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marysuevirus2010-09-03 01:40 pm
ladydeathfaerie) wrote in marysuevirus2010-09-03 01:40 pm
In the Name of the Goddess
Title: In the Name of the Goddess
Book One: Heulwen, Chapter Two: The Game, Part One
Fandom: a cross between the Marvel Universe and Arthurian Legend
Rating: mature.
Warnings: there will be violence and sex. maybe not language. but definitely the others. lots of religous references
Disclaimer: the Marvel men, even though hiding behind other names, do not belong to me. they belong to Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them. i'm simply borrowing them for the fun of it. i like putting them through hell, don't you know? i'm not making money from this, either. so don't even consider what you can score off me. i'm broke. not a penny to my name. the Sues belong to the women who thought them up, namely Dazzledfirestar, Nan, SFC, Gin and myself. don't steal them. they'll kick your ass. the name and concept of the Mary Sue Virus belong to Daz, who graciously allowed me to use it for my own personal pleasure.
In the Name of the Goddess - the Index
The weather turned faster than the old woman had expected. The morning dawned clear though crisp, the air carrying a hint of the winter to come. The men hurried to the fields with the rising of the sun in order to continue the harvest. The village's headman, too, sensed the rapidly approaching change of season and urged the men to work faster. Harder. If the harvest wasn't brought in in time, his people would starve.
By mid-morning, it was obvious to all of the villagers that the winds would begin blowing winter weather their way far sooner than had been expected. A runner was sent to all of the huts with children. Every able child over the age of four was sent to the fields in order to help with the harvest. It gave Brialle and the old woman a break from the loud demands of the girls. From the moment they'd woken that morning, they'd pestered the old woman constantly for more stories about the Goddess Heulwen and the brave hunter Celyn.
The old woman went about duties that would ensure the cottage hut she shared with her daughter, her daughter's husband and her grandchildren would be snug and warm through the cold winter. Brialle was busy working at mending the winter garments her family would need to survive the coming cold months.
Brialle was in the middle of preparing a hot meal for her husband and daughters when she finally stood and turned a scowl on the old woman. "Promise me you'll not tell my girls the same stories you told me when I was a child."
"You sound like an old woman, Brialle. I won't be around forever. And since you seem to be determined to forget the old ways, it is up to me to tell them the tales."
"Mum," the younger woman sighed and left her spot by the hearth to cross the room so she could stand close to the old woman. With a gesture that suggested she'd been suffering for a long while, Brialle lifted her hands and put them on her mother's shoulders. "We've chosen to follow the teachings of the one true God. Why can you not accept this? Why must you continue to tell the children stories of ancient pagan gods who don't exist?"
"I know they exist, Brialle."
Her daughter sighed. "And how do you know? What makes you so certain that these gods of old are nothing more than a story your mother told you?"
"I have seen them with my own eyes, child. You would rather listen to some stranger who preaches of a God who denies that others exist than to your own mother, who has seen the things she tells stories about." The old woman shook her head in sorrow. "You pain my heart, daughter."
"You know I love you, Mother. And your stories thrilled me when I was a wee child. But I'm grown now, and a mother. I need to consider what is best for my children. Your stories are vivid and enjoyable. But they are simply stories. They're already disrupting the household. All I heard this morning when they rose from their bed was that they were eager to hear more of your tales. I know what they'll hear when you continue. You cannot fill their head with such... carnal images. They're too young to understand. And they don't need to be exposed to the more intimate parts of Heulwen and Celyn's story."
"I recall you being entranced by their love and their love making. Has this new God turned you into a virgin once more?" The blush that stained Brialle's cheeks told the old woman everything she needed to know. She shook her head. "If the tales I tell are simply stories, what harm is there in telling them to the children? They need heroes to dream about at night."
"I do not want you to fill their head with faerie tales!" There was an undercurrent to Brialle's voice that told the old woman what it was her daughter protested to. Sighing, the old woman turned away and moved to take her seat in the rocking chair beside the fire.
"You dared to dream and woke up disappointed." Brialle opened her mouth to speak, but the old woman lifted her hand to halt the words she knew would come. "I told you tales of the Gods and Goddesses. I told you how they chose to live their lives. I never told you that such things would happen to you. I merely said they could. That you chose to believe that dream until you wed your young man is not my fault."
"You told me that your gods often times roamed the earth with us mortals. You told me that I could meet one. I never saw proof that your gods existed. Your stories were lies." Brialle accused.
"Perhaps the Gods and Goddesses chose not to come to you because you did not earn that privilege. Do not allow your bitterness to shape the lives of your children. Allow them to decide for themselves what they wish to believe." The disappointment in the old woman's voice saw her daughter turning away from her. The two women retired to opposite sides of the cottage and spent the rest of the day working in silence. It was an old argument, one they'd had many times, and nothing the old woman could say would change her daughter's disillusions. Perhaps if she taught her grandchildren different...
Shortly after the nooning, the girls and their father returned to take part of the warmth offered by the fire in the hearth and the piping hot stew that Brialle had prepared for them. It was obvious that the wind was blowing cold and hard, the fingers and cheeks of her family chafed red from the chill that lived in it. They wasted little time, all four of them swallowing down the hearty stew and barely getting warm before once more filing out the door. A gust of wind blew in as they did so, letting both women know that winter would be upon them before the sun dipped below the horizon.
As the day wore steadily on, thick grey clouds slid silently and ominously across the sky. With them came a cold, freezing rain that pattered loudly against the skins covering the windows. Something was amiss. She was sure of it. Winter shouldn't have come so quickly. Not even the sighting of the White Doe and Stag should have meant such a rapid and wicked winter arrival. And yet, there was an ache in the old woman's bones that told the story far too well. It would be a harsh, cold winter. People would die if they didn't have enough food stuffs to see them through the bitter season.
It was dark out before the sun truly set behind the world for the night. The clouds had thickened during the day and the sleet had changed to fat, wet flakes of snow that clung to everything they touched. A quick trip outside to gather water from the stream had left Brialle's rich brown hair peppered with the white stuff. When her son-in-law and granddaughters returned from the fields, they were slow with cold. A swirl of frozen precipitation followed them through the door.
"Come. Sit by the fire. Warm yourselves. I have hot stew and hot cider," Brialle ordered, ushering the four of them nearer the hearth. The old woman rose from her chair and began removing blankets from a trunk. She wrapped one around each member of her family before returning to her seat. Brialle served each of them a bowl of the thick, hearty stew she'd prepared, as well as a mug of streaming cider. The two women allowed them to eat in silence, waiting while the heat seeped into their bones and warmed them back up.
The old woman thought that her tales would be forgotten for the night in the face of such hard work. Brialle and her husband were speaking on the sudden, strange shift in the weather. And the girls sat in their chairs, hiding yawns behind their hands while huddling under the comforting warmth of their blankets. She was about to climb from her rocker and seek out her own bed when the oldest girl turned big, bright eyes her way. "Gran, what happened to Heulwen and Celyn? You promised you'd tell us."
She smiled at the three girls, suddenly terribly eager for the telling of tales. "So I did, my poppet. Gather round my chair, my girls, and I will tell more stories of the Goddess Heulwen and the mortal Celyn."
The girls took their used dishes to the corner where a small basin of water awaited them. Brialle would scrub the bowls clean, then leave them on a counter to dry. When the bowls were handed over to their mother, the girls hurried back to gather up their blankets and their mugs, then they settled on the floor at the old woman's feet. "Now, let me see. Where do I begin?"
"Celyn had been wounded by a wyvern and Heulwen had taken him into the forest to heal him," the oldest told her excitedly. "Did she heal him? Where in the woods did they go? Could she even heal him?"
"Slow down, my girl," the old woman chuckled. "All in good time."
"I'm sorry, Gran. I'm simply excited. We all are. We want to know what happened." The girl fell silent and waited as patiently as she was able. The old woman watched her for a few seconds before settling more comfortably in her chair. She caught, out of the corner of her eye, the stern look Brialle was trying to send her way and chose to ignore it.
