A/N:

My very special and wholehearted thanks to all the people who put this story on their favourites' or alert list and to all the reviewers. You keep me going. A bear hug for Starzinmieyez, who reviewed but did not give me a reply link. Thanks a lot.

So, here's the next chapter, as promised about Morgause and Armand of Morgwyn. I hope you'll like it.

R&R please.

N. B.: I know the story is becoming darker and darker, the next chapter will also have a rather nasty content. But don't despair, there's still hope for Camelot and for our most favourite royal and warlock. It just takes some time in coming (he he he and other evil chuckles).

6. Dark shadows rising

Morgause scrutinized her image in the vanity mirror thoroughly. She shouldn't look the same. Not when she had changed so much. Something fundamentally was different. Why the hell could she not put her finger on it?

As was her habit now – had been for a few months actually – she started digging into her own mind, her own memory, to find out what was nagging at her.

The beginning was clear enough.

Back on the Isle of the Blessed, as a child, she had made it through the ranks quickly and with an unchanging strategy: Know who you are, what you are, play it by the rules, be true to your friends, hate your enemies and don't ask too many questions.

For the rest of it, it had been learning, studying and practising, day in, day out.

Her magic had become a highly tuned instrument to be used to all possible ends, but during all the endless ceremonies, rituals, prayers she had never learnt anything spiritual. The outer form of the religious life had always been dutifully, conscientiously obeyed yet without real meaning.

The Priests that had brought her up had turned her into a living instrument to be used to their own ends, but nonetheless Morgause had not questioned her betters' wisdom or the traditions they followed. She had adopted it all and never ever asked why or what for. Because that had been what her foster parents and the others had expected of her.

And then came the day that made this centuries old world explode. The Isle had been brought to shambles, the Priests and Priestesses had been slain, the temples burned, the ancient books ripped apart and stamped into the dust. Uther had brought Morgause's whole universe to a standstill and all that had been good and beautiful had vanished from it.

As a 14 year old girl she had been staring at the gruesome massacre from a hiding place her foster mother had pushed her into at the last second before she was murdered. Paralysed by shock, silenced by disbelief Morgause had watched it all and understood nothing.

Afterwards she had been utterly deserted, had it not been for Nimueh taking her away to Doloreux until she reached the age of 21. After that, Nimueh had left, never to return.

Since then Morgause had lived as she had lived on the Blessed Isle, with all the rituals, with all the outer decorum that made no longer sense but to her was a the only piece of terra firma left in a sea of disorientation and emptiness.

On the way she had met her sister and found her a congenial soul, searching for a place and a purpose in life. As Morgause knew that there was only one worthwhile cause – the resurrection of the Isle and the Old Religion – she had recruited her sister without so much as one thought for Morgana's own wishes or dreams.

Together they would conquer all and do what had to be done. If that meant to murder Morgana's brother, destroy the innocent people of a realm whose King had never asked his people's leave before he destroyed the magical kind – so what? Collateral damages had to be accepted; this was knowledge as old as war, accepted by everyone. Well, except by the damaged of course, but who had ever cared about them as long as they weren't his own?

So far, so good.

During all these years, in all the loneliness, the fear, the long dark nights when the screams and the fires and the roaring, drunken soldiers came back to haunt her, Morgause had never doubted herself or her cause. She could remember how great it had felt to truly believe in oneself.

Then, things had changed again.

Of course she had not really been averse when Armand had shown her a way to better reach her objectives by using less violence.

Naturally that was much better than destroying Camelot, she had understood that, she was no monster after all. Besides, it was better for her sister that way, some instinct, not yet fully buried under indoctrination, had told her that much.

She had went on on her destined path, still unwavering in her self-confidence. She knew that much for a fact.

Until something unexpected had happened for which she had not been prepared.

She had won.

The life-long fight was over.

Armand had returned with her to the Isle of the Blessed and, looking at the ruins that had once been a home for both of them, he had asked her one single question:

"What now, Morgause?"

Three innocent words with the power to shatter her dream beyond recognition.

There she had been standing, victorious at all fronts, Uther dead and magic returned to Camelot.

But the Isle would not rebuild itself, her murdered foster parents, tutors and friends would not rise from their graves to welcome her home, Nimueh would not wait for her in her splendid quarters, to tell her what to do next - the past would not cease to exist just because Uther Pendragon had finally got what he deserved.

