Chapter II: The Spellbinders' Summit

Nobody commented when Morgana and Gwen walked out of the castle. They spent enough time in the lower town that everyone assumed they were off to do something with the smallfolk. It was a reasonable assumption, and certainly more easily deduced than their real reason for leaving. After all, very few people would intuit that Uther's ward was on her way to a meeting of magical conspirators.

They stopped in Gwen's house so that Morgana could change out of her lady's finery into something more inconspicuous. Gwen's dress didn't fit exactly right and really looked better on her, but Morgana wasn't about to complain. She knew what her friend was risking.

Gwen knew too. She had been jittery ever since she woke up and only became more nervous as they approached the rendezvous point.

"You don't have to meet him, you know," Morgana pointed out.

Gwen's smile was small and watery. "I'm not afraid of Emrys. I'm afraid that getting involved in this conflict will get you hurt."

"I'm Uther's ward," Morgana reminded her. "I'm already in this conflict. Besides, that's why I'm in disguise, remember?" She patted the ill-fitting dress.

Gwen chewed her lip, clearly not satisfied. "Do you remember that time a couple years ago when I told you about the orphanage by the North Gate?"

"Of course," said Morgana, frowning.

Something had been bothering her friend for the better part of two days. Morgana's initial attempts to discover what was wrong had been gently but firmly turned aside. Then, at supper on the second day, Gwen explained what was bothering her. There was a building by the North Gate that housed almost thirty orphans. Its roof had caught on fire. Nobody was hurt, thank the gods, but the children's caretakers couldn't afford to replace the roof and winter was on its way.

Morgana had been confused. Why hadn't Gwen told her right away? She would be glad to help, she assured her friend.

And Gwen had sighed and explained that she had been torn between reluctance to use Morgana, her friend, to further her own goal on the one hand and her desire to do good on the other. In the end, she'd decided to ask, for what kind of a person would she be if she didn't at least try to speak to someone who could make a difference?

"You're worried that they'll try to use me?"

"More than worried. If anyone finds out who you are, they could force you to become a spy or hurt you to hurt Uther. No other spellbinder has your access to the royal family, and Uther loves you like a daughter." She shivered. "Honestly, I don't know which option scares me more, the spying or the hurting."

Morgana suppressed a wince. This would be so much easier if she could just explain that Emrys was actually Merlin, that he had just as much access to the royal family as she did, that he had left Camelot not just to attend his parents' wedding (which was certainly not taking place in Ealdor, as he had led his uninformed friends to believe) but also to speak at the multi-kingdom magical conspiracy that he had begun, because apparently he was something like magical royalty. (In Morgana's opinion, the 'royalty' part was even more surprising than the magic. But no matter how much Merlin tried to downplay his influence, the fact remained that he had called the meeting, he had attached his other name to it, and hundreds of spellbinders had traveled for days not just to discuss strategy but because he had called them.)

But Merlin in his paranoia had asked her to not tell Gwen. Morgana hadn't been impressed with the warlock's reasoning, but she'd acquiesced because Merlin should be the one to explain everything, not her. It wasn't that she blamed him for being cautious, of course. It was just that this was Gwen.

"My disguise," she repeated, a bit less forcefully than she had intended. "I'm only going for this one day, Gwen. All I have to do is meet these Vates and pretend to be a commoner for a few hours. Besides, I doubt anyone will pay attention to me. They'll be too focused on the speeches and debates."

Gwen clearly wasn't entirely convinced, but she nodded all the same.

Fortunately, they were almost at the rendezvous point. Their guide was already present, an ancient man in a white robe. Morgana frowned slightly, wondering where Merlin was. She'd thought that "Emrys" would be the one to bring her. But it was the old stranger, not her still-young friend, who smiled warmly at the women as they approached. "I am Anhora, Keeper of the Unicorns. Which of you is going to attend the meet?"

"We both are," Gwen announced.

Morgana turned to her, startled. "Gwen, you don't have to—"

"I know," she interjected, "but I will anyways, just in case."