"Very well. Of course Celyn survived. But Heulwen isn't a true healer. Celyn had to heal the way all men heal. Slowly. Knowing this as truth, Heulwen had the two men from the village they'd saved from the wyvern carry Celyn on a litter into the forest." The old woman stopped and allowed the memories to rush over her. She did so love the way they always felt crisp and fresh, as if only newly minted. "Because the forest is Heulwen's domain, she has many clearings like the one where she first spied Celyn with the stag. And there was one nearby, perfect for her needs."
"What kind of clearing, Gran?"
"It was a sanctuary meant only for her and those she deemed worthy of seeing it."
~*~*~*~*~
She moved through the trees without noise, her feet finding the way by instinct, while she listened to the men following after her. Their booted feet found twigs to snap and leaves to crackle. Golden sunlight shaded with hints of green dappled the forest floor, giving the trail she followed a mellow, hazy feel to it. Off to her left and right, she could sense the passing of wolves, who came and followed at her command. Overhead, the cries of hawks and osprey filled the sky. It was a comforting sound that helped soothe the discontent and worry that gnawed at her belly.
She had no idea why she should be so deeply concerned about the hunter, why the thought that he could die troubled her as it did. But it did. And it confused her. So she spoke little to the men who carried him on a litter between them, didn't look back at the man's face to see if it had gotten paler since they'd carefully placed him on the litter. Instead, she focused on what she would need to treat his wounds, on how long it would take for him to heal up and regain his strength. Anything she could think of that kept her from centering her thoughts upon the man himself.
So lost in her thoughts was she that she didn't realize she'd stopped moving until one of the men behind her cleared his throat. "My lady? Something is amiss?"
Heulwen shook her head to clear it, then turned to look at the men behind her. The tall trees around her, the thickness of their trunks and the shadows that crowded around them all told her that they'd reached the outer reaches of her sanctuary. "Of course not. You may lay him here. You can go no further."
Both men looked as if they were uncertain, but they did as they were told. With careful motions, they lowered the litter to the ground. The wolves that had been following them broke through the trees to line the path on either side. The men glanced at them warily but made no move toward their weapons. A glance at one of the wolves saw the animal stepping forward onto the path. It stared at the two men before trotting past them back in the direction they'd just come from. "She will ensure you reach the safety of your village. Bring no harm to her. She is one of my own and if I discover she is hurt, you will suffer my wrath."
"Yes, my lady." The men answered in unison. With a nod of her head, they turned and hurried off in the other direction, following the twitching tail of the she wolf that guided them back to their village. Once the two men and the beast had rounded a corner and slipped from view, the rest of the wolves hurried to do her bidding.
A pair took the hand holds at the front of the litter into their mouths, raising Celyn's head up off the ground. Another pair went for the hand holds at the front, bringing his feet up. The rest of the wolves found places along the length of the litter to take hold and aide in carrying him into her hidden sanctuary. When she was assured that they could manage the task without dropping him, she gave her attention back to the forest. The trees seemingly melted apart to expose the entrance to the small clearing beyond. Heulwen went forward, followed by the wolves and their burden.
The interior of the hidden glade was carpeted with lush green grass that she knew would be soft to the touch. It would make a perfect cushion and cradle his body. A small stream ran through the clearing on one side with a large, circular pool in the middle to allow for bathing. Moss and other plant life she knew she'd need to create poultices for his wounds could be found there. The trees grew tall and close together, making it impossible for anyone to find the clearing without her consent or aide. They would be safe there, hidden amongst the trees.
The wolves carefully carried the litter into the clearing, settling it and the man laying on it off to the side of a small pit in the very center of the enclosure. As soon as they released the poles, they scurried off. And returned moments later with a small log or a handful of sticks caught between their teeth. One by one, the wolves piled the wood into the sandy pit until there was enough wood there to start a small fire. After they'd filled the pit, they began collecting extra dried wood to be added when needed.
Heulwen busied herself by collecting the plants she'd need to make the poultices. The leaves and berries were laid on a flat piece of bark that she would use later when she ground everything into a paste. The water would come from the pool. The only thing she needed that she didn't have was cloth to make bandages with. A side glance at the unconscious man told her that his garments could be used to bind his wounds. She could always send her forest friends to the village to gather clothing for him.
He shifted slightly, turning his head so that she was presented with his profile. Even across the distance, she thought she could count every individual golden whisker upon his chin. Something inside of her squeezed at the sight of it until she felt as if she couldn't draw air into her lungs. She quickly looked away from him and returned her attention to what she was doing.
A frown slid across her face as she reached for a large patch of deep green moss. Her hands were shaking, as if she were an untried youth on her first hunt. Such a thing upset her. She disliked the feeling of not being in control, disliked that she didn't know what it was she was doing or feeling. She disliked the sensations that the hunter's presence created in her.
It had started almost from the very moment she'd laid eyes on him. Something that felt primal had stirred within her, had sent odd feelings running through her that she'd done her very best to ignore. It had been easier to pretend they didn't exist when the two of them had been caught up in their mission. But there'd been a few moments during the fight with the wyvern that those feelings had nearly taken control. Those moments when Celyn had been injured. And then Heulwen had been consumed with the desire to ensure that he survived his wounds.
Now that she was alone with him in the peace of the glade, she couldn't help but acknowledge that those feelings had grown and expanded. She didn't bother to try and name them. It didn't matter what she thought she might feel for him. As soon as he was healed and well enough to travel on his own, she was going to go back to her own realm. She had no plans to ever see him again after this. And the sooner she stopped stalling, the sooner she could get him healed.
The first order of business was to rid him of his garments. She couldn't judge the seriousness of or tend to his wounds if he was clothed. A small flutter of apprehension rolled through her, but she stomped it down and resolutely took hold of her hunting knife as she moved closer to him. He was so still, she worried briefly that his wounds had been much worse than she'd thought. But then his chest rose and it felt as if her heart started beating again.
She had to stop considering him as anything more than one of her followers.
First to go were his belt and the quiver strapped across his chest. It took a little effort, and the help of one of her wolves, but she managed to rid him of the two pieces of leather without having to saw through them. His tunic and breeches, however, were another matter. Removing them without causing him pain required that he be conscious. And uninjured. He'd already lost too much blood, the dark stains around the gashes in his garments attesting to the fact. She was going to have to use her blade to strip him naked.
The boots were pulled off first. Lifting the leg that had been injured drew a soft groan from him, prompting her to do her best in removing the boot without jarring him too much. After his boots, she removed the stockings that covered his feet. She couldn't help but notice that his toes, like his fingers, were long and elegantly sculpted. They were topped with pearly pink nails that looked well cared for.
Jerking her gaze from his feet, she moved higher as she scolded herself for once again stalling. With careful motions, she began slicing through the woven fibers of his tunic. They split easily, each motion of her hand exposing more of his flesh to her eyes. Ripples of muscle climbed their way up his abdomen to a chest that was well toned from years of pulling back the string on his bow. A few more slices opened the sleeves so that the tunic fell away from his body to lay pooled under him. Though she was sure that resting on his back hurt him terribly, the pressure would keep the wound there from bleeding too heavily until she could tend to it.
Her main concern was the gash in his thigh.
The breeches were a touch harder to saw through. They were some kind of animal hide, oiled until they were like armor. The edge on her blade was sharp, making it easier to rid him of the garment. But it still took work and, the higher the knife rose, the more she told herself that she wasn't going to look. She didn't care what the more curious side of her insisted upon. She was not interested in him that way. Not at all. All she wanted to do was ensure that his wounds were tended to so he could heal.
After slicing her way up the second leg of his breeches, she carefully peeled them away from his body. There was no escaping the fact that his thighs and calves were just as well formed and muscled as his arms and torso. The man had seemingly been sculpted in the shape of the Gods, his form and face highly appealing to women everywhere. She wondered idly if he had a mate somewhere before sternly reprimanding herself.
