Chapter 2

All that is necessary for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing.
-Edmund Burke

The announcement was made right after the noon bell. Uther stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard filled with people, and spoke of Ygraine's murder and Nimueh's campaign to destroy them all; he spoke of homes and towns decimated by terrible creatures, of all the reports they had received over the past months, but twisted to strike fear into their hearts, just as it had been for the council. He told them of how Aurelius — trusted Aurelius, who used to conjure butterflies for their children and produce rings of fire to protect their husbands on the battlefield — had gone mad in the end, attacking him and his trusted advisors until they had had no choice but to drag him away.

Gaius stood below in the sunshine with the townsfolk, and knew that these words would wind through the minds of the people and settle in the dark corners of their thoughts, in the shadowy edges that had been slowly encroaching on their hearts over the past months; and the words would take root and grow, spreading like the very foulest things of the earth, feeding on distrust and paranoia and terror until they obliterated all kindness and mercy and left only what Uther had planted.

But for now there was panic, panic for brothers and mothers and friends, because though whispers had abounded in recent months, the threat had only recently been sown in their minds and there was not enough time for it to truly take hold. Watching the crowd's reaction was almost enough to give Gaius hope that this would not really come to pass, that it would fail because of the lack of support from the people, but it was only a matter of time before their minds were poisoned, and already he pitied them in his heart for their weakness.

And when the people returned to their houses some found soldiers in front of their doors, and thus was the great purge begun.

- -o- -

The register proved to be an invaluable resource, and those who had responded first — those who had obeyed the law without delay, without suspicion — were the first to be rounded up, until the cells were full to bursting. Uther had had the bars warded against magic use long ago, but recently the enchantments had been reinforced so that none of those who had been arrested could escape, even if they worked together.

And though their families gathered outside in the courtyard, pleading for their release, the guards were quick to disperse them, promising on Uther's orders that their relatives were only being kept for questioning, that nothing was definite, that of course a fair trial would be given. Then no word was given for days until rumors of torture began to circulate, and that was when people began to get angry.

It was the hotheads amongst the crowd, with and without magic, that proved to be their downfall. They banded together one grey afternoon and marched on the castle, demanding that the prisoners be released, that the law be repealed because it was unjust — couldn't the king see that it was unjust? — but all that did was confirm the lords' suspicions, especially when the youngest of the group, a pale lad with hair like thatch and fire in his eyes, grew so upset that his control slipped and his magic blew out the first row of windows overlooking the courtyard. Then soldiers emerged to arrest him, and the protest dissolved into panic, until the fight spilled over into the market and those involved were either arrested or killed or chased away.

Standing over a courtyard riddled with scorch marks and holes, with smoke drifting up from the lower town where fires still burnt, Uther once again proclaimed the evils of sorcery, and this time the crowd listened. "Look around," he said, and through their tears the people did. "Look at the result of their insurrection. Look at the blood on the flagstones, the blood of those who were only trying to protect you." And slowly, he wove a picture of what had happened, yet still he twisted, twisted, twisted their perceptions, to the point that when the pale-faced youth was led out, bound and miserable, there was a collective hiss as though Nimueh's name had been mentioned.

From his position by Uther's side, Gaius watched as the boy was brought forward to a makeshift platform, where he was forced to kneel. And as the executioner's drum thrummed out its first beats, Gaius saw Uther smile as the axe fell to the roar of the crowd, because the seed that had been planted had finally begun to grow.

- -o- -

And slowly, slowly, the executions began.

Uther was careful in who he selected, at first. He chose those who had dealt in dark magic in the past — a surprisingly common occurrence, because the line between light and dark magic, while usually quite definite, sometimes blurred together until not even the greatest scholars could tell wrong from right. Gaius had dabbled, at one point, in his early days as a student; even Alice had experimented in order to further her knowledge of the healing arts — and, of course, out of curiosity, because there existed some theoretically fascinating magic that was just a touch shadier than was comfortable for most people.