Morgause remembered, she had been scared stiff by the realization that she was no longer fourteen and that she could not start her former life anew where she had been forced out of it.

Now, sitting in one of Camelot's finest guest rooms, on the evening before a most momentous day, she still remembered how shocked she had been. It had left her trembling like a leaf in the wind. She had lost her way back then and she had yet to find it again. Her surety, her resolve – gone. She had felt so helpless, so terrifyingly alone.

In this moment Armand's strong, surprisingly warm and tender arms had embraced her from behind. "Let me help you, My Lady. Yours is a burden no human being should be forced to carry alone."

Spontaneously she had leaned back into this embrace, feeling that she would die if he left her to this horrifying loneliness again.

And he had begun talking, on and on, soothingly at first, then with more and more enthusiasm, about his ideas for the resurrection of what had been destroyed, for a 'New Old Religion' as he had called it laughingly. He had known what they would do, had known all the details and he had said that it would be a piece of cake to get their way.

In the same night they had become lovers. Under the star-pocked sky, in the grass, while it was all warm and cosy, Morgause had experienced, for the first time, what it meant to lie with another magician. Theirs had been more than a coming together of two bodies. His love making had filled her very soul and mind, until she had truly felt one with him, her own being melting into his until nothing in this world was of any importance any more.

In her life Morgause had fought for acceptance, recognition, power, sometimes for money when the situation called for it. But not for love. To love and be loved was not for her but for other women, like her sister who strove so hard to do without and needed it as urgently as air to breathe or water to drink.

As a Duke's daughter, a female warrior and a future High Priestess Morgause knew that it was her destiny to be feared, not loved.

Until this night under the stars among the shambles of a forlorn world.

It didn't matter that Armand was old enough to be her grandfather. For magicians of their class, age was a relative term anyway. Neither did it matter that she had once had strong reservations about his real loyalties and goals. Having lost the crutch that had kept her life together she virtually threw herself on the new support his strength and self-assurance gave her.

She looked at her image in the mirror again. Somewhere in this was the change. Somewhere in this was the reason for the alien but persistent feeling of inadequacy. Had she lost something that night? Had she gained something? What was left of the old Morgause and what was to expected of the new one, the foreigner, the complete stranger she was only beginning to explore?

A part of her knew she was making a mistake while another part clung to this mistake for all she was worth. She would not, could not, give it up, this…. this…..love. However weird Armand's ideas sometimes sounded even to her biased ears, the feeling of his arms around her banished every second thought.

And it still did.

"Are you not yet coming to bed, darling?" Armand asked lovingly while he hugged her gently, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "You must be well rested for tomorrow. You must give a perfect performance for the royal bunch and your Christian enemies."

"Tell me again why the Christians are my enemies" Morgause murmured. "They never did us any harm in the past. Marke asked for a dispute about our two faiths. I think his interest is genuine."

Abruptly Armand let go of her and instead of finding his pout childish she thought it utterly adorable. "My love, surely it is obvious. Their rise must mean your downfall. Camelot can only serve one master."

"Shouldn't one think that this master is the King and Queen of the land?" she insisted stubbornly, trying to banish the wish to be back in his embrace from her thoughts.

"My thoughts exactly, My Lady. That's why it is imperative that Camelot's Crown is bound to the Old Religion alone."

"So far the Crown has stayed neutral and surely that makes perfect sense."

"It is utter nonsense" Morgwyn reproached gently but insistently. "I mean, you as the Most Revered Lady cannot allow Albion to be formed and united by a King who does not know his duties."

"So far he has done nothing to neglect his duties. Besides, it was, correct me from wrong, you who once told me that Arthur's cooperation was and is crucial for us."

"I" Armand cleared his throat "we didn't make the young man King for him to coquet with some so called priests with childish hymns and some ridiculous rules of behaviour."

Morgause inhaled deeply. If Arthur was to be the strength in her back, she had to be his. So she shouldn't let this kind of talk go unpunished, she knew it, and yet she had it not in her to contradict Armand. Instead she took her refuge in reasoning with him, as always. "Our cause has not been deprived of anything by Arthur. The Branguards have made their confession to the Old Religion a public spectacle. They've made a considerable donation for the rebuilding of the temples and…."

"To your sister, not to us…." Armand raised his voice before he stopped himself. "Not to you, I mean. As by right they should have done. You are the High Priestess after all"

"What does it matter? Morgana is their Queen, and my sister."