"A loyal friend," Anhora observed, smiling softly.

"She is," Morgana agreed. "Reckless, sometimes, but loyal."

"Lord Emrys mentioned that you would be accompanied here by your most trusted companion. If you and he trust her to come this far, then I can trust her as well."

Gwen dimpled.

"Shall we?" asked Anhora, offering the women his hands.

"Let's."

Teleportation, Morgana discovered, was extremely disorienting. One moment she was in the deep green forest outside Camelot, a brook babbling in her ears, the ground beneath her soft and damp. Then, half a heartbeat later, she was standing on cold stone cobbles surrounded by buildings as tall as any in Camelot. She staggered slightly, would have fallen if not for Anhora's hand at her shoulder. "Don't worry," he assured her and Gwen, who looked just as unbalanced as her mistress, "it's difficult for everyone their first few times."

"If you say so," Morgana muttered.

"Come," Anhora said. "The meeting is about to begin."

He led them to a hillside. The women thanked him and took places near the back of the gathering assembly, almost at the top of the hill. At its foot, a bald fellow in a robe was exchanging quiet (or maybe not so quiet; it was hard to tell at this distance, with everyone around her murmuring themselves) words with a slender young man in a dark blue cloak. Merlin in his guise as Emrys, she knew.

There were apparently still a few minutes before things actually started, so Morgana scanned the crowd. The people around her looked so ordinary, just average men and women in peasant clothes. They were young and old, dark and fair, on blankets and cloaks and the bare grass still damp with dew. There were a few exceptions—quite a few people wore robes, and she didn't think that the quintet of filthy humanoids sitting in the mud (and mercifully downwind from everyone) were human—but for the most part, they were indistinguishable from the people she saw every day walking the streets of Camelot. For all she knew, these were some of those people.

Someone cried out. Suddenly people were pointing towards the skies, their voices rising in wonder and fear. Bat-winged and golden-scaled, the dragon landed right next to the ruined temple that was apparently serving as a makeshift barracks for the visitors. Kilgharrah folded his great wings, touching down surprisingly lightly for such an enormous creature.

"But isn't the last dragon supposed to be imprisoned?" Gwen hissed. Her face had gone white, and her eyes were huge with shock.

"I think someone must have freed him," Morgana replied, remembering when Merlin had told her about that adventure.

"Is that safe?" Gwen demanded.

The dragon spoke before Morgana could answer. "People of Albion, I am Kilgharrah, last of the dragons. For years I despaired in the tunnels of Camelot, raging and mourning the murder of my kin." He smiled. Morgana hadn't known that dragons could smile. "Then Emrys came to save me. He broke my chains and set me free, just as he will do to you. Through him, we will return magic to the land."

He retreated then, coiling against the temple wall. Merlin stood alone at the foot of the hill, his back to the dragon, his eyes on the crowd of hundreds that was waiting for him to speak. His posture was rigid, Morgana noted. Afraid.

Merlin was silent for a long moment before he squared his shoulders, drew himself up to his full height. "For the past twenty years, we have been persecuted without cause, hunted to the ends of the island, and burned whenever the authorities can get ahold of us. We fought back, of course. We're still fighting… but violence and bloodshed don't work. They can't work, not really.

"Yes, we can kill Uther Pendragon. Yes, we can kill every king and queen and noble who supported the Slaughter. Yes, we can kill their successors, should they prove as intractable as their parents. But we can't kill every man, woman, and child in Albion who has been taught to fear and hate magic these past years, and assassinating rulers until we find someone who legally frees us will just make the common folk fear and hate us more. That is what our oppressors have done, and now look at us plotting against them. The Slaughter has proven that a people cannot create peace through terror.

"Yet we need peace and the freedom that comes with it. We can't just let the Slaughter continue, and I swear to you that we won't. Thus we need another plan, something that will end the red spiral of hate and death instead of just perpetuating the cycle.

