Beltane

Beltane by Aurora North

Disclaimer: These characters are figments of J.K's imagination

A/N: This little drabble was inspired by a scene from the TV miniseries The Mists of Avalon… If you have seen it you might get it, and of course the music of Loreena McKennitt.

Kudos: To Blaze for the beta… You rock.

The Mother

Once upon a time the mother herself had danced here, with her chosen one. They had danced around the fire until the first rays of dawn had flared in the horizon and then they had knelt in the damp grass and consummated their love for all to see.

That was a long time ago.

The mother was weak now; it had been a long time since anyone had danced the dance in her name. There were still those who held on to the old ways but they were few and far apart.

In the old days young lovers would come and dance for her in this very glen, they would sing her praise and light the fire. They would dance, dance as if there was no tomorrow and they to would sink down in the dewy grass and cherish their lover. In return she would give the lovers a child, a blessing. It was always said that a child conceived on Beltane was a carrier of a great fortune, cause the mother of all things herself had blessed his conception. But it had been a long time since she had blessed lovers with a child… It had been a long time.

The Daughter

The darkness enveloped her as a velvet glove as she lit the fire. The flames flickered for a moment before eagerly eating away at the wood and the girl drew a deep breath, relieved that the lighting had gone well, as it was a bad omen if the Beltane fire did not light. She stepped away from the fire and shrugged off her robes. The spring night was chilly enough to cause her nipples to pucker but she didn't really care. It was Beltane and she was alone in the woods.

Slowly she started moving around the fire, uncertain at first but as she walked she could feel the ancient rhythm pound trough her veins. Her heartbeat blended with the distant drums that could be heard through the wails of times separating the girl from those who had taken part in this very ritual centuries ago.

Gradually her steps became more certain as she fell in beat with the faint rhythm she started spinning round the fire and as she did she could see from the corner of her eyes the others dancing with her.

Her feet fell into step as she twirled around the fire, her breathing speed up and she could feel a flush rising in her body. This was Beltane, this was spring. It was a time of fertility and rebirth, her body an instrument to please the gods.

Her hair spread like a cloak around her, shielding her from the prying eyes watching from the forest. The young man hiding between the trees didn't know what he had expected when he followed the girl sneaking out after curfew, but this certainly wasn't it. She looked like something ancient, something primitive and infinitely erotic. Like the goddess herself had come out to play.

The Son

He had always considered her to be rather plain actually. Pleasing enough but nothing out of the ordinary but now… Like this… There was nothing plain, nor ordinary about the girl dancing round the fire. Her hair looked like an extension of the fire itself as it captured the glow of falling embers.

It was strange, almost as if he was outside his body, when he slowly stepped out from the forest, moving closer to the dancing girl. It was something people there days often forgot. That in the past dancing had been just another way of worship, another way of prayer. And something in the way she moved, the way she held herself ignited a fire within him. A fire brighter and stronger than the burning wood she was dancing around.

She spun and turned around the flames whirling faster and faster. She could feel her blood pounding in her veins and embers burning her legs when she stepped to close to the fire but also something else, rightness to what she was doing. As if the gods themselves took pleasure from her show of gratitude.

The Lovers

Suddenly her dance was halted by strong hands gripping her arms. She looked up into the intruders eyes. She had always considered his eyes to be cool, dispassionate. How wrong she had been, there was nothing cool or dispassionate about the way he looked at her now. Nothing at all shielding her from the fire burning deep in those gray orbs.

She opened her mouth, trying to speak but nothing came out she wanted to tell him that this was wrong that he should leave, but the words wouldn't come out. She could sense the contours off his chest again hers. The fine linen on his shirt was soft and smooth, but the button scratched her skin.

He placed his finger over her still open mouth, urging her not to speak, not to break the spell of what they where doing. She closed her lips around his finger slightly sucking it into her mouth, signaling that the discussion had ended without never really being spoken.

He drew a sharp breath of relief, he knew that thy where under some sort off spell, after all he would never have acted like this normally. But he didn't care; her mouth around his finger was hot and sweet, like a promise of pleasures still to come.

One of his hands reached up to gently caress her breasts, gently encircling the globe of flesh, her nipples where hard already from the cool spring night but seemed to tense even more as his knuckles brushed across them. He could hear her release a whimper as he kneaded the wanton flesh in his hands. She had been aroused before he even made his presence known, caught up in the eroticism of the rites she was performing, but now she felt as if she would surely die if she did not find release.

The man lowered his head so that he could taste her flesh, his mouth closed around her nipple. She tasted slightly of sweat, of vanilla, and a slightly metallic taste… of blood. He pulled away and saw the tiny scratches; he had to have marked her when he pulled her to his chest. He ventured a glance up at her. Her eyes where closed, but her head was thrown back and the look on her face spoke volumes of pure unbridled lust.

A feral smile crosses his face, the idea of marking the girl as his, appealed to him. As if this was something more than just one night, as if it was foretold, forever, fated.

She cried out as his teeth bit down on the side of her breast, not really from pain although it did hurt but it was more from a sense of relief of rightness. He was marking her, branding her as his, and something deep within her responded to him. It was meant to be, this was the will of the goddess.

The movements, which had been slow and tentative at first escalated, her hands trailed his flesh ripping and tearing to get closer. The young lovers soon were completely naked. They kneeled together eagerly exploring each other, hungry hands and mouths meeting and exploring in the light of the still burning bonfire.

He pushed her down into the damp grass, kneeling between her tights, his hands drawing pattern over her chest and belly. She moved against him as he reached down between her legs feeling her moist center, she was open and more than ready for him as he entered her with one sharp thrust, her stifled scream of pain told him he was her first. The thought was strangely exhilarating.

He held still for a moment letting her gather herself before moving again, slowly this time. Letting her feel his girth inside her as he started a rhythm she could follow. And it didn't take to long before her hips started meeting his thrusts.

She moaned as he started moving faster, each thrust bringing her closer to something intangible just out of her reach. She didn't know what it was but she was certain she wanted it. And as she spiraled over the edge she could feel him doing the same and they slumped together exhausted, but well sated.

The Blessing

The mother slowly walked up to her sleeping children. She was certain they didn't know the full scope of what they had done, but still she was grateful. They had shed blood here tonight, blood and sex. And she was grateful.

Through the mists of time her power had waned, other gods had been borne and some had died, but the lady, the mother had persevered. She had been weakened as she had lost so many followers to other deity's. But this night she was strong, the children in the glen probably would never realize how much they had done. They had spilled blood and consummated their bond on her sacred ground, in her name, and by doing so had returned her to some of her former strength.

She kneeled next to the lovers, letting her hand rest slightly over the girl's womb. They had given the mother a great gift this night and the lady was not one to let such kindness go unrewarded. So slowly that the human eye would never see the change; a pale light started emanating from the mothers hand as she cast her blessing on the couple.

And so the seed was planted. For this was Beltane, the season of growth, of birth and of fertility.

The End