"My Love, it is crucial that your importance is highlighted to the public at every possible opportunity. Like the name giving ceremony for Margaly tomorrow instead of the brat being christened, as Marke and Erec wanted her to be. Other than that, I do not give a fart for any rituals, as you well know …"

"Let's not argue again about the sense or nonsense of rituals, Armand. I know you despise them all. Christian or ours, it's all the same stupid superstition to you. I let you get away with this blasphemy because….."

"Oh, for the Gods' sake, let's not start that foolish argument again" he said angrily. "Must I remind Your Ladyship that, if anyone else on the Isle would know what she really is, you, by your own sacred old traditions, would be forced to have Morgana executed?"

It did the trick, as usual. Morgause shuddered. "You did shield this event in the forest from the others, did you not, Armand?"

"Yes I did. Nobody but Algernon knows that you have a Destroyer for a sister and who heeds what a Druid says? But in order to protect Morgana, you must assume absolute power, can't you see that?" Fleetingly he caressed her exposed neck with his knuckles and he saw the ripples of pleasure this caused with a satisfied smile. "No King or Queen, no Druids or Council of Elders to meddle in our affairs…" he muttered into her ear. "You and I will build a new Isle of the Blessed. Our will shall be the only law and then the Isle will stand forever. All Albion will do our bidding…."

Armand began kissing her neck passionately, then his tongue flickered down her spine in soft, fast movements that made her tremble while his hands pressed her shoulders before they wandered down her throat and deeper until she moaned and closed her eyes.

"Your Christian enemies know what this is about" he whispered, nibbling her earlobe. "It's an age-old question whether the Crown has power over religion or whether it is the other way round. You must not give in or all will be lost. Think of what would happen to everything we've achieved. Think of what would happen to Morgana."

"Armand, I do not want…."

"Sshhhh, my love, not now. We've much better things to do right now." His right hand made circles on her belly while the other pulled her gown away. "Come to bed, sweetheart."

She hardly knew how she got there while she kissed him hungrily. His hands and tongue were everywhere and she felt his magic's energy rising, ready to once more melt with hers.

As he penetrated her body, she let go of all restraint and her own energy flowed freely. Oblivious of all around them, she screamed softly when she drowned in his embrace, in what she believed to be boundless love and selfless care for her.

Afterwards she could hardly keep her eyes open. Relaxed and content, she smiled fondly with closed lids. "If I were to assume absolute power, what would you do if I ever decided to get rid of you?" she said playfully, already half asleep.

He looked down on her, fondling her neck. "Sweet little witch" he muttered after a while. "So beautiful. So very brave. And so very foolish." Armand kissed her hair softly. "You will never get rid of me, my dear Lady. I'm not King Cendred."

He could see from her happy smile that she hadn't heard him. She was fast asleep when his hand closed over her tender throat and pressed down mockingly before he let go again. "So easy" he thought. "Although it would be a crying shame."

Like Arthur, she was everything he had expected her to be. Selfless, resolved and strong, but just weakened enough by her beliefs, her dreams and desires to be vulnerable to his manipulations. On such people's strife and sacrifices Armand knew he could build an empire of magic in Albion of which Morgause with her petty wish to see the past revived couldn't even dream.

It was annoying, though that of late the young King and Queen seemed to develop a will of their own. Arthur's resolve to have peace in Camelot at any cost was only part of it. Morgana's fierce determination was even more irritating. She actually thought that she and her young pet sorcerer Merlin – who would have thought it possible, blast the necklace trick for working far too well - were all the representatives of magic Camelot needed.

"I trust that you are here for your piece of the big cake, only to vanish again into the mists of Avalon afterwards?" she had asked the High Master on their arrival, smile and voice as sweet as honey but her eyes narrow and wary. "Not that Arthur and I would mind a prolonged stay of my sister."

Armand had blushed with anger and he still felt ashamed for it. "The Most Revered Lady has come for the name giving ceremony of Princess Margaly. It is her prerogative."

If possible, Morgana had smiled even sweeter. "My brother and his wife have not yet decided if the child is to be christened or given her name by the Old Religion."

With an effort, the High Master had managed to smile back at her. "With all due respect, that is not for Their Highnesses to decide. Only the High Priestess is to bless a royal child's entry into human and spiritual society."

"You will find my brother has strong views on what and what not he can decide for his own daughter" she had answered. "And frankly, as the girl's aunt, so have I."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that, if my brother so wishes, I can give the blessing or carry Margaly to the christening fond, it's all the same to me."

