The Lady Igraine stood on the parapet of the tower that was hers, and she was still.

The wind blew fast around her, but she seemed unaware of how her hair whipped cruelly about her face, or the insufficiency of her light dress against the angry plummet of the elements. Behind her, the child Morgana stood, as cold and as lovely as her mother, face stony and pale.

It began to rain.

Igraine, once a Priestess, raised her arms to the sky, and accepted her fate. When she turned to face her daughter, her expression was one of cold acceptance.

"Go inside."

Morgana complied.


***


The story began in earnest for the three daughters of Gorlois at the feast that was held in London in honour of the 29th birthday of Uther Pendragon, High King of the mainland. Morgause, the eldest, had her father's light colouring, with unforgiving blue eyes like a clear winter's sky and hair spun from white gold. The middle was Morgana, haunting and macabre, with long black hair tied mercilessly back. The youngest, and most insignificant, was Elaine, who was pleasing, but not beautiful like her family. They all held themselves tall, but for Elaine this was nothing more than a matter of training.

The girls were led behind their parents, curstying neatly each time introductions were made, and introductions were many. Their father walked foremost, the piercing angles of his face jutting fiercely out as he smiled at friend and enemy alike, neither a permanent label. Their mother, slightly behind, beautiful and dark, greeted only those who Gorlois told her too, remaining otherwise inaccesible. Eyes lingered on Igraine, always, a Priestess once, summoner of the Moon, but it was for one gaze only that both Igraine and Morgana waited, one intent stare which would change everything.

The feast went on, raucous and vibrant.

It was hours before finally the meeting between Gorlois and his wife with the King was had, and although by then she was far apart, with the other children, Morgana sensed the change and turned to watch.

Uther had met Igraine twice before. In a time when visiting your subjects meant making days-long journeys, greeting a nobleman and his wife was not a light business, particularly when said nobleman was of the Orkneys. But they had met, twice.

There was power in threes, the Goddess knew this and so did her daughters, but Uther Pendragon did not think of this when he laid eyes on Igraine again.

He thought of the strong curves of her body beneath the confining garb she wore, and the unnatural softness of her skin when he took her hand. He thought of the flush of her lips against the unacceptable dusk of her face, and the long eyelashes that half-shadowed her inviting eyes, which had a depth that seemed at once warm and fathomless, like the lady herself. Most of all, he thought of the secret smile that graced the unbearably full mouth as she looked upon him, and he could feel a familiar stirring that was rarely deterred by matters of marriage.

He merely smiled as he kissed her hand, and this, now three knew, was the beginning.

Morgana turned back to the games.