Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle

The Amulet of Houle - #2 in the Viridian Wand Chronicles

May, 2020 A.D.

The two women sat in the centre of the vast circular room. Thirteen marble pillars supported the high ceiling's delicate arch, and twelve men and women kept their silent watch, one to a pillar, the vacant one sticking out like a sore thumb. It was twilight out, the moon high in the sky. Some of its delicate light shone through the glass mosaic dome that was the ceiling; but most of the light came from the intricate candelabras, again, one to each pillar. The floor was also a mosaic, a swirl of gold and blue, a perfect counterpart to the celestial image overhead.

A small table sat in the centre of the room, and this was where the two women sat. In the centre was a pool of water, but it was no ordinary water. It was the colour of gold, a sheer, translucent gold that one might have thought glass, if it had not moved with a soft inner current all its own.

"So, it is time I begin with our earliest origins, it is time you know your past. Our past," one woman said. She was the elder of the two; her dark hair had grown long over the years, and hung loose, spilling over her shoulders as she leaned back in her gilded chair, relaxed.

"Caro," the other said harshly, "Not now. You are not so old that you should pass on your position before your time. There are years to tell me this." She was not relaxing; she sat ramrod-straight in her chair, with her hands folded on her lap.

"No," Caro said simply, and she flicked her wrist. The flames of the candles burned brighter, and for the first time, the twelve watchers saw the two women clearly.

The other woman was no woman, or if so, barely. She was but a girl, and her hair was pale brown, tied away from her face. She was not pretty in an ordinary way, but she was unique, interesting-looking. Her milky blue eyes shone luminously in her pale face, and her chin and ears were slightly pointed. The girl was dainty and elfin, like a forest nymph or water sprite, and she was beautiful in the most ethereal sense. But there was some note of unease and discomfort in her eyes, and her expression was guarded, a deliberate blankness she had mastered early in life.

It came as a surprise that Caro stood out in such sharp contrast. While the other girl was slender, Caro was painfully thin. Her dark brown hair was streaked lightly with grey, and her face was tired and worn. And while the girl radiated energy, the light was gone out of Caro. Her unusual golden eyes were no longer so golden; they were pale and tired, though they still smiled on the girl. The bones in her face stood out, and her skin was not its creamy shade. It was now of an even paler, even death-pale, wan hue.

"Oh, Caro!" the girl said, her voice sounding half-strangled. "I should have known."

"It would have served no purpose. But know this; my life is short. It is time for you to know." Caro flicked her wrist, and the lights fell dim again. She placed her hands over the golden pool in the table, and when she took them away, a craggy castle of weathered stone stood on cliffs high above the sea, where the pool of water had been.

The birds in the air flew about the castle, swooping and cawing in the living cinema within the table. It was possible to see a small figure up in the highest tower of the castle, but impossible to say whether it was a man or a woman.

"This is Tintagel," said Caro.

 

HARRY POTTER AND THE AMULET OF HOULE

PART I: MORGAN'S DAUGHTERS

 

In her third year of marriage to High King Uther Pendragon of Briton, Queen Ygraine gave birth to baby girl, whom she named Morgan Le Fay. Morgan was not their first child; she had an elder brother named Arthur, some two years old, who lived far away in the home of Sir Ector, but she did not know this. Neither did the vast majority of the Britons.

Her birth was celebrated with pomp and ceremony in the kingdom, especially in the castle of Tintagel, where the little girl was born. She was to spend her childhood in that old and gloomy castle in Cornwall; but knowing nothing else, it did not seem gloomy to her. Morgan's father was often gone, "to manage the kingdom", as her mother often said. When he was home, she was spoiled and petted, which she rather liked- for her half-sister Morgause, the King's bastard daughter, resented her and hated her. Morgan was only too happy to give her an excuse to be jealous.

When she was nine, the great enchanter Merlin came for a visit. It was her first encounter with the magical world, and the memory of it would stay with her for the rest of her life.

"Wash up, Princess. Your mother says to have you down before quarter-past, and it's already quarter-till. Tsk, tsk. All this finery to put on, for the sake of some rogue enchanter. Up, girl! We haven't all the time in the world," Sula said, fussing at her. Sula was her nursemaid, and Morgan considered her sort of a nuisance. She was rather fond of Sula, but all the same, she was a bother.