Finally, he laid exposed to her view. The fact that he wore a loin cloth left her feeling much more disappointed than she felt she should have been. She had no interest in staring at that part of his body because she had no interest in him. So there shouldn't have been any disappointment at finding him wearing a loin cloth.
Heulwen forced herself to focus upon her task, forced herself to put aside the distracting images and thoughts running through her head so that she could examine the wound on his thigh. It wasn't as deep as she'd feared, something for which she was thankful. That meant that he would retain full use of his leg. After cleaning the wound with fresh water from the spring, she carefully stitched it closed and made a poultice to help it heal. That was slathered over the gash and she bound the whole thing with strips torn from his tunic. With his leg tended to, she turned him over so that she could turn her attention to his back.
It took much longer to clean the wound that sliced across his back. As with his thigh, this wound was shallow. But that really didn't matter. As it had been an hour or more since the wyvern had left its mark in Celyn's skin, the chances that the hunter would take a fever had risen. When that happened, it would be nearly impossible for her to check the way his back and thigh were healing. She needed to be sure she did the best job she could the first time around. Once the gash was stitched closed and the poultice applied, she rolled him back onto his back and settled him on the blanket that the villagers had used to make the litter.
He was still unconscious, something for which she was terribly thankful. At least, she thought he was unconscious. There was little movement of his chest, sending a bolt of panic through her. She leaned over him, her fingers seeking out the pulse in his throat. It was there, coming slow but strong, which left her feeling far more relieved than she thought she should be. When she pulled her hand back slowly, her fingertips grazed against something unseen.
Power jolted up her arm. Power that felt like lush green forests and babbling brooks. Power that moved as swiftly as a running wolf or deer, that soared the same way the hawks did. Power that her body knew and remembered and welcomed. Power that was her own. Power that she'd given to him.
Memories tumbled through her head like the water that rushed over the top of the falls. Images of a wee babe, barely a handful of weeks from the womb. Images of a young man, stringy and not yet grown into his arms and legs. Both child and man child bore a crowning glory of golden colored hair that had changed little over the years. In both images were a man and a woman. In both images, they stood in the center of the sacred circle where she'd come face to face with the mortal hunter not more than three days ago.
In the first image, the man and woman were young and fresh. The woman smiled fondly down at her son while Heulwen laid a hand on the wee boy's shoulder, against the faint outline of a birthmark that bore resemblance to her own mark. In the second image, they stood proudly behind the man child, their hands on his shoulders. And Heulwen once again laid her hand against his shoulder, against the faint outline of the mark. Both times, she channeled some of her own energy into the boy's mark, fed it into his body so that every other God and Goddess would know that he was dedicated solely to her.
The memories faded away. She found herself with one hand buried in the thick grass while the other rested heavily against his chest. Right over the spot her hand had touched two times before. Righting herself so that she knelt beside him, she allowed her gaze to caress his flesh where the mark was.
The color of the birthmark had faded as Celyn had aged, now barely a shade darker than his skin. But someone had gone around the edges with a black ink, leaving a permanent outline of the mark in his skin. Her mark. It resembled a bow that had been tilted toward the sky, three single lines trailing from the bottom. Heulwen ran her fingers over the mark once more, shivering at the feel of magic that tingled through her from it. How could she have forgotten such a follower?
All of her most serious followers were dedicated into her service. Very few were ever dedicated to her twice. Celyn was a rarity among those who still followed the old ways. And she had forgotten not only that she'd met him before, but that she'd overseen his dedication personally. Things like that didn't happen. She could remember every mortal who had ever been dedicated to her down through the ages. But she couldn't remember this one man. There was magic afoot, though there were few who were powerful enough to lock a memory away from her.
She scowled as she rose and stepped away from the man. The All Father. Damn him for his meddling. This was none of his business. He had no right to try and steer the course of her life. Was she not an ages old Goddess? Was she not content to live her life alone, in the solace of her glen? Her gaze strayed back to Celyn and, for three beats of her heart, she felt a longing that left her filled with sorrow and regret. She was not going to let the All Father do this to her. He was not going to succeed at pushing her into the mortal's arms.
She couldn't risk it.
~*~
The fever started that night. Despite the fire she'd built and the weight of his cloak, which she'd used to cover him with, he shook and trembled with ague. The delirium came quickly, leaving him alternating between laying as still as the dead and thrashing like a madman. He moaned and called out for someone, though she didn't recognize the name. It only served to strengthen her belief that he had a mate waiting for him in some village somewhere. Which made her cycle between a deep sorrow and a growing determination to keep him at arm's length.
She slept in short patches, most her time devoted to caring for him. To help speed his healing and keep his strength up, she made a rich stew filled with fresh vegetables and the meat of wild hares. The water from the small pool was used to both quench his thirst and bathe his fevered brow. When the madness took him, she held his hand and told him she was there for him. That she would always be there for him. When he was calm, she spoke to him of things she would tell no one else, sure that even if he heard her, he wouldn't remember when he finally woke from the fever.
As the fever raged, she was left with hours upon hours to consider what it was she was feeling. She had no name to put to the emotions that raged through her. No name she wanted or was willing to admit to herself. Her mind pondered the way her heart pounded with his nearness, the way her skin grew moist and clammy when she checked his thigh wound and happened to glance at his groin. And her body shuddered and shivered when she imagined what it might be like if he was to run his hands over her bared flesh. If he was to take her down into the soft grass and do to her things she'd only heard spoken of by her sisters. She did her best to push the thoughts aside and forget about them. She did her best to ignore the growing ball of something warm and bright in her chest.
She failed at it all miserably.
Nigh unto a sennight had passed before the fever finally passed. She'd been dozing for a short while, trying to catch up on the sleep she'd missed in caring for him, only to be woken by the gentle brush of a hand against her arm. She jerked awake to find that sun shone through the canopy of leaves overhead, the light around her a golden-green hue. The amount of light pouring through the trees told her that it was midday. Birds chirped and water burbled. She was surrounded by peace. Until that touch on her arm came again. She jumped and turned to find a pair of blue eyes staring up at her.
"My lady." His voice was soft and hoarse, letting her know that the fever had taken its toll. His gaze traveled over the tree-ringed clearing, taking in everything before finally returning to her face. There was a hint of confusion to be found in the depths of his eyes.
"The wyvern injured you. I brought you to this place and tended your wounds." Though his gaze looked clear, she reached down with one hand to lightly graze his cheek with the tips of her fingers. The skin was cool to the touch, telling her that the fever had well and truly run its course. Given that he'd taken in his surroundings, spoken to her and ridden through the worst of his fever, it was safe to conclude that he would survive his injuries.
"You healed me?" he asked, staring up at her as if he'd never seen her before. She shook her head, sending her curls tumbling around her head.
"I tended your wounds. The poultices helped heal you. The All Father helped heal you. I merely gave them the chance to do their jobs."
"Thank you, my lady." His hand caught hold of hers, drew it up to his mouth so that he could rub his cheek against her palm, press a gentle kiss into it. Tingles of sensation shot up her arm, leaving her limbs feeling heavy. She tried to tug her hand from his, but his fingers curled around it and held it tight. His eyes remained locked with hers. "My lady. Heulwen."
There was heat in his voice, to his words. Suggestion that she found herself frightened of. And yet, her heart thudded loudly in her chest, a sense of anticipation rushing through her. The things she'd thought of the past few days, those images that had seen her blushing and flushing with need, flowed through her head. Never in her life had she wanted so badly to give in to something she'd sworn she wouldn't allow to happen.
"Your fever raged a fierce battle. You need to rest," she told him softly, using just a whisper of her power to send his eyes fluttering shut. The grip on her hand relaxed slightly as sleep crept back over him. As if sensing that he was about to lose something, he struggled to force his eyes open while his fingers clutched at hers once again. She lifted her empty hand and brushed it lightly against his forehead. "Shhh. Rest. Your body is still healing."