But she had told him, even way back then when it was safe, that the experiences had left her with a bad taste in her mouth and with her magic feeling unsettled and wrong. He suspected that this was true also of those who stood trembling on the raised dais as their charges were read, some angrily shouting their innocence, some pleading with their executioners, with the king on high, with their gods to keep them safe. But most wept silently as one by one they were forced to dance at the end of a rope, like puppets hung from strings dangling from Uther's fingers, and the hostile, muttering crowd stood by and did nothing.

For those who had magic and those who supported them had begun to stay at home, with locked doors and shuttered windows, until only those who had fallen under Uther's spell ever emerged when the executioner's drum beat out an announcement. And soon the people did not even need Uther's voice in their ears to view others with suspicion because while the magic users had retreated as a measure of protection for themselves, their neighbors soon began to whisper and speculate about what was going on in those darkened houses, what plots were being hatched behind those secretive doors, when they should expect the next attack from within.

Not even the lords and ladies were safe, because court gossip was even more ferocious than its common counterpart. Lord Kenric retreated to his own lands the day after the first execution, taking his son, Aurelius' apprentice, so that the lad didn't have to watch his master die. Several other noble families left for home as well, but everyone knew that it was nothing more than a futile effort at protection, because when the time came for their loved ones to die, they would not be strong enough to sustain the rebellion that would be necessary for their safety.

And everywhere the Lady Vivienne went, whispers trailed behind her.

It was no secret that she was a powerful sorceress — the most powerful in Camelot, now that Nimueh had left. She had outstripped even Aurelius, before his beheading, and even though she had once been revered for her talent, the servants now feared to go into her rooms, and the lords and ladies deigned to speak to her only when it was unavoidable. Yet still she walked through the corridors with her head held high, little Morgana tripping along in her wake like a pale shadow.

And one night Gaius returned from dinner at Alice's to find the two of them in his chambers. Morgana sat quietly on the floor, playing with a yellow-haired doll, while Vivienne hunched over a book on his workbench, absorbed in whatever remedy Julius had been studying before he left for the evening. "Can I help you, milady?" he asked nervously, his heart sinking. Vivienne started with a barely-stifled shriek, and when she whirled around he could see all the fear that she kept so carefully hidden; out of courtesy he pretended not to see it, pretended that he didn't know that she had thought it was the guards come to arrest her, and continued cordially, "Do you need that sleeping potion after all?"

Vivienne schooled herself back to her usual haughty aloofness, though he could see that her hands still shook. "I do not dream anymore," she said, smoothing her skirts as Gaius came to sit across from her. "And as I said before, your potions would do nothing. You cannot help me, Gaius, unless you would give me something that would bring a quicker end than Uther's executioner." For a moment she stared at him, her eyes frank and vulnerable, but quickly she lowered them to look at her hands, folded in her lap. "But I did not come for that," she resumed calmly, and then she stood, tall and proud and every inch a High Priestess. "I came to tell you that I forgive you."

So Gorlois had found out — or perhaps she had dreamt it, but it did not matter; Gaius' heart thundered and his insides twisted and burned with shame, yet he swallowed hard and feigned ignorance. "Have... have I caused some offense, milady? If so, I offer my—"

"Do not play these coy games with me, Gaius," Vivienne said sharply, and though she spoke quietly her voice seemed loud as thunder. "You know perfectly well what you have done."

"Yes," Gaius whispered after a pause. "Yes, I do. And I do not deserve forgiveness."

"No, you don't," she agreed, her green eyes cold as a winter storm. "You are a traitor and a coward, Gaius, and I only hope that our deaths lay heavy on your craven heart. Yet you are human, and weak in the face of inevitability, and the king is cunning." She laughed bitterly. "Oh, he has not yet started on me, but that time is fast approaching; and he has long since found your weakness. And for that I forgive you, because gods know that I have mine."

Her eyes fell on her daughter as Gaius stuttered out an uncertain 'thank you,' and her face softened as she listened to the child sing a nonsense song to her doll. "You see both my daughters there," she said wistfully, so quietly that Gaius almost didn't hear her. "I made — Nimueh told me about Morgause when she first arrived. We went riding one afternoon, and she filled my heart with stories of her... her training, her magic, her stubbornness. What she looks like — if she takes after her father or after me. And — and I could not help but make Morgana's doll in her image, so that they could play together even if they will never meet."