"I'm hurrying," said Morgan, as she slipped off her bed, where she'd been playing with the doll Mother had given her for her birthday. She was fonder of Mother than Sula, but twice as wary of the woman who had given birth to her. Queen Ygraine did not stand for nonsense or misbehaviour from anyone, especially her daughter. She loved her daughter; but in a way that never obstructed her firm hand with discipline and duty. Morgan, now heeding her mother's command, made her way over to the washbasin, and commenced sluicing off her face and hands. Sula threw a towel at her, so she quickly dried them, then took her place in the centre of the room.

"Now, stand straight. There... However did you get that dress so filthy? You haven't been out in this weather, have you?"

"No." Morgan was trying desperately to stand straight.

"You know what your mother will say to that. No, I won't tell her this time, she's all a-twitter with Merlin being here, but next time there'll be a spanking for you. You may be a royal, but that don't count for nothing with the good Queen, God bless her. Stand straight, I said! Arms up... there. Why, I rather like this colour on you, Your Highness. The red looks nice with that black hair of yours... dratted laces, I told her she should have a tunic made, knowing you, it’s be more practical-like."

"I suppose..."

"Don't squirm so! But no, little Morgan Le Fay must have a dress she says, and her being Her Majesty I of course couldn't argue with her. Ah, the time! Oh well, at least we've the laces sorted out. There. Now, your shoes... not the boots, Princess, the nice ones... yes, those. You lace those up... Ah, here it is, the enameled pendant, that should do nicely. Don't it look pretty? Oh, dear sweet Holy Lord, the time! Go!"

And with that Morgan was scooted out of the room. She made her way down the long, cold hallway to her mother's rooms.

"Just in time!" exclaimed Guenever, her mother's lady-in-waiting, a woman of noble blood who served the queen. "Your Majesty, your daughter is here."

A tall woman with dark, raven hair came to the door. She was dressed in a gold colour that set off her daughter's red dress.

"Sula was supposed to send you early, Morgan," her mother said sternly.

"It's not my fault, Mother. There was trouble with the dress. Wouldn't a tunic be better?" her daughter replied. Ygraine motioned for Guenever to leave the room, and drew her daughter inside.

"Morgan," she said, "You are no boy, you are no heir as your father had hoped. I know he would rather you play the tomboy, but you are nine. In a few years you will be married, a Queen or Duchess yourself. It is time for you to grow up. No amount of tunics can remedy that. Do you hear me?" Morgan nodded. "Then let us go, we're already running behind schedule."

Ygraine took her by the hand, and they set off in the direction of the Great Hall. It was certainly not the first time Morgan had been in the room, for she ate there every night, but still she was struck by how honoured Merlin must be. They were having a banquet for him, in celebration of his coming, even if he was only stopping the night.

"Mother, how do we know this enchanter?" Morgan inquired curiously.

Her mother gave her an odd look. "We just... do."

"No, really, I'd like to know."

"He's your cousin. Didn't you know?"

Morgan gasped. "Isn't he... old?"

"Not so old." Ygraine smiled faintly. "He was still a young man when I first met him, and he has made himself a great help to Uther."

"Oh.... Oh!" They had reached the Great Hall.

Ygraine had had the walls covered in colourful tapestries, and the wooden tables draped in silk of red and gold. The best tableware had been set out, and Uther waited for them. He, like Morgan, was dressed in red.

But it was Merlin who caught her attention. He was a tall man, in his late thirties, though his hair was prematurely grey. The enchanter wore long robes of blue, and he carried a wand.

He smiled when he saw them, and walked over to them.

"My Queen," Merlin said, bowing. "It is my greatest delight to look on you again. I have brought a gift, from my travels..." He removed a silver, owl-shaped pendant with smoky blue eyes - sapphires - from his voluminous robes.

Her mother gasped. "Oh my... this is too much, Merlin..."

"Consider it a present from another, then." The enchanter smiled, and this time Morgan was sure he was referring to some matter that only he and Ygraine knew of. But he turned to her, bowing again, and all was forgotten. "Hello, dear Princess..." He trailed off, blinking in surprise. "Ygraine? Why, she is one of us, she is-"

"It does not matter. Forget it," the Queen declared, with a wave of her hand.

