Morgan Le Fay; The True Story

Chapter Three

I was greatful for my uncle’s defense, and I thanked him profusely for it after father had left. He stared at me seriously for a couple of moments before speaking.

“I never liked that fool that father married Anna to,” he said. “And I didn’t want to see the same future for you. Knowing him, it most certainly would have been.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” I said with a curtsey before I turned to leave the room.

“Morgan,” he called, and I stopped, turning slowly on my heal. “I’m sorry for making you face him.” I stared at my uncle in surprise. He never apologized to anyone, for any reason.

“‘Tis alright,” I said, finding my voice. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” He smiled and dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

It did not take very long before the excuse I had used, my mother’s needing me, was completely true. Within a week of father’s visit she became extremely fevered and completely unable to leave her bed for any reason. She drifted in and out of conciousness, occasionally waking with a scream of terror.

From that point up to her dying day I spent every moment by her side, feeding her when she awoke, lying damp rags on her forehead, cleaning up after her when she messed herself.

Her lady’s maid and I were both given mattresses in her chamber, and one of us would sit up with her at all times. Priests and physicians drifted in and out of chambers for the next week, both trying to make her better and trying to prepare her for death.

At the end of that long, torturous week she finally passed on, leaving this world smoothly. To this day I am convinced that she felt no pain in her passing, but that she simply fell asleep and awoke before the judgement throne of heaven.

She died in the night, and I recall being shaken awake by her maid when she stopped breathing. Until day break the next morning we sat a silent vigil by her body, praying and mourning.

Uncle was informed first thing that day, and he promptly gave his men orders to dig mama’s grave near their parents in the ancestral burial grounds, before telling Aunt Mary and I to prepare mama’s body in the way of the old religion. Aunt Mary tried to argue that, but Uncle Cadman slapped her and repeated his order, pointing out that he was her husband and that he had the God-given right to tell her what to do.

Reluctantly she helped me clean my mother’s body and dress her in the traditional funeral garb. Once we were done with that, Uncle placed an elegantly carved cross in mother’s hands, and then told me to find my mother’s favorite things, so the could be buried with her.

I had been fine until he told me to do that, but digging through my mother’s belongings was painfull. I spent most of that day in tears as I selected my mother’s most precious items- an elaborately decorated needlecase, her embroidered pocket and a gorgeous silver necklace.

The funeral mass took place the second morning after she died, and it was a very somber event. The priests preformed the service and I went through the motions half-heartedly. The morning passed in a blur, and I only really remember looking down on my mother’s body in the grave, holding a handful of dirt over her.

The emotions were overwhelming as I let go of the dirt. I turned away from the grave as the menfolk began to shovel dirt into it.

Why do you care, Morgan? I asked myself. That’s just her shell. She’s in a better place. She’s beyond hurting. Father can’t touch her now. Quickly I wiped away the tears and turned back to watch, noticing Uncle Cadman nudging my Aunt towards me. She threw a glare over her shoulder at him, but approached me with a false smile.