A/N: Please Review!
Chapter I: How to begin.
I sit here staring at the parchment wondering how I start to tell this story. I am telling a story from my childhood, spoken by my mother after I had begged her for stories of my sister and father. She always began with Morgana, but it seems to me to be more appropriate to start with my mother.
My mother was a strong Briton woman. As a young girl she was married to a man she had loved since childhood.
The tall bride smiled, her gray eyes smiling at her new husband. He was taller, his eyes a rich green, his golden hair shone in the light of the sun. He leaned down and the two lovers shared a gentle kiss as their families watched on. Igraine smiled into Morgan's eyes as they parted, she turned with him as their families cheered. Her ancient mother and her two brothers watched on, their happiness obvious to all, despite the tears that ran down her mothers cheeks.
The tall woman bent down to clear away the weeds around the struggling vegetables, her callused hands were strong and swiftly they worked. She paused and rubbed at her back as she straightened Through the evening air she heard whistling and smiled as her husband came into view on the hill, a brace of rabbits slung over one shoulder a bow over the other as he came down the distant hill, the sun outlining his tall frame. Her heart lifted at the sight of him. She smiled and moved to the gate, self-consciously she brushed the dirt from her hands and pushed back her dark tresses. The tall man raised a hand in greeting as he approached.
She ran a hand over her stomach as she thought of her news. Her lip was caught between her teeth as she pondered how to tell him he would be a father. She smiled even wider as he broke into a jog. He took the bow and brace and placed them to one side as he reached the gate. His arms wrapped around his wife. He kissed her as he lifted her off her feet. She laughed at his enthusiastic greeting He grinned and kissed her again, his intentions clear as his fingers sought the tie that held her dress in place, she took his hands and dragged them away from the fastenings. She laughed and sent him towards the door with a shove.
"Later!" she laughed as he tried to kiss her again. "Your dinner has been getting cold." She waved him inside. "Go!" he laughed and disappeared inside.
She entered the main part of the cottage having cleaned his equipment and placed the dead animals to hang. The small cottage had mud walls separating it into three areas. This one had two chairs on either side of a table, a fire with a crude chimney nearby and another chair by a window with wooden shutters through which a cool breeze was blowing. She gave her husband a smile as she went over to the window and closed it, locking out the night breeze. She went to sit across from him, he smiled as he dipped bread into the stew she had made of vegetables and dried meat. She cupped her chin in one hand as she watched him, he ate delicately, with the graces one would expect of the son of a chief raised in distant Rome.
He looked up at her, his eyes catching hers, a smile brightened his face as she blushed. He reached out and brushed her face with his fingertips. He traced her soft lips and smiled.
"Let me put this away..." he said softly, his voice husky.
He did not find out that night of his soon to be joy.