CHAPTER THREE: THE RED DRAGON AND THE WHITE
Excerpt from the Grimoire of Morgana Pendragon
18 July 1067
Courtship is not as I remember it. It is much, much better.
When old Urien of Rheged sought my hand in marriage back in my former life, he sent me a legal charter offering me various tracts of land in return for an alliance with “my sorcery.” He had never even met me before, and he certainly never called me by name during our brief union. While our marital alliance served its purpose, it was never what I would call an affectionate relationship.
My intent in inviting young Eadgar to my court had been to find a mate suitable for siring proper heirs, nothing more. But he is so charming and chivalrous, it's hard to resist his advances. He’s always presenting me with the most beautiful flowers. He’s even actually written me some love poetry. Granted his poems were in a heavy Anglo-Saxon dialect and therefore a bit rough on my sensitive Brythonic ears. But still, his heart was in the right place. And that silly little minstrel that he got to play the lute for him while he sang the words to me! I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, but it was such a sweet gesture.
The closest Urien ever came to writing me poetry was a drinking song he came up with one night while celebrating with his men. It went something like this:
“There once was a girl named Morgana,
Whose hair was as long as a banner.
But her sour face encouraged much laughter,
So they all lived happily ever after.”
He concluded it with a belch. That incident certainly helped me make up my mind about whether or not to poison his mead and steal his kingdom. He died laughing at me, the drunken pig. Good riddance.
So it is not as if I was pursuing some foolhardy, romantic notion of courtly love. I had thought to use Eadgar for his claim on the English throne, but I had not previously considered that he might actually be worthy of that crown. He is stalwart, brave, fair-minded and… goddess, those cheekbones! The man is every inch a king, everything I was looking for and more.
I had planned to ensorcel him with my feminine wiles. Can it be that instead it is I who has fallen under his spell? I was not prepared for this. I have not been in such abject thralldom to my emotions since… since Merlin and I were young together. And that certainly didn’t go the way I planned.
I cannot afford to succumb to mere attraction like this. I am not some doe-eyed handmaiden besotted over her gallant knight, I am Morgana, the greatest sorceress this world has ever known and the rightful Queen of the Britons! But how can a woman resist such charms? More importantly, why would she want to?
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A letter found tucked between the pages of the Grimoire of Morgana Pendragon
Undated
To ðe Lady Morgana, of all ðe maides in all ðe lande, most faire.
When fyrste I saw ðy face, yt was as yf myne hearte had stoppt yts beating. How coude I hafe ever dreamt ðat souche an one as ðou coude dwelle in ðese mournfull and God-forsakyne landes?
I had þought ðat ðe greatest day of myne lyfe was when ðe witenagemōt chose me to be ðeir kyng, to dryve back ðe moste vile Normann fiend ynto ðe depths of ðe sea. But souche þings were nought to be, for myne earls forsooke me, and all my friendes and kinsfolk, save my fewe trewe housecarles.
And I never þought to be gladde of yt, untill ðe day I fyrste beheld ðat whiche ys fairest. Yndeede, I never þought to be merrie again.
But now let a þousand kyngdoms of men falle, and let ðe stars falle fromme ðe heavenes, and let ðe sunne cease fromme yts lighte. Yt matters nought, for I hafe beheld ðe Lady Morgana, who among all women ys fairest.
By my trouþe, I sweare to be ðine untill deaþe takes me fromme ðis vale of tears, for I coude never luve anoðere one souche as ðee even yf I were to lyve a þousand years.
Canne yt be ðat ðou coudest luik upon me wyþe ðe same fondnyss? Willt ðou be myne as I am ðyne?
Myne hearte longes for ðy trewe answere.
Ever ðyne,
EADGAR, who amongst ðe fallyne Ænglisc ys called ÆÞELING
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Excerpts from the Grimoire of Morgana Pendragon
9 August 1067
Today I wedded my handsome knight. Goddess help me.
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21 September 1067
My dear husband has purposed to make me a wedding gift of that vestige of Cambria that has yet to acknowledge my right to rule.
As is fit and proper, I have appointed him to be the Marshal of my hosts, such as they are. His companions, or “housecarls” as he calls them, have made a fine addition to our warband. Their heavy mail hauberks and fine big axes give them quite a fearsome appearance. And at their head, Eadgar looks most regal dressed in his crimson cloak and tabard, even emblazoned as they are with the Saxon dragon.
The irony of those arms is not lost on me. The striving of the red dragon and the white was a harbinger of doom even as far back as the time of King Vortigern. It would seem that in the time since the passing of my brother that the Saxon dragon has taken on a distinctive golden hue. I suppose that is not altogether inappropriate, since the Cerdingas have ruled as kings in the lost lands for upwards of five hundred years now.
But all this means is that I have accomplished something even the great Merlin could not have foreseen. In days of yore, the white dragon of the Saxons and the red of House Pendragon were symbols of two bitter enemies in a death struggle over all Britannia, icons of strife in an era of war. But now the two bloodlines shall be united in one. In the face of new enemies I have joined together the red dragon and the white under my own aegis. So whether red, white or gold, it matters not what color the dragon takes so long as it is still the Pendragon.
The army set off for Caerdyf a few weeks ago, and the news from the battlefront is most promising. I was very pleased to note that this portion of Siluria is now known as Morgannwg. It goes to show that these peasants have some memory of their true place in the world, and so I am hopeful that they shall make fine subjects once they have been purged of their false liege lords.
I am told that Eadgar has won a great battle in the south. Although I have been seated safe and secure in my stronghold while he and his men have endured the dangers of battle, I must admit some small part in their success. I have endowed him with a wedding gift of my own making, a magical amulet that imbues its wearer with a very special ability. Although it does not make its wearer invulnerable to harm, it will stanch the flow of blood from any wounds that he does happen to receive, ensuring that he will live to fight another day even after receiving the most grievous of injuries.
Of course, it’s not as if I’m expecting any particular danger from the petty folk of Siluria. Those proles will submit or their crops will wither and their homes will burn. But one can never be too careful.
I anticipate that tomorrow I shall awaken to the news that I am Queen of a united Cambria. It shall be a glorious new dawn, born though it is of fire and blood.
The day is not far distant when all of Britain shall acknowledge the rule of the Two Dragons. Let them arise!
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