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Description
Part 1: The High Queen’s Daughter
Chapter 3
Heir

Morgan throws open her engraved oak door.
“Good evening, Lady.”
She drops into the curtsy that she has been so often given to her. She knows this is the woman that has the power behind the throne-and that she is her kin. “Her blood is my blood,” Morgan thinks, and the reality of it makes her head spin.
Vivienne is quite taken aback by her niece’s bedchamber, for it is a mess…but what an extraordinary mess it is!
The room is large with a wide floor, a high ceiling and a hearth. Piles upon piles of books lie by the girl’s bed; a gilt harp is pushed in the furthest corner. Paintings are splayed on the floor. On a table are several bottles of ink and quills, pieces of parchment, and roses.
There are very few objects of vanity (exceedingly odd for a girl of such high rank, who has almost every amenity available to her), only an open wooden chest barely full, with few visible folded gowns, ribbons, shoes, and a single turquoise necklace. Vivienne can see no mirror anywhere in the room.
Ygrain is not surprised in the slightest, since she has seen her daughter’s bedchamber so many times. She is, however, quite accustomed to other people’s shock.
“May I introduce you to my daughter, the lady Morgan.”
Morgan tires easily of all the formalities of her life, but dips her head accordingly.
Vivienne begins to wander, and kneels at a drawing of a dark-skinned woman pointing to a river, with two men behind her. A baby is on her back.
“What is this, Morgan?”
“Oh, it was from a dream I had. In it, a native woman led two explorers across new land. I can’t seem to remember her name…oh, right, Bird-Woman, Sacagawea in her language. Her husband was a fur-trader.”
Vivienne lifts it, and finds another painting underneath, observing it with an analytical eye. It is a stone archway, and in the background is a dreary, gray-blue sea. Mists swirl, and the sun looks distant and veiled.
A striking girl is leaning against the archway, her almond-shaped green eyes wide in anticipation. A gray hood covers her head, and a golden-haired boy stands beside her, gazing at her intently.
“And this?”
“Another dream. I had this one last night.”
“You are a talented artist, Morgan.”
“Thank you. I simply draw what I see in my mind.”
“Your mind seems to be a vast kingdom.”
“Yes…but it can always grow more.”
Ygrain clears her throat. “You are probably wondering why we came here, Morgan.”
Morgan emits a sarcastic gasp.
“You mean it was not just for the pleasure of my company?”
Ygrain shifts uncomfortably. “Oh, Morgan, stop it. There isn’t always another reason, you know.”
“Good God, mother, I know it. I’m only testing you.”
“Well, you do that enough already!”
Vivienne gives Ygrain a look in that universal language which only sisters understand: “let me handle this”.
Gently, Vivienne asks, “You know about your father, the Duke Gorlois, I assume?”
Morgan gives her a hard stare.
“Spare me the sympathy, please. Yes, I know all about the Duke Gorlois, who deserted the High King when he needed him the most, who kept my mother prisoner in Tintagel.”
“Morgan!” scolds Ygrain.
Morgan works to make herself humble.
“I am sorry for my sharpness, Lady. I am quite weary.”
As the sisters inspect her, they see that she indeed is. They did not notice at first because of her glamour, but they now see dark circles under her eyes.
“Morgan, your rightful inheritance is the land of Cornwall, and your mother and I think you are ready to rule it-yes, you are young, but wise for your years, and in a place where you can observe leadership closely. I believe empirical knowledge is best.”
Pleased, Morgan already starts packing, placing books into the wooden chest. She pauses, stands up again, and says, “Thank you, Lady and Mother, for believing in my potential. I assume you are sending me there so I may train for being High Queen of Britain?
Ygrain flinches.
“What?” asks Vivienne in a rough voice, glaring at her sister.
Morgan, confused, replies, “Well, of course I hope mother lives a long life, but there’s no denying that one day she and Uther will die, as everyone that breathes eventually will, and I am the only heir.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
“I didn’t think it would be best…”
“Sit,” commands Vivienne in such a frightening voice that both Ygrain and Morgan do, Morgan on her bed, Ygrain on the chair.
“There’s no easy way to say this- No, in fact, I will not tell you. It is not my responsibility. Ygrain?”
Ygrain draws in a shaky breath.
“Morgan…you have a brother.”
Morgan still keeps her calm mask, but her eyes flicker.
“He was born when you were only one year old, Uther’s child and mine. We told everyone it was just another miscarriage, and gave him up for fosterage, so he could be safe. Uther has so many enemies.”
“What is his name?” Morgan asks softly.
Morgan’s mother begins to tear up, and says in a choked voice, “I honestly don’t know.”
Morgan lies down on her silk blanket.
“Say something!” pleads Ygrain desperately.
“It’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair, darling?”
Vivienne opens her mouth to speak, but then thinks better of it, and leaves.
“It should be me. I’ve waited for it- but no. You’d think it would be mine, according to primogeniture. I am eldest. But no. It is not a balanced world. Men rule over women. You should be equal to Uther- but you are not.
“Morgan…”
“No, listen! It’s true! Think about it: what do the always say? ‘Women have pretty heads…but God knows there’s not much in them. Women can bear sons…but God knows what else they are good for. Women may go behind convent walls…but God knows they are the temptress of evil. Women may rule as queens…but God knows la la la.”
Ygrain hangs her head.
“I cannot deny it, but there’s nothing I can do.”
A spark rises from an ember in Morgan that has long been there.
“No, but I can. It is my duty and desire to help people realize, and duty and desire combined create the greatest passion on earth. I will go to Cornwall as you and the Lady of the Lake bid me to do so- because everything happens for a reason. And I am eager to find out what it is.”
Morgan rises, strides over to her painting of the stone archway, and traces it with her fingertips.
“But I would like some time to say my good-byes.”
Ygrain gets up from the chair, and makes for the door.
“As you wish, my daughter.”
Ygrain stops, then faces Morgan.
“I am proud of you, Morgan. I know you will do right.”
“Thank you…”
Morgan is distant, though, and Ygrain leaves wondering if she’ll ever be able to reach her.