Though her eyes were wet, her voice remained calm, and Gaius craned his neck to get another look at the little yellow-haired doll. "There was a time when you were brave," Vivienne continued huskily. "Brave enough to protect a child from the king, at great risk to yourself. And now I'm asking you — in the memory of the man you once were, when the time comes... do the same for Morgana."

Gaius felt his mouth go dry. "Milady — it is not—" he started, terror making his tongue clumsy. "It is... much different now, I could not—"

"Stop wittering, Gaius. I know what it is that I ask," Vivienne snapped. "And I do not wish you to smuggle her from the city. That would be folly. No, all I ask is that you watch over her. Keep an eye on her. Make sure she does not come to harm. She has not yet shown signs of possessing any magic, but Nimueh told me that her sister is powerful, and I fear that Morgana may yet inherit my gifts. Gorlois will do his best — no matter his loss of faith in me, he will not allow the child to be harmed. But you are Uther's expert on magic now, and you can dispel his suspicions." And the hard glint in her eye told Gaius that she knew more than just where he had signed his name on the parchment — she knew where Uther had gotten his information, from whose words he had concluded that sorcerers were inhuman, and his shame burned anew.

"I will do all I can," he swore. "I will protect her from Uther in every way I know how, and I will not allow her to come to harm at his hand, or by any he commands."

Vivienne looked long at him, and Gaius felt as though he were being dissected by her eyes, as though she was trying to use her gift to see into his mind and soul. "Very well," she said finally. "I am trusting your word in this, Gaius, although I don't understand why. Perhaps the gods have spared you for a reason; I do not claim to know their plans. But you seem to have a part to play in this still, before the end. Do not waste it." Then she turned away to her daughter and said, "Come, Morgana. It's past your bedtime now, and this is not a time to be out late in the halls."

And as she left, carrying Morgana and leaving Gaius foundering in her wake, she met Uther in the doorway. She dropped into a smooth curtsy with a murmured, "Sire," and then she swept past him, the very picture of dignity. Uther watched her go with narrowed eyes until the last clicks of her heels had faded around the corner. "What was she doing here?" he asked suspiciously.

"She... she came to get a potion to help her sleep," Gaius lied, choked by guilt as he stared at the doorway. "She has been dreaming of the days to come."

"And it frightens her, does it?" Uther asked; his voice sounded pleased. "What she has seen that frightens her so, I wonder?"

"She did not say," Gaius murmured, still looking at the place she had disappeared. "She just..."

"She frightens you." And Gaius turned to see that the king had been watching him sympathetically. "I can see it in your face. But you will not have to fear for too much longer. She has reason to be afraid. Soon we will be rid of her influence, and we will be much safer for it."

And despite the resentment flaring within him because she had cut him deeply with her truths, despite the hot shame that had bled from those wounds — still the thought of her destruction brought a wave of devastation over him, and he turned away so that the king could not see. "Can I help you, my lord?" he asked, his voice thick with the unshed tears that burnt at the corners of his eyes.

"I came to speak with you," said the king, soft and urgent, and Gaius' shoulders fell because he had been expecting this conversation, expecting it with a heavy dread that turned all fleeting moments of happiness to ashes. "Gaius. Look at me," Uther requested after a long silence, and Gaius reluctantly did as he asked. "I... I never thanked you for your support. It means — it means more than I can say."

"You do not need to thank me," Gaius said heavily, and the king continued because he had no idea how true those words were.

"But I want to. I know how difficult it must have been for you to do so, when it meant turning against your friends. Against — against those like you." And Gaius froze, because it had all been for naught; he had become a traitor to magic for nothing, because Uther would not let him live after all — but Uther's face was open and his tone beseeching as he said, "Gaius. I cannot protect you unless — how long has it been since you practiced magic?"

"Since the ban," Gaius croaked as feeling pricked its way back into his limbs. In reality it had been longer than that — he had been too terrified ever since the register had been put in place, though Alice had remained undaunted.