"Most of you know about the druids' actions this winter. You've heard tell of how they are using their magic blatantly and publicly, reminding those who witness it that our power can be a source of good. We need to do what they are doing. We need to persuade the people that their folk and ours can live in harmony, to make them remember that magic was part of life for hundreds and thousands of years before Uther Pendragon.

"There are two basic ways that we can persuade people: word and deed. The druids are carrying out the deed part of the plan by publicly using magic to help people, then disappearing into the woods. Alator of the Catha has agreed to do the same, and I have done so within Camelot itself. I will not force you to publicly use your magic. Believe me, I understand the fear. But if you so choose to use your magic in front of others, do it cautiously. The druids escape back into the woods the moment their spells are done. They run and hide so that the bloodcloaks can't find them. If you follow their example, always make sure to have a way to escape, and try to wear a disguise if at all possible.

"Not everyone should contribute to the deeds project. We want to save magic, not martyr ourselves for no good reason. But everyone on this island can help our cause simply by speaking. Tell stories from before the Slaughter and stories about the atrocities committed against our people. Spread the tavern tales you hear about spellbinders defying the law to carry out good works. Teach your children that magic is neither better nor worse than the human heart. If we work together, I know that we can return magic and freedom to Albion."

Merlin fell silent then, and the crowd erupted into applause. The poor warlock looked extremely uncomfortable with his reception, Morgana noted as she clapped along. No doubt he was blushing furiously underneath his glamor.

The next speaker was a druid who introduced himself as Iseldir whose tribe had been the first to implement the "persuasion through deeds" part of Merlin's plan. He explained in great detail how his people had managed to perform blatant acts of magic in broad daylight without getting themselves killed.

It occurred to Morgana that maybe Anhora should have been a bit more cautious when it came to letting non-magical strangers listen in on this sort of thing. It wasn't that Gwen would betray her—the very thought was ridiculous—but Anhora had had no way of knowing that. She might have to warn Merlin about potential security lapses.

Iseldir's speech was longer than Merlin's, doubtless because it was far more in-depth. The druid lingered at the base of the hill after he was finished, allowing the audience to ask questions. Morgana was a bit surprised but quite pleased that many of the inquiries concerned ways to adapt the druids' strategy for ordinary people.

The next two speakers proposed ways to keep ahead of their enemies, namely scrying to discover information (for instance, about when and where to expect attacks) and a proposed communication network that would let them distribute that information quickly and inconspicuously. There already was a sort of preexisting magical communications network, of course—that was how people had heard about the summit. The second speaker had suggestions about tightening that web, improving it to prevent unnecessary casualties. They invited people to speak with them during the lunch break if they had any interest in becoming hubs of communication.

Then the third speaker came up, and Morgana forgot how to breathe.

Red dress, blonde hair, lovely young face. She knew this woman, in a way. She'd seen her in her dreams.

Head held high, the blonde proclaimed, "I am Morgause, High Priestess of the Old Religion. Emrys's plan is wise, but I fear that he has put too much trust in the inherent goodness of kings and queens. Can we really afford to gamble the future of our people on the cooperation of the very folk who condemned us in the first place? No. No, we cannot. We need to guarantee that the rulers of the land will cooperate."

Morgana and Gwen glanced at each other. Neither liked the sound of that.

"Let us choose a team of spellbinders to infiltrate the households of the tyrants who have oppressed us. Uther, Rodor, Cenred… all of them. The spellbinders can then enchant the tyrants' heirs to see magic in a more sympathetic light. Then, when the people have learned to accept our kin, our agents can assassinate our enemies and place our allies on the throne. We will rule the land, and no one will ever slaughter our people again."

The crowd was murmuring. Not everybody sounded horrified by the plan.

"Absolutely not!" Merlin-as-Emrys stalked over to Morgause's side. "I told you so this morning, Morgause. If we want peace, then there must be trust between magic and mundane."

"And I told you that the mind control would only last a single generation! Our puppets' children would be free!"