Two warriors are fighting, the steel of their swords clanging terribly. One’s arm is struck and blood trickles down his arm slowly, but he keeps on fighting. He is the familiar golden-haired boy, except now he is a man.
“Don’t! DON’T! Please!” screams Morgan, trying to reach but not being able to grasp. A woman with a wreath of holly wrapped in her fair hair solemnly watches, her black eyes grave.
“Do something, make them stop, I can’t bear it…”
“I cannot.”

Morgan wakes with a start. Half asleep, she tumbles out of bed, and fervently paints the scene. She falls asleep on the floor.

Description
Part 1: The High Queen’s Daughter
Chapter 3
Heir

Morgan throws open her engraved oak door.
“Good evening, Lady.”
She drops into the curtsy that she has been so often given to her. She knows this is the woman that has the power behind the throne-and that she is her kin. “Her blood is my blood,” Morgan thinks, and the reality of it makes her head spin.
Vivienne is quite taken aback by her niece’s bedchamber, for it is a mess…but what an extraordinary mess it is!
The room is large with a wide floor, a high ceiling and a hearth. Piles upon piles of books lie by the girl’s bed; a gilt harp is pushed in the furthest corner. Paintings are splayed on the floor. On a table are several bottles of ink and quills, pieces of parchment, and roses.
There are very few objects of vanity (exceedingly odd for a girl of such high rank, who has almost every amenity available to her), only an open wooden chest barely full, with few visible folded gowns, ribbons, shoes, and a single turquoise necklace. Vivienne can see no mirror anywhere in the room.
Ygrain is not surprised in the slightest, since she has seen her daughter’s bedchamber so many times. She is, however, quite accustomed to other people’s shock.
“May I introduce you to my daughter, the lady Morgan.”
Morgan tires easily of all the formalities of her life, but dips her head accordingly.
Vivienne begins to wander, and kneels at a drawing of a dark-skinned woman pointing to a river, with two men behind her. A baby is on her back.
“What is this, Morgan?”
“Oh, it was from a dream I had. In it, a native woman led two explorers across new land. I can’t seem to remember her name…oh, right, Bird-Woman, Sacagawea in her language. Her husband was a fur-trader.”
Vivienne lifts it, and finds another painting underneath, observing it with an analytical eye. It is a stone archway, and in the background is a dreary, gray-blue sea. Mists swirl, and the sun looks distant and veiled.
A striking girl is leaning against the archway, her almond-shaped green eyes wide in anticipation. A gray hood covers her head, and a golden-haired boy stands beside her, gazing at her intently.
“And this?”
“Another dream. I had this one last night.”
“You are a talented artist, Morgan.”
“Thank you. I simply draw what I see in my mind.”
“Your mind seems to be a vast kingdom.”
“Yes…but it can always grow more.”
Ygrain clears her throat. “You are probably wondering why we came here, Morgan.”
Morgan emits a sarcastic gasp.
“You mean it was not just for the pleasure of my company?”
Ygrain shifts uncomfortably. “Oh, Morgan, stop it. There isn’t always another reason, you know.”
“Good God, mother, I know it. I’m only testing you.”
“Well, you do that enough already!”
Vivienne gives Ygrain a look in that universal language which only sisters understand: “let me handle this”.
Gently, Vivienne asks, “You know about your father, the Duke Gorlois, I assume?”
Morgan gives her a hard stare.
“Spare me the sympathy, please. Yes, I know all about the Duke Gorlois, who deserted the High King when he needed him the most, who kept my mother prisoner in Tintagel.”
“Morgan!” scolds Ygrain.
Morgan works to make herself humble.
“I am sorry for my sharpness, Lady. I am quite weary.”