"How dare you…."

"I do not have to dare anything, High Master. I am the Queen here."

"The Isle's laws clearly state….."

"Look around you, Armand of Morgwyn" Morgana had said contemptuously "this is Camelot. Back on the Isle you can do what you want but you no longer hold any jurisdiction here."

He had gnarled at her loud enough to make Arthur turn and look at him, clearly alerted, forcing the sorcerer to lower his voice where he would have wanted to cry out loud. "There may yet come a day when Camelot will need the power and protection only the Blessed Isle can give. Your Majesty might well remember that!"

Morgana had grinned and even the High Master of the Old Religion had gasped when her aggressive power had brushed against his mind, hot, reckless, if only fleetingly. "How kind of you to care so much, dearest Armand. But Merlin and I can fight off every possible threat."

The Queen's grin had then become nothing less than venomous. She had left him stranded to greet her sister enthusiastically.

Nothing had really made up for that humiliation later on. Not the Branguards' spectacle and surely not Arthur's and Guinivere's lukewarm enthusiasm about Margaly having a traditional name giving ceremony.

And all the others had been so very high and mighty. Even now, days later, Armand remembered Erec's arrogant smirk and the disgusting self-assuredness in the faces of Marke and his accursed nephew Tristan. Oh, how he hated them all, them, their childish faith and all they stood for. Most of all he hated Algernon who now, with his seat on the Council, thought so very highly of himself that he needed to be taught a lesson soon.

Armand was still wide awake and lost in thoughts when they were wakened in the morning.

He had been impatient for her to wake up; there was so much he wanted to tell her, how to treat the others, what to say and what tactics were necessary.

However, the High Master was in for a surprise.

"I know what I'm doing, Armand" Morgause said irritably while she got ready for the ceremony. She had risen with the feeling that she was standing at a cross-road and that it was essential to remember that she had a will of her own. "And I say that we should alienate neither Arthur nor Marke and his lot without due reason."

"My love, you're nervous, I understand that, but it is of the utmost importance that you stand firm. You must defend our position…"

The complicated gowns and robes that went with the rituals were heavy and uncomfortable enough to worsen her mood even more. "For the Gods' sake, nobody is threatening it right now. I will not start a new war while we all are still recovering from the last one. The Isle lacks people – Uther did a thorough job in extinguishing the magical kind. We're so hard pressed for skilled magicians, we couldn't populate even half of the original houses and estates of the Old Religion."

"But we…."

"This is final, Armand! I will no longer discuss it."

"Who do you think you are, you little idiot" Armand fumed silently. "Without me you'd still be mopping in Doloreux, useless, insignificant."

"Please, my love" Morgause thought. "Why can't you see my point? It's too early for another struggle. You once told me that violence is not always the answer."

She gritted her teeth when the desire to be hugged and caressed became overwhelming. In this second, a simple tousling of her hair would have been more welcome than all the sensual arts of the Far East.

Some of this silent plea showed in her face when she looked at him but it wasn't that which made him think twice before he answered. "As Your Ladyship wishes. But may I say that there is an easy remedy for our shortage of skilled magicians."

"I will the subject up, I promise, I know the Druids belong to us. Surely Arthur will see reason. Why should he refuse me? They're only peasants, after all, and we are his friends and allies."

She pecked a fast kiss on his cheek. "Wish me luck, Armand."

He forced a smile on his face and bowed to kiss her hand. "I have every confidence in you, My Lady."

He knew she was disappointed when she left him, disappointed and more than a bit hurt by his coldness.

And that was exactly how he wanted her to feel.

Nothing would keep him from getting what he had always wanted. His empire of the Old Religion would not fall prey to a mad King, nor to anybody else. Never again he would watch the centre of his life being destroyed; the new Isle would be a fortress, a stronghold, no fancy garden park for philosophical debates and idle games.

Armand had once sacrificed Angus Branguard's whole family and all their retainers to achieve his goal to become a Baron of Camelot. He had destroyed the life of an innocent woman, Agnes of Ravenclaw. He had hunted down his own kind, executed magicians, even close friends, with his own hands to earn Uther's trust. He had had sleepless nights about it all, more than he could count, his conscience had tormented him and most probably it would never let him rest.

But he had never yielded.

If his final objective was to be reached only over Morgause's broken heart, or even her dead body in the end – so be it.

He could survive that, too.

Like magic itself he would survive everything.