...my lover..." in the place of: "Viviane...my mother..."
~
The End
Read and Review