"Good," Uther said, but his encouraging smile flickered and died as he continued, "But I'm afraid that won't be enough."

"Enough?" repeated Gaius blankly. "Enough for what?"

"For the council," Uther stated, sounding surprised that Gaius needed an explanation. "They trust you now, especially after the last session. But how long do you think that trust will last, when they remember that you have magic, and when you do nothing to convince them that you are a loyal ally in the fight against it? They will turn on you, unless you act first. If you want to gain their absolute trust, you need to go before the council and swear that you will never use your magic again."

And it seemed as though his heart had stopped in his chest. "Give up magic?" he breathed, eyes wide.

"Well, of course. I will not tolerate a sorcerer in my court, no matter who it is. Not even you."

"What — what about Alice?" he stammered. "Can she swear an oath, in order to live?"

Uther drew back, his expression shuttered. "Alice... Alice would never swear. She is too far down the path; magic has already consumed her fully. I do not trust her, Gaius, and I will not try to, even for your sake. No, I trust only you with this oath, because I know that you will not betray me."

Perhaps it was unwise to question any further; perhaps it was better to leave this stone unturned, to let Uther's trust in him remain an unexamined assumption, but all this trust was too much. Alice trusted him implicitly; Vivienne trusted him despite herself; and Uther... Uther trusted him for reasons unknown, for reasons that he believed to be such fundamental truths that they could not be shaken even by this storm, for reasons that meant that he alone was to be allowed to live.

But he could not understand how he could be considered above reproach when he was replaceable, utterly replaceable — there were other physicians in the kingdom, and all he knew was contained in the books on his shelves and in his library, easily accessible to others who might fill his shoes. And there were others who were far more worthy, others who were innocent and honest and far braver than he ever could be, because they were facing down death with their heads held high while he couldn't find the strength to do so, and so it was not curiosity but despair that made him plead, "Why?"

"Because..." Uther started slowly. "Because you have proven yourself loyal to me in the past, when I won this kingdom back from those who had taken it in the years of my father's negligence, and — and you were more than a father to me than he was before that. Because you have always given me wise council, when I was first starting out as king, and still do to this day. I do not know where I would be without your knowledge, Gaius, especially now. And because — because Ygraine loved you, and she trusted you. As do I."

But Ygraine loved Nimueh too, Gaius thought. She loved Vivienne like a sister, and she loved the performers in the markets, and she thought Aurelius was funny, with his tricks and illusions. Ygraine loved magic, he wanted to say, and yet this is how you choose to honor her memory. But as always his reason won out over his heart, so he swallowed his words, and though he choked on them as he stammered out his thanks, he knew that Uther believed his voice was tight with affection rather than heartbreak. And he was touched, in spite of himself, because if Uther trusted him this much, despite his magic — well, maybe there was hope still.

"Besides," Uther said, his smile earnest and gentle. "You are only a novice, are you not? Not nearly enough time for magic to take root in you."

Gaius closed his eyes and bowed his head in despair, though Uther took it as a gesture of assent. It was this — Uther's lack of understanding of the fundamentals of magic — that was their ultimate downfall. If he truly believed that magic was some sort of — of invading force... well, small wonder that he turned on it so easily. If he did not understand that magic dwelt at the core of every living thing, of every tree and rock and stream, of every bird and beast and every human... perhaps that was the true tragedy of this, that he had never experienced the thrill of finding the spark of golden fire at the center of his being, and the joy of slowly fanning it into a flame that burned within. He had never seen the interconnectedness of the world, and so he did not understand the true scope of the horror that he was inflicting by snuffing out those flames one by one, and he did not understand what he was asking Gaius to give up.

But in return he was giving Gaius life, and trust, and friendship. And so when Uther asked again if Gaius would take the oath, Gaius looked at his king that he loved so much, that he pitied more than anything, and said yes.

- -o- -

"You."

There was such venom in the voice that Gaius hardly recognized it, but after a moment he did, and paused in the hallway outside the council chambers to allow Gorlois to catch up.

