OOC: Edited and reposted by author.

Nimue arrives in Camelot on the night Arianwen meets The Mysterious Youth by the Lady of the Lake's sacred pool.

The first snowflakes of winter fall softly on the eldritch forest, garlanding the slumbering trees with sparkling skeins of faery gossamer. The atmosphere is charged with a pervasive Otherworldly silence infinitely louder than the spoken word — a silence broken only by the occasional branch cracking like firewood in the cold, which startles the horses of Nimue and her rhyfelwyr as they tread lightly along the wooded path that leads to the sea. Behind them, the lake lies quiet beneath a sheet of glimmering ice, and all around them the snow piles higher, already too deep for their wagons to manoeuvre. Nimue halts her mount and inhales the cold, clean air while pondering what to do next. "We cannot travel these roads, Arglwyddes," Syr Ankou says matter-of-factly, interrupting Nimue's reverie. "How lovely!" she sighs and huddles into her furs for warmth. "And how pleasant to see the rotting corpses Unben Esclados left behind blanketed in winter white. I had hoped to retrieve something that is rightfully mine, but you are right. Though moon frost melts under fae hoof and fleet foot, our wagons are earthbound. Besides, I cannot shake the feeling that we've left something behind." "Then we should return to the exact place from which we departed and see if the thing we've forgotten makes itself apparent," Syr Ankou says partly in jest. Nimue laughs merrily at her champion's quaint humour and asks him to order the company back to the caer. Forming a single line along the lakeshore, they step in unison onto the frozen water while chanting the secret password that will take them home and sink beneath the ice in a shimmering haze. Upon arriving back at the caer, they hear a terrible sound. Someone is yelling "NIII-MUUUUUE!!!" in a great hero's shout that resounds through the halls, scattering servants hither and thither with their hands protectively covering their ears. "It's Bran! What could possibly be distressing him so?" Nimue cries in alarm. Brushing aside the page who is waiting to help her dismount, she leaps off her horse and runs to the old king's aid with her rhyfelwyr and hound following close at her heels. The scene unfolding in her chambers would be laughable were it not grotesque. Cerr is perched atop Bran's severed head, cawing fiercely and pecking at his hair. Tiny rivulets of blood trickle down his face and into the corners of his eyes, nose and screaming mouth. Several servants, including Yde, are crowding about them, trying to remove the raven, but every time they come too close, he flaps his wings menacingly and furiously pecks Bran's scalp. "Cerr! Stop this nonesense at once!" Nimue hisses and stares the crazed fowl in the eye, willing him to freeze on the spot. He falls silent and ceases his ritual madness long enough for her to grab him and shove him unceremoniously into his cage. To everyone's great relief, Bran stops shouting, but then Cerr starts screeching at being confined. "Och! Yde, remove Cerr at once!" "Yes, Arglwyddes. Oy'll take 'im out to Cogydd's herb garden and feed 'im one of them seed balls 'e likes," Yde mumbles to no one in particular as she shuffles toward the door with her uncommonly angry feathered friend. "Look at the mess he's made of you, annwyl gyfaill," Nimue whispers in horror at the sight of the torn skin on Bran's scarified scalp. Fighting back the tears welling in her eyes, she fetches a clean sheet of soft nettle cotton from her drawer to wipe away the matting blood and calls for her servants to fetch her some warm water infused with healing herbs and sea salt. "What caused Cerr to attack you?" "I have no idea," Bran says in a huff. "Oh my! I've not known him to attack anyone without cause." "Perhaps he took offense to my singing," Bran amends, hoping to lighten Nimue's mood. "This is serious! Cerr is becoming a terror and I'm in a quandary over what to do with him. I can hardly leave him here while I'm gone lest he runs rampant and pecks you to pieces." Overhearing her mistress's concern, Yde clears her throat and speaks up. "Emmhemmm. Oy'd be 'appy to look after 'im, Arglwyddes, an' 'e'd be no trouble to me at all. None at all." Bran groans inwardly at Yde's offer and is about to protest when Nimue's mother glides imperiously into the room. He holds his tongue and waits for Arglwyddes Nicevenn to speak, for she rarely makes an appearance without good reason. Her eyes are twinkling and the same mysterious grin that disturbed Nimue earlier stretches across her face. "How kind, Yde, though I suggest you