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A wretched wanderer on Heaven's high way,
Once Albion's princess, now an elfin grey
Morte D'Arthur, R.Heber
Once upon a time there was a misty island in the roaring seas. In the middle of the island was a great lake. In the heart of that lake lay a smaller island, Avalon the blessed.
Two sisters were born to the Island, two sisters of fey kind.
Morgen and Gwenever they were named. They did not know their father; but their mother was Dame du Lac, the noble and enchanting Nymue.
They lived in a white castle whose walls shone like crystalline glass.
Different as day and night were the fey twins: sun-kissed skin with a golden veil of freckles Gwenever had, her silky fair hair waving down, her eyes azure and calm. She was tall with graceful but strong hands, and clad herself in white dresses.
And pale, dark Morgen was, with pointed ears, and strange cavernous eyes; with an unruly cloud of thick black curls. She was short and quicksilver, and liked to bury her face in a hood.
One sister was blessed, the other was cursed. When Gwenever spoke, roses and pink pearls flew from her lips. When Morgen dared to utter a word, scary snakes and nasty toads were born.
So Morgen hardly spoke at all. When Gwenever sang ballads of love, she mooed storms to come; when Gwenever tamed unicorns to her feet and nightingales came to wake her at dawn, black crows flew to visit Morgen and gift her with bones and murky sea-glass.
Concerned mother, Dame du Lac called upon Merlin the Great – a wizard renowned through all Albion, the Kingmaker. "Please, old friend, come and help my poor daughter with your wisdom," she pleaded, "Even magic of Avalon fell powerless against the horrid plague bestowed upon her at birth. Please, come."
Merlin arrived on Avalon, in robes as grey as his soul, neither wicked nor good. He knew that Nymue and Gwenever perceived him as a wise old sage – what he wanted them to see him as; but Morgen's keen eyes saw through him, saw the desperate man fighting the future his every living moment – what he truly was.
He looked down at her, short, stubborn, wearing a living snake as a necklace. He frowned, and then smiled widely. "I could not cure this girl of what Nature had deemed to give her. But don't cry, Nimue, don't make Avalon salty. I can try to lock up the creepers. But know that if Morgen utters just one word of hatred and anger, they will surely return."
Then, to Dame du Lac's surprise, he gave a cure to Gwenever as well. Roses and pearls would come back only with the words of sincere love.
So with no more snakes and roses, peace reigned on the misty lake.
Years passed and the young Arthur Uther's son ascended to the throne of Camelot. To reconcile the strength and glory of Avalon and Camelot, to reunite men and the blue-blooded feys, with Merlin's help Gwenever was betrothed to Arthur.
Morgen pleaded to accompany her to Camelot. "I want to see the world beyond the lake," she dreamed, "to know what it is like, what humans are like...To taste the sea and run through the forest."
Gwenever mercifully agreed to gave her poor sister a favour. "You'll be my lady-in-waiting, Morgen dear."
It happened that in those days the King was hunting in the woods near Camelot. And he spotted a motley procession of fairies, servants with jeweled wings and knights adored with oak leaves. Slowly, they walked through the forest. At the head rode a golden-haired lady, dressed in white robes and a gleaming silver armour.
Arthur hid behind a tree and watched her. Was she his future wife or a warrior of light to guard his betrothed?.. Then, only Destiny knows why, first his heart and next the eyes were naturally drawn to the second maiden, the one riding behind, the strange one in a black cloak, the one with a mischievous smirk.
In the evening the court of Camelot welcomed the Avalon delegation, a feast was thrown. King Arthur was to greet his fiancee and announce the wedding. And to everyone's horror, he walked to Morgen and took her hands in his. "Shall you sit beside me, my lady?"
Confused and scandalized, Avalon's guests tried to correct Arthur's mistake, to point out to his true betrothed, the fair Gwenever. They tried to explain that this wrong one's name was Morgen, that she was no more but a lady-in-waiting; but the King, apologising, would not let go his hand of Morgen's trembling grip. "I might have mistaken," he said, "But let it be the most right of mistakes."
And beside each other they feasted in the name of Avalon and Camelot united, and blessed the names of Lady Nymue and the late King Uther.
So Morgen found herself chosen in Gwenever's stead, loved for the first time in her life. How could anyone choose her dark when Gwenever's light was right there?.. But Arthur alone could. And she fell in love with his bravery, cheerfulness and strong noble spirit. "I will love you for a thousand years", Morgen promised King Arthur as only a fey could.
Gwenever, however, could not bear the dishonour, the stinging failure, the way she has been abandoned and for whom, her cursed pixie of a sister?... With shame she imagined how Lady Nymue would take the news. So Gwenever approached old Merlin to ask for help.
She didn't know that on these fervent nights and idyllic days, the old wizard has been tormented by the dreams of prophecy. Only Merlin knew that all the mysterious signs have pointed to Morgen being the bane and woe of Arthur and all of his kingdom.
So, rushing into yet another of his battles with destiny, Merlin told Gwenever what would hurt Arthur the most – the betrayal of a loved one. The unchosen and wizard conspired to act in accordance.
There was a knight called Sir Guiomar who only pretended to be noble and in seek of righteousness. Gwenever generously bribed him with fey gold so that he could catch Morgen the false off guard, at the wrong time in the wrong place and compromise her, even against her will if he had to. He willingly agreed.
This way awakened by Merlin in the middle of the night, the heartbroken Arthur found them: Morgen and Guiomar in a heated embrace of passion. He fell unable to distinguish between lovemaking and violence.
