Disclaimer: I don't own Angel or Merlin. I'm not sure exactly who owns what rights to what parts of those shows and the associated intellectual property, etc, but whoever is on that list of people – I am not one of them.

Thanks to deiticlast, my beta.

This chapter is longer than most – its been so long since I updated this that I decided you guys deserved

a little more this time.

The Ruins of My Kingdom to Come

By Alkeni

Chapter 15: The Witchfinder Comes

That Uther had married a troll had been funny. That the troll had been able to enchant Uther so utterly as to turn herself into the effective ruler of Camelot...well, that had been less amusing.

Of course, to say 'effective' implied that she had been effective at ruling. She had not. Showing the short-sighted greed that was emblematic of the troll race – and which had seen them annihilated in this dimension at the end of the Mahkash Wars, or rather would, some centuries hence – "Lady Catrinia" had proceeded to set the Kingdom on a trajectory crashing straight into the ground.

Since that unpleasant episode, things had been more interesting, for Wesley at least. He'd avoided the troll and everything to do with it, spending most of his time during that period out in the countryside, mostly to ensure that Illyria did not dismember the troll. Never fooled by the spell, she had wanted to eliminate the creature merely for being even more foul-smelling than humans.

But since then, the 'bent probabilities' that Illyria had spoken of had brought two more vampires to Camelot. Wesley had provided his help in ensuring both were eliminated quickly and effectively, and had taken up seeing to the readies of the Guard and Knights for more vampire attacks. Each member of the Guard and even each Knight was supposed to carry a water-skin of holy water on them at all times. Wesley had also overseen the carving of proper stakes, at Uther's instructions, though those were generally not carried by the Guard or by the Knights, given their limited utility.

Still, as was unfortunately usual here in Camelot, Wesley had too little to occupy his time. Unlike in Los Angeles or Sunnydale, supernatural events came up only rarely. He passed his time in conversation with Illyria – when she was feeling talkative – or in the library. But even then, that left him with more time than he really needed.

He may have been harried, always kept busy at Wolfram and Hart, but at least he had something to do. There had always been something to distract him, so he couldn't dwell – and that fact had been especially useful after...

After Illyria had arrived.

Now...well, Illyria was around but she seemed to prefer seclusion even more than she had in Los Angeles. Only occasionally did he speak to her, and her discussion remained largely centered on the fact that the time-line was 'wrong', and the 'bending of possibilities'. Occasionally she had asked questions about Morgana and Merlin. They were the only two humans in Camelot, apart from himself, that she showed any consistent interest in. Arthur was of note, as a Champion, of sorts, but not of any concern to her. She wasn't 'his' to fight, and so he could be easily filed under 'ignore', apparently.

But Illyria did regard Merlin as the likeliest threat to her, both personally and in terms of whatever plans it was that she was laying. Morgana was of 'divided potential' and Illyria was curious about what effect true oracular powers had on the limited human mind.

"You have Fred's memories of Cordelia's experience with the visions," Wesley had pointed out, curious as to the distinction Illyria was drawing.

"The visions granted by the Powers That Be are not of the person themselves." Illyria had deigned to explain. "They come from an external source – the true power of prophecy comes from the self. Cordelia was a Seer, Morgana is an Oracle." Wesley had heard the capital letters in her tone.

He wasn't sure he agreed with Illyria's distinction – at least in terms of the names themselves, but he grasped where she'd been getting at in regards to the essential differences between the two. And of the two, Morgana's powers seemed less debilitating – but in turn, were apparently more vague, from what little he'd been able to get out of Merlin.

And there was Merlin. The young man seemed to think Wesley was up to something. Which he was – in a manner of speaking. But that led to the occasional bout of sheer difficulty when Wesley wanted to know something. And Morgana seemed almost terrified of Illyria at times, and certainly didn't like her. Wesley was apparently tainted by his association with the former God-King.

All in all, Wesley was not entirely thrilled by the way things were going in Camelot.

