Chapter III: Stranglehold

"I should have brought a horse," Merlin grumbled.

He'd left the Impenetrable Forest about half an hour ago, exiting onto a blasted wasteland peppered with a few unhealthy clumps of brown grass. Merlin looked at the scant vegetation and amended his previous statement. "Or maybe that's not the best idea. A horse wouldn't have much to eat here. Then again, I could probably have packed enough grain in the saddlebags, except I don't know how long I'm going to be here. I should have asked Mab for dire—no, that's a terrible idea. She's the one who made that forest impenetrable."

Walking by oneself through a dusty, rocky expanse was quite boring. It would be so much more pleasant if he'd had someone with him. Arthur, Morgana, Gwen, Lancelot, Will…. He should really write to Will one of these days, tell him everything that had happened. Except Will wasn't very good at reading and he probably hadn't practiced much recently with Merlin and Hunith both gone. Actually, that was a reason to write to him in and of itself. He could use the practice.

The Perilous Lands were not very perilous. Merlin thought about commenting on this out loud but decided not to jinx it. Despite what certain people might think, he wasn't actually an idiot and didn't put himself in danger just for his own entertainment.

Still, this was getting kind of boring, and he kept thinking about how sooner or later Uther would strike back and he had to get through with this before then. He needed a distraction. Maybe he could sing? It would help pass the time, if nothing else, and it would probably scare away any perilous wildlife that might have otherwise decided to try to eat him.

He sang for a while, but his repertoire of songs was rather limited. Merlin tapered off into quiet, his thoughts inevitably drifting back to Camelot.

Uther was planning something. Merlin suspected that the man had already sent troops to Ealdor. He wouldn't help them with bandits due to the sanctity of the border, but that sanctity mattered very little when Uther was hunting spellbinders. Thankfully his parents and unborn sister were long gone. Everybody else would be safe. Even Will, who was known to be his dear friend, would escape unscathed. Uther had this bizarre idea that spellbinders were incapable of true friendship, something that Merlin suspected had come from his falling-out with Nimueh. Still, that balderdash had historically kept him from using peoples' friends rather than their families against them, so Merlin supposed he ought to be grateful.

Still, there was no way that the king would let the partial destruction of his capital city go unpunished. What's worse, he was probably desperate. Even if he claimed to disbelieve Merlin's prophecy about his death, the prediction must still be on his mind, the words echoing throughout his skull. Your death approaches, Uther Pendragon. You will never see your children marry, never meet your—

Wait.

His children?

Merlin pulled up short, his eyes round as saucers. So Uther had at least one bastard, did he? Arthur was not going to be happy to hear about that. Then again, he wouldn't be happy about the part where his father died, either. It was almost enough to make Merlin glad that he didn't dare contact his friend directly just yet.

Soon, though. It would have to be soon. As soon as he left the Perilous Lands, which would hopefully be sooner rather than later, because it was only a matter of time before Uther unleashed whatever horrors he'd been planning. He and Arthur really needed to discuss the king.

Gods, he was not looking forward to that conversation.

The Impenetrable Forest was still visible behind him, if only barely, a darker line across the horizon. This was a flat portion of the Perilous Lands. In better times, when this was still the prosperous kingdom of Listeneise, this area had probably been covered in farmers' fields, maybe even a non-impenetrable forest. That would certainly explain the lack of structures and roads.

That, or the farmhouses had all fallen down, the roads covered by mud and dirt.

Merlin wondered what this place had looked like back then. He imagined fields of grain and vegetables, little homes scattered throughout, maybe some grazing land for livestock. A good place to live, peaceful and quiet.

Maybe, if he can heal the Fisher King, it can be like that again.

Merlin picked up his pace again and kept walking. He had a long road ahead of him, and the faster he finished this task, the sooner he could go back.

"What the hell was that?"

"Morgana—"

"No." The lady shook her head vehemently, hair whipping behind her. She wanted to scream at him about everything: the alliance with Amata, the guards' new right to execute people on the spot, even how he'd closed the gates earlier. But she was afraid that he'd learn of her true alliance if she protested the renewed Purge too much, so she focused her rage into something that she maybe could change, the one thing Uther must have known she would be outraged about. "You could have mentioned it while we were in the study or even when we were walking down the hall. 'By the way, Morgana, you're getting married, and I'm going to tell everyone in the city in about two minutes." Her nails dug into her palms. "And Cenred. Cenred. He murdered his way to the throne and oppresses his people. He—"

"He is my cousin's son," Uther cut in.

