Author's Note - Much thanks to MustangGirl and BrokenShells for reviewing the first chapter of my story. Chapter one will bring attention away from our main characters and will focus on what happened before Aranwen's birth. I apologize to those who dislike it when traditional characters (not in the movie) are drastically altered (though solely for the purpose of the story).

Chapter 1 – Spinning Her Web

17 years earlier,

Morgaine's fingers had become so accustomed to spinning that she once boasted that in the dark, she would have spun a perfect thread. Dark, tangled hair fell upon her hands as she bent her head over her work. Nothing could be heard in the room save for her raspy breathing, the sound of her spinning and the occasional crackling of the fire in the hearth. She was alone – not that she disliked being alone for Morgaine much preferred to work in the solitary silence. She clenched her teeth in anticipation for as she glanced out of the window, she saw the snow as it fell upon the hills. Soon, her half-brother, Arthur, would have a new child to welcome into his family. A child, she knew, who would be reared in the ways of its mother, Guinevere.

Morgaine hummed a low tune as she worked, unaware that there was two shadows cast onto the wall behind her. All of a sudden, a cold, sharp edge was pressed against her throat. Morgaine did not cry out and nor did she gasp. Her hands remained steady in her lap and she did not even question whoever was behind her to know who it was.

"Guinevere," she said calmly. The hand that grasped the knife below her chin trembled slightly as if in anger. Morgaine continued her spinning.

"You are not surprised that I am not dead, Morgaine?" Guinevere hissed. She grasped hold of the older woman's hair and pressed her cheek to hers with a fiery rage in her eyes.

"I do not know what you are talking about," Morgaine replied without even an attempt to sound innocent. She lowered her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she were about to say something of great importance. Guinevere snarled, her mouth close to Morgaine's ear.

"In my clan, all of the girls were raised to have knowledge of herbs and plants, Morgaine. We were the ones to introduce such a lore to the ignorant strangers of this land, were we not?" Each time Guinevere said her name, there reflected in her voice was a dangerous rage. "Next time you attempt to put poison in my food, do it discretely. You think I am as foolish as that? I know your thoughts... I know what you think of me. I swore to myself that next time you attempted such a deed, I would slit your throat. You know Arthur is not so fond of you that he would mourn your passing with great remorse."

"It was not poison," the other woman confessed in her dry, subtle way.

"You have been trying to rid me of the child in my womb since you arrived, Morgaine! How do you know that I will not die if you succeed? And you, you who has adopted the Christian faith, murderer of children?"

"I wish that my brother would have thought things through more carefully before he decided to marry a Pagan whore," Morgaine said coldly through her teeth. She was sure Guinevere would do it this time and slice the delicate skin at her throat but she did not.

"Is that what you think of me? No – I knew that." Guinevere drew away and spat at Morgaine. "You will do well to stay a way from my child."

"Or what, Guinevere? You will paint yourself blue and run at me with your sword? They say it is dangerous for a woman to touch a weapon while she is with child." Her eye fell upon the knife Guinevere held still in her hand. Guinevere growled at her and with one swift motion, flung the knife forcefully at the woman's head. Morgaine moved her head and smiled as the blade fell harmless before the fire.

"I think your condition, milady, has affected your aim." Guinevere scowled.

"You say you are a good woman, Morgaine, and that you, having been borne of a woman of this land, have converted yourself to this religion they call Christianity. What of Christianity? You keep a scrying bowl under your bed and mutter curses under your breath every time you see me walk passed. You devote yourself to those... evil arts and yet you dare call yourself one of them... a Christian. Is this what your God has called on you to do, Morgaine? Is this is your calling, to go against everything Christians believe in?"

"Sometimes one must take their fate into their own hands in order to insure the fates of others."

"And what of my fate?" Guinevere demanded.

"Perhaps both our souls will be trapped in hell for eternity."

"Rubbish," Guinevere spat. She turned to go, her lips twisted into an angry snarl, but could not bring herself to leave the room without having said everything that plagued her mind. She turned around and faced Morgaine once again, staring into the woman's pale, pale face. "I do not know why Arthur allows you to dwell in his home. Perhaps he pities you for some reason beyond my understanding."

"You know very well that I, being merely a woman, cannot go anywhere alone – not since my husband's death in battle."