With another push of power, his hand went lax and his eyes slid shut. She laid his hand down on his chest and fussed needlessly at the cloak to ensure that he was fully covered. A silent call saw a group of wolves enter the clearing. Heulwen stood and stared down at them. "Guard him well. I have someone I need to speak to."
~*~
The grotto was brightened by a mixture of flickering torches and shafts of moonlight shining through three or four holes in the ceiling of the cave. All of the light glimmered off the walls, sparking small flashes of brilliance from some mineral that lived in the stone. The floor of the cave was carpeted with soft green moss, broken up only occasionally by a large, plush fern here and there. Trees branched out of the shadows to supply a variety of fruits. The back wall glistened with rivulets of water that splashed out of a stairwell of small pools and waterfalls that arced from the ceiling to the floor. The water ended in a large pool, big enough for at least half a dozen people to bathe in if they so chose. A bed of moss and silk occupied a vast area of floor to the right of the pool. It was edged with more of the plush ferns.
Morgan knelt by the pool, body hidden behind a sleeveless shift of silk in rose petal red. Based on the way she was concentrating on the surface of the water, it was obvious that she was focused on something. Or perhaps someone. Heulwen had seen this before. No doubt Morgan was trying to push two lovers together. A soft chuckle drew her attention to the bed of moss. Cernunnos lay on his back, head cradled on a moss pillow, while Fae's hands and lips traced across his body. It was plain to see that her goal was the All Father's swollen cock.
Cernunnos spied her and offered her a smirk, then lifted one hand toward her, silently beckoning her to join them. She shot him a look, then crossed to where Morgan knelt by the edge of the pool. Staring down into the flat surface of the water, she could see two separate images of a young man and a young woman reflected there. Morgan was chanting softly in the language of the Gods, an ancient rite that would urge the two together and bless their union. Despite her desire to know what was going on, she knew better than to interrupt Morgan in the middle of a love rite.
In the pool, the images of the lovers flickered and wavered, then disappeared completely. But only for a moment. Seconds later, a single, larger image flowed over the surface of the water. It showed the man and the woman together in a single place. Their hands were moving reverently over each other's bodies as they removed clothing and touched flesh. Eventually, their mouths met in a hungered, impassioned kiss. The young man took the young woman to the ground. Even as they settled upon the blankets spread across the ground, he was pressing himself into her. The image lingered a short while longer, allowing Morgan and Heulwen to watch as the young man applied himself to coupling with his partner. Then the image was gone, leaving the surface of the pool empty and still.
Morgan turned to her, a smile on her face. "You honor us with your presence, Heulwen. What brings you to the grotto?"
"You know why I've come." When the shorter woman gave her a blank stare, Heulwen scowled at her. "What did you do?"
There was confusion on Morgan's face as she considered the question. "What I always do. I helped them find each other."
"Not them!" Heulwen snarled. A wave of her hand saw the surface of the pool shimmering with colors once more before an image of the clearing appeared on it, Celyn's sleeping figure in the center of it. He'd shifted in his sleep, leaving the cloak pushed down about his hips. "Me. Him. What have you done to me?"
Morgan gave her attention to the image shining on the pool's calm surface, carefully studying the man in it. Slowly, a soft smile spread across her face. Looking up at Heulwen, she motioned toward Celyn's figure with one hand. "He's quite handsome. Where ever did you find him?"
"Handsome is too simple a word for a man such as that," Fae said, standing beside her twin so that she could stare at the conjured image. "He has a face that could make the gods weep with amazement. His body is strong and lean and tall, much like the trees he spends his time moving through. And his root... Tell me, sister. Is it as impressive as the rest of him? Is it as thick and long as the tallest tree? Did you wish to...?"
"Enough, Fae!" Heulwen spat. "That isn't the point!"
"Have you seen his root yet?" Morgan asked. She and Fae snickered. "Is it as impressive as he is?"
"He wears a loin cloth. I saw nothing." Not that she hadn't wanted to peek.
"She didn't look." Fae nodded her head, as if this was nothing she hadn't expected.
"I've looked," Cernunnos' voice rumbled from the bed. All three women turned to stare at him. There was a knowing look on his face.
"You would. I begin to think that the sight of a man unclothed is as exciting to you as that of a woman." Heulwen sighed and hurried to take control of the conversation. "And whether I have stared at him or not is not what I've come about. Which of you was it that cast the spell?"
"Spell?" Morgan and Fae asked in unison. "What spell? We've cast no spell."
"You lie!" Heulwen snarled. How dare they tell such bald lies to her face. "You cast a spell. One meant to convince me that I should lower my guard and my clothing and allow some mere mortal hunter to climb atop me and use me as if I were little more than a whore."
Morgan and Fae stared at her as if they'd never seen her before. Together, both of them shook their head in a slow, sad motion that suggested they felt sorry for her. For just a moment, she wished she had her bow and quiver with her. While she might not be able to actually kill them, inflicting pain would make her feel better. Sighing, Morgan stepped forward and laid a hand on Heulwen's arm. "Such anger! You should have been prepared for this. You knew it would happen eventually. Not even a Goddess can hide from love."
"I do not love him!" Heulwen snapped.
"This is a love that we have nothing to do with. We cast no spell over you, sister. This is a love of your own design. There is no escaping it," Morgan said softly. "You've known this day would come for a very long time. Have you forgotten the prophecy?"
She rolled her eyes at the twins. She'd never put stock in the prophecy, despite the fact that she'd hidden herself away from humans as much as she could. When it became obvious that she wouldn't answer, Fae stepped forward, the long silky strands of her hair flowing down over her body. She stopped only a foot or so from Heulwen before her eyes began to change. The green color of them was eaten away by white, as if clouds were moving over the sun. The ends of her hair floated on wisps of her power. The same power that echoed in her voice when she spoke.
"Chaste shall she be,
Pure and untouched until her match is met.
He shall be her equal yet less,
Her heart and more.
She shall be his alone.
He shall make her want and give her all she will not dream to have
He shall be her first and last."
The touch of power left her, cleared out of her eyes so that they were once more green and bright. Her hair settled against her naked flesh as if it had never been disturbed. Fae blinked to clear her gaze, then shook her head. "The prophecy is already written, Heulwen. We've done nothing to influence your emotions."
"I don't love him. I can't," Heulwen whispered, her gaze drifting toward the image still rippling on the pool's surface. Even staring at that magically conjured vision, she felt her heart pound just a little harder. Simply looking at him made her feel an odd sensation, like she was floating on clouds. Simply looking at him made her smile. Simply looking at him made her want to do things. "I can't love him. I don't. This isn't happening."
"Heulwen, my child," Cernunnos said, as he climbed from the bed. There was something in his voice, in the expression on her face, that told her there was more going on here than she understood. When he stood before her, he put his hands on her shoulders while offering her a patronizing smile. "You should know that you cannot avoid your destiny. Prophecy has said that you will love a mortal. And love a mortal you do. There is nothing you can do to change things. You should accept and embrace this. The man is dedicated to you."
Heulwen stared at him while she processed what he'd said. Dedicated. Cernunnos knew that Celyn was dedicated to her. He'd been the one who had locked those memories away. Only the All Father had the magic needed to cloud her mind. "You hid my memories of Celyn from me. You cast a spell to hide them from me and then you sent me to the mortal realm to help him on his mission. This is your doing."
Cernunnos looked anything but upset by her words. He simply smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders, as if it was some little thing not worthy of being remembered. "You were determined to remain hidden in your sanctuary until the end of days without once ever tasting the pleasures that life has to offer. Have you never wished to feel a man's hands against your bared flesh? Have you never wished to feel a man moving inside of you?"
"No. You had no right to meddle in my life. I care nothing for the prophecy and I care nothing for him!"
Morgan reached out to lay a hand on her arm. "He's a good man, Heulwen. He has always taken his dedication to you seriously. There is nothing wrong with loving such a man."