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Wesley stood among the assembled courtiers and guards in the castle's throne room, watching as the commoner – he hadn't caught the name, nor did he care – made her report about the 'demonic' horse in the smoke. His lack of anything to do had seen him hang around the throne room when the King was receiving petitions and that sort of thing – or just on the off chance something interesting happened there. There were, unfortunately, so many works in the castle library...some of which he'd read before he'd come to the past too...

Wesley shook his head and pulled himself back to the conversation. Reports of 'magic' in his kingdom were one of the most common things brought to Uther's attention. A sort of 'Salem Witch-Trials Lite' – the hysteria of the trials was more spread out, rather than held with intensity over a short span.

"It was sorcery you saw? You're certain of it?" Uther all but interrogated the woman.

"Yes, sire." she said, her eyes downcast, not looking directly at Uther, her voice shaky.

"And you swear this before your king?" he pressed her.

"I swear it." The woman said, looking up at Uther for a moment.

Arthur spoke up now, apparently deciding to be the voice of reason – he often was in situations like this. The subtle influence of Merlin, perhaps? Or was Arthur just less intense and paranoid in his feelings on magic? Wesley didn't know, but it might do to find out.

"Perhaps your eyes deceived you," Arthur suggested. "A trick of the light?"

"The smoke was alive, I tell you!" The woman insisted, sticking to her story. I think she at least believes it. Better than some of the people who come through here. "I fear for my life," she continued.

Because a horse made of smoke could, what, trample you? Uther's regime had made magic into such a perceived threat that even the slightest bit was a terror to some. And yet people keep practicing magic in and around Camelot and her allies...I wonder why?

Wesley was surprised a little at just how much sarcasm dripped from that thought.

"I thank you for bringing this to my attention." Uther told the woman, then looked to one of his guards, who escorted the woman out. "Your loyalty will not go unrewarded."

"Thank you sire." The woman replied as she was led away.

Uther looked at the assembled court: "This cannot continue." He spoke with a light sigh, looking around the room, looking for just a moment – the slightest of moments – like an tired old man. Wesley barely caught it.

"I will hunt down those responsible, Father." Arthur said from his position on Uther's right. "I promise they will not escape unpunished." Less paranoid, perhaps. Or perhaps influenced a little by Merlin...but he's still his father's son.

"No." Uther looked over towards his son, cutting him off firmly but without insult, "Stronger methods are called for." He looked out over the entire court, "Send for the Witchfinder!"

Gasps spread across the court, accompanied by looks of shock – and even appalled expressions. Wesley saw fear in Morgana's eyes, saw the young woman's breath quicken just a touch. He thought she was about to hyperventilate, but she apparently managed to keep herself under control. Whoever this Witchfinder was, Morgana knew him or knew of him – and feared him. Merlin, interestingly, just seemed confused.

Wesley wracked his brain, trying to remember if he recalled any mention of a 'Witchfinder' in reference to Camelot from his readings when he'd been at the Academy...but nothing was coming to mind. So engrossed was he in his attempted recollections that he missed Gaius' words, and only caught Uther's reply.

"The Witchfinder is a trusted ally, Gaius." Uther told the physician with a slightly scolding tone. "His help will be invaluable."

Gaius took a step back and bowed his head a moment in acknowledgment. "Of course."

Wesley made a mental note to ask Gaius just who this 'Witchfinder' was. Whoever he was, his arrival would be interesting – and possibly a dangerous complication.

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The announcement of the 'Witchfinder' had set the entire court off kilter just a touch – even the most hardline when it came to magic had seemed thrown by the choice to send for this 'Witchfinder' – or Aredian, as Gaius had named him.

Still, after a few hours, Merlin had a chance to go down to where he and Morgana trained. He'd seen the look on Morgana's face, the fear that had flashed across her features. What little Gaius had told him about 'Aredian' – it made sense Morgana would be afraid.

Merlin wasn't quite afraid, but he was...concerned. Despite cracking a joke at Gaius about he didn't have to worry given that he wasn't a witch - "look no dress", he'd told him...Merlin just hoped the book was well hidden enough.