keep the malcontent behind bars," Nicevenn snickers, revelling in Cerr's misery. "Bloody right she will!" Cogydd barks and stomps into the room behind Nicevenn with the sole intent of taking a bird-free Yde back to the scullery. "I'll not have that foul creature anywhere near my kitchen or garden, attacking my staff, stealing our food. Now if you'll excuse us, ladies, we'd best be getting back to our work. Come along Yde. And leave that thing!" "Cogydd! Mam! Surely Cerr is not that bad, or at least he wasn't until today. Something inexplicable has come upon him...as if someone is pulling invisible strings." "Perhaps he's angry at being left behind," Nicevenn sniffs, "You could take him with you," she suggests hopefully. "And perhaps it's time for you to finally learn to always look beyond facade to discover the source of truth, as I have so often instructed," she finishes pointedly. "You are entirely too amused by Cerr's confinement, Mam," Nimue challenges, folding her arms across her chest and looking past her mother's own smirking facade for signs of duplicity. "Ahhh! You did this to Cerr! But why? Do you not wish to care for Bran?" "Not at all child! I would have said if I minded. What I do wish is that you would remove that abomination you call a bird from our home. It is not natural and should clearly be put out of its misery, a service I will gladly provide." "What you've done is unnecessarily cruel. And rude to Bran. I believe an apology is in order." "I will gladly apologise if you will take your nasty pet with you. Do you accept Bran? I meant you no harm. As promised, I will see that our full hospitality is extended in Nimue's absence. I will also hide you well, for there are those who would seek you out and do you harm." "Your apology is gracious and graciously accepted, Arglwyddes Nicevenn. My needs are simple at best. All I require is honey mead to keep me supple, and for lack of hands to hold mirrors, combs and weapons, regular grooming and protection. I would also appreciate somone to talk to now and then, preferably not Cerr." "Fine!" Nimue says with an exasperated shrug and pours three bowls of mead. "I'll take Cerr with me for his own protection as well as yours. Now let's toast to everyone but Camelot's good fortune and be done with it." "To our good fortune!" Bran and Nicevenn chime together and laugh heartily with cheerful hearts. "And now I really must take my leave." So saying, Nimue gives her mother and her battered guest each a parting kiss and carries the complaining Cerr out to the stables where Syr Ankou is waiting impatiently. "Your barque is ready, m'lady," he says as he gives her a leg up. "Then we should leave at once!" she replies, trying to calm her restless steed, who is spooked by the noisy bird on his back. "Shall I carry the cage for you?" he enquires, gently prying the handle from her fingers with a disapproving grimace at the contents. "Might I suggest stowing "the thing we've forgotten" in the supply wagon where it will be warm?" *************** Nimue's ship has no apparent means of navigation and needs no sail, oars or winds, for it can steer itself by her thoughts alone. Taking her seat in the prow, she closes her eyes and settles into a meditative trance. A shadow seems to unfurl above the boat and they drift swanlike along the elusive waterways of the Otherworld. Soon they beach soundlessly on a distant shore of Ynys Prydain, directly beneath her sacred pool in Camelot. The only mortals in sight are two mysterious youths walking toward Artoros's hall. One is a half-fae girl with silver hair, who glances back in time to see six noble figures on horseback rising out of the shimmering pool. First they appear as small flames flickering behind an indigo stained glass window, which grow brighter and spread across the surface in a circle like the reflection of the moon. One of the flames takes the form of a lady very near her own age. She is clad in an ermine cloak and boots and a flowing pale blue samite gown. Long strands of ebony hair escape her hood and her silver-grey eyes flash in the moonlight. The lady smiles sweetly and bows her head in familiar greeting as if they'd always known each other, and with a wave of her graceful hand, casts the girl's vision of their arrival into the land of dreams. Cerr chooses this moment to let out a bloodcurdling caw, undoubtedly exaggerating the conditions of his confinement. Nimue swallows a startled giggle and hopes the moon-haired beauty is not given to nightmares. _______ annwyl gyfaill = dear friend Arglwyddes = Lady rhyfelwyr = knights; warriors Syr = Sir Unben = despot; lord; sovereign GRAAL home: Ehangwen