As the sisters inspect her, they see that she indeed is. They did not notice at first because of her glamour, but they now see dark circles under her eyes.
“Morgan, your rightful inheritance is the land of Cornwall, and your mother and I think you are ready to rule it-yes, you are young, but wise for your years, and in a place where you can observe leadership closely. I believe empirical knowledge is best.”
Pleased, Morgan already starts packing, placing books into the wooden chest. She pauses, stands up again, and says, “Thank you, Lady and Mother, for believing in my potential. I assume you are sending me there so I may train for being High Queen of Britain?
Ygrain flinches.
“What?” asks Vivienne in a rough voice, glaring at her sister.
Morgan, confused, replies, “Well, of course I hope mother lives a long life, but there’s no denying that one day she and Uther will die, as everyone that breathes eventually will, and I am the only heir.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
“I didn’t think it would be best…”
“Sit,” commands Vivienne in such a frightening voice that both Ygrain and Morgan do, Morgan on her bed, Ygrain on the chair.
“There’s no easy way to say this- No, in fact, I will not tell you. It is not my responsibility. Ygrain?”
Ygrain draws in a shaky breath.
“Morgan…you have a brother.”
Morgan still keeps her calm mask, but her eyes flicker.
“He was born when you were only one year old, Uther’s child and mine. We told everyone it was just another miscarriage, and gave him up for fosterage, so he could be safe. Uther has so many enemies.”
“What is his name?” Morgan asks softly.
Morgan’s mother begins to tear up, and says in a choked voice, “I honestly don’t know.”
Morgan lies down on her silk blanket.
“Say something!” pleads Ygrain desperately.
“It’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair, darling?”
Vivienne opens her mouth to speak, but then thinks better of it, and leaves.
“It should be me. I’ve waited for it- but no. You’d think it would be mine, according to primogeniture. I am eldest. But no. It is not a balanced world. Men rule over women. You should be equal to Uther- but you are not.
“Morgan…”
“No, listen! It’s true! Think about it: what do the always say? ‘Women have pretty heads…but God knows there’s not much in them. Women can bear sons…but God knows what else they are good for. Women may go behind convent walls…but God knows they are the temptress of evil. Women may rule as queens…but God knows la la la.”
Ygrain hangs her head.
“I cannot deny it, but there’s nothing I can do.”
A spark rises from an ember in Morgan that has long been there.
“No, but I can. It is my duty and desire to help people realize, and duty and desire combined create the greatest passion on earth. I will go to Cornwall as you and the Lady of the Lake bid me to do so- because everything happens for a reason. And I am eager to find out what it is.”
Morgan rises, strides over to her painting of the stone archway, and traces it with her fingertips.
“But I would like some time to say my good-byes.”
Ygrain gets up from the chair, and makes for the door.
“As you wish, my daughter.”
Ygrain stops, then faces Morgan.
“I am proud of you, Morgan. I know you will do right.”
“Thank you…”
Morgan is distant, though, and Ygrain leaves wondering if she’ll ever be able to reach her.

Two warriors are fighting, the steel of their swords clanging terribly. One’s arm is struck and blood trickles down his arm slowly, but he keeps on fighting. He is the familiar golden-haired boy, except now he is a man.
“Don’t! DON’T! Please!” screams Morgan, trying to reach but not being able to grasp. A woman with a wreath of holly wrapped in her fair hair solemnly watches, her black eyes grave.
“Do something, make them stop, I can’t bear it…”
“I cannot.”

Morgan wakes with a start. Half asleep, she tumbles out of bed, and fervently paints the scene. She falls asleep on the floor.