As he'd expected, Merlin saw Morgana in the room, her eyes closed and focused on levitating a stone – larger than the ones he'd started her on, as her skill had grown over time... but still not very large. Merlin had never found the use of magic itself particularly relaxing, but Morgana apparently did, especially when it came to trying to collect herself.

Merlin closed and locked the door behind him. The charm was magical – anyone else trying it, even if they had a key, would find the door jammed, stuck. In theory, only magic would get the door open again. But if they took an ax to it... Not that that was likely, but there was only so far Merlin could go.

Taking a breath, he sat down across from Morgana, looking over at her. Her eyes were closed as she focused on the stone.

After a moment, the witch held out a hand below the stone and caught it as it fell, releasing her hold on it. She saw Merlin across from her – not that she hadn't known it was him – and took a breath of her own.

"It was you. With the smoke." It wasn't a question. Morgana's voice was soft, unaccusing, unlike Gaius's.

Merlin nodded, Morgana's tone somehow worse than Gaius' stern disapproval. No. It wasn't that – it was the way...the way Uther summoning the Witchfinder had frightened Morgana...Morgana was getting better at handling the situation...living here under Uther's roof and having magic, trying to learn how to use it, how to control it – and now his careless magic had made it worse for her.

"It was- it was stupid. It was just a little shaping the smoke. I was bored – I don't understand how she could have been so frightened of it." Merlin looked across at her, "I shouldn't have done it...I certainly didn't expect anything more than the usual fruitless search out of the King and Arthur."

"She might not have been scared," Morgana said bitterly, "she may well have just been playing it up for Uther, to make sure she got the reward."

Merlin shook his head, "I can't believe that."

"You've lived here for, what, nearly three years Merlin?" Morgana shook her head back, "Trying to see the good in the people of Camelot is pointless. Most of them either agree with him or just don't care...and the rest are too afraid to do anything..." another bitter laugh, "not that I'm any better than them there..."

"Morgana," Merlin said softly, reaching out to take her hand in his a moment. He didn't say anything more. After a few minutes, Morgana let out a long, low sigh.

"We're going to have to be more careful." Morgana told him after a moment.

"What do you know of this...Witchfinder? All Gaius would tell me is that is name was Aredian, and that he's 'a force to be reckoned with'." Merlin let go of her hand.

Morgana shrugged after a moment, "Not much more than that." She admitted. "I've heard stories about him – he's supposed to be even more ruthless than Uther...hate magic even more. He's dangerous...Uther seems to like the man...they're so alike, I suppose." She had a poisonous look on her face, "Small-minded men hating what they can't control. But nothing more than that...enough...enough to worry. But I don't know what to worry about specifically..." She shook her head.

Merlin nodded, then, "We're going to have to...we're going to have to stop having your training sessions...while he's here. There's too much risk." I brought him here, but I'm not going to make things worse while he is here...

"No...I suppose we can't." Morgana agreed softly, though she didn't like the idea. In here, she wasn't Lady Morgana, and Merlin wasn't a servant...yes, he was her friend out there...but here...there was nothing else. And...the training...she could use her magic now, ever so slightly. They'd moved beyond just working on the candle and levitating stones, though Merlin insisted they go back to that often.

The pace bothered her – Merlin hadn't gone this slow with his own magic after all...but then...he'd been at this his whole life...using it, learning to control it...Morgana had a lot of catching up to do. So while the slowness was annoying...she was willing to move at this pace, for now.

"But we have time before he arrives." Merlin said, "So we can keep at it for now." He smiled a little, then looked at the locked door. "Why don't you try undoing the lock?"

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Getting the Witchfinder to Camelot proved to be a little easier said than done. By the time it was all done, it had taken two weeks for the man to arrive in Camelot – they'd received word that he was on his way just a few days before, to expect him tonight.

Wesley watched out the window of his chambers, onto the courtyard below, wondering just what this 'Aredian' would look like. The entire castle – and the lower town, by this point – had spent the last two weeks stepping carefully... Morgana and Merlin had both been more tense – and he'd noticed the two of them being far more careful with their use of magic.