"Mother-" Morgan, protested, curious, but when she saw the look in her mother's eyes she did not press the issue. She curtsied. "It is a great honour to meet you, as well, enchanter Merlin."

"I think we will meet again, young Morgan Le Fay."

His silvery eyes met her own green ones, and she nodded in assent.

But they were not to meet again for three years. Fighting broke out in Cornwall, and Uther moved his family to Luguvallium in the north. Morgan grew to adolescence in the stifling silence of her mother's court; she knew little of magic, only the herbal healing lores that were passed down from generation to generation. Those needed so little magic that they might have been done by a common peasant instead of a royal daughter of the King.

It was not surprising that Morgan came to acquire her silence and invisibility in those years. Ygraine often shook her head in confusion when her daughter slipped in and out of the castle, with no one the wiser until she was late for some meal or banquet. Morgan took her punishments soundlessly, and many of Ygraine's ladies who had not known her since childhood thought her simple. But she was not; rather, she was torn apart, by this sudden coming of adulthood and magic she could not control. Magic is like that, for some, the power biding its time until the point where inner turmoil is greatest, then surging forth unbidden. And Morgan's power was worst; for she was a rare one with what they call the Second Sight, and she thought herself half-mad from her fortune-telling dreams.

But Ygraine, who had been a great sorceress in her youth, saw none of this. She did not see her daughter silently despairing and languishing in her torment, lost to the changes that had taken her by surprise. It was a time when religion and magic conflicted, when many thought it was impossible to separate one from the other. How wrong they were; and Ygraine ignorantly, willingly, gave up her talents when she became Uther's queen. She laboured under the delusion that her magic was sinful, for her faith decreed that she was a woman and should not have a man's power. And magic was frowned on anyway.

So things were the year Morgan Le Fay was twelve, when Uther died, and Arthur was crowned High King.

It was September, and already the weather was cool. Morgan wrapped her blue cloak around her as she slipped from the tower. She had been sent to her chambers alone that night, Sula and her other maid having gone to the banquet of state where she was forbidden.

You are not old enough, Mother had said, You will know of what passes later, it is best you keep to yourself. It is too great a matter for such a daughter.

This from the mother who had, three years before, told her she must grow up. Now she was too young to attend a simple banquet, for visiting Sir Ector and his men. She, who was on the verge of womanhood! Meg, her chambermaid, had been married off at this age. At one time, she would have raged with anger; but even anger was beyond her now. She no longer felt much of anything.

But she had to go to the banquet. A dream had come, again; those dreams frightened her more than anything else in the world. The Sword, a voice had whispered, He who bears the Sword shall take his rightful place. But his undoing has already been wrought...The Fay will be his foe, it has already been written in the books of the Goddess...

Morgan was out of the North Tower before she sensed someone following her, someone who had mastered the art of his internal quiet as she had mastered her own. She spun around to face her follower, her raven locks whipping about her face.

It was the enchanter, Merlin.

She blinked in wonderment.

"Young Morgan?" he said, with equal astonishment. She bowed her head. "Why are you so far from the Great Hall on this fateful night?"

"My mother bade me to keep to my rooms, sir," she whispered softly. Morgan was no longer the outspoken child she knew Merlin remembered, and even so few words were rare from her. But she did not feel that the enchanter wished to force words from her; rather, that she was comfortable giving them to the old man she had met only once, but trusted.

Merlin shook his head. "She is not wise, in that. She would keep the kingdom's greatest sorceress in her rooms on such a night?"

"What!" she cried. "I am no sorceress, Merlin."

"She withheld from you even that, then? Then she is no one-time fool but a complete one. It is time you should learn what you are, young Morgan Le Fay. You are what once was a Lady of the Lake, when Avalon still stood in the realms of mortal men. A Maiden; and I am the sole male of their kind, so with training you would be as powerful as I."

Morgan gasped. "I, a Maiden? Then my mother has played false to me all these years, and my father, for my entire life I have known I am only a princess, and fit for nothing but woman's work and marriage. Often I have dreamt of the future, and thought myself a madwoman."