"Can I help you, my lord?" he asked politely, clasping his hands in front of him to stop their trembling. He had been shaking ever since the session had begun, and even more so while swearing his oath, out of fear of their rejection; but Uther had looked on with pride, and the rest of the council had accepted it with indulgent smiles — everyone except Gorlois.

"I had thought so," Gorlois hissed. "I had thought that I could rely on you, of all people. But I had not realized what a coward you are. You are a traitor to your kind, Gaius."

"So your wife has told me," Gaius said shortly, turning away. He did not need a repeat of this conversation.

"Vivienne has always been insightful," snapped Gorlois. "Even without her visions, she is perceptive. But even she did not foresee this — this cowardice. Is your own life so precious to you, that you would forsake all those that you love to save it?"

"I have not forsaken the king."

"The king — Uther is lost, Gaius," said Gorlois heatedly. "His grief has blinded him, and he does not see what he is doing. I only wish to show him that what he is doing is folly. He is my friend, my brother, my king — and you are only enabling him. This can only end in his destruction, Gaius."

And Gaius finally stopped trying to walk away. "I know," he said softly. "And I am trying to help him see that."

"How? All you have done is agree and give in—"

"I am trying to show him that there are those with magic out there who are loyal to him," Gaius interrupted sharply. "If I turn against him then all his suspicions will be confirmed, and there will be no one left to convince him otherwise."

Gorlois snorted. "Is that how you justify it?" he said scornfully. "Is that what you tell yourself so that you can sleep at night? You will never convince him in that way, because all that shows him is that you are easy to bend to his will. He looks to us to show him the way, Gaius, you and me — and if you let him think that what he is doing is right... he already has a council full of sycophants, and now you have only added to their voices."

"I am showing him that he has nothing to fear from sorcerers," Gaius protested weakly. "I am showing him that you can have magic and still be a friend to Camelot."

Gorlois leaned in close, his expression a mask of disgust. "You gave up magic, Gaius," he said forcefully. "So you keep telling yourself that that's what you're doing. You keep lying to yourself, and when the day finally comes when Uther turns on you, you will find that there is no one who will stand for you — just as you did not stand for anyone else."

Gaius stood stock-still as Gorlois strode away, before shaking himself and hurrying after him. "My lord!" he called, and reluctantly Gorlois paused, watching him through narrowed eyes. "My lord. Do not turn on the Lady Vivienne," he pled when he drew closer. "I have — I have great respect for her, and you are her last defense."

"Turn on — I would never," Gorlois snarled, face twisted with fury. "I am not like you, Gaius. I do not turn on those I love, even if it is dangerous for me. I would never abandon my wife to this fate."

But you will, Gaius thought sadly as Gorlois turned away. You will, because Vivienne has said so, and the king is cunning. He will twist you to suit his will, just as he has twisted the rest of the lords, and then where will all your indignation be?

- -o- -

Gaius was applying a paste to Julius' eye — the lad had gotten into a fight at the tavern the previous night — when Geoffrey appeared in the doorway, flushed and breathless. "Gaius," he gasped out. "Come quick. You will want to see this."

Gaius exchanged a glance with Alice, who pursed her lips and held out her hands to take over for him. He murmured his thanks and brushed his hand across her shoulders before he left, but she tensed at his touch and stoutly ignored him, as she had ever since he had confessed his recent actions. He swallowed hard but did not press before following Geoffrey out the door.

"What's going on?" he asked as they hurried down the hall.

"A representative from the Isle showed up at the weekly hearings," puffed Geoffrey, rounding a corner at a near run. "I left when there were still people ahead of her, but I expect it's her turn by now — Uther made her wait, I don't think she's too pleased..."

Gaius' breath hitched in his throat and he unconsciously sped up, nearly leaving Geoffrey behind in his haste. Not another word was spoken on the way, and they entered through the back door so as not to cause a scene — a stroke of fortune, because there was already one unfolding at the center of the room.

The representative was easily the ugliest woman Gaius had ever seen, with wild grey hair and a mouth that was far too large for her face. Her sparse teeth were bared in anger, and her black eyes were narrowed so thinly that they almost disappeared into her wrinkles as she hissed, "I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion, servant of the Triple Goddess, and emissary of the Isle of the Blessed. You will address me with respect."