"I do not love him!" she growled at them, then spun on her heel and marched from the grotto. She couldn't take them anymore. And she didn't love him.
~*~
Book One: Heulwen, Chapter Two: The Game, Part One
Fandom: a cross between the Marvel Universe and Arthurian Legend
Rating: mature.
Warnings: there will be violence and sex. maybe not language. but definitely the others. lots of religous references
Disclaimer: the Marvel men, even though hiding behind other names, do not belong to me. they belong to Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them. i'm simply borrowing them for the fun of it. i like putting them through hell, don't you know? i'm not making money from this, either. so don't even consider what you can score off me. i'm broke. not a penny to my name. the Sues belong to the women who thought them up, namely Dazzledfirestar, Nan, SFC, Gin and myself. don't steal them. they'll kick your ass. the name and concept of the Mary Sue Virus belong to Daz, who graciously allowed me to use it for my own personal pleasure.
In the Name of the Goddess - the Index
The weather turned faster than the old woman had expected. The morning dawned clear though crisp, the air carrying a hint of the winter to come. The men hurried to the fields with the rising of the sun in order to continue the harvest. The village's headman, too, sensed the rapidly approaching change of season and urged the men to work faster. Harder. If the harvest wasn't brought in in time, his people would starve.
By mid-morning, it was obvious to all of the villagers that the winds would begin blowing winter weather their way far sooner than had been expected. A runner was sent to all of the huts with children. Every able child over the age of four was sent to the fields in order to help with the harvest. It gave Brialle and the old woman a break from the loud demands of the girls. From the moment they'd woken that morning, they'd pestered the old woman constantly for more stories about the Goddess Heulwen and the brave hunter Celyn.
The old woman went about duties that would ensure the cottage hut she shared with her daughter, her daughter's husband and her grandchildren would be snug and warm through the cold winter. Brialle was busy working at mending the winter garments her family would need to survive the coming cold months.
Brialle was in the middle of preparing a hot meal for her husband and daughters when she finally stood and turned a scowl on the old woman. "Promise me you'll not tell my girls the same stories you told me when I was a child."
"You sound like an old woman, Brialle. I won't be around forever. And since you seem to be determined to forget the old ways, it is up to me to tell them the tales."
"Mum," the younger woman sighed and left her spot by the hearth to cross the room so she could stand close to the old woman. With a gesture that suggested she'd been suffering for a long while, Brialle lifted her hands and put them on her mother's shoulders. "We've chosen to follow the teachings of the one true God. Why can you not accept this? Why must you continue to tell the children stories of ancient pagan gods who don't exist?"
"I know they exist, Brialle."
Her daughter sighed. "And how do you know? What makes you so certain that these gods of old are nothing more than a story your mother told you?"
"I have seen them with my own eyes, child. You would rather listen to some stranger who preaches of a God who denies that others exist than to your own mother, who has seen the things she tells stories about." The old woman shook her head in sorrow. "You pain my heart, daughter."
"You know I love you, Mother. And your stories thrilled me when I was a wee child. But I'm grown now, and a mother. I need to consider what is best for my children. Your stories are vivid and enjoyable. But they are simply stories. They're already disrupting the household. All I heard this morning when they rose from their bed was that they were eager to hear more of your tales. I know what they'll hear when you continue. You cannot fill their head with such... carnal images. They're too young to understand. And they don't need to be exposed to the more intimate parts of Heulwen and Celyn's story."
"I recall you being entranced by their love and their love making. Has this new God turned you into a virgin once more?" The blush that stained Brialle's cheeks told the old woman everything she needed to know. She shook her head. "If the tales I tell are simply stories, what harm is there in telling them to the children? They need heroes to dream about at night."
"I do not want you to fill their head with faerie tales!" There was an undercurrent to Brialle's voice that told the old woman what it was her daughter protested to. Sighing, the old woman turned away and moved to take her seat in the rocking chair beside the fire.
"You dared to dream and woke up disappointed." Brialle opened her mouth to speak, but the old woman lifted her hand to halt the words she knew would come. "I told you tales of the Gods and Goddesses. I told you how they chose to live their lives. I never told you that such things would happen to you. I merely said they could. That you chose to believe that dream until you wed your young man is not my fault."
"You told me that your gods often times roamed the earth with us mortals. You told me that I could meet one. I never saw proof that your gods existed. Your stories were lies." Brialle accused.
"Perhaps the Gods and Goddesses chose not to come to you because you did not earn that privilege. Do not allow your bitterness to shape the lives of your children. Allow them to decide for themselves what they wish to believe." The disappointment in the old woman's voice saw her daughter turning away from her. The two women retired to opposite sides of the cottage and spent the rest of the day working in silence. It was an old argument, one they'd had many times, and nothing the old woman could say would change her daughter's disillusions. Perhaps if she taught her grandchildren different...
Shortly after the nooning, the girls and their father returned to take part of the warmth offered by the fire in the hearth and the piping hot stew that Brialle had prepared for them. It was obvious that the wind was blowing cold and hard, the fingers and cheeks of her family chafed red from the chill that lived in it. They wasted little time, all four of them swallowing down the hearty stew and barely getting warm before once more filing out the door. A gust of wind blew in as they did so, letting both women know that winter would be upon them before the sun dipped below the horizon.
As the day wore steadily on, thick grey clouds slid silently and ominously across the sky. With them came a cold, freezing rain that pattered loudly against the skins covering the windows. Something was amiss. She was sure of it. Winter shouldn't have come so quickly. Not even the sighting of the White Doe and Stag should have meant such a rapid and wicked winter arrival. And yet, there was an ache in the old woman's bones that told the story far too well. It would be a harsh, cold winter. People would die if they didn't have enough food stuffs to see them through the bitter season.
It was dark out before the sun truly set behind the world for the night. The clouds had thickened during the day and the sleet had changed to fat, wet flakes of snow that clung to everything they touched. A quick trip outside to gather water from the stream had left Brialle's rich brown hair peppered with the white stuff. When her son-in-law and granddaughters returned from the fields, they were slow with cold. A swirl of frozen precipitation followed them through the door.
"Come. Sit by the fire. Warm yourselves. I have hot stew and hot cider," Brialle ordered, ushering the four of them nearer the hearth. The old woman rose from her chair and began removing blankets from a trunk. She wrapped one around each member of her family before returning to her seat. Brialle served each of them a bowl of the thick, hearty stew she'd prepared, as well as a mug of streaming cider. The two women allowed them to eat in silence, waiting while the heat seeped into their bones and warmed them back up.
The old woman thought that her tales would be forgotten for the night in the face of such hard work. Brialle and her husband were speaking on the sudden, strange shift in the weather. And the girls sat in their chairs, hiding yawns behind their hands while huddling under the comforting warmth of their blankets. She was about to climb from her rocker and seek out her own bed when the oldest girl turned big, bright eyes her way. "Gran, what happened to Heulwen and Celyn? You promised you'd tell us."
She smiled at the three girls, suddenly terribly eager for the telling of tales. "So I did, my poppet. Gather round my chair, my girls, and I will tell more stories of the Goddess Heulwen and the mortal Celyn."
The girls took their used dishes to the corner where a small basin of water awaited them. Brialle would scrub the bowls clean, then leave them on a counter to dry. When the bowls were handed over to their mother, the girls hurried back to gather up their blankets and their mugs, then they settled on the floor at the old woman's feet. "Now, let me see. Where do I begin?"
"Celyn had been wounded by a wyvern and Heulwen had taken him into the forest to heal him," the oldest told her excitedly. "Did she heal him? Where in the woods did they go? Could she even heal him?"
"Slow down, my girl," the old woman chuckled. "All in good time."
"I'm sorry, Gran. I'm simply excited. We all are. We want to know what happened." The girl fell silent and waited as patiently as she was able. The old woman watched her for a few seconds before settling more comfortably in her chair. She caught, out of the corner of her eye, the stern look Brialle was trying to send her way and chose to ignore it.