"You are a Diviner, then? It is worse by the minute. Morgan," he said slowly, "I cannot let the court know what you are; in pagan times they would have welcomed such things, but now magic is thought a curse, and worse in the hands of a woman. I think a day will come when the magical and non-magical worlds will separate, and in that day you would have the best of both, but now that matters not. Would you learn magic from me, in secret?"

"Yes, but I think we had best make haste to the Great Hall now." Morgan put her hand to her forehead. "The Sword..." she murmured.

"The Sword? Morgan, what have you foreseen?"

"He who bears the Sword shall take his rightful place... but his undoing has already been wrought... "

"Arthur!" Merlin exclaimed.

"Morgause," Morgan said, without knowing how she knew.

"Let us hope that our fears may come to naught... but for now, to the Hall!"

They raced toward the Hall, Morgan taking a shortcut she knew well. They ended up on the currently unoccupied balcony that overhung the vast room. From up there, they could see everything.

The High King lay in his chair, cheeks flushed, and he looked unwell. He had been sick off and on, for several months, Morgan reflected, but this was much worse than before. A tall, unfamiliar boy who looked like her father stood next to him. Uther coughed, and looked up.

"Daughter," he said faintly, though loud enough that she could hear him, "This is your brother, who I have named my heir before this... court..." He coughed, and coughed, not stopping until his face suddenly went pale and he slid down in his chair.

"Father!" Morgan screamed over her mother's wails and the cries that rang through the Great Hall. She ran down the stairs in the alcove off the balcony, reaching the ground floor at lightning's speed. Merlin followed her. Her mother clung to the chair, weeping, and the unfamiliar boy still stood next to the chair, in a daze.

She stood in front of her father, who quite obviously was not of this world any longer. Strangely, she felt no sorrow for the man who was her father, only a little regret that she had never known him well, and a small gladness that he had not suffered very much at the end. Morgan never knew how long she stood there, a moment or an hour, before she looked at the boy, her brother, Arthur who bore the Sword.

"You have taken your due place," she remarked. Her words sounded awkward and stilted even to her.

He half-nodded, half-shrugged, but said only, "I have accepted the crown."

"So be it," said Merlin, and then to Ygraine, whose sobs had subsided somewhat, "Would you like me to take you to your chambers?"

"No," her mother said, "Can you arrange his body to rest for a night in the chapel, before the pyre?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Then I will keep vigil by him this night."

Slowly, the room emptied of feasters, the fallen King was carried away, with Merlin and Ygraine at his side. Only Arthur and Morgan were left in the room.

"You are my sister Morgan Le Fay, then?" the High King said at last.

She nodded. "I am. You have already made an acquaintance with Morgause, I presume?"

A strange expression came over Arthur's face. "I... have."

"I know not of what you speak, brother, but I tell you this because you must be forewarned. It will be your downfall." As Morgan said this, a chill ran through her, and she shivered.

"Are you some sort of witch, then, an enchanter like Merlin?" he asked fearfully.

"It does not matter. I should not have spoken of it to you." With that, she left the Great Hall. She knew Arthur's eyes were on her as she walked away.

* * * * *

The scene slithered back into the gold water with a little splash. It was a moment before Caro spoke.

"You know, of course, what Morgan foresaw," she said quietly.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Mordred. Morgause seduced Arthur before he knew he was the King’s son, and she would eventually turn his only son, begotten of that night, against him. They slew each other," said the girl slowly, still a little dazed by the magic of the table.

"I see your aunt has done well in teaching you the lore of coven."

"She knows more than people think."

At this, Caro laughed. "Oh, Mica, you know as well as I do that Ginny Potter knows more than you or I could ever imagine. Why do you think secrecy has been so enforced in the coven? It is rare even that Bearers know each other, rarer still that our Protectors know us as well. And the Squib… well, he isn’t much more than a little boy, only eight, it shouldn’t matter. You will be a much better Bearer than I. For years, I was warped by hatred of the man who killed my parents-"

Mica inhaled sharply, not quite gasping. "Not you, Caro, you’ve been so kind. You are kind."

"Time changes everything. Eventually knowing he was dead, by your uncle’s hand, was sufficient. I was embittered enough, once. It passes."

"I suppose," Mica said, in a tone not unlike Morgan’s snappish one so many centuries earlier. There was an odd, unreadable look in her eyes that had been lurking there the whole time, but now shone through clearly.

