Fellowship & Fairydust

Notes: The following is my loose retelling of the 14th century alliterative Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the narrative of which was reworked by me under the influence of J.R.R. Tolkien, Lord Dunsany, and G.R.R. Martin in order to make it coherent with another medieval poem of the Gawain cycle, The Marriage of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle, so to fictitiously restore what scholars J.R. Hulbert and Jessie Weston reconstructed to have been the original Gawain narrative, i.e. a Fairy Mistress story.

* * *

Merlin had to lean on his oaken staff to manage to climb the steep, rocky steps of the caves, but eventually reached the stony terrace where he knew he would find the sorceress. Morgan was standing on the edge of the natural balcony, looking from above into the magical pool below. 

“Even you, Morgan…” Merlin began, but soon he had to stop because his heart was pounding too fast from climbing. 

A thousand generations of mortals I have lived, fresh as a rose, but now, eventually, I feel old and tired… just when my power is most needed. He started anew: “Even you, Morgan, must admit the young knight accomplished quite a feat…” 

Morgan casually nodded, looking as though he was bothering her over some small matter, while she was busy on something much more important. 

“Loyalty…” Merlin mused, quite pleased, “a quality we had thought lost… Instead, perhaps, there is hope for Camelot indeed. There is hope for Avalon. There is hope for mankind. We were not sent here just to be mindless wheels in unending cycles, as you said once…” 

Morgan frowned. “How can you be so naive, wizard? Even someone as old as you, who remembers the days of Atlantis and Mu, who stole the stones from the Irish Giants, who tasted food from the Cauldron of Dagda, who saw the Flower-Girl Blathnath before she was abducted in the Underworld?” 

“You know how they say, Morgan, the old bard listens to songs of hope, the young bard to songs of defeat?” 

“But the young bard sings the songs of hope, and the old bard sings the songs of defeat!” 

“And yet each of them may sing the songs he listened to”. Morgan frowned again, as though the old wizard was a hopeless case.

“Tell me, Morgan”, Merlin insisted, “what do you hope to see in your precious pool? Are you aware your visions may fool you? Were you not certain Gawain would fail?” 

Now Morgan was wroth. She backed away from the stony balustrade, and faced her former master. 

“Beware, WIZARD”, she spoke the word as though it were an insult. 

Shrouds of darkness seemed to surround her, as Morgan towered over Merlin, her voice echoing through the caves, “I am not your pupil anymore. I have not been for a long time. Now I am the Voice of Thunder, I am the Clouds of Darkness, I am the Fury of Waters. I am the Priestess of Avalon. I am the Lady of the Lake”. 

She took a deep breath, resuming her normal size, while the dark shrouds around her faded. Morgan smiled upon seeing how impressed Merlin was by her display of power. 

“What I seek, you ask”, she continued. “Is it not the knowledge everyone seeks? The only knowledge worth knowing? Knowledge of fate?” 

Merlin retrieved his stance, tentatively replying: “There are other powers, besides Fate, Morgan. There is choice. There is Mercy.”

She laughed out loud. “Do you even listen to yourself? Choice! Mercy!” 

Morgan bursted into another laughter. Merlin, ignoring her hilarity, stubbornly insisted: “As for what is worth, there certainly are things much worthier to be known, than Fate. Happiness, for one. Love.” 

Morgan seemed to pity him. “Poor old wizard”, she said. “You have become senile. Let me tell you what I know. Let me tell you about choice, mercy, happiness, and love. Guinevere is unhappy with Arthur. She loves one of his knights, who is torn between love for her and duty, but eventually love shall be his choice. Arthur finds out, and he would show mercy, but he cannot, because he is King. End of Camelot. And what decided this? Fate. And you, Merlin, a pawn in the hands of Fate, when you let a man pursue his intent of adultery, so that Arthur may be conceived. Fate, Merlin. Fate. Not love, not mercy. Fate. Love fooled people at least since Helen of Troy. But you can keep fooling yourself as much as you wish. And you will. Love will be your undoing too, when another pupil of yours will seduce you into teaching her forbidden magic, and she will you use it against you to seal you in the ground. Fate, Merlin. Fate. The only thing there is.” 

And, having said so, Morgan returned to the balustrade.

Merlin was shaking beyond control. A seizure had taken him, and only little by little he managed to regain possession of his muscles and clarity of conscience. In the back of his mind, he thought he had heard from Morgan something important, something that could save someone, but he could not recall whom or what. 

“What were you saying, Morgan?” he tried asking her. 

“That it is a pleasure that you come and pay a visit to me every now and then. It reminds me of the old times…” was her mindless reply. 

“Of course, Morgan. The good old times. Of course. But…” Merlin tried, one last time. 

“Yes, Merlin?” 

“Nothing, Morgan. The good old times. Of course”.

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