"Very well. Of course Celyn survived. But Heulwen isn't a true healer. Celyn had to heal the way all men heal. Slowly. Knowing this as truth, Heulwen had the two men from the village they'd saved from the wyvern carry Celyn on a litter into the forest." The old woman stopped and allowed the memories to rush over her. She did so love the way they always felt crisp and fresh, as if only newly minted. "Because the forest is Heulwen's domain, she has many clearings like the one where she first spied Celyn with the stag. And there was one nearby, perfect for her needs."
"What kind of clearing, Gran?"
"It was a sanctuary meant only for her and those she deemed worthy of seeing it."
~*~*~*~*~
She moved through the trees without noise, her feet finding the way by instinct, while she listened to the men following after her. Their booted feet found twigs to snap and leaves to crackle. Golden sunlight shaded with hints of green dappled the forest floor, giving the trail she followed a mellow, hazy feel to it. Off to her left and right, she could sense the passing of wolves, who came and followed at her command. Overhead, the cries of hawks and osprey filled the sky. It was a comforting sound that helped soothe the discontent and worry that gnawed at her belly.
She had no idea why she should be so deeply concerned about the hunter, why the thought that he could die troubled her as it did. But it did. And it confused her. So she spoke little to the men who carried him on a litter between them, didn't look back at the man's face to see if it had gotten paler since they'd carefully placed him on the litter. Instead, she focused on what she would need to treat his wounds, on how long it would take for him to heal up and regain his strength. Anything she could think of that kept her from centering her thoughts upon the man himself.
So lost in her thoughts was she that she didn't realize she'd stopped moving until one of the men behind her cleared his throat. "My lady? Something is amiss?"
Heulwen shook her head to clear it, then turned to look at the men behind her. The tall trees around her, the thickness of their trunks and the shadows that crowded around them all told her that they'd reached the outer reaches of her sanctuary. "Of course not. You may lay him here. You can go no further."
Both men looked as if they were uncertain, but they did as they were told. With careful motions, they lowered the litter to the ground. The wolves that had been following them broke through the trees to line the path on either side. The men glanced at them warily but made no move toward their weapons. A glance at one of the wolves saw the animal stepping forward onto the path. It stared at the two men before trotting past them back in the direction they'd just come from. "She will ensure you reach the safety of your village. Bring no harm to her. She is one of my own and if I discover she is hurt, you will suffer my wrath."
"Yes, my lady." The men answered in unison. With a nod of her head, they turned and hurried off in the other direction, following the twitching tail of the she wolf that guided them back to their village. Once the two men and the beast had rounded a corner and slipped from view, the rest of the wolves hurried to do her bidding.
A pair took the hand holds at the front of the litter into their mouths, raising Celyn's head up off the ground. Another pair went for the hand holds at the front, bringing his feet up. The rest of the wolves found places along the length of the litter to take hold and aide in carrying him into her hidden sanctuary. When she was assured that they could manage the task without dropping him, she gave her attention back to the forest. The trees seemingly melted apart to expose the entrance to the small clearing beyond. Heulwen went forward, followed by the wolves and their burden.
The interior of the hidden glade was carpeted with lush green grass that she knew would be soft to the touch. It would make a perfect cushion and cradle his body. A small stream ran through the clearing on one side with a large, circular pool in the middle to allow for bathing. Moss and other plant life she knew she'd need to create poultices for his wounds could be found there. The trees grew tall and close together, making it impossible for anyone to find the clearing without her consent or aide. They would be safe there, hidden amongst the trees.
The wolves carefully carried the litter into the clearing, settling it and the man laying on it off to the side of a small pit in the very center of the enclosure. As soon as they released the poles, they scurried off. And returned moments later with a small log or a handful of sticks caught between their teeth. One by one, the wolves piled the wood into the sandy pit until there was enough wood there to start a small fire. After they'd filled the pit, they began collecting extra dried wood to be added when needed.
Heulwen busied herself by collecting the plants she'd need to make the poultices. The leaves and berries were laid on a flat piece of bark that she would use later when she ground everything into a paste. The water would come from the pool. The only thing she needed that she didn't have was cloth to make bandages with. A side glance at the unconscious man told her that his garments could be used to bind his wounds. She could always send her forest friends to the village to gather clothing for him.
He shifted slightly, turning his head so that she was presented with his profile. Even across the distance, she thought she could count every individual golden whisker upon his chin. Something inside of her squeezed at the sight of it until she felt as if she couldn't draw air into her lungs. She quickly looked away from him and returned her attention to what she was doing.
A frown slid across her face as she reached for a large patch of deep green moss. Her hands were shaking, as if she were an untried youth on her first hunt. Such a thing upset her. She disliked the feeling of not being in control, disliked that she didn't know what it was she was doing or feeling. She disliked the sensations that the hunter's presence created in her.
It had started almost from the very moment she'd laid eyes on him. Something that felt primal had stirred within her, had sent odd feelings running through her that she'd done her very best to ignore. It had been easier to pretend they didn't exist when the two of them had been caught up in their mission. But there'd been a few moments during the fight with the wyvern that those feelings had nearly taken control. Those moments when Celyn had been injured. And then Heulwen had been consumed with the desire to ensure that he survived his wounds.
Now that she was alone with him in the peace of the glade, she couldn't help but acknowledge that those feelings had grown and expanded. She didn't bother to try and name them. It didn't matter what she thought she might feel for him. As soon as he was healed and well enough to travel on his own, she was going to go back to her own realm. She had no plans to ever see him again after this. And the sooner she stopped stalling, the sooner she could get him healed.
The first order of business was to rid him of his garments. She couldn't judge the seriousness of or tend to his wounds if he was clothed. A small flutter of apprehension rolled through her, but she stomped it down and resolutely took hold of her hunting knife as she moved closer to him. He was so still, she worried briefly that his wounds had been much worse than she'd thought. But then his chest rose and it felt as if her heart started beating again.
She had to stop considering him as anything more than one of her followers.
First to go were his belt and the quiver strapped across his chest. It took a little effort, and the help of one of her wolves, but she managed to rid him of the two pieces of leather without having to saw through them. His tunic and breeches, however, were another matter. Removing them without causing him pain required that he be conscious. And uninjured. He'd already lost too much blood, the dark stains around the gashes in his garments attesting to the fact. She was going to have to use her blade to strip him naked.
The boots were pulled off first. Lifting the leg that had been injured drew a soft groan from him, prompting her to do her best in removing the boot without jarring him too much. After his boots, she removed the stockings that covered his feet. She couldn't help but notice that his toes, like his fingers, were long and elegantly sculpted. They were topped with pearly pink nails that looked well cared for.
Jerking her gaze from his feet, she moved higher as she scolded herself for once again stalling. With careful motions, she began slicing through the woven fibers of his tunic. They split easily, each motion of her hand exposing more of his flesh to her eyes. Ripples of muscle climbed their way up his abdomen to a chest that was well toned from years of pulling back the string on his bow. A few more slices opened the sleeves so that the tunic fell away from his body to lay pooled under him. Though she was sure that resting on his back hurt him terribly, the pressure would keep the wound there from bleeding too heavily until she could tend to it.
Her main concern was the gash in his thigh.
The breeches were a touch harder to saw through. They were some kind of animal hide, oiled until they were like armor. The edge on her blade was sharp, making it easier to rid him of the garment. But it still took work and, the higher the knife rose, the more she told herself that she wasn't going to look. She didn't care what the more curious side of her insisted upon. She was not interested in him that way. Not at all. All she wanted to do was ensure that his wounds were tended to so he could heal.
After slicing her way up the second leg of his breeches, she carefully peeled them away from his body. There was no escaping the fact that his thighs and calves were just as well formed and muscled as his arms and torso. The man had seemingly been sculpted in the shape of the Gods, his form and face highly appealing to women everywhere. She wondered idly if he had a mate somewhere before sternly reprimanding herself.