Vain fell the pleas and explanations of the weeping, hopeless Morgen, "I didn't want this!" she tried; but gleeful was the smug of the traitorous knight, subtle the smirk of Gwenever – the King had seen all he had to see. "A mistake indeed you were," he said. In anger and deep hurt, he condemned her to eternal banishment from Camelot and bashed her a witch and a wanton.
But Morgen was no slower to anger, and no less proud.
"I curse you, Arthur Pendragon, and you all, for ever and ever!" she shrieked, and for the first time in years a snake spewed from her mouth, but the King beheaded it with his sword.
In fury and shame, she stormed out of Camelot and returned to Avalon, to the bosom of a mother who never understood or loved her.
Comforted and forgiven by Gwenever in his sorrowful mistake, Arthur married her, his fated bride.
So Merlin thought he set the things back on the right path, and was satisfied, and calmed for a while; but Morgen didn't think so, she hold tight to her own truth.
She was aware that Lady Nymue was secretly helping her daughter and son-in-law; and at night, wrapped in a cloak of shadows, Morgen would slip away and turn the good done by the Lady of the Lake into the wicked: if Nymue gave King Arthur an enchanted sword, Morgen would steal its protective scabbard; if the one presented a cloak woven of moonlight, the other would soak it in snake poison; if Mother handed Gwenever a mirror that could sight through space, Daughter would enchant it so that the beholder saw his true, Morgen believed, ugly self; if there was an enemy of Camelot lead to execution, she would rescue and reward him.
Thus Morgen shaped herself into a restless spirit of contradiction, a merciless critic of the slightest flaw, a person who rejoices in misfortune, a person who destroys happiness and mocks love because they were not fated to have it; into the one who cherishes and shelters all foul and scary for beauty failed them.
Bitter like mugwort and ruthless like nettle she became.
When Nymue passed away to the Summerlands, it was time for Morgen to become the next Dame du Lac. She expelled gnome servants and banished fairy maidens to stay forever alone. She raised the mists impenetrable so that no one, not even Merlin could pass through.
Once dreaming of the wide wild somewhere, Morgen isolated herself on Avalon, locked herself in the lonely glass tower. "Queen of magic will I be. Not even Merlin is a match for me!"
With the great power descended upon her, she changed her despised and hated pixie looks into a beautiful and majestic one. If any soul saw her at that moment, he would have recognised in her glamour the exact cast of Gwenever, but dark-shaded and devoid of the White Queen's grace.
And the strongest and most wicked magic was also wrought by Morgen. She gathered twigs of ash and apple, and built a huge effigy of ugly; and in its heart she put small belongings her sister had left at home, a lock of her hair, and an iron needle, burning her fey fingers on the fierce metal.
On the banks of Avalon she set the effigy on fire, and shouted incantations, and swarms of snakes and crawling monsters were writhing all around her.
Out of the pyre came a fine man, a knight in blue armour. A mad knight with a devoted heart, and Morgen gave him a fitting name. Lancelot du Lac she named him, and parted the mists for his boat.
When Gwenever first met Lancelot, a rose fell from her lips for the first time in years, and a precious pearl skipped across the floor. Doomed the queen was.
Lancelot and Gwenever were destined to become the greatest love story known to men and fey, and oh, how sneered Morgen!..How enjoyed the bane unfolding!
But even noble vengeance and oaths fray at the edges with time, and turn grey, and like worn garments cease to warm.
Secluded on Avalon, Morgen's vigour to harm Gwenever and Arthur's knights faded with years, and she learnt healing when her only friends – poisonous serpents and caustic toads – began to fall sick and die.
But in Camelot, her perfect creation, a knight without fear and reproach, the bravest of them all, was sowing destruction in the name of love, just like his witch-mother.
On Salisbury Plain, King Arthur fell by the hand of the effigy knight, making Merlin's dreams come true. Wounded mortally, he called the most loyal Sir Bedivere. "I ask you, my dear friend, to take me to Avalon".
"But Sire," argued the knight, "Morgen Le Fey is the enemy of Camelot and has done you much harm. Wouldn't it be better to summon Her Majesty and make amends?"
"No," insisted the maimed King, "I wish to spend the last moment of my life with Morgen and no-one else."
Sir Bedivere brought his Lord through fields and woods, found the Lake, and prayed for help. In response, a ghostly boat swam up to the misty shore. It took Morgen's enemy and only love to Avalon.
The lies of Merlin and Gwenever melted like the morning dew, and so did Morgen's hollow glamour, and hatred was no more. With her name whispered again and again, Arthur prayed for the last kiss. "A thousand years I will beg for your forgiveness," he said.
Guilt burned her heart to ashes.
Morgen did all she could to heal Arthur, but the wound of Lancelot's fey sword carried a curse fatal for mortal flesh. With all her magic and witchery all she was able to do is to lull Arthur into an enchanted sleep, healing one. Now he sleeps, but he will live, and one day he will rise again to fight for his Britons.
She laid Arthur in a glass coffin in a pearly cave, and lit a candle that will only melt when the King wakes up. Before the coffin she knelt, and repented aloud. Her lament of belated regret fell to the ground like any mortal's would. Weightless and curse-less.
Far away, in a cold convent cell, the other lonely sister mourned her fallen knight, the only one she has ever loved; but neither rose no pearl came to adorn Sir Lancelot's unholy crypt.
And Merlin the Great's grief turned him into a tree that still stands in the midst of Camelot's ruins.