"Are you angry, Mica? Angry with the woman who took you away from your parents, who killed them?"

"Not Lowell, I could never be angry with her. I only pitied her, you know, from the time I was a very small girl. She couldn’t help being what she was."

"Then who?"

"Oh, Caro, you would never understand. We’ve never talked, have we? We’ve known each other for thirteen years, but how often have I seen you? Once every few years, like an aunt who lives far away, with the same polite courtesy. This is the first time in eighteen years that there are enough Protectors to even think about meeting frequently, and… and… you don’t know me at all. And I don’t know you."

Caro sighed. "Very well. I only want to help you, child, understand. But let me continue with this tale, because there are many things in the world you don’t know, and should. As there are many things in this world you don’t know, and shouldn’t."

Mica laughed, bitterly. It echoed in the large room. "I know too many of those things already."

* * * * *

A girl lay in the dim radiance of dawn, alone in a small room barren save for herself and the bed that she slept in. She stirred, but did not wake, as the light of the sun’s morning rays fell upon her face. The sun was bright in the room’s lone window.

Over a year had passed. Morgause was wedded, to Lot of Orkney and Lothian, and her first child had been born dead, but another was on its way. Morgan had not seen her since, nor had she dreamt of her cruel half-sister. The past night’s dream had been one of portents. The bed sheets and coverlet lay in disarray around her slender form; her raven hair lay in wavy tendrils around her head. She was still a girl; but in a year or two she would leave adolescence behind forever.

A cat hopped up on her sleeping form, nuzzling its owner.

"No, Diana, be still," the girl- Morgan- protested. "I’m getting up." She yawned loudly, and slid lithely out of bed. Stretching, she yawned once more, and opened the sole door of the room, which had a small hole cut in the bottom to accommodate the cat.

The room that the door opened into more than made up for the sparseness of the bedroom. It was richly furnished in shades of red. Directly across from the door was another door; to its right was a table neatly set for breakfast. The servants had been busy.

Morgan padded over to the table, poured a bowl of fresh milk for Diana (who purred appreciatively), and selected a bowl of gruel for herself. Before she had taken two bites, the yet-unopened door to the left of the table swung into the room. Merlin entered.

"What? It’s not half-past six yet, and I’m not even properly attired!" she cried, startled.

"Hush. Arthur has negotiated a marriage to Uriens of Rheged. His men are coming to fetch you at quarter past seven for the ceremony. You must flee," the enchanter proclaimed.

"Why has he done this? Surely he knows I am betrothed to Accolon?"

"Certainly you are not unaware of the effect you have on the court. Everyone knows Arthur fears you, and there have been whispers throughout the court that you are some sort of wicked sorceress. You have not announced your betrothal yet, anyway; what a better way to dispose of you than marriage with his closest ally? It was Uriens’ suggestion."

"I’m sure." She crossed the room to fling open a curtained alcove. Within it was a wardrobe that, while small, was so elaborate and costly that most garments would have been out of the reach of most queens. It was no small task to fit the majority of it into a large leather bag, but she began to, with the help of some muttered spells.

"You know, you would be able to do much larger spells with the help of a wand," Merlin said, drawing his wand from the folds of his robes. "Reducio." The many items of clothing compressed themselves into a small pile. "The counter-spell is Engorgio. Remember that for the day you have a wand."

"Very well." Quickly, Morgan packed the bread, bacon, and cheese that had also been set out for breakfast into small parcels, and tied them with string. Then she gathered together her few books, jewels, and her clothes, and fit the whole mess into the leather bag. "Let us make haste; we should go to Morgause’s court, in Dunpeldyr. I will ally with her against our brother, for even though she despises me, she hates Arthur more."

"You wish Lot as an ally?"

"I said nothing of Lot; he will think nothing of me, and as long as he wars against Arthur I will come to no harm. Through Morgause, I have seen his end."

"There will come a time when you would not wish your brother as your foe."

"He will always be my foe, Merlin." She looked straight up at him, eyes blazing. "From the moment I Saw his fate, I knew he would be my adversary, the enemy of magic, the enemy of women. He denied me a place in his court, or a seat at his Round Table, when I could kill them all. True, I would probably kill myself and innocents as well, for I have no control over enchantments as great as that, but they would be dead."