"A cousin that he murdered. You hate him for that, remember?"

"That is why this alliance is so important!" the king exclaimed. "Your marriage will end the bad blood between Camelot and Essetir, and you will be a queen. What more do you want?"

"To not marry a murdering tyrant, that's what!"

"It has been decided, Morgana," Uther snarled. "I am your guardian and your king. I have every right to choose your husband, and I have chosen Cenred."

"How long do you think he'll let me live?" the lady demanded. She knew that it was futile to protest—Uther had clearly set his mind to it—but her anger demanded an outlet. "He killed his father and brother, the king and crown prince that you installed in Essetir. He already owes you his throne. He doesn't need—"

"I will see you marry," the king growled. His fists were tight. His knuckles must be white as ice beneath his demi-gaunts. "I will meet your children. You and Arthur both!"

"Assuming Cenred doesn't kill me before I give him any," Morgana retorted. Not that she would ever bear that man children. The mere thought made her stomach roil.

There was no way in hell that she was marrying Cenred. She wouldn't let it happen, just like she wouldn't let Arthur marry Orgeluse.

"He will not dare," Uther sneered.

"Just like he wouldn't dare to—"

"Be quiet, Morgana!" the king roared, rearing up to his full height. She stepped back automatically, her protest dying before it left her lips. "I have tolerated your willfulness in the past, but I am your king. You will obey me. You will marry Cenred even if I have to drag you before him myself."

"…No." She squared her shoulders, jutted out her chin, tried to look determined and defiant and proud.

Uther's nostrils flared. His lips thinned. He breathed in once, twice, thrice, each breath loud and jagged. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously calm. "Several people have informed me that your maidservant was close to both of the sorcerers who had infiltrated my household."

The bottom fell out of Morgana's stomach. No. No, he wouldn't. "She didn't know what they were. She had no idea."

"Still. The girl is in a precarious position, is she not?"

"She's innocent, so no, she isn't."

(Uther had thrown his own son into the dungeons not just once or twice but three times. The first time, he'd disobeyed the king's direct orders and gone questing for the mortaeus flower. Then Arthur had used Excalibur against the Knights of Medhir and not tried to kill Emrys, so he'd been locked up again. The third time had been upon their return from Tintagel, when Arthur had flat-out told his father that Merlin is a warlock and we should probably not let Cornelius Sigan take control of his mind. Three trips to the dungeon for the crown prince, because Uther gets what he wants.)

"I imagine that Arthur would have said a similar thing about his manservant, had he been asked before the wretch exposed himself."

"No, Arthur would have started complaining about him," she corrected. Maybe, if she could change the subject, he would drop it. It was… not likely, but she had to try something.

"But he would have thought that the idiot was innocent of any sorcerous taint. Guilt and innocence are so hard to determine." Uther's eyes were diamond-hard. "I'm sure you understand."

Damn him. Damn him. "I understand," she ground out.

Uther nodded. "You seem tired, my lady. I recommend that you turn in early."

Morgana didn't speak. She didn't trust herself to speak. Instead, she nodded curtly—she couldn't bring herself to curtsy properly—and stalked away, shoes snapping against the stone floor.

Gwen followed, pale and trying not to tremble.

Leodegrance's manor had been packed full of courtiers and their servants, meaning that the populations of two castles had been crammed into one. Several nobles had left for the war or to get out of the destroyed city, but there were still far too many people living in this building. All of the staff and several members of the lower nobility had been crammed multiple bodies to a room, but the king's ward had a chamber to herself. She'd never been so glad of that.

"We need to get you out of here," Morgana said as soon as the door clicked shut. "I can find coin for you, and Tom can get supplies. We'll sneak a horse out of the city. You can go to the Isle of the Blessed. If we move fast, you might be able to leave tomorrow night."

"No."

Morgana gaped at her. Surely she couldn't have heard right. Except Gwen was wearing an expression of pure pigheaded stubbornness. "Are you insane?"

"If I leave, he'll find someone else, someone who might not have an Isle of the Blessed. You know he will, Morgana."

