Son of the Lake
Rating: M for later scenes
Genre: Romance
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of Marion Zimmer Bradley's characters. The plot line and original characters are my own. Sadly, I do not own hers. I wish I did. That would be one sweaty night! .
Ten minutes later, the small boat bumped against the shore. Two women, in their early twenties, rushed forward to pull the boat onto the shore, their long powder blue robes getting soaked to the knees. They smiled as they cut the ropes tangled around his feet, smiles never leaving their faces as they pulled him onto dry ground. They pushed their hair out of their faces, revealing powder blue crescent moons on their brows.
Aydrian stirred slowly as fresh water was dribbled onto his forehead, cool against the mark of the sacred feminine on his brow. He looked up into the face of Morgaine, a newly initiated priestess, and rumored to be of direct descent from the first Lady of Avalon. She was a beautiful girl, around five foot seven, long wavy black hair dangling to the middle of her back. She looked at Aydrian with admiring eyes, shining brighter green than anything of this world. She gave a small smile before stepping aside to allow Morgan, the Lady of Avalon, to approach.
With a small chuckle, Aydrian tried to stand, but his knees gave out, splaying him into a small pool of mud, his pants becoming coated in the murky filth. Morgaine gave a small giggle, to which Morgan replied with a stern look, standing to her full height.
"Morgaine! Do not amuse yourself with the misfortune of others! Go! Fetch our returning champion some water, a slab of bread, and the three best apples from yesterday's harvest! GO!"
"Yes, milady." Morgaine scurried away, pulling up the ends of her robes as she hurried to follow orders.
Two other priestesses came forward with a Druid-in-training who helped lift Aydrian into a nearby hut, the doorway draped with lavender. They carried him inside and laid him on a bed of heather, laying pillows under his torso to sit him up. Morgaine entered as he got comfortable, sitting on his left. She helped him to lift the goblet to his lips and sip some water. He smiled as she got up and went to a small table nearby, slicing and peeling the apples she had brought him.
"You remembered, Morgaine of the Faeries."
"Of course I did. But why do you still call me by that name? I am not as she was anymore. I am no small thing, Aydrian."
"You have her strength and her power. Even if you no longer resemble her, which I believe you do, you still remind me of her."
Morgaine laughed and went back to slicing the apples as the Lady Morgan entered, followed by an elderly man in light grey robes. He bowed to Aydrian as he reached the bedside.
"Why do you bow to me, Druid?"
"It is only fitting that I should, Venerable One."
"Venerable One? That title is befitted only to the Merlin. Why do you call me as such?"
"Gawaine named you his successor before he died. You have inherited his title. I now serve you, Messenger of the Gods."
Morgaine gave a gasp of shock and dropped the knife to the floor, where it clattered. The Lady sat by Aydrian's side, giving the news time to sink in. Morgaine brought over the bread, apple slices, and goblet on a tray in his lap. He drained the goblet and help it out to one of the novice priestesses to refill.
"Aydrian?" Morgan placed her hand over his.
Aydrian stood slowly, placing a hand on the Druids' shoulder to help him gain his balance. He walked slowly, making his way across the island and up the spiral ath on the Tor to the circle of stones at the top. He sat in the middle, gazing up to the stars. Morgaine walked over and sat next to him, placing a hand on his back.
"Are you okay? Is there anything I can do, Merlin?"
The air became unbearably warm as trhe ring of stones flared with power.
"DO NOT CALL ME THAT! I AM NO MERLIN! I am a simple Druid."
Morgaine moved back, now afraid of her childhood friend, him raging.
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