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Arthur's company had set up an encampment not far from the shore, and now as the sun set into the sea, the area was full of lively voices, music, and celebration. Torches were lit, wine was flowing, and the newly wedded pair was seated amongst their knights and their people, eating and laughing and sharing warm glances now and then.
Morgaine stood on a hill not far from the tents, watching as a few Woad men carried the sacred wood into a clearing about a hundred or so yards from the camp, to stand ready when the stars stepped out of the twilight. Already the young women below were finding flowers for their hair, trying ribbons about the children and finding themselves dancing a bit, all in celebration. This had been a day long hoped for, prayed for, when the land would be theirs again, ruled by a good and noble leader.
It was a joyous time, and Morgaine wished she could feel a part of it, yet she could not, at least not fully. A part of her was angry with herself, why were there no smiles on her face? All that she and Merlin had worked for had come to be, her brother had wed the girl he loved, and the land would be at peace...
But she knew nothing could replace the emptiness in her heart, where the hope of being loved by her younger brother had resided for so long. It had been buried deeply, the Lady of The Lake was not to have such strong ties to the mortal world, but she did. And now he was so distant from her, still wrestling with the thought of his mother having lay with another, no doubt, a man he would never know, for Igraine had never seen him again, nor known his name. What did that make Morgaine to him, other then an ally?
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A sigh escaped her lips, and she started to feel a hand on her arm, turning to see none other then Arthur, standing beside her. She let out her breath, and gave a small smile looking up at him. He smiled back, and her eyes returned to the clearing."I admit I've not paid much attention to the old religion's customs," He said after a moment of watching the Woads arrange the wood, "The fertility fires were a great mystery."
"It is a celebration of the land," Morgaine replied, "A young man might ask the maiden he fancied to wed him at Beltane, children might play games at springtime, and many will go to the fires..."
"To lay with a perfect stranger?" Arthur smirked, yet his eyes were serious...Morgaine understood perfectly.
"It's not about that," She spoke softly in reply, "The goddess is in all of us...she does not grudge nor rank on beauty, strength, we are all her children at Beltane, all women are The Goddess, all men are The Hunter, and the joys of the flesh are the mother's gift, to be enjoyed in this deeply spiritual motion. It is especially honorable if one has a linage close to the goddess, as a priestess, chieftain, or a child of either...as Igraine was. Their child will be strong in the old magic."
Arthur nodded, slowly, looking back to the clearing. "I did not understand..." He whispered, "How much it must have meant to her..."
"One of the greatest and hardest things she'd ever done, I'm sure" Morgaine nodded, then took a deep breath, "Shouldn't you be with your bride, King Arthur?"
"Ah she's busy with her sisters, cousins..." Arthur trailed off, "I thought I should also spend time with the only family I had here..." Morgaine looked back up at him, to see him smiling fully on her. She smiled back, and he put his arm around her shoulders for a moment. "...My sister."
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The summer evening was chilly, even with the torches that burned within Branwen and Eiluned's tent. Branwen shivered, as she heard the drums begin to pound, heard the laughter of a few Woad men who passed by her tent, on their way to dance. Eiluned stepped inside, and nearly dropped the wine goblet in her hand.
Branwen turned from where she stood, braiding back the last of her long ruddy curls. She was dressed in a plain leather bodice, a skirt of brown cotton tied around her hips, her ceremonial beads and feathers, and the tattoo on her forehead painted a bit brighter. She looked every bit a powerful priestess of Avalon, yet her brown eyes were like those of a frightened deer.
"I felt the mother's call." Was her only explanation, swallowing nervously. Eiluned nodded slowly, stepping past her to set her wine on the small table between the mounds of fur that were their beds.
"Here," She said softly, taking the earthenware bowl of blue woad the Branwen had been holding, and dipping her fingers in it. "You should have the marks of a priestess." The elder woman deftly drew the sign of the sun on Branwen's torso, the moon on her chest above the laces of her simple vest, and various vines and flowers on her arms, and her face. "There...this may not be Beltane, but you will be the goddess nonetheless."
"I...I'm still afraid." Branwen breathed, as Eiluned wove some dried rowan and fresh chicory through her braids, as primroses were not in season. "Not...Not of childbirth, not right now, but..."