I wonder how long that will last... Wesley shook his head and looked out the window once more, watching for the Witchfinder. Curious that he deliberately chooses to arrive at night. Wesley supposed that the chances of a vampire waylaying him on his way here was too much to hope for. And...

Wesley was not the man he once was, but deliberately wishing a vampire attack on anyone was farther than he was willing to go, at this moment.

And then he saw it. The horse coming into the courtyard, pulling behind it a cage, empty and forbidding. The driver's face concealed by a broad-brimmed hat and the high collar of his black coat. The horse came in slowly – and when Aredian dropped off of the carriage, he did in in a single move, landing after a slight jump, jangling from the chains attached at his belt. He'd come out right in front of one of the two guards at the palace entrance, and he looked at the guard, his hands crossed at the waist.

"I am expected." He told the guard.

"So this is the Witchfinder you dread." Illyria remarked from behind him, her eyes looking out onto the courtyard as well.

"I don't dread him. Though I'll grand he has a flair for the dramatic, and knows how to build up fear into a weapon." Wesley didn't turn to look at her. "His arrival is disconcerting, but nothing more."

"So you say." Illyria did not sound convinced.

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It had taken the better part of the day before the Witchfinder had gotten around to questioning Wesley. He'd expected it – he was a new arrival to the castle. An obvious suspect in the mind of someone looking for a sorcerer – the easy target.

Of course, now he's actually questioning someone who actually can use magic. Although, perhaps the third or fourth person – he'd likely spoken to Merlin and Gaius...and perhaps Morgana as well.

Wesley followed the guardsman sent to fetch him, wondering what approach the Witchfinder would take. Would he rely on questions, or torture, or did he have some other talent that allowed him to spot those who could use magic. That he hadn't arrested Merlin yet suggested against the latter, but it didn't rule out the possibility, just yet.

Wesley was let into the room Aredian had taken up residence in. The use of a skull as an inkwell was a nice touch, though perhaps over the top. There was a line between using fear and theatrics as a weapon and...well, failing at that task.

"Sit." Aredian told him, gesturing to the chair across the desk from him, and Wesley complied, sitting.

"Wesley Wyndamn Pryce?" Wesley nodded and Aredian continued. "I understand you are visitor to Camelot? Though you have been here for some months."

"I am, and I have." Wesley confirmed.

"And where is it that you come from?" Aredian dipped his quill into the skull inkwell again.

"Los Angeles. Far to the south."

"Interesting." Aredian nodded, "And how did you come to be in Camelot for this long?"

"The Lady Illyria was forced to flight by magic-users. Her loyal followers – myself included – fled with her...everyone else died, on the flight, or at the hands of bandits a short time before we arrived in Camelot." Wesley shrugged, "As for why we've stayed...well, his Majesty hasn't asked us to leave, and this is a nice place to...catch our breath. Besides, I've been able to use my expertise to help with the recent vampiric incursions."

"Ah yes. These...vampires. How is it you are such an expert in them?" Aredian raised an eyebrow.

"Experience. In Los Angeles, they are unfortunately common – and commonly the minions of some greater evil. I had believed they were rare in this part of the world – to the point of nonexistent. I was wrong, clearly."

"Could these...vampires not have followed you from your homeland? From these enemies that put you to flight? That you are the the ones who have put Camelot to threat?"

He's a clever man. Wesley didn't have an answer prepared for that. He shifted in his chair a moment, then, "It has occurred to me, but then the vampires in question would have recognized myself or the Lady Illyria. They haven't."

"I see. One final question. What exactly is your position in relation to your lady?"

"I am a scholar and by necessity, a warrior. Her guide, as well. In Los Angeles, she was...secluded from much of the rest of the world. She is...unused to the way things are beyond the confines of her palace, at the seat of her own power."

"I see." Aredian gestured for Wesley to stand up. "Would it be too much for me to ask that you inform the Lady Illyria that I would like to speak with her?"