"He died a much coveted Roman death," Guinevere murmured bitterly, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

"Indeed he did," Morgaine said, her voice fading as she thought of him for a brief moment. A sly smile posessed her lips and she looked into the hearth as if searching for something. With a blank stare, she reached out with one hand and grasped hold of something in the air that Guinevere could not see. She has gone mad, Guinevere thought, and she is doing well with driving me into madness along with her.

"My fate, Guinevere – my destiny," she said quietly. There was nothing sinister about her voice as she spoke those words. If there was anything to sense in her voice, it was the faintest trace of sorrow.

"My child is my own destiny... and she, her own destiny."

"Do not be so certain that your child is a daughter... you know my brother wants a son." Suddenly, a boy ran into the room, laughing gaily as he did. He grabbed hold of Guinevere's hand and tugged on it as if he were about to request something of her. But his expression turned from joy to fear as he noticed Morgaine in the room, staring at them both.

"He already has a son," Guinevere said. She turned to leave a second time but she could not do so without saying one last thing. "Morgaine, Bors has made it a point that he wishes for you to accompany him in his room tonight. I must warn you though, Vanora will murder you in your sleep if you fail to keep your secret. She is still in childbed." Who is the whore now?

"Very well then," Morgaine said simply, a dull expression of excitement upon her face. Then she motioned for the boy, who looked on her with curiosity, to come to her. Guinevere held him back but he pulled his hand free as if to declare in his own silent way that he had the courage to do things on his own. The boy approached Morgaine slowly.

"Aunt Morgaine," he said quietly, addressing her formally out of intimidation rather than respect. There was fear in his eyes as Morgaine smiled at him in her almost cynical way. She patted his head, to his dismay, as if he were a little boy and not a boy already passed the age of ten.

"I am sorry, boy, but I do not remember your name," she said to him, forcing a kind way about her.

"Lucan," he murmured. Morgaine nodded at him. She turned her head and gestured towards the knife that rested in front of the hearth. Guinevere watched her carefully, holding her hand out in case anything should happen.

"Will you get that for me?" Lucan nodded and bent down to retrieve the blade, holding the handle of it shakily in his fingers. He held it out to her, the curiosity growing even more as Morgaine eyed the glinting blade. In his face was a look of distrust for the woman. She grinned, exposing her crooked teeth. Then she lifted her hand, revealing long, claw-like fingernails and pointed at Guinevere who stood in the doorway, her knuckles clenched against the wooden frame of it.

"Will you take it from me?" Lucan questioned after an awkward silence. His bottom lip trembled slightly. He was afraid and Morgaine knew it and was pleased. She shook her head.

"Give it to your mother," Morgaine instructed him. "She dropped it there not too long ago. She might want it back, not being able to retrieve in a normal fashion."

"She is not my mother," Lucan said. "My mother is dead... and my father." Morgaine faked a look of sympathy and reached out to take the ring the hung from Lucan's throat into her hands. She brought it close to her eyes and starred at it momentarily. Lucan stood there stupidly, almost unaware of what was going on.

"This is a lovely... pendant. You will give it to me someday, boy." Lucan shook his head. Morgaine was not asking, she was merely stating a fact that only she could ever know. Guinevere opened her mouth protest but Lucan had made it clear that he needed no help from her.

"I will keep it forever," Lucan told her. "Forever," he repeated, taking back the ring - Dagonet's ring - and concealing it in his palm.

"You say that now. But things will change... life will no longer be so simple and you will have to give up the things that were once so dear to you." Lucan scowled but did not respond. He drew away from her slowly and then, looking at Guinevere questioningly, handed the knife to her. Guinevere took it quickly, and gabbed Lucan's arm protectively. She urged him with a whisper to go out of the room and he did, fleeing down the hall now that no one could see him.

"You harm him, Morgaine, and I will spill your witch's blood upon that hearth. I swear on my mother's grave – I swear on the grave of Dagonet that you will be harmed," Guinevere threatened. Morgaine crossed herself, almost sarcastically, against Guinevere's curse.

"That was rather harsh, Guinevere," Morgaine said passively, picking up her spinning once again. Her husky voice began to hum the same monotonous tune. Guinevere finally went out of the door, leaving Morgaine alone. She would keep her alive for Arthur's sake, Guinevere decided. But even as she thought this, her mind could not be pulled away from the worries she had for her child.