"No he won't," she argued. "He knows that you're my dearest friend, Gwen. Who else would he target?"

"You're compassionate. You're friendly with all sorts of people. You're on good terms with most of the servants in the castle! All he has to do is find one who can't escape and he'll have you."

"I—I'll bluff. You have to leave, Gwen. There's a difference between courage and stupidity."

"What if he calls your bluff? There are plenty of servants in the castle." She swallowed hard, raised her head up high. "If—what you said last night is true. If I am destined to marry Arthur, then… one day, I will be a queen. What kind of queen abandons her people?"

"The smart kind, who knows how to live and fight another day," Morgana retorted, sorely regretting her big mouth. "You have to get out of here. He knows he can use you now, so he'll keep using you for more than just my wedding. You have to leave."

"I will."

Morgana pulled up short.

"We have to leave together. If I go too soon, he'll find someone else to use against you. If you escape before me, he'll have me executed. We'll only be safe if we escape together, and I… I think that we should try to stay as long as possible to mitigate as much damage as we can. Please, Morgana. You know I'm right, at least about the first part." Her smile was just a tad wavery. "I'm not quite as convinced of the second bit."

Morgana ran her hand through her hair. She began to pace, her thoughts whirring. Gwen waited, silent and mostly resolute.

Unfortunately, the maid was right about the first bit. They would have to leave together to prevent the scenarios she had described. Of course, them leaving together would probably convince Uther that Gwen was definitely a sorceress, so Tom would have to leave as well. Then they'd have to send word to Elyan, get him out of Uther's power before he could be dragged back to the citadel in chains for his sister's supposed crimes. And if Uther convinced himself that Gwen was magical, he probably wouldn't do anything to the other servants they would have to leave behind. He'd think that Morgana had been enchanted and/or kidnapped, so there would be no point in randomly executing people just to make her come back.

So, yes, they would have to leave together. That would take time to plan, time to get everything into place. Gwen would have to explain things to her father, everyone would have to pack, and they'd need some way to get out of the city. Teleportation would be best, but Morgana wouldn't be able to transport herself, much less two other people, for quite some time. That meant they'd have to involve someone else in their escape if they wanted to use teleportation, which she did. Less chance of being tracked and captured that way. Merlin would do it, or at least he'd know someone who could. Or Blaise could ask Anhora.

Involving a third party in their escape meant that they couldn't just flee at the drop of a hat. They'd need to pick out a date. In theory, it could be any time between now and her wedding day. An early departure would guarantee their safety, but…. Gwen and Morgana had already chosen to stay to at least try to minimize the carnage Uther would wreak. They'd made that choice knowing the dangers and accepting the risk.

(Queens did not abandon their people, not unless there was no other choice. Neither did ladies.)

Morgana's pacing slowed. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Her voice was tired, even drained. "I hate it when you do that."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"I am, actually," Gwen admitted quietly. "I'm the one who gave him the idea."

Morgana snorted. "Uther gave himself the idea. Gods, I wish that Arthur was king."

"I wish that Uther wouldn't do this," Gwen muttered.

"I wish so, too, but that's not going to happen. Now. Let's talk about our escape."

Their discussion was low and intense. They agreed on the necessity of picking a date beforehand, though they probably couldn't select one until they knew when Morgana was supposed to be married and when their magical transport would be available. Gwen wasn't particularly happy about telling Tom about their plans—"Not that he'll betray us, of course, but he'll fret for weeks"—but she understood the necessity. (If part of Morgana was vindictively pleased that Gwen's damnable logic would discomfit her too, well, she'd never claimed to be perfect.) Since they were going to wait at least a little while, they decided that they should probably try to arrange for lodging on the Isle before they departed. The women were debating how much they could pack beforehand without attracting suspicion when a guard burst into the room.

Morgana jumped to her feet, heart in her mouth. Beside her, Gwen gasped, rigid. Their eyes met.

"M'lady," the guard panted, "the king has commanded that you be moved to a safer location."

"A safer—the riots." She'd been so intent on her plot that she'd forgotten about the inevitable riots.

"Yes, m'lady, there are riots. Sorcerers are inciting the people against us guardsmen. They won't breach the manor, but King Uther would still prefer it if you were in a more secure area."

"I have to get home," Gwen said. "Dad must be so worried about me."

