DISCLAIMER: Same old, same old ...still don´t own them.

Notes: Thanks for the nice reviews. I did read " The mists of Avalon" and took a few pointers from that, but I mainly drew inspiration from the legends and the myth. Glad you like it anyway. There is a lot still to come ....

Succession

With a violent, curdled breath Tristan regained consciousness, jerking upright in the bed his body had been resting on. Every breath he took sounded like the attempt to scream in his own ears as the memory of the battle came back to him. It was hard and painful to breathe, as though a heavy weight was pressing his ribs inward.......and he remembered the screaming, the clashing of swords, the taste of blood in his mouth ...his own blood, his last sight ....the circling hawk high above his head. His hand went to his chest, his fingertips feeling slightly numb as they moved over the long, jagged scar that went from his shoulder across his chest to the side of his abdomen. The tissue felt slick and raw under his hand, like a welt rising above his skin......a high pitched shriek brought his attention to his right: Above his head the hawk perched on a shelf, watching him eagerly with gleaming eyes, bobbing its head up and down like a silent greeting.

Tristans eyes shot around the dark room; no windows ...the only light coming from the glowing embers in the fireplace set in the wall. The air felt cool on his skin and smelled of herbs and burning wood. He could make out another bedstead and a motionless figure laid out there. It took him a moment to realize that the wheezing sound that echoed from the walls was the sound of his own breathing; his throat was dry and aching. A violent cough shook his body, forcing him to lean forward.

"You should rest .....your body will need time." Tristan looked at the woman through the dark strands of hair that always fell into his face, fixing her with a predator´s stare. She held an earthen cup out to him, seemingly undisturbed by his intense stare or the fact that he was naked, his nudity only partially covered by a blanket.

"Drink ....it will ease the pain." Her voice was soothing and gentle.

The hand that held the cup was slender with long, delicate fingers. He took the cup from her hesitantly, smelling the liquid it held before he brought it to his lips and drank. The fluid ran down his parched throat, cooling the ache.

"The Saxon killed me." Tristan said after he had emptied the cup. His voice did not waver as he talked about his own demise. It sounded neutral, a simple statement of facts.

His eyes never left her while he talked, watching her for signs that might betray her identity or purpose. But her face, her whole demeanour was schooled to conceal any trace of emotion, as though her mind conspired with her body to hide her own thoughts. Tristan understood that just by looking at her. He could tell from his own experience.....nobody could read him either. But there were other things, hints of authority and influence: The way she stood, held herself ....and the power she wielded ..it had been in her voice. Tristan could feel her power filling the air like the scent of snow to come......

The hawk shrieked, batting his wings impatiently. She took the cup from him, wordlessly refilling it from a heavy jug.

"I was dead. Now I am not." He stated simply, taking the cup from her hand once more.

The woman looked at him with dark, knowing eyes that seemed to hold an ocean of possible answers and explanations. Tristan drank again, nodding at her. There was nothing to be said...no words to be spoken, because some things could not be put into words. Some things were better left unsaid, unquestioned.......her eyes, her silent, accepting gaze conveyed that to him and Tristan understood.

Morgianna looked up at the hawk who was watching them with obsidian eyes, cocking his head to his side.

"A beautiful bird." She said. Tristan followed her eyes, watching the animal for a moment. Then they both looked back at each other and he nodded again. Her understanding ran deep enough .....being gifted herself, she did not fail to the trace it in others.....even if his abilities were incomparable to hers. She could see the connection between animal and man, ......it was what had made his restoration possible.

"My path is not over."

She shook her head, refilling his cup for the third time.

"No."

Tristan would have sighed, but that would have been weakness. He felt numb and empty inside, not overjoyed and peaceful as he should have. There would be no peace for him.....not yet, maybe not ever. The only sign of the sadness and desolation he felt was the tightening of his grip around the cup. He could have raged and screamed, but what good would it do? It would change nothing .....there was nothing to do but accept and move on. It would have a purpose and it would reveal itself to him .......

His eyes brushed over the motionless form of his friend on the other bed. Only the slow rising and falling of Lancelot´s chest served as proof that the knight was still alive.

"Will he live?"