Wesley stood, "I'd advise against questioning her. She does not like questions."

Aredian looked up at him, settling his quill into the skull-inkwell. "I would think only the guilty would have reason to dislike questions."

"Questions annoy Illyria. She is alarmingly self-possessed. She would consider you impertinent, and annoying. And when annoyed, she has a tendency towards violence."

Aredian stood up, looking Wesley in the eye. "Is that a threat, or a promise?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"A bit of both, I suppose." Wesley immediately regretted his choice of words. He'd merely been trying to prevent Illyria from killing this man – prematurely. There was no way to know if the Witchfinder needed to die, at this point. But aggravating the man just yet was pointless and possibly dangerous.

"You're a very confident man." Aredian remarked.

"My words were ill-chosen." Wesley replied, "Though my confidence has been earned. If you will allow a day perhaps, for me to convince Illyria of the need to answer your questions, I think we can avoid unpleasantness."

"Perhaps. If I decide to send for her, I'll have one of the guard retrieve her. You may go."

Wesley turned to leave, missing the self-assured smirk on Aredian's face as he left.

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Once more the court was assembled in the throne room, this time with three commoners, not one. Aredian had presented their testimony as some sort of damning evidence – faces in the well, goblins dancing on the coals, toads coming out of some sorcerer's mouth... Utter nonsense. It sounds like something right out of a witch trial. A false one. Wesley wasn't worried about Aredian – if he had any real talent for tracking magic-users, he wouldn't be presenting this 'evidence'. A charlatan, playing on paranoia.

"The sorcerer laughs in your face." Aredian proclaimed. "Even now magic flourishes on the streets of Camelot."

"I can scarcely believe it." Uther told the Witchfinder.

"Neither can I." Wesley quipped from behind the Witchfinder. All eyes in the court turned towards him. He's a charlatan. All it takes is some rational argument to prove it. "After all, if this is all the evidence you can find," he drawled, "then it would seem that the standards for dangerous magical mayhem have fallen quite far in recent times."

"You mock the dangers of sorcery to your peril," The Witchfinder replied, pacing a little, still looking at Wesley. "Do you doubt its danger?"

"On the contrary. I have first hand experience with how dangerous magic can be." Unfortunately. "But this is hardly dangerous magic. And I can't understand why anyone would want to make toads come out of their mouth. Seems a rather unpleasant sensation."

"These are the telltale signs that a sorcerer is present." Aredian took a few careful steps in Wesley's direction. The tracks left in the world around them, much like any animal in the forest leaves tracks that can be followed – right to them. And the same in this case."

"The who is it? Speak, Aredian. Show us your prowess, or are you here merely to scare us all, because you've yet to find the culprit?"

"Every facet of my craft has been brought to bear to find the sorcerer, but found him I have." Aredian answered with certainty.

"You have a suspect?" Uther looked at Aredian pointedly, "Who?"

"I regret to say, they stand among us in this very room. My methods are infallible, my findings incontestable! The facts point to one person and one person alone." He pointed his arm – right at Wesley. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. You have been taking advantage of the King's hospitality to plot against him and this kingdom."

Uther gestured to his guards, "Take him!" The king ignored the words of incredulity from his son, as two guards grabbed Wesley's arms from behind.

"This is preposterous." Wesley insisted, every expectation thrown off. He wasn't afraid – not yet – but...

I may have to use magic to get out of this... "I am no more a sorcerer than you are, Aredian."

"There is one way to be sure." Aredian replied. "A thorough search of your chambers will deliver the implements of sorcery you use right into our hands. The evidence that will condemn you."

What's his game? Wesley could only play his part. Fighting the search wouldn't help him at all, yet Aredian was unlikely to play that card if it was a compete bluff. "Fine. Have your search. And when you find nothing-" Wesley tried to move a little, the guards holding his arms a little too far back to be comfortable, "I would very much like to see you explain how your infallible methods could have been so wrong."

"If I find nothing, I'll give you just that." Aredian promised, confidently.

It was that confidence that scared him. The only question now was...what did have to be confident about?