"Guard yourself carefully. Learn what you can from Morgause, but do not become corrupted by her. I would come with you, but I am bound to Camelot and Arthur."

"Then it is well you journey home," Morgan said with an air of finality.

"Here," the enchanter shoved a iridescent bundle at her, "Take this, and the horse at the edge of the forest. This is an invisibility cloak. Be wary, young Morgan."

"I shall." She held out her hands, palms empty, then suddenly she threw them outward. "Apparatuo!"

A mist of green surrounded her, the air sizzling with electricity. Her hair stood on end. She seemed to spin around dizzyingly for a few endless seconds, then she was set down.

Now Morgan stood at the edge of the forest, a few feet away from a shaggy-haired horse. Drawing together her bag and cloak, she strode over to the steed, heaved herself upon its back, and set off along the long, lonely path around the forest.

She clutched the horse’s mane tightly with shaking fingers as she felt the Sight come over her. As always, the world went pitch black.

A booming voice in her ears shook her, echoing insistently in her head, hissing and low. "The Fay has not escaped the Boy King’s wrath! Evil waits at Dunpeldyr… She will offer power, but power is not freedom… the Lake is waiting…"

"I must go," she said, and the voice’s response was so loud it hurt her ears.

"Betrayal! The Fay shall betray the ones she loves, for wickedness lies ahead! The Lake is calling! Listen…"

"No!" The voice screamed, it was ringing in her ears, and the black became deeper…

Some time after, she awoke far away from the castle, fingers still clenched tightly in the mane of her horse. Her knuckles were white.

The refuge Morgan sought in Morgause’s court was hers, if for only a little while. The two sisters, formerly at odds, became fast friends when they united to work against the same foe. As it was once wisely stated, one’s enemy’s enemy is one’s friend. In those months, seven total, Morgan learned more of dark witchery from her sister than she had even thought possible, more even than she had learned from Merlin. Gradually, she forgot the kindness of the old enchanter; now she thought him a doddering old fool, laboring under the High King, deluded as to the power he thought he wielded. She no longer held an allegiance to any of her family, save Morgause, and only because they had united in their quest to bring Arthur down from his throne.

Their main plan concerned a small boy, barely a year old, who lived with a few peasants in a small town north of Dunpeldyr. His half-sister had seduced Arthur before he knew that he was Uther’s son; and a child had been born of that union, a son the peasants had called Mordred. Morgause had told her husband their first babe had been born dead, but that was not so, for her most loyal waiting-woman’s sister and her husband now cared for the infant. Who, Morgause was pleased to note, bore a great resemblance to his blonde father, without a trace of Lot’s darkness.

It would be years before the boy would be of any use to them, but that did not bother Morgan. She was mad with power; there were other ways to get to the King, and she could discover them. Perhaps the boy need never know of his parentage. For she feared it would give him delusions of grandeur; look at Arthur, proudly seated on his golden throne. If he had lived out his life as the second son of that impoverished squire, Sir Ector, perhaps none of this trouble ever would have taken place. She would have ruled well as High Queen.

But Arthur had not, and Morgan for one intended to make sure he held the crown of High King only as long as it took her to orchestrate his downfall.

If only she had been able to follow through with her intentions.

Scarcely a month after her fourteenth birthday, Lot declared a truce with Arthur. Uriens made to Dunpeldyr, and within a week he and Morgan were wed. He took her back to Rheged, but she pleaded to return to the court of her half-sister, refusing even to attend Arthur’s wedding with Ygriane’s former lady-in-waiting, Guenever. Uriens tired of arguing with the stubborn woman whom he was beginning to regret he had wed, and left for Camelot by himself, sending his wife of six months to Dunpledyr. Morgause was not attending the wedding either.

She had been at Dunpeldyr nearly a month now; it was August, and it was clear she wouldn’t be leaving until winter. Fighting had broken out with the Saxons in the south, and Uriens was heading Arthur’s troops in battle.

It was just as well, Morgan thought as she rolled over in bed. The baby would be born by then, and she’d rather have Morgause with her when the time came. Morgause, she reflected, already had two children and was expecting a third.

She felt queasy for a moment. Then blackness engulfed her, and she knew the Sight was coming, for the first time since that spring.