"Yes, because nothing can go horribly wrong in the space of a generation." Merlin's hands were on his hips, his eyes narrow. "A peace built on mind control and murder will not last."

"How would you know if we don't try?"

The two spellbinders were clearly on the brink of blows. Thankfully for the entire assembly, Kilgharrah intervened before they could start throwing fireballs. "You were meant to speak on another topic, priestess."

Morgause glared.

Kilgharrah stared right back at her. His huge golden eyes did not blink.

It was Morgause who turned away, her cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. "Very well," she said coolly. "My official, Emrys-approved purpose in speaking here today was to tell you the truth about the Slaughter."

Merlin stepped away, but he and Kilgharrah both kept their gazes on her.

"My predecessor as High Priestess was Nimueh of Armorica, who was once a dear friend and trusted companion of Uther and Ygraine Pendragon. She helped him reclaim his father's throne from Vortigern and served as his chief advisor concerning all things magical. When the court physician of Camelot determined that there was nothing he could do to reverse Queen Ygraine's barrenness, she and her husband turned to Nimueh for help."

Morgause's lips twisted into something that was not quite a smile. "Nimueh agreed, for she was their friend and knew that the kingdom must have an heir. Yet Nimueh knew that there would be a price to pay. In order to create a life, she told her friends, another life must be taken."

Morgana sucked in a sharp breath. Beside her, Gwen's eyes went wide with shock. All around them, the crowd erupted into murmurs and whispers and gasps.

"Yes," Morgause said softly, bitterly, "Uther believes that it was Ygraine who paid for their son's life. Nimueh, though, had never been certain. There was a prisoner facing execution whom Uther chose as the sacrifice, and he died within an hour of the spell's casting. His death should have been enough. But then Ygraine died in childbed, as women do every day without magical intervention, and Uther in his wrath blamed magic for murdering his beloved wife.

"You know the rest: the Day of Pyres, the Twin Genocide, the trickery, the fall of this very isle. Rivers of blood and tears, all because of one man who could not accept a natural death.

"Tell the people, my kinsmen. Tell them what Uther has done, tell them the height and breadth and depth of his hypocrisy. Let the tale spread far and wide that we may be known as victims rather than provokers of the Butcher's wrath. Let the truth set us free."

Cool and poised and regal as a queen, Morgause strode back to her original position in the buzzing audience.

"This meeting is now adjourned for lunch and discussions," Merlin called. "We'll meet up again in one hour."

Morgana hadn't realized how late it was getting, but a glance at the sky revealed that it was already high noon. Sure enough, her stomach started gurgling for food.

Someone (probably a druid clan) had erected a table full of food immediately inside the visitors' residence. Morgana and Gwen filled their plates before retreating to the benches and tables that had been set up on the other side of the hall.

"Do you think it's true?" Gwen asked. "About Uther, I mean." She fiddled nervously with the strawberry in her hands.

"I think it must be," Morgana confessed. "It would explain a great deal, and Emrys and the other leaders thought it was an important enough story that they let Morgause tell it even though she had some downright insane ideas."

"It does sound like something Uther would do." Gwen took a bite of her sandwich. "Say, wasn't Emrys supposed to introduce you to some people today?"

"He is, but I think it'll have to wait until after lunch. He was stalking towards Morgause the second everyone was dismissed." Morgana met her friend's eyes. "She's the woman from my dream."

Gwen's eyes went wide. "You mean the one with the path?"

"Yes."

"So… that would mean she's Arthur's enemy, right?"

"Between the fact that they're standing on different paths and she wants to control his mind, probably. I'll need to warn Emrys about her after we've eaten."

They spent the rest of their meal chatting about inconsequential things, though of course magic was never far from their minds. When they were finished, they stepped back outside.

Merlin was talking with a very ordinary-looking old man. He glanced up when Morgana began to approach. "It's good to see you again. Morgana, this is Rodrik of the Vates. Rodrik, this is the lady I was just telling you about, and—" He fell silent then, apparently just noticing Gwen.

