Well the story does seem to be getting read and I think I've finally figured out where I want this to go so without further ado...

Chapter Four

The burnished copper tendrils of flame from the camp fire shot high up into the air, twisting and writhing like lovers or the exotic dancing girls he'd heard about from the East but it was not the wild sparks that held Merlin's attention as his gaze absently delved into the bright blaze. Instead, within the red heat came images; there was a woman with dark hair, a circular, turreted crown being placed upon her head...then...a man, his face distorted, though he looked a bit like Arthur; about the same height and build with the same hay-coloured hair but he somehow seemed older.

A snort from said young man brought Merlin tumbling back into himself from his seer's daze, grinning as he looked across and saw Arthur rolling over and muttering loudly in his sleep. He couldn't quite make-out what the former prince was saying but whatever it was sounded ridiculous enough to make the young wizard chuckle, shaking his head. Still, sleep was probably a good idea; they'd have an early rise in the morning and the last thing he needed was to end up falling asleep on horseback- he'd done that before with the effect of unwittingly riding for half and hour upside down before being woken up by the blood thundering in his ears. Mind you, that clot-pole of an Arthur had just left him there!

Meanwhile, half a day's ride away someone else was having a restless night...

Morgana tossed and turned in the darkness of her chambers. Her mind was full of strange disjointed images that made no sense. In brief moments of awareness she told herself it was only nerves for the coming days but when the elusive dream did come to her she found she was full of anger at the subject of the dream. An anger she did not realise she had been carrying.

Just as she had many times before Morgause had come to meet the young Queen on the edge of sleep and as usual she took Morgana to the place they loved down by the lake that marked the boundary the blonde's estate. It was always the same whenever they came here together, the trees a more vibrant green than memory would ever permit and the sweet scent of the honeysuckle that trailed its way up the stone walls of the castle reached the dark-haired witch's nose. It was a place where the young woman normally felt at peace but for some reason this night she felt only agitation. A hush descended over the pair as they walked the grounds, Morgause allowing the younger woman the chance to talk of whatever was on her mind while Morgana hadn't a clue as to how to even begin voicing the myriad of emotions coursing through her. Eventually the silence became deafening and Morgause took the other woman's hand lightly in her own, speaking up first;

"I came to wish you well for tomorrow, I have been watching you train." She allowed a small smile of pride to grace her narrow lips, "you have made me so very proud, Morgana...and my armour fits you well" she added ruefully.

The mention of those solid, protective plates of metal that her sister had worn so proudly made something snap inside Morgana, wrenching her hand away her response was an explosive torrent of fear, anger, hurt and overwhelming loss as she turned to face the blonde, the cauldron of months of stock-piled emotion bubbled up behind her eyes and spilled out in streaks down her face;

"Luck? Armour? I would not be doing this at all if it had not been for you! You knew all too well what was about to happen when we entered Camelot..." she crumpled to the ground, her thick emerald cloak pooling around her, giving shelter to her now chilled frame and her voice became no more than a fragile whisper, "...you left me, you left me Morgause! Now you stand there wishing me luck..." her voice suddenly regaining strength as the the last waves of fury left her, leaving behind only an empty weariness.

Morgause simply stood there staring at the woman who had now collapsed into the soft earth beneath, allowing the cool soil to absorb the remaining hurt. Morgana was right. Who was she to interfere in the life of her sister priestess who was now Queen and Lady of Avalon in her own right? She had abandoned that life, left behind the woman she loved even though she knew that she had had no choice in the matter. The blonde at least had the good grace to look abashed, her head now taking a keen interest in her feet, blades of dew-covered grass gathering around the soles of her calf-length leather boots.

With no words forming in her mind, Morgause stepped around the younger woman, leaving a distraught Morgana to believe she had left but a moment later the young woman felt the heat of another at her back. After an initial resistance the dark-haired Queen allowed herself to melt into the strong form supporting her from behind. As the older woman sensed the other gradually yielding she deftly trailed her fingers over the young woman's torso, the same caresses that seemed so lifeless and dull when Morgana had performed them herself now sent tremors rippling throughout her body.