"He was not as badly wounded as you." She said, knowing he would understand the implication.

"Who are you?" Tristan finally asked, leaning his back against the wall because sitting upright was tiring him.

" Morgianna...."

His eyes narrowed behind the dark hair that almost hid his face from view. "Arthur's sister?"

Arthur had mentioned her death only once, on a dreary, drunken night and that had been the end of it. He rarely talked about the family that had been lost to him ......father, mother .....sister, dead and gone .......

The right side of his mouth twitched into a half- hearted, ironic smile." And who brought you back from the dead?"

Her careful, noncommittal expression never changed, but the look in her eyes was solemn, almost grave. "I was abducted from the convent, not killed. The ones who took me needed me alive."

"And you went willing? Right into the arms and bed of a woad-chieftain's son, perhaps?"

Morgianna laughed at that, and Tristan took notice of how the emotional display changed her whole appearance. For an instant, her serious, blank expression fell away from her features; her face glowed with some inner light and her power seemed to radiate outward, filling the room like heat. Just as fast that light was gone and her face was empty once more.

"I was never married." She told him simply.

" Arthur´s father wanted to send me to school, so I could learn to become a good, Christian maid. That is why he chose the convent for me .....He did not want me to take the holy orders. He just wanted me to learn."

Tristan could not help but chuckle dismissively. He could still feel the pull of her power, it rode the air like the portent of a storm. The irony was not lost on him.

"So he send you to a convent and instead you become a sorceress."

Morgianna put the jug down on a table in front of the fireplace. She looked straight into his eyes. "My mother was a Briton, as was my aunt. They took me because she sent for me ...."

Tristan´s eyes narrowed even more, suspicion rising in him as he watched her standing in front of the fire. The fact that he had called her a sorceress had not bothered her. She had taken it like someone who was used to superstition, who had been called worse things .... The glowing embers shone a flickering light on one side of her face. He could not see her shut away in a convent, kneeling and praying.

"Why take a risk like that for one girl alone? Or did you send word for her because you where unhappy?"

Morgianna gave him the smallest hint of a smile she busied herself with grinding herbs into a fine powder.

" No." she answered, shaking her head slightly as though for emphasis." I loved my family, my brother...." The thought of Arthur crossed her mind, running through the fields as a little boy, standing in front of her in the mist and snow, a man grown......

"Arthur´s father was good to me. He was a kind man and he loved my mother dearly. But my aunt was growing old and she needed me .....She needed a successor."

Tristan cradled the cup in his lap, brushing the hair out of his face slowly, to take a long, hard, unobstructed look at her. She was tall, willowy and moved with a secure grace.

Her raven hair was parted in the middle as it fell straight down to her hips. His inquisitive look did not go unnoticed by her, but she did not comment.

"Did you?" he asked, his voice low.

"What?"

"Become her successor?"

Morgianna looked at him, her level gaze never wavering.

Tristan laid his head to the side like the hawk had done earlier, his hair falling over his eyes again. This time he did not brush the strands away.

"What was your aunt´s name?"

Morgianna returned his stare for the longest time, her face betraying nothing. She looked as calm and composed as anyone could be. Tristan´s eyes were all for her and it occurred to him that Arthur might not have come to the same conclusion as he. He could read it in her eyes that her brother had not asked her yet, it had not even occurred to him.

Even though they had spent fifteen years in this cold, misty country, most of them did not know all that much about the Briton's tradition, their culture or religion. A lot of the woad´s myths, customs and rituals had remained a mystery to them, but he knew enough to put the pieces together.

"Who was your aunt?" Tristan asked her again, his voice barely a whisper. He leaned forward slightly, the movement gave him the air of a stalking, dangerous predator again.

Morgianna crossed her arms in front of her chest, giving him a small, almost wistful smile that made her appear more sad then cheerful.

"Viviane...."

Tristan nodded., closing his eyes for an instant. He had heard that name before, whispered in hushed tones and reverence .....much like Merlin´s. When he opened his eyes again again, she held his gaze.

"She had another name, this aunt of yours, does she not? Another name the woads used to speak of her?"

Morgianna nodded silently.

" The lady of the lake."