Chapter 57 #2
His pain called to me, and I sensed the pointed steel head pinning down the major vessel. If removed, Arthur would die immediately, but even if it stayed in place, death was assured. A fate that could not be escaped for now, but would, in time, be changed. Fixed.
I leaned over him, brushing the hair from his brow. Despite everything, being in his presence again brought only happiness.
“Brother,” I said. “Why did you tarry so long?”
Arthur smiled at my jest. “Apologies, sister. It was not…an easy…battle.”
Suddenly, he half sat up, his eyes wide on mine. “I avenged you, Morgan—for Yvain. I avenged myself, for Kay, Gawain and the rest. For Lancelot and Guinevere, everything. For Camelot. It is done.”
“I know,” I said. “You did what you needed, and now you are free.”
I tried to ease him down, exhorting him to be gentle on himself, but he shook his head in stubbornness. “No, the sight of you has brought me strength. I can walk.”
Needing no hand to lean upon, my brother rose to his feet and looked about him, standing tall as if he were in the Great Hall of Camelot, about to raise a cup to the kingdom’s glory.
In him, as in myself, I felt it: possibility, opening before us, vast and endless. Our future awaited, and we were ready.
Arthur cast his grey eyes down at me, and lifted his sword arm, palm upraised.
“Together,” he said, with a smile.
“Together,” I agreed, and put my hand in his.
In unison, we walked across the stony bank and stepped onto the boat.
A bier lay in the middle, cushioned and draped in red-and-white silk.
Arthur regarded it with a flash of doubt, but fatigue had caught up with him, his breaths heaving in his chest, the effort of his courage sacrificing the last of his incredible fortitude.
He looked back at the shore, to his beloved kingdom, no more to touch the land of All Britain until he was restored to strength, called upon as its saviour, and chose to return.
“Arthur,” I said, and he turned, eyes clear but darkened, tired. “It’s time to go.”
His nod was full of sadness, but accepting. Keeping hold of my hand, my brother lay down upon his bier and I sat beside him once again, easing him back until his head rested in my lap. Armour and all, he was heavy, but I bore his weight with ease.
As he settled, the true cost of his battles took hold, the final flare of vitality he had conjured burning down to its last ashes. He tried to speak, but his voice was a croak, his mind cloudy with the pain and his fading life. I laid my hand on his chest and he gripped it close.
“Hush,” I told him. “All is well. I’m here.”
Still he fought, his hand tight on my wrist, silver eyes on mine. He was not afraid, but his body was failing him in a way he had never known.
“Morgan,” he said hoarsely. “Is this the end?”
I shook my head, putting my hand to his face.
“No, brother,” I assured him. “An ending, but not the end.”
At my words, his body relaxed, calm determination falling over his face. Raising his free hand, he curled his fingers around the broken shaft and, with the last of his strength, wrenched the spear out of his heart and threw it into the water.
Arthur exhaled, long and final, and let himself go.
His hand fell to his side, his grip on my wrist loosening. I drew my fingertips across his eyes, closing them, and kissed his untroubled forehead.
“Rest now,” I told him. “We will see one another again.”
His gold crown was cool at the edge of my lips, modest for a king of his greatness, but still the Crown of All Britain and Seven Realms. It would never be worn again, in the same way, by anyone, even if he returned.
By then, the world would have changed, in ways broad and small, obvious and unimaginable.
King Arthur, and the age he had created, would be the first and last of their kind.
A corona of light beamed across us: Ninianne, standing on the shore. At her gesture, Alys and Tressa embarked beside me, sitting serene amongst the cushions, eyes on the water and their arms about each other.
Our fairy guide alighted last, gliding to the boat’s high stern. As she took her place, she glanced back at us and gave a rare, broad smile, her aspect aglow with peace.
“To Avalon,” said the Lady of the Lake.
The vessel moved off, smooth as water on glass, golden prow carving a path through the white clouds. Towards Ynys Afallach, her immortal island, where we would study and heal and live, and seek wisdom that knew no bounds.
There, at the seashore, lakesides and forest rivers, as the water flowed and the veil between worlds disappeared, the souls once lost to death came forth to walk again beside us, to be loved and heard and better understood, and there was always enough time.
Avalon, where on clear days, I could stand before the waves and see the cliffs of Tintagel.
For now, I looked down at Arthur’s face, resting, peaceful, awaiting the miracle that I would bring.
What we would be known as in eternity was yet to be decided, but it no longer mattered.
Whatever tales were sung of us—however our lives changed in the telling and our characters shifted as we were unravelled and rewoven; whether the words were spoken or rewritten in ink, as years passed and complexity was elided, until only legends of good and bad held sway—the truth would find its way through.
As my brother and I vanished into myth, our voices would remain, waiting in time, ready to tell our story anew.
King Arthur and Morgan le Fay. Fierce and furious. Formidable and clever. Revered and reviled. Light and dark.
Once and future. Brother and sister.
We would always be here.
I did not watch the shore retreat, or see the land slip out of sight. My gaze was set only forwards, on the limitless horizon, as we left the river and broke through the mist, and reached the deep-blue expanse of open water.
The vision of it enveloped me in a heartbeat, a yearning long held that was now fulfilled.
Amidst the scents of salt and foam, the ancient roar of tumult and tides, the brackish taste on my lips, I felt my greatest truth deep inside: here, within the chaos and wisdom of the wild blue sea, was where I belonged.
Morgan of Cornwall, Morgan le Fay; Morgan, sea-born.
I was home, and free.