Morgause dipped down to Morgana's ear, hot breath vibrating against the witch's ear, her voice was musical and her tone hushed but the power behind the simple words was unmistakeable;

"you see, I have not gone far, my love."

The young Queen took a sudden sharp breath as she realised that the blonde had actually been watching her as she lay soaking in her bath earlier that evening. With practised ease the blonde's fingers slipped along the folds of the witch's gown, her final words to the young woman being ones of disconsolate resignation;

"Never feel shamed or guilty at your desires, my love. I may not be there but do not reject others out of turn. Do not chose to remain alone because of me."

Morgana cried out as she awoke, praying that none of the servants could hear her. The last thing she wanted was any of them dashing into her chambers believing their Queen in distress. Having said that, they were well-used to her midnight visions by now and no one came. Morgana didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Her dreams had become more and more frequent, the magic of her Healing Bracelet having died with Morgause.

Still, the brightness of dawn broke through the thin veil of curtain bringing a riot of colour into the room as it refracted in the various charms and crystals set on the Queen's dresser and table. But it was dark last I remember...surely I have not been asleep all this time? Perhaps I was in Annwn. They say that time moves differently in the land of Faerie. Ah well, this speculation shall have to wait.

There was a long day ahead and when the Queen emerged from her bedchamber suddenly the whole palace seemed bustling with activity. Maids were scurrying back and forth along the corridors carrying great bales of linen for the more distinguished guests that would be staying within the palace. Other servants were similarly burdened with trays of fruits as well as large pitchers and goblets for wine. The silverware was gleaming, intricately detailed with beautiful scroll-work it was the finest to be had in the court of Camelot. Aelwyd trailed behind the queen along with a youthful lad that Morgana had chosen to be her own squire, heavy-laden with the dense plates of armour soon to be adorning the lithe form in front of him.

The young Queen was perfectly calm as the trio meandered their way down the path to the armoury, all lesser beings jostling to clear her way. Even as her attendants prepared her for the coming battles she focused solely on breathing. It was only when the hefty, gated doors swung open to reveal the blinding sun that the beating in her chest became a wild fluttering. Panic struck her as the enormity of what lay before her became suddenly real but she pressed on, entering the new tournament arena that had been specially-built for its new purpose. It had been somewhat conspicuously tacked onto the back wall of the armoury, positively Romanesque in its architecture but still with a very traditional Celtic-British look.

As the High-Priestess cum Queen entered the rounded pitch the assembled crowds went wild with delight, whether at the prospect of her fighting skills or at the thought of seeing their Lady receiving a thorough trouncing she couldn't tell but either way she had always loved the adoration of the people and that had not changed.

The armour moved easily as she strode in all her stately grace to the centre of the field, turning around, surveying the mass that had now subdued to a hush, avidly straining to hear the words of this truly impressive majesty. She smiled. Yes, her public loved her and now she would show them that their love was not misplaced. She would show them how a true monarch reigned. Her words were simple and to the point;

"Let the games commence."

A public relieved to not have to sit through any of the ridiculously long speeches of Uther cheered and howled in wild enraptures.

Hidden in the gap between two stands lurked Arthur and Merlin. They had made it just in time to see the opening "ceremony" by the performing druids and bards. Arthur, himself, could not believed the sight that greeted him this first return to Camelot. Indeed, he thought, my father must be turning in his grave. Soon enough, they were moving freely through the various camps and simpler tents of the competitors, both druid and knight. Sparks shot up into the air beyond the wall of the Arena, there would be no fighting today, only great displays, magicians and bardic song. This was not the 'shining city' that Arthur had grown up in, the fight for Camelot was now well and truly lost. There would be feasting in the Great Hall for all the competitors with the Queen, herself, as the host but that was one step too far. He could not present himself to her now, not in this glaring defeat of all his father had fought to build.

To be continued anyone?