She tried to walk away, but Morgana grabbed her by the arm. "Remember what I said about courage and stupidity? We don't even know how bad the riots are." She turned to the guard. "How bad are they?"

"They won't harm anyone in the castle, but I would advise against a young woman walking home alone."

Morgana turned back to her friend. "I could try to get you an escort—"

"M'lady," the guard cut in, "the king has ordered that the castle be locked down. Everyone needs his express permission to leave."

And there was no way Uther would risk losing his tool so soon, not when he'd just seen how effectively she could be used.

There wasn't much they could do except follow the guardsman to a heavily guarded room in the inner part of the keep. It was packed with highborn ladies and their children, as well as a few lords too old to fight.

Morgana made a beeline for Laudine. "What's going on?"

"The people dislike having their homes searched so… vigorously," the lady answered. "A fair few also seem to disapprove of the guards' new right of execution. They fought back, the guards responded in kind, and now there's violence everywhere."

"I heard that some of the peasants are fighting each other," interjected another woman who Morgana thought might be Geoffrey's cousin. "Some of them believe that the king's decrees are justified, but others feel differently about him, his decisions… and possibly even magic."

"How could they?" demanded yet another lady. Two red spots burned in her cheeks. "King Uther is protecting us from the evils of sorcery!"

The older woman held up her hands. "I never said I approved," she stated. "They are, of course, wrong. Very wrong." She nodded rapidly.

Laudine moved between them, hands aflutter. "We don't know if that rumor is true. We need more information before we can start condemning anyone."

"Except sorcerers," the young lady muttered.

Laudine's smile was beginning to look rather forced. Her eyes darted around. "Of course, of course," she shrilled. "I'm afraid that I don't recognize you, my lady. Have you been in Camelot long?"

Morgana and Gwen snuck away before the subject could return to condemnation and innocence. "I suppose that we should find some way to try to help," Gwen said. "I see some children over there. They look frightened. Shall we?"

"Let's."

"Your Majesty, the guardsman Maddox requests an audience."

Uther was just sitting down for paperwork (easily the worst part of being king), but he looked up at the servant's announcement. "Does he have anyone with him?"

"Yes, sire."

A slow smile dawned on the king's face. "Good. Send them in."

The servant bowed and backed out of the study.

Maddox and the other man entered, bowed before their king. "I apologize that I took so long in my task, Your Majesty."

Uther waved a negligent hand. "No need. His sort are unfortunately difficult to find in the citadel. Who is he?"

"This is Rience, sire. He has the skills you seek and, when I investigated his character, I learned that he has uncovered and turned in no fewer than four sorcerers over the years."

"And I testified in the trials of others," Rience butted in. There was a sense of barely contained energy to him, an eagerness. "How may I serve you, sire?"

"Did Maddox tell you why I need a man with your knowledge?"

"No, sire, but from what I just heard, I would guess that it involves a blow against sorcery." His eyes gleamed. "I am yours to command."

Uther nodded, a slow smile growing on his lips. "Good. I have a rather difficult task for you, one that must be handled with discretion. Are you capable?"

"Yes, sire."

Uther told him what he had in mind.

Rience was grinning now, his eyes fairly sparkling with excitement. "I'm honored, Your Majesty."

"Can you do it?"

Rience's head jerked up and down, up and down. "Yes, Your Majesty. I believe I can."

Alternate chapter title: "In Which Uther Reminds Us All that he is Indeed a Big Mean Jerk"

You may have noticed that Merlin thinks that Uther won't use spellbinders' friends against him, then Uther goes and does just that with Morgana and Gwen. Remember, he doesn't know about her magic, and he's seen for himself how close they are.

Merlin picked the worst possible time to go off to fulfill his debt. He's trying to hurry, but, well, he doesn't have any way of knowing that things got Bad as soon as he left the Isle. When he left, it looked like he would have a bit more time before Uther tried anything.

The thing about Uther and Cenred being distantly related is covered in more detail in chapter 14 (I think) of The Warlock's Quickening: "Tales of Carmarthen."

Any guesses on what ominous thing Uther is planning with Maddox and Rience? Fun fact: I found Rience's name by googling "Arthurian names." Apparently someone named Rience was an enemy of Arthur early in his reign, so I took the appellation and gave it to this guy.

-Antares