"It will be fine." Eiluned drew her close, kissing her forehead above the crescent moon. "This is an important night, a night of celebration...the goddess will grant you a gentle lover, I am sure of it." She drew back, taking a deep breath, "Now go, they've already started the dances..."
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She was barefoot, walking through the grass and toward the two fires, where the drummers were beating out a steady time, and the people were dancing, some wearing their harvest masks, some wearing their Beltane masks, some none at all. The grass was soft, and cool under her feet, and a distant part of her found this strange, the landscape had seemed so rocky in the daylight. Her heart was unsteady, yet there was a soft voice in the air, by her ear, whispering that all would be well, all would be paradise, she would be forever changed this night, a faithful servant of the goddess. Still, she was afraid...
They were all around her then, those who were only there to dance, only there to play the drums, and then couples with hands clasped, slipping away from the fires and into the trees. Eyes were meeting across the fires, the goddess seeing her hunter, the hunter seeing the goddess. All kinds were there, Woads, Druids, the common people, all who believed that tonight was a great marriage, of their King, of the earth, and of their island's new beginning...
No eyes met Branwen's for a long time, though her beauty was great. She was afraid to look up, but when she did, she realized that she did not feel her chosen partner anywhere, none of the faces were drawing her in, nor was she drawing any to her. She was almost ready to breathe a sigh of something between relief...she did not have to face her fear...and regret...she could not serve the mother fully...when she saw him.
The drums were suddenly all Branwen could hear above her sharp intake of breath, as her eyes were fixed across the flames, to where he stood, gazing back at her. His face, painted with woad, was illuminated by the fire, and his eyes were bright as they met her own.
Gawain could only stare at her for a time, looking like a being of legend that could pass right through the flames if she wanted, yet at the same time her dark eyes betrayed her mortality, unsure and afraid, yet glowing with the light of the goddess.
They moved at the same moment, stepping slowly around the flames, their eyes never leaving each other, their hands meeting at the bonfire's edge. Gawain reached out to her wordlessly, brushing one of her braids back from her eyes, his fingers tracing one of her markings down the side of her face, to her throat. Branwen shut her eyes, trembling a little even as relief settled in her heart. It had been him. She would have nothing to fear...perhaps even, she realized as a warm desire began to form within her, she would find pleasure after all. His hand drifted to her side, and she opened her eyes, to see him staring at her with a warm intensity that captivated her. The pulse was all around them, of the earth, the fires, the drums, and the pair was filled with their desire, their need. Still holding her hand, Gawain pulled her towards the trees, away from the light...
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The woods were sweet with the scent of summer, of the trees, the salty air, and the chicory in my hair that was crushed against the leafy forest floor as Gawain laid me down. My hands sunk into the leaves on either side of my head, and my lips parted to take in the thick air around us. My eyes were drawn upward, to the clear night, the stars and the full moon above us. His lips were against my throat, his strong arms surrounding me, and my eyes shut, feeling the far-off drums pulsing with the roar of the ocean, pulsing with my blood, our blood. He lifted his head and looked down at me, his eyes imploring mine, and I gave him my reply. I reached up, draping my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his long hair, and pulling him towards me, our lips meeting softly. He knew I'd never been kissed before, and I let him be my teacher, the goddess submitting to her counterpart, and oh how the desire swelled within me. I wanted him, I wanted his love, and he mine.
There were no words between us that night; we did not need any, though our future together would be filled with many. But at that time, on that sweet night I had feared for so long, our spirits spoke for us, igniting a passion I'd not thought possible before. My arms welcomed his warm embrace, our bodies joining in the intoxicating air of the night, the night my course was forever changed...
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Author's Notes: siiigh I am in love with Gawaine, it's true...
And why yes, I have seen The Last of The Mohicans ten million times, why do you ask? .
heehee
I have always wanted to write a Beltane scene, lol, unfortunately placing the events during the springtime would have messed with a few other things I have planned, so this seemed permissible and, hopefully, believable.
I've just decided that I need to see the movie a third time before I leave for Puerto Rico on friday. Oooo! Or better yet, I could see it in San Juan, with subtitles XD
Again, much love to all reviewers! I've given you sweet lovin, stay tuned for war, angst, death, more sweet lovin, and one pissed off Guenevere...