Page 118 of The Faerie Morgana
She didn’t know how long she had been sitting alone on her favorite boulder, watching the sunshine turn the ring of mist to silver, when she heard a step coming through the trees and down the slope to the beach. She didn’t turn. It would be Braithe, or the Blackbird, come to commiserate. She didn’t want sympathy, but she would not rebuff either of them.
There had been a butterfly resting on her upraised palm, its wings tickling her skin. As the steps came closer, the butterfly lifted from her hand, brushed her cheek with its silken wing, and flew away.
Morgana sensed him before he spoke, and she tensed. Lancelin.
No other person of her acquaintance engendered such complex emotions in her. She still felt them. Desire was one, but so was shame. Anger, but also admiration, for his courage and his willingness to admit his faults. He had endangered her life’s work, but he had also taught her how fragile a heart could be.
She turned her head to watch him over her shoulder. He made a compelling figure, even now, with his long legs and lean face, his dark hair falling past his chin. He had the unmistakable look of a champion. Lloegyr would need that.
Unsmiling as always, he nodded to her. “I hope I do not disturb, Priestess.”
“No. I thought you had already gone.”
He came to stand beside the boulder, looking down at her. “I return to Camulod today, with the Blackbird. He has ordered a boat.”
“I am glad. Mordred will need you both.”
“I will serve him as best I can.”
“Good.”
“I hope so.”
“Come, let us walk a little,” she said. He nodded, unsmiling, and they began to stroll along the lake’s edge.
“What happens now?” Lancelin asked, after they had gone a little distance.
Morgana said, “At one time, I thought I could predict what would happen. I have learned otherwise.”
“You could scry, could you not?”
“Sometimes it is better to let life unfold in its own way. But I do not need to scry to know that you will be a great help to the boy king.”
Lancelin paused and turned to her. “Priestess, I thank you for your confidence in me.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I swear I will lay down my life for Lloegyr.”
“This is a noble vow, Sir Lancelin.”
He inclined his head to her. “I don’t know if you and I will meet again.”
“We will not, sir. Our time together is done.”
He nodded acceptance, though she felt his regret. She felt it, too, but she forbore to admit it. It was, she considered, better this way. She was not a normal woman, and he had a promise to keep. Theirs was a final farewell.
Niamh and Olfreth came with Braithe and Morgana to watch the Blackbird and the knight board the craft that would carry them back to Camulod. When their things had been loaded onto the boat, Sir Lancelin climbed aboard without looking back, but the Blackbird hesitated, then turned to walk back up the little slope to where Morgana stood.
She stood a little way from the others, a tall, slender figure in black, her silver braids twisted high on her head in one of Braithe’s concoctions. There was something heartbreakingly lonely about her, despite the company. She would, he feared, always be set apart, isolated by her power and her gifts.
And of course, her faeness.
He stood before her, his back as straight as he could make it. “Priestess,” he said. “I believe the Lady’s plan has been rewritten. You have restored it.”
She answered, “I hope so, sir.”
Her eyes glinted pure gold all the time now, all traces of brown vanquished. They recalled the eyes of that other woman he had known so long ago. Morgana’s were even more beautiful, and he wished he could tell her so.
In a lower voice, meant only for her ears, he said, “Your mother would be proud.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, they shone with tears. “I hope that, too. And I—” She swallowed and then put out her hand for him to take. “And as time passes, I hope I can make you proud, sir.”