Finally, he laid exposed to her view. The fact that he wore a loin cloth left her feeling much more disappointed than she felt she should have been. She had no interest in staring at that part of his body because she had no interest in him. So there shouldn't have been any disappointment at finding him wearing a loin cloth.
Heulwen forced herself to focus upon her task, forced herself to put aside the distracting images and thoughts running through her head so that she could examine the wound on his thigh. It wasn't as deep as she'd feared, something for which she was thankful. That meant that he would retain full use of his leg. After cleaning the wound with fresh water from the spring, she carefully stitched it closed and made a poultice to help it heal. That was slathered over the gash and she bound the whole thing with strips torn from his tunic. With his leg tended to, she turned him over so that she could turn her attention to his back.
It took much longer to clean the wound that sliced across his back. As with his thigh, this wound was shallow. But that really didn't matter. As it had been an hour or more since the wyvern had left its mark in Celyn's skin, the chances that the hunter would take a fever had risen. When that happened, it would be nearly impossible for her to check the way his back and thigh were healing. She needed to be sure she did the best job she could the first time around. Once the gash was stitched closed and the poultice applied, she rolled him back onto his back and settled him on the blanket that the villagers had used to make the litter.
He was still unconscious, something for which she was terribly thankful. At least, she thought he was unconscious. There was little movement of his chest, sending a bolt of panic through her. She leaned over him, her fingers seeking out the pulse in his throat. It was there, coming slow but strong, which left her feeling far more relieved than she thought she should be. When she pulled her hand back slowly, her fingertips grazed against something unseen.
Power jolted up her arm. Power that felt like lush green forests and babbling brooks. Power that moved as swiftly as a running wolf or deer, that soared the same way the hawks did. Power that her body knew and remembered and welcomed. Power that was her own. Power that she'd given to him.
Memories tumbled through her head like the water that rushed over the top of the falls. Images of a wee babe, barely a handful of weeks from the womb. Images of a young man, stringy and not yet grown into his arms and legs. Both child and man child bore a crowning glory of golden colored hair that had changed little over the years. In both images were a man and a woman. In both images, they stood in the center of the sacred circle where she'd come face to face with the mortal hunter not more than three days ago.
In the first image, the man and woman were young and fresh. The woman smiled fondly down at her son while Heulwen laid a hand on the wee boy's shoulder, against the faint outline of a birthmark that bore resemblance to her own mark. In the second image, they stood proudly behind the man child, their hands on his shoulders. And Heulwen once again laid her hand against his shoulder, against the faint outline of the mark. Both times, she channeled some of her own energy into the boy's mark, fed it into his body so that every other God and Goddess would know that he was dedicated solely to her.
The memories faded away. She found herself with one hand buried in the thick grass while the other rested heavily against his chest. Right over the spot her hand had touched two times before. Righting herself so that she knelt beside him, she allowed her gaze to caress his flesh where the mark was.
The color of the birthmark had faded as Celyn had aged, now barely a shade darker than his skin. But someone had gone around the edges with a black ink, leaving a permanent outline of the mark in his skin. Her mark. It resembled a bow that had been tilted toward the sky, three single lines trailing from the bottom. Heulwen ran her fingers over the mark once more, shivering at the feel of magic that tingled through her from it. How could she have forgotten such a follower?
All of her most serious followers were dedicated into her service. Very few were ever dedicated to her twice. Celyn was a rarity among those who still followed the old ways. And she had forgotten not only that she'd met him before, but that she'd overseen his dedication personally. Things like that didn't happen. She could remember every mortal who had ever been dedicated to her down through the ages. But she couldn't remember this one man. There was magic afoot, though there were few who were powerful enough to lock a memory away from her.
She scowled as she rose and stepped away from the man. The All Father. Damn him for his meddling. This was none of his business. He had no right to try and steer the course of her life. Was she not an ages old Goddess? Was she not content to live her life alone, in the solace of her glen? Her gaze strayed back to Celyn and, for three beats of her heart, she felt a longing that left her filled with sorrow and regret. She was not going to let the All Father do this to her. He was not going to succeed at pushing her into the mortal's arms.
She couldn't risk it.
~*~
The fever started that night. Despite the fire she'd built and the weight of his cloak, which she'd used to cover him with, he shook and trembled with ague. The delirium came quickly, leaving him alternating between laying as still as the dead and thrashing like a madman. He moaned and called out for someone, though she didn't recognize the name. It only served to strengthen her belief that he had a mate waiting for him in some village somewhere. Which made her cycle between a deep sorrow and a growing determination to keep him at arm's length.
She slept in short patches, most her time devoted to caring for him. To help speed his healing and keep his strength up, she made a rich stew filled with fresh vegetables and the meat of wild hares. The water from the small pool was used to both quench his thirst and bathe his fevered brow. When the madness took him, she held his hand and told him she was there for him. That she would always be there for him. When he was calm, she spoke to him of things she would tell no one else, sure that even if he heard her, he wouldn't remember when he finally woke from the fever.
As the fever raged, she was left with hours upon hours to consider what it was she was feeling. She had no name to put to the emotions that raged through her. No name she wanted or was willing to admit to herself. Her mind pondered the way her heart pounded with his nearness, the way her skin grew moist and clammy when she checked his thigh wound and happened to glance at his groin. And her body shuddered and shivered when she imagined what it might be like if he was to run his hands over her bared flesh. If he was to take her down into the soft grass and do to her things she'd only heard spoken of by her sisters. She did her best to push the thoughts aside and forget about them. She did her best to ignore the growing ball of something warm and bright in her chest.
She failed at it all miserably.
Nigh unto a sennight had passed before the fever finally passed. She'd been dozing for a short while, trying to catch up on the sleep she'd missed in caring for him, only to be woken by the gentle brush of a hand against her arm. She jerked awake to find that sun shone through the canopy of leaves overhead, the light around her a golden-green hue. The amount of light pouring through the trees told her that it was midday. Birds chirped and water burbled. She was surrounded by peace. Until that touch on her arm came again. She jumped and turned to find a pair of blue eyes staring up at her.
"My lady." His voice was soft and hoarse, letting her know that the fever had taken its toll. His gaze traveled over the tree-ringed clearing, taking in everything before finally returning to her face. There was a hint of confusion to be found in the depths of his eyes.
"The wyvern injured you. I brought you to this place and tended your wounds." Though his gaze looked clear, she reached down with one hand to lightly graze his cheek with the tips of her fingers. The skin was cool to the touch, telling her that the fever had well and truly run its course. Given that he'd taken in his surroundings, spoken to her and ridden through the worst of his fever, it was safe to conclude that he would survive his injuries.
"You healed me?" he asked, staring up at her as if he'd never seen her before. She shook her head, sending her curls tumbling around her head.
"I tended your wounds. The poultices helped heal you. The All Father helped heal you. I merely gave them the chance to do their jobs."
"Thank you, my lady." His hand caught hold of hers, drew it up to his mouth so that he could rub his cheek against her palm, press a gentle kiss into it. Tingles of sensation shot up her arm, leaving her limbs feeling heavy. She tried to tug her hand from his, but his fingers curled around it and held it tight. His eyes remained locked with hers. "My lady. Heulwen."
There was heat in his voice, to his words. Suggestion that she found herself frightened of. And yet, her heart thudded loudly in her chest, a sense of anticipation rushing through her. The things she'd thought of the past few days, those images that had seen her blushing and flushing with need, flowed through her head. Never in her life had she wanted so badly to give in to something she'd sworn she wouldn't allow to happen.
"Your fever raged a fierce battle. You need to rest," she told him softly, using just a whisper of her power to send his eyes fluttering shut. The grip on her hand relaxed slightly as sleep crept back over him. As if sensing that he was about to lose something, he struggled to force his eyes open while his fingers clutched at hers once again. She lifted her empty hand and brushed it lightly against his forehead. "Shhh. Rest. Your body is still healing."
