The black stallion carried his Queen far into the night, the Saxon hordes swept over Albion and Arthur was gone but soon a king will come and the Sword of Avalon, the defender of Albion, the Excalibur will rise once more…but until that time she would claim it for her own…. she would be Queen, even but for a day of all Albion…
She would need Excalibur, returned to the mystic lake in the west…returned to the Lady of the Lake. Avalon… her Avalon, her home, one of the seven sisters… Excalibur would do her bidding, hers to wield, that great anmegil’ in a world was no longer sorglas, she had seen to that, neianor was over it was her time…the time of the Queen….run.
It was hrive, the same time that took Ordulf all those years thereafter, but that is another tale for the midnight messenger….
It was hrive and the ice was thick, the lake frozen, the air cold, all along the hills the fires of Beltane continued to light up the dark inky sky although now a dim and distant glimmer of that eve of May…the moon had not been seen since Arthur’s death, perhaps this was an omen, perhaps darkness had descended upon the land, perhaps good will come to the land…only the Creator would know and that knowledge would naught be passed to such of the wizards of land. Merlin had gone….the old ways had gone….only she remained of the once noble house of Pendragon.
Pendragon, even the name in itself evokes passion but that was in the past and this was now…..Morgana’s time and the land would either bleed or heal under her rule. As she gathered pace towards the waters, the ice began to crack and the blade of kings rose from the black depths of that mystical place, her sceptered isle, her home.
© email@example.com April 2014