Disclaimer: I am poor and own nothing. And because I'm poor, this is my only source of entertainment, so please do not sue.

Authors Note: This story begins after the final battle in the movie with some minor adjustments. Everything happens as it did in the film except that Dagonet, Lancelot and Tristan did not die. They were however seriously wounded, and are barely hanging on. Everything else however is the same, and Arthur and Guinevere have yet to wed. This story, unlike 'My Ana' will have a more mystical approach, but still hopefully, keeping to reality with the movie. What I mean by that is there will be magic, but hopefully believable magic and not too overly fantasy. Mostly I am playing off the end of the Arthur myth a bit, where he was saved at Avalon…Well I don't want to give too much away so just read on.

Angharad means more love.

The Priestesses of Avalon

Prolog:

Arthur was beside himself with worry as he paced the meeting room, the round table only a few feet away. He should not feel this way, it had been a victory today. The leader of the Saxon army had been defeated, but oh what the cost it was. Now in the sick room, lying next to Dagonet, who they all feared would leave this world at any time as he barely clung to life, two more of his brothers lay. And not just any two but his two best. Tristan and Lancelot had been badly injured, and both were unconscious when they had been carried to the infirmary and Merlin had not looked hopeful.

Now, with blood caked in his hair and covering his armor, the smell burning his nostrils, he continued to pace, awaiting news. Slowly, one by one, the others began to file into the room. First Bors, having had his back and side stitched, as well as the other injuries tended to, and had decided to discard his armor for more comfortable clothing, stalked tiredly into the room. He sank into his chair, casting sad glances to his sides, towards Dagonet's and then Tristan's chair, before looking across to where Lancelot normally sat, and sighed, letting his head fall against the table with a loud thud.

Gawain and Galahad came next, also having been tended to and changed. It appeared that Arthur was to be the only one in his armor for this meeting. He watched as the two men, more like twin brothers really, moped over to their seats, looking sadly at all the empty ones. Jols joined them next, as Arthur told him to after the battle, and sat in a seat long since unoccupied, looking sadly at the blood that was still on his hands. Arthur had been proud of him on the battlefield that day. He had fought well and saved many, earning the respect of all the men present, and Arthur was certain, of those who lay in the infirmary a few buildings away.

Guinevere was the last to come in, her eyes puffy from crying, and white cloth covering the injuries on her bare arms. She had put her blue dress back on, and cleaned off the war paint before joining them. She walked silently to Arthur's side and leaned forward, cupping his face and smiling sadly up at him before kissing his cheek and going to sit near Jols. The room fell silent again and Arthur continued to pace, the candles burning lower as the time passed.

It seemed to be an eternity before Merlin entered, a grave look clouding his features. Everyone rose, and Arthur stopped his pacing to regard the Shaman before him. "Well?"

"It does not bode well," he replied tiredly, moving to sink into a nearby chair, feeling his age for the first time in many years.

"What exactly are ya sayin'?" Bors asked, anxiety on his, as well as the others, faces.

"The big one, he still sleeps and he burns, and the other two," he paused and sighed. "The damage is extensive. I do not know that there is anything I can do for them. The scout has lost much blood and already the dark knight begins to burn."

A defeated sigh passed around the room and it was then that Arthur sank to his knees, desperation in his eyes as he looked towards the Heavens wondering why this had happened to them and not to him. Silent tears rolled down Galahads cheeks, that he wiped fervently at while Gawain turned his head, looking sullenly towards the wall. Bors merely sank into his chair, looking glum and Jols followed suit, covering his eyes with his hand and resting his elbows on the table before him.

Guinevere however, would not give up so easily. "There must be something that can be done," she stated, determination in her voice. "Father please, give us heart."

Merlin let out a long sigh, looking at his daughter, the glimmer of hope still in her eyes. "There is someone that can be sent for, but I know not if they will help us."

"Who?" the knights were immediately on their feet again, looking anxiously at the man before them, all begging any Gods that would listen for some good news.

He let out a tired sigh before continuing. "Far in the south, in Avalon, there is a temple, where all of the young women of Britain, and far beyond, blessed with the gifts of magic are sent to train as Priestesses to the Gods. There, someone may be able to heal them."

"You said someone, as in a specific someone. Who are you thinking of?" Galahad asked, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table. The tears had vanished from his eyes and a slight glimmer of hope had replaced them.

"My granddaughter, although I do not know that she will help us. Help me," he said sadly, noticing the confused look on Guinevere's face he continued. "She is the child of my eldest daughter, Angharad. She fell in love with one of the knights that was stationed here in the time of your fathers," he paused, his eyes saddening further before he continued. "I was young and head strong, and opposed the union. She accused me of turning my back on her, and indeed I did; however I do regret it now. She died bearing the girl right before her husband's freedom was granted. He chose to stay here rather than travel with the new babe, and she grew up hating me as her mother did in her final breaths. He died when she was six summers and the High Priestess of Avalon came for her, taking her to the temple, and that was the last day I saw her."

"Why are you so certain she will not help us?" Guinevere asked, confused by the news. She had been told her elder sister died of a fever and this new information disturbed her greatly, and nearly broke her heart. She had never known her father could be so cold.

"When they took her, she renounced me and all I stood for. Claiming I was no better than the Romans, judging her father as they judged us," he sighed. "So much wisdom for someone so young."

"You think she can help us though?" Arthur asked, someone impatiently. His friendship to Merlin was still rocky at best, and he was much more interested at the moment in saving his brothers.

"They specialize in healings there. I am sure that they would be the only ones capable of helping," Merlin agreed.

With an understanding nod Arthur turned to Jols. "Send a messenger to Avalon straight away," he ordered, the squire nodding and rising to head to the task.

"It will be too late then," Merlin stated rising slowly from his seat. "We will need a different kind of messenger for this," with that he headed out towards the courtyard, the knights and Guinevere as well as Jols following quickly behind.

He entered the courtyard, people milling about picking up the pieces, and looked to the sky.

"What are ya waitin' for, their dyin' in there," Bors growled, angry at the delay.

"Patience," the Shaman replied finally spotting who he was looking for and giving out a low whistle, one he'd heard the scout give before when the knights were unaware he was watching. The hawk let out a screech, wheeling in the sky before coming and landing gracefully on Merlin's outstretched arm.

The men all watched in shock as he petted the bird. "He is very ill my friend, terribly ill. I need you to go to Avalon and tell Mariska of your master and his friends. Tell her that I am asking for her, not for me but for them, and their brothers that yet draw breath and are well. Ask her to come and save him," he murmured soothingly to the bird, who cocked her head in understanding, and gave what almost looked like a nod before spreading her wings, indicating she was ready to fly. "Be swift my friend," Merlin said before lifting his arm high into the air, sending the bird into flight.

"Now what do we do?" Gawain asked, concern clearly written on his face.

"We wait, and make sure they survive long enough for help to arrive," Arthur answered for Merlin as they all began to head back towards the infirmary, prayers going with the hawk flying high into the southern sky.

Authors Note: Any good? Or should I just say the hell with it and not bother? Let me know.