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The branches of a flowering rowan etched against the sky outside Ygraine's window. Rowan, the witches' tree, it seemed appropriate to reflect upon that now that the two young witches, Morgana and Estella are in Camelot at Ygraine's invitation. Perhaps she should refrain from thinking of them as witches; they are, in fact, Priestesses, among the elect of the Isle of the Blessed.

She sits back against the pillows, sipping the red wine she deemed appropriate for the slight fever she still has. Ygraine has had enough of Gaius', the royal physician's, concoctions. Truth be told, she doesn't completely trust the man. The young Priestesses must know of healing, perhaps she should consult them. The elder, Estella, is her own niece, heiress to Ygraine's ancestral home. The younger girl, Morgana… she's the daughter of Gorlois, the man to whom Ygraine was once betrothed.

Arthur is trying to work out an alliance with Cornwall. There is still much enmity in the heart of Cador of Cornwall, the son of Gorlois and Morgana's half-brother. He still holds Uther, and by extension, Camelot responsible for the death of his father. Ygraine wonders how close the siblings may be, or if Morgana had put all of her childhood behind her when she left for the Isle of the Blessed.

Ah, but still, how Arthur could use an alliance with Cador and his Cornish knights. That noted the young Duke of Cornwall has his own problem, namely one Mark, one of his older kinsman who styles himself King of Cornwall. That is a joke. He's an old pirate holed up in a makeshift fortress on the coast. Cador has said that Mark was useful to have around to fight the Saxon raiders. It seems the young duke wanted to appear a pragmatist. Still, Ygraine wonders how much Cador rankles at the older man's presumption.

She remembers the Cornwall children from her few visits to Tintagel in Uther's company. Impregnable, sea-girt Tintagel, impervious to all but subterfuge, it seemed such a forbidding place for children. Cador was elder and worshiped Uther Pendragon, the warrior king. He was quick, lively little boy, dark featured, but with eyes so pale blue they seemed colorless. As for Morgana, if she fulfilled her childhood prettiness she should be a rare beauty, indeed. It's said she looks a great deal like Estella. Ygraine has seen her own niece more recently and knows her to be a remarkably beautiful young woman.

From what she remembers of Morgana, the little girl was self-possessed and other-worldly. She was named for a sea sprite, a morgen. Vivienne had chosen her daughter's name, and her daughter's destiny as a priestess. Ygraine remembers Uther lifting the child Morgana and spinning her around. The girl's laughter and Uther kissing her gently on her forehead. Later, he'd said to Ygraine, "A delightful and pretty child. Let's hope her beauty is all she inherited from her witch of a mother." There had always been something contentious between Uther and Vivienne.

Ygraine throws an embroidered wrap around her slender body, shaking her golden hair loose down her back. Her delicate features are marred by the too hectic smudges of color on her cheeks. The room feels too close, perhaps she is still feverish, maybe it's the pear wood fire, the scent is lovely, though. The air is redolent of the ghosts of the fruit the tree once bore.

She walks to the window to watch the scene between a young Lady and a knight of Camelot. Of course, the knight is Gwaine. As for the girl, why is it Estella? It seems to be, perhaps it's Morgana. No, Ygraine knows Estella's gestures and mannerisms. It is her strong and determined niece.

...

Estella regards the young man who intrudes upon her contemplation in this quiet corner of the garden. It's just as well; she was getting a bit bored. It is the one called Gwaine. He seems full of himself; although, from what she has overheard about him, he is an expert knight. He also has quite the reputation with women. He's handsome enough and there is an alert intelligence in his deep hazel eyes.

She thinks to let things begin by the Lady making the first move. "Sir Gwaine? Am I correct? To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this fine day?"

"Lady Estella, you know full well that you have cast your spell upon me."

"Do you mock abilities, Sir?" she smiles. "You would do well to remember that I am accounted a woman of power. You would do well to not discount my abilities."

Gwaine laughs and tosses his head. "I never discount a Lady's abilities, of which, I'm sure, you have many, and not just in the ways of magic."

"Oh, by all means, flatter me, Sir Gwaine. Do you wield silvery words as adroitly as you wield your weapons?"

"My Lady Estella, you know full well the effect of your eyes, gray as the sea in winter, your hair, dark as wood smoke, and your lithe and subtle form as you move with a grace it would take ten thousand years to learn. Except no one lives that long, it is a grace that must be inborn… '

"Enough, enough," Estella laughs. "It is just as well you are a knight, you make a wretched bard. Yet after being tortured by your poor attempts at compliments, I still would like to know if you are intent upon asking me to the dinner my cousin Arthur is holding in greeting for Morgana and myself?"

"Is my Lady requesting to escort me to such a splendid event?" Gwaine smiles. "I'll think upon the request and let you know." He bows elaborately and takes his leave.

...

Ygraine regards the two young people in a secluded garden and remembers her youth. She'd been promised to Gorlois, who was widowed with a two-year-old son. He was a good man. Ah, but then, she'd met Uther Pendragon, the brash, young man who'd just won the throne of Camelot. She still remembers kissing Uther under an apple tree, the spring breeze blowing loose petals to drift about them, catching in her hair and in his chain mail.


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