"I will show you the respect you deserve," Uther said coldly. "Now speak your piece and be gone."

The crone drew herself up at that, eyes flashing, and declared, "I have been sent to issue you a warning, Uther Pendragon."

"A warning," Uther repeated evenly, leaning back in his throne. "Very well. A warning against what?"

"Nimueh has told us what you asked, and the payment she received in return," the priestess continued, and raised her voice so that she could be heard above the resulting furor. "And we have been watching what has unfolded since."

"Spying, you mean," Uther said, matching her volume.

"Call it what you will. It makes no difference," she retorted. "But we know what you have been doing here, and it will stop."

"It will not," Uther boomed as the small crowd continued to whisper feverishly. "I am protecting my people from the evils of your kind, witch, and—"

"The only evils that exist are the ones that you make out of shadows," she thundered, cutting him off. "You see enemies where there are none, Uther Pendragon, but if you continue in this vein then they will surely come. We on the Isle will not stand idly by while you slaughter our kin. They are under our protection, and if you do not cease these actions and repeal your laws, then we swear by the Triple Goddess that Camelot will pay dearly."

Then her expression softened as she searched his face. "Please, sire," she implored, the first hint of deference she had shown. "We have no wish for bloodshed. We wish only to live in peace. Please, do not continue down this foolish path."

Uther smiled thinly. "This path was of your own making," he said. "One of your kind murdered my wife, and others have—"

"Nimueh did only what you asked of her," the crone hissed. "She—"

"Do not speak that name in front of me!"

"—did not want to, but you forced her hand," she continued, shouting now. "And then you forced her to betray her values, the night your queen died, and now she is tainted, because you asked her to—"

"SEIZE HER!" Uther bellowed, and the rest of her words were drowned in the resulting clamor. Knights drew their swords as guards swarmed around her, stepping over the bodies of their comrades as she blasted them back — and for a moment Gaius thought that she would escape, but there were too many men, too many weapons for her to fend off all at once.

Once subdued, it was only a short time before she was brought outside to stand on the platform before the people. From his place in the courtyard Gaius could see Vivienne in the window, a pale shadow, and he wondered if she knew the crone from her days on the Isle, if she had foreseen her death and was standing there now as a solemn salute to one of her sisters. Overhead the sky was colored like bruises, and the blood-red banners cracked like whips as they snapped in the stiff wind.

"Cundrie of the Isle," Uther announced from the balcony. "You have been found guilty of the crime of sorcery—"

"Do not do this, Uther Pendragon," she called. Her face was crusted with blood, and though she listed to one side where a knight had struck a blow on her leg, she still stood tall and proud and undaunted.

"—and of the slaughter of the men sent to apprehend you," he continued. "And, pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, do sentence you to die." The wind whistled through the crowd as he looked down at her. "Do you have any last words?"

"We offered you a chance for peace," she proclaimed, staring back at him. "You have brought this on yourself." And as she was dragged forward to the block, Cundrie began to incant, softly at first, but then louder and louder until it seemed as if the very roots of the earth shook with her voice.

"Stop her!" Uther ordered, steadying himself on the railing.

But it was too late.

The heavy axe rose and fell, and the old crone's head was removed in a rush of crimson blood, but no one saw. Instead they stared, horrified and breathless, at the guard who had been holding her as he clawed at his face, leaving deep red furrows on the skin that was growing over his mouth, over his nose, over his wide, panicked eyes. He fell to his knees on the platform, then to his side, soaking himself in her blood as he flailed and spasmed and died. Finally his struggles grew weaker as his fingers, slicked with red, found no purchase on his suffocating blank mask, until finally he stilled, without even one last exhale to announce it.

Then the people screamed and screamed, and Gaius stood still amidst the chaos, because he had read about this terrible punishment and he knew what it truly meant: ragaid, the ultimate warning from the priestesses to their enemies. And looking around him he could see what the crone's spell had prompted: the end to the indifference of the people as paranoia turned to panic turned to hate, and the beginning of Uther's legacy.

The war had truly begun.