Yet...

What do they say it's love? This strong heat that burst in the chest and slither through the stomach like lust's own hand, lover-like, caresses you?

It is this ethereal glow of faith that appears like a beautiful angel, worthy of adoration. Because we are too humans and sinful to worship the christian god directly; it is better to praise by a third party.

Or is it that love is knowing your affection is real? Having the certainty that you saw the Goddess' face and that she blessed you with a kiss so that love could last? Because in times of war the brotherly love is fine and good but the love from a lover gives the will of taking the arms into hands.

Thinking over types of love; loving someone that comes to you as a hero, that worships you as much as it is reciprocal, overpowering the careful father-daughter's bond... That is childish.

Futile.

Weak.

You didn't took this power that lies in your grasp, that can bend anyone on their knees and act proactively.

You left him feeble. A warrior of that intensity treated like a court jester simply due to "women do not betray their husbands and marriage beds are sacred". Yours was a marriage made between men! Not by gods! They did not approve of this deal between you two that don't strive to better the essences of yourself!

If you want someone like your father then you want commodity. Better would have been to stay at your monastery among the loveless and the nurturing. Then you could have searched for this absent god that only preaches fake loves.

Loving someone is stronger than being loved by another, so said the greek, because they had, inside themselves, the god of love. His flame, strenght and prescience.

Maybe they were right. Our egyptian friends keep their wisdom in this case. Their silent priests hushed in with high vows for secret preservation.

I don't blame them.

It is not easy to keep a secret and a vow when they're bigger than your flesh.

In any case I never felt so powerful and majestic as Arthur painted me as. Having the Goddess inside of me was like watching a vivid dream. Every touch on my body was fire and magic, but the reactions, the instinct, weren't mine. I was a channel to my Goddess. I was there at her command, unknown to what happened but hoping that the pleasure satisfied her.

She tried guiding me; her hand on mine, hanging onto the strong neck of whom I now know is my brother, his veins pulsing full of life like drums the fae folk play, the small people from all Avalon and earthly kingdom all hoping for the union between heaven and earth. The dawn encounter of sun and moon.

My hand touched his member and I felt the intimate contact we made, a flash of pain and reality.

Still, it wasn't myself Arthur looked at in brief moments of clarity. I was barely a priestess in the situation. Shaky, maiden despite it all, daughter of my mother, in the courts of the blond king, having to adapt to every order they've given me.

I felt more like myself when the Lady of the Lake charged me to protect Exalibur's scabbard. I don't recognize all that I had done but the symbiotic of knowledge felt like past memories I've experienced before. In communion with different lives and feeling cosmic approval in every intake of air.

I grew more mature. Is that the reason for having so many lovers? To look for this so called love everyone speaks about? My first love comes contaminated by whom mother loved the most, my brother, my little that appeared to me as a man already.

Athur, child and innocent; Arthur, grown and wanting me. Wanting me? Inconceivable.

I was never loved.

And I don't want to be if I am to be just a plaything in the game of gods and my Goddess so has declared me a winner, the only time I ever was. A nation shouldn't depend on me and my (in)capacity of loving (controling, Viviane, you mean control it!).

I am not as skeptic as my mentor. Loving her was the hardest thing I did and she is probably the only one I've truly loved.

My father loved me, my mother did as well, although hate started to enter her eyes more and more as soon as Uther saw my father's face on my own. My dark eyes, heavy black hair and small features of the fae folk. Nothing roman or typically beautiful.

When my aunt, the Lady of Avalon, came majestically to the castle she seemed to love me from the very beginning. The first person to have seen me at the dining table.

She saw my potential in our bloodline. But has she ever truly love me? Did she? She took me from that house with no future and, undoubtely, that was her kindest gesture.

But loving her is like loving the face most distant from the Goddess. She was, first and foremost, a political icon. Almost never family. And when she tried doing so it was to convince me into a incestual relationship.

(UNHOLY)

With my own brother. And she got offended when she saw me hesitate. She turned back, dismissing my denial.

What did she wanted to happen? The english court has separated from the romans, who would approve of a ruling fraternal couple; and to fight against the christianized dukes was more than a girl-woman could handle.

She should be the martyr if she wanted that to happen so badly! How many called her witch already? Able to make inumerous illusions that inspired aunt Morgause to be as young and beautiful as the magics.

Loving Viviane, Lady of Avalon, wise and beautiful (so beautiful! They say I look like her but how can I believe it when I'm not as pretty?!) was loving a cruel mentor that plays with your life and, if you're lucky to survive, receives love as a reward for demonstrating endurance.

It is the same motive that makes Lancelote unable to love me, as said he. He called me cruel and mean. And that I recalled his mother in more ways than appearances, not that he had met her that many times during her life, the hypocrite.

Arthur is a true hero, Gwen, and you chose wrongly where to place your love. Because when the world threw difficulties and prizes and any it so wished to throw... Arthur took the circumstances and made gifts out of them. He refused to indebt himself or others. He'd rather raise his allies to his level. He didn't want to fall back and let dissession dominate the country. He also did not want to go forward by himself, without his subjects, family, friends, wife...

If I had volunteered myself or shown I was willing... England would be reigned under the old religion. Under the triple Goddess and the God Cernunno , half moon tattoos and serpentine wrists. But I let Gwenwyfar go ahead, her and that stupid christian banner.

There was no way that Arthur, sweet and loyal as he was, wouldn't assume his wife's battles. If she were to destroy their marriage because of religion, he would save it by converting; if betrayal was the matrimonial threat? He would create laws to enlarge his beds and the participants onto it.

If none of that were enough to maintain his hapiness, his kingdom, this ephemeral peace he conquered by spilling blood 'til the last drop?

Arthur could barely smile in falsehood when he realized that, no matter what he wanted, what he tried to do... People didn't understand him.

I want everyone to be happy

If we were less imperfect perhaps Arthur could have been happy. If Lancelot... Galahad... weren't so scared of his mother and the religion she owned to the point that he jumped completely over to christianism and obsessive thinking!

If Gwenwyfar wasn't focusing so much on the loss of her monastic placement and had an open mind in solidarity... To open her heart to Arthur, the kingdom was bigger than the christians!

If I hadn't treated the court in despise, been so traumatized by it in my infancy. If I had truly been conscious, attentive, if I hadn't run away from my problems and seached for life in a direction opposite to my strong reclusion?... The world would be so different! And Arthur made such a big show of telling me, of showing me, urging me to see how willing he was to be a part of bringing me happiness.

That was my flaw, I realize now, can imagine the despair of my aunts, see the hatred in Gwenwyfar even after my youth washed away:

Morgaine, always Morgaine!

Gwenwyfar couldn't even lay claim on Lancelot, not completely. Every time Lancelot sang to his king... he made it clear that the queen was just the permissible face to be loved by a vassal of the court.

Was that why I've loved so many men and still don't know what love is? No. I very much doubt it. I have loved with many ways and convenience and motives, I like the attention I got on times but I've never felt all that comfortable in dominating a heart completely.

If I knew what love was? I wouldn't have made my loved ones suffer so much in life. I would have comforted my brother, given compreheension and understanding to my Lady aunt, given peace to my cousin and more than measly crumbs of attention to my lovers.

But I was selfish. In a way that I only had started feeling good when wisdom and age caught me later.

I was loved. But I wasn't brave enough to make love thrives.

They call me Morgan Le Fay and that's who I am.