Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [453]
Morgaine shrugged. “They will gossip about the King’s kin, whether or no, Gwydion. Let them have some morsel to chew on!”
“Yet another thing,” Gwydion said lightly. “I have no intent ever to watch by my arms in any Christian church. I am of Avalon. If Arthur will admit me among his Companions for what I am, that will be well, and if not, that too will be well.”
Uriens raised his knotty old arms so that the faded serpents could be seen. “I sit at the Round Table with no such Christian vow, stepson.”
“Nor I,” said Gawaine. “We won our knighthoods, all of us who fought in those days, and needed no such ceremonial. Some of us would have been hard put to it, had knighthood been fenced about by such courtly vows as now.”
“Even I,” Lancelet said, “would be somewhat reluctant to take such vows, such a sinful man as I am. But I am Arthur’s man for life or death, and he knows it.”
“God forbid I should ever doubt it,” said Arthur, smiling with deep affection at his old friend. “You and Gawaine are the very pillars of my kingdom. If I should ever lose either of you, I think my throne would split and fall from the very top of Camelot!”
He raised his head as a door opened at the far end of the hall, and a priest in white robes, with two young men dressed in white, came in. Galahad rose, eagerly. “By your leave, my lord—”
Arthur rose too, and embraced his heir. “Bless you, Galahad. Go to keep your vigil.”
The boy bowed and turned to embrace his father; Gwenhwyfar could not hear what Lancelet said to him. She reached out her hand and Galahad bent to kiss it. “Give me your blessing, lady.”
“Always, Galahad,” Gwenhwyfar said, and Arthur added, “We will see you to the church. You must keep your vigil alone, but we will come a little way with you.”
“You do me too much honor, my king. Did you not keep vigil when you were crowned?”
“He did indeed,” said Morgaine, smiling, “but it was far other than this.”
as the whole party moved toward the church, Gwydion dropped back until he was walking at Morgaine’s side. She looked up at her son—he was not as tall as Arthur, who had the height of the Pendragons, but at her side he seemed tall.
“I had not expected to see you here, Gwydion.”
“I had not expected to be here, madam.”
“I heard that you had been fighting in this war, among Arthur’s Saxon allies. I knew not that you were a warrior.”
He shrugged. “You have had little opportunity to know much of me, lady.”
Abruptly, not knowing what she was going to say until she heard herself saying it, she asked, “Do you hate me that I abandoned you, my son?”
He hesitated. “Perhaps—for a time when I was young,” he said at last. “But I am a child of the Goddess, and this forced me to be so in truth, that I could look to no earthly parents. I bear you no grudge now, Lady of the Lake,” he said.
For a moment the path blurred around her; it was as if the young Lancelet stood at her side . . . her son steadied her gently with his arm.
“Take care, the path here is not smooth—”
She asked, “How is it with all in Avalon?”
“Niniane is well,” he said. “I have few ties with any other there, not now.”
“Have you seen Galahad’s sister there, the maiden called Nimue?” She frowned, trying to remember how old Nimue would be now. Galahad was sixteen—Nimue would be at least fourteen, almost grown.
“I know her not,” said Gwydion. “The old priestess of the oracles—Raven, is it?—has taken her into the silence and into seclusion. No man may look upon her face.”
I wonder why Raven did that? A sudden shudder went through her, but she said only, “How does Raven, then? Is she well?”
“I have not heard that she was otherwise,” said Gwydion, “though when I last saw her at