Author's Note – Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far. This chapter will be even darker. It's not like me to write such – material. But I felt that it was necessary to the plot. Italic means that the scene is a flashback.

Chapter 5 – Stranger, Stranger

Aranwen shuddered at the memory. Cold hands and hot breath – that was what she remembered most clearly. She was not even dreaming when it happened. A hoarse breathing woke her from a light slumber. Her eyes opened to a shadow descending upon her. Strong hands pinned her arms down onto the bed and a tremendous weight was heaved upon her. Thinking it was but a joke at first, she called Lucan's name. But surely he would not be so bold, she thought quickly.

She did not scream – not at first. Guinevere had told once when she was small that one should only scream when they could no longer help themselves. So she struggled, trying with all her might to wriggle out from under the stranger's grasp and attempting to reach under her pillow for the dagger she kept there. But the stranger knew her secret. With his breath upon her face, he reached under her head and grabbed the knife and quickly slid it under her chin.

"You cannot decide to scream now," he said in a cold whisper. Aranwen gasped but did not move. She was afraid now – finally, now that the moment was quiet.

"What do you plan to do with me?" she asked, an urgency in her voice. She heard a cruel, quiet laughter and felt his hand on her cheek, as if he were imposing upon her a false affection. Aranwen opened her mouth to scream, thinking it was her only chance, but her frightened breathing was all that could be heard.

"Forgive me, milady..." the man murmured, reaching for her garments and releasing her other hand. He put his mouth forcefully over hers to muffle her sobbing. "Morgaine... bids it – and I could not resist the opportunity..."

--

Morgaine was awakened in the early morning by the cries of a young girl. Aranwen stood at her doorway, holding the knife in one hand. The scratch on her face received in a mock fight was now accompanied by a torn lip and a bruised cheek.

"Who was he?" Aranwen screamed. "Who was it – he said it was your bidding!" The girl threw herself upon the bed and held the knife to Morgaine's throat, unflinchingly. "Why, Morgaine?" Her voice became shaken with disturbed sobs. Tears mingled with blood. Morgaine said nothing and Aranwen drew away, gasping for breath.

"It had to be done..." Morgaine finally murmured in too simple a manner. Aranwen let out a tortured screech and brought the knife down onto the bed and through Morgaine's exposed palm. Blood spurted out upon the sheets but Morgaine did not even utter a cry.

"I am numb to the pain," she said simply, taking the knife with her bloodied hand and sucking air in through clenched teeth. "You cannot hurt me even in your anger. Aranwen... being heiress to the throne – such a right is... accompanied by certain burdens and responsibilities. I must thin the savage line..." Morgaine whispered, grabbing the girl by the hair and uttering the words into her ear. "Or bring it to an abrupt end."

"Your mother was of this land... she was a Briton – one of the savages you speak so ill about! Surely your blood is tainted just as mine is!" Aranwen fell to the ground in hopelessness, watching, almost as if she were in a trance, as Morgaine wrapped cloth ripped from her nightshift around her hand.

"I will be married..." Morgaine said simply. "Marcus is his name... but I will not marry him until certain events come into play. I would have you married too as would best suit a girl your age. But I do not see what good it would do. Do not get me wrong... there are many who would have you..."

"I am not for anyone."

"Your permission is not needed."

"Do you love my father?" Aranwen demanded. "If you do love him then why would you coax his wife to death and then dishonour his daughter? Is that just in the eyes of God? Even the pagans of this land show more compassion!" Morgaine paused for a moment and Aranwen half expected to see even a spark of emotion in her eyes. But there was none. None at all. Morgaine tilted her head and peered at her through squinted eyes.

"I suppose... besides that is what is commanded of mankind. I must love everyone. Even you, poppet... and it is out of love that I do what I do – truly for I know no other way."

"I can kill myself," Aranwen threatened, going to the window. "I could throw myself out right now having been disgraced so... and betrayed!"

"He got what we bargained for so you may do what you wish. It makes no difference to me. Not any more. Marcus will thank me later, I am sure." Aranwen let out another frustrated cry. She did not know what to do. Her father would not listen to her for Morgaine was his sister. Suddenly, a new dread filled her. What about Arthur? She fled out of her aunt's chamber and to where her father slept.

--

"Your eye is not as good as it used to be, Galahad – even when you are sober," Gawaine jested. Galahad frowned, stooping down to retrieve the dagger from the ground and aiming again at his target. But his eyes drifted over to where Lucan was, lying across the floor with an empty mug in his hand. The younger man opened his eyes and lifted his head, wincing in the light of the rising sun.

"You did it again!" Bors roared. "'Tis a beautiful day, boy... stand up now and have another drink."

"Leave the poor man alone," Galahad mumbled. "You, Bors, have had more than your fair share. Save it for tonight... Arthur will wonder about us when he comes down."

"Nah... a drink is no good when you have nothing to celebrate – or no pain to numb, you know?" Lucan did not laugh. Something did not feel right. The air around was too silent for comfort.

"The sky is red this morning," Lucan observed, looking to the clouds gathered to the east.

"Aye, it's a beautiful day," Bors said again, rubbing his hands together. "My daughter asks about you, Lucan." Lucan did not respond.

"Try not to embarrass the boy," Galahad told him. "He can look for a lady on his own."

"And you have more than one daughter," Gawaine reminded Bors with a wink. "I know some of them quite well - what is that name of the large one with flaming red hair? Resembles you some, Bors – quite friendly too."

"Touch one of them and I will make it so that you are no longer a man," Bors threatened. "Lucan is a fine boy – and he's too good looking to be unmarried at his age."

"He is not a boy, Bors," Galahad said.

"But he's younger than us, no? He's a boy to me – still a boy. He's Dag's little fosterling."

"I can argue on my own, Galahad," Lucan said quietly. The older knight, who was much like an older brother to him, nodded. All of a sudden, the shrill sound of a horn split the air and the knights looked up, alarmed.

"A Woad horn," Galahad recognized.

--

"Your mother gave it to you?" Lucan asked, touching the strange object in her hands. Aranwen nodded, clasping it tightly, refusing to let anyone else touch it. "Well... what sound does it make?"

"I cannot show you - I must use it only when I am in need of... them. My mother told me that if I was ever in any trouble then I should make a noise upon it and the people of the woods will come for me." Aranwen wrapped the thing in a sheepskin and put it back into the chest, closing lid tightly. "She said she might not always be there."

"Do you think the day will come - you know, when you will need it?" Aranwen shrugged, a look of worry in her eyes. But she was too young to know fear. Guinevere would always be there to protect her. Guinevere would never leave. Never.

"No..." Aranwen breathed, shaking her head. "No. I have you here, Lucan... and my father and his knights - that dragon that always kept me safe even in my dreams. And my mother always said that I must learn to fend for myself. Sometimes, Lucan, she is more of a teacher than a mother to me."

"Are not mothers teachers?" Lucan asked.

"They are usually both... but my own mother was one and not the other."

"But she protects you, Wen," Lucan told her gently. "And she protects me."

"Indeed," Aranwen said softly, "But while she protects, she never comforts..." Aranwen sighed. "She was the one who warned me when I was small not to ride my horse so fast. And it was you, Lucan, who comforted me when I fell off doing so."

"I promise, Aranwen, that while I live, you will never be without comfort." Lucan put his arms around her affectionately - like she was his own little girl. Her small, fragile body was warm against his own. Things would never change.

Author's Note – There you go, my friends. Another dark, disturbing chapter. I know there are plenty of unanswered questions. It would be nice if you attempted to answer any you come up with so I know where I am leading my readers. No flames though.