With another push of power, his hand went lax and his eyes slid shut. She laid his hand down on his chest and fussed needlessly at the cloak to ensure that he was fully covered. A silent call saw a group of wolves enter the clearing. Heulwen stood and stared down at them. "Guard him well. I have someone I need to speak to."
~*~
The grotto was brightened by a mixture of flickering torches and shafts of moonlight shining through three or four holes in the ceiling of the cave. All of the light glimmered off the walls, sparking small flashes of brilliance from some mineral that lived in the stone. The floor of the cave was carpeted with soft green moss, broken up only occasionally by a large, plush fern here and there. Trees branched out of the shadows to supply a variety of fruits. The back wall glistened with rivulets of water that splashed out of a stairwell of small pools and waterfalls that arced from the ceiling to the floor. The water ended in a large pool, big enough for at least half a dozen people to bathe in if they so chose. A bed of moss and silk occupied a vast area of floor to the right of the pool. It was edged with more of the plush ferns.
Morgan knelt by the pool, body hidden behind a sleeveless shift of silk in rose petal red. Based on the way she was concentrating on the surface of the water, it was obvious that she was focused on something. Or perhaps someone. Heulwen had seen this before. No doubt Morgan was trying to push two lovers together. A soft chuckle drew her attention to the bed of moss. Cernunnos lay on his back, head cradled on a moss pillow, while Fae's hands and lips traced across his body. It was plain to see that her goal was the All Father's swollen cock.
Cernunnos spied her and offered her a smirk, then lifted one hand toward her, silently beckoning her to join them. She shot him a look, then crossed to where Morgan knelt by the edge of the pool. Staring down into the flat surface of the water, she could see two separate images of a young man and a young woman reflected there. Morgan was chanting softly in the language of the Gods, an ancient rite that would urge the two together and bless their union. Despite her desire to know what was going on, she knew better than to interrupt Morgan in the middle of a love rite.
In the pool, the images of the lovers flickered and wavered, then disappeared completely. But only for a moment. Seconds later, a single, larger image flowed over the surface of the water. It showed the man and the woman together in a single place. Their hands were moving reverently over each other's bodies as they removed clothing and touched flesh. Eventually, their mouths met in a hungered, impassioned kiss. The young man took the young woman to the ground. Even as they settled upon the blankets spread across the ground, he was pressing himself into her. The image lingered a short while longer, allowing Morgan and Heulwen to watch as the young man applied himself to coupling with his partner. Then the image was gone, leaving the surface of the pool empty and still.
Morgan turned to her, a smile on her face. "You honor us with your presence, Heulwen. What brings you to the grotto?"
"You know why I've come." When the shorter woman gave her a blank stare, Heulwen scowled at her. "What did you do?"
There was confusion on Morgan's face as she considered the question. "What I always do. I helped them find each other."
"Not them!" Heulwen snarled. A wave of her hand saw the surface of the pool shimmering with colors once more before an image of the clearing appeared on it, Celyn's sleeping figure in the center of it. He'd shifted in his sleep, leaving the cloak pushed down about his hips. "Me. Him. What have you done to me?"
Morgan gave her attention to the image shining on the pool's calm surface, carefully studying the man in it. Slowly, a soft smile spread across her face. Looking up at Heulwen, she motioned toward Celyn's figure with one hand. "He's quite handsome. Where ever did you find him?"
"Handsome is too simple a word for a man such as that," Fae said, standing beside her twin so that she could stare at the conjured image. "He has a face that could make the gods weep with amazement. His body is strong and lean and tall, much like the trees he spends his time moving through. And his root... Tell me, sister. Is it as impressive as the rest of him? Is it as thick and long as the tallest tree? Did you wish to...?"
"Enough, Fae!" Heulwen spat. "That isn't the point!"
"Have you seen his root yet?" Morgan asked. She and Fae snickered. "Is it as impressive as he is?"
"He wears a loin cloth. I saw nothing." Not that she hadn't wanted to peek.
"She didn't look." Fae nodded her head, as if this was nothing she hadn't expected.
"I've looked," Cernunnos' voice rumbled from the bed. All three women turned to stare at him. There was a knowing look on his face.
"You would. I begin to think that the sight of a man unclothed is as exciting to you as that of a woman." Heulwen sighed and hurried to take control of the conversation. "And whether I have stared at him or not is not what I've come about. Which of you was it that cast the spell?"
"Spell?" Morgan and Fae asked in unison. "What spell? We've cast no spell."
"You lie!" Heulwen snarled. How dare they tell such bald lies to her face. "You cast a spell. One meant to convince me that I should lower my guard and my clothing and allow some mere mortal hunter to climb atop me and use me as if I were little more than a whore."
Morgan and Fae stared at her as if they'd never seen her before. Together, both of them shook their head in a slow, sad motion that suggested they felt sorry for her. For just a moment, she wished she had her bow and quiver with her. While she might not be able to actually kill them, inflicting pain would make her feel better. Sighing, Morgan stepped forward and laid a hand on Heulwen's arm. "Such anger! You should have been prepared for this. You knew it would happen eventually. Not even a Goddess can hide from love."
"I do not love him!" Heulwen snapped.
"This is a love that we have nothing to do with. We cast no spell over you, sister. This is a love of your own design. There is no escaping it," Morgan said softly. "You've known this day would come for a very long time. Have you forgotten the prophecy?"
She rolled her eyes at the twins. She'd never put stock in the prophecy, despite the fact that she'd hidden herself away from humans as much as she could. When it became obvious that she wouldn't answer, Fae stepped forward, the long silky strands of her hair flowing down over her body. She stopped only a foot or so from Heulwen before her eyes began to change. The green color of them was eaten away by white, as if clouds were moving over the sun. The ends of her hair floated on wisps of her power. The same power that echoed in her voice when she spoke.
"Chaste shall she be,
Pure and untouched until her match is met.
He shall be her equal yet less,
Her heart and more.
She shall be his alone.
He shall make her want and give her all she will not dream to have
He shall be her first and last."
The touch of power left her, cleared out of her eyes so that they were once more green and bright. Her hair settled against her naked flesh as if it had never been disturbed. Fae blinked to clear her gaze, then shook her head. "The prophecy is already written, Heulwen. We've done nothing to influence your emotions."
"I don't love him. I can't," Heulwen whispered, her gaze drifting toward the image still rippling on the pool's surface. Even staring at that magically conjured vision, she felt her heart pound just a little harder. Simply looking at him made her feel an odd sensation, like she was floating on clouds. Simply looking at him made her smile. Simply looking at him made her want to do things. "I can't love him. I don't. This isn't happening."
"Heulwen, my child," Cernunnos said, as he climbed from the bed. There was something in his voice, in the expression on her face, that told her there was more going on here than she understood. When he stood before her, he put his hands on her shoulders while offering her a patronizing smile. "You should know that you cannot avoid your destiny. Prophecy has said that you will love a mortal. And love a mortal you do. There is nothing you can do to change things. You should accept and embrace this. The man is dedicated to you."
Heulwen stared at him while she processed what he'd said. Dedicated. Cernunnos knew that Celyn was dedicated to her. He'd been the one who had locked those memories away. Only the All Father had the magic needed to cloud her mind. "You hid my memories of Celyn from me. You cast a spell to hide them from me and then you sent me to the mortal realm to help him on his mission. This is your doing."
Cernunnos looked anything but upset by her words. He simply smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders, as if it was some little thing not worthy of being remembered. "You were determined to remain hidden in your sanctuary until the end of days without once ever tasting the pleasures that life has to offer. Have you never wished to feel a man's hands against your bared flesh? Have you never wished to feel a man moving inside of you?"
"No. You had no right to meddle in my life. I care nothing for the prophecy and I care nothing for him!"
Morgan reached out to lay a hand on her arm. "He's a good man, Heulwen. He has always taken his dedication to you seriously. There is nothing wrong with loving such a man."
"I do not love him!" she growled at them, then spun on her heel and marched from the grotto. She couldn't take them anymore. And she didn't love him.
~*~