"She refused to be left behind," Morgana explained.

"Oh, how wonderful," breathed Rodrik, his eyes alight. He was beaming at Gwen as though she was the most amazing thing he'd seen in his life. "Justice and Grace."

Morgana looked at Merlin, who gave a helpless little shrug.

"I'm Gwen, actually," said the equally nonplussed maid.

"Of course, of course." Rodrik bobbed his head up and down. "An honor to meet you, Gracious Gwen and Just Morgana."

"Right," Merlin muttered. "Ah, Rodrik, Morgana has visions in her sleep. You said that you could help her?"

"It is you who must help her, my lord, lest Justice warp into hateful Revenge. Her soul is in your keeping."

Judging from the look on Merlin's face, he was seriously regretting his decision to bring Rodrik, as opposed to literally anyone else, to talk with them. "Okay then. I'll do that. And also, I'm not a lord."

"See that you do, my lord, for once the full force of her magic awakens, she shall become a force of great good or great evil."

"What do you mean, 'once my full magic awakens'?" Morgana demanded.

"You are a witch," the Seer declared, his pale eyes fixed on her face. "Soon your power shall blossom, and all your enemies will quake in terror."

Morgana nodded, because there really wasn't much she could say to that.

"But can you help her with the dreams?" Merlin demanded.

"Visions of this sort are not meant to be controlled," the other man declared.

"So no then."

"Accept the magic," Rodrik instructed Morgana. "Accept it, and remember as much as you can about your visions. Remembering them makes it less likely that they will return."

That was probably the most concrete advice she would get from him, so Morgana smiled and nodded.

"I had no idea he'd be like that," Merlin confessed as the Vate meandered away. "I just asked for their best Seer, and then they gave me him. Oh, right." He extended a hand to Gwen. "I'm Emrys. Nice to meet you."

She shook his hand, mumbled the necessary phrases, and asked, "When he said that Lady Morgana was a witch…."

"I can try and train her," Merlin assured his friends, "or maybe I can find you a druid tutor. And I think I can get my hands on some spellbooks." He gave Morgana's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "After all, it's apparently my job to keep watch over your soul."

"What does that even mean?"

"Good question. Maybe we should ask Kilgharrah?"

"The dragon?" Gwen squeaked.

"No," Morgana said. "Not after the last person you introduced me to. Besides, don't you need to eat before the meeting starts again?"

Merlin started, but she was right. People were trickling out of the temporary mess hall, slowly making their way back to the hill. "You're right. I'll talk to you again after today's meetings are done. I promise."

She remembered then. "Wait!"

"Yes?"

"Morgause is the woman from my dream, the one standing against Arthur."

Worry flickered in those golden eyes. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you for telling me."

Morgana watched him leave with a smile. If he was supposed to watch over her soul… then her soul was in very good hands.

Alternate Chapter Title: "In Which Merlin Learns That There Truly Does Exist an Individual Even More Cryptic Than Kilgharrah"

So Morgana seems to think that Merlin can teleport, but Merlin and Blaise did not teleport to the Isle. In my headcanon, you have to be able to visualize the place you're teleporting to. Also, Merlin has clearly not thought about Arthur's probable reaction to the truth of his birth, which his sorcerous minions are going to be spreading pretty much everywhere. (Also, why the heck didn't Nimueh or Morgause spread the word about that? I mean, seriously, what point did keeping it a secret serve?) And no, I don't know myself if Ygraine's death was natural or sacrificial, because Morgause is right about women dying in childbed.

Next chapter: June 17. Gwen's thoughts on the rest of the meeting, she and Morgana return to Camelot, and, if I have enough time, Balinor and Hunith can finally get married. Oh, yes, and there'll probably be some blatant villainy brewing.

The title of this fanfiction has not one, not two, but three meanings. One is obvious, one less so, and one a fair bit more obscure. Any guesses?

-Antares