To her surprise, no voices spoke. Colour slowly bloomed out of the darkness, and Morgan knew, though it had never happened before, that she was Seeing. Voices rolled out of the mist, and she saw, with a gasp of surprise, they belonged to her mother and Merlin.

Ygraine lay listlessly in the vast bed, wrapped in blankets and propped up by pillows. She shivered, as if cold, and snow could be seen through the window, softly falling. Jewels lay across her lap, vast quantities of them. The room was dim, lit only by candles. The enchanter sat next to her on a gilded chair, his grey beard finally having become completely white. They appeared abysmally old, though she was only thirty-nine, he in his fifties.

"What are you to do with all those?" Merlin said, in a gentle tone.

"I’m going to send some to Morgan. She won’t want much of the finery, but there are a few things… I can’t make right all those wrongs with jewels, though," Ygraine replied sadly.

"Dear Queen, forgive yourself. You couldn’t know she would submit to the darkness, join with Morgause. She’s not evil, she has been wronged, most terribly by Arthur. And it’s not your fault."

"Oh, it is, it is! I should never have denied the Lady her, she should have become one of the Ladies of the Lake, not some dark sorceress. Morgan would be Lady now, if I had not-"

"The Ladies are dying out, as it is. Do not worry yourself, my queen."

"Worry myself? What else have I to do? Even if you will not admit, I know I am dying. Arthur’s Guenever is dead, her and their poor baby with her, and my own beloved daughter has joined forces with that- that- witch Morgause! What have I wrought?"

Merlin, in a rare show of emotion, placed his hand of Ygraine’s. "Nothing that fate had not already decided. Even if she had been given to the Lady at birth, Morgan would have turned away. And Arthur… she once told me that when the Sight visited her once, she was Told he was destined to be her foe."

"We are only instruments in the hands of God, then?"

"Who knows?" They sat in silence for a few moments before the enchanter rose and sighed reluctantly. "I must go, my queen, for Arthur demands my presence at his Table."

"Then go, with my blessing."

As Merlin stepped away from the bed, he paused. "Is that," he gestured to a small owl pendant with glowing sapphire eyes, "Is that what I think it is?"

"I have been working on it since the birth of my grandson," Ygraine said calmly. "It is an amulet to protect Morgan and any children she has and will have. Perhaps it has quickened my sickness, to be drained even of magical power, but so be it."

"Very well, then."

After Merlin had left the room, Ygraine separated the jewels in her lap into two piles; one for Arthur, and one for Morgan. The amulet, which hung on a silver chain, went into Morgan’s pile, as did numerous rings, and one odd, un-mounted emerald. It was long, perhaps ten inches long, and cylindrical. The price of that emerald alone could have fed the entire court of Camelot for several months.

"Here, my daughter," murmured the queen, "Here is your wand."

Morgan awoke after this vision with one word in the voice of the Sight echoing in her brain.

"Wait."

The seasons passed. It was two and a half years before Morgan could put her ideas into action; Uriens was killed in battle then, when she was seventeen. By then she had two children; Yvain, her son, was two, and her daughter Sylvia was one. Arthur had remarried, to the daughter of King Leodegrance, named Gwenhwyfar. They had no children as yet; Morgan herself suspected the Queen was barren.

Uriens had taught her little of ruling the land, and she feared that she, widow that she was, would be overthrown. So she sent for Accolon, whom she had been betrothed to so many years before, and they married just weeks after Uriens’s death. It was the first happiness she had known since Arthur came to the throne.

With Accolon beside her, Morgan created a coven. The Cassadaga Coven, she called it, for reasons known only to herself. It was an organization to protect the Viridian Wand, the emerald that she had turned into a wand with great effort on her part. Unlike ordinary wands, it did not amplify her power; it, instead, gave her complete control over it. And her power was endless, for she was one of the Maidens that had once become Ladies of the Lake, who had unlimited power. In the coven, there would always be one or two of these Maidens; the senior would be Bearer of the Wand, the junior would be Future Bearer, a Bearer in training. A Bearer served for nineteen to twenty-nine years; for Maidens were always born twenty to thirty years apart, and Future Bearers became Bearers when they were twenty-one. She lacked some foresight in this, assuming Bearers would live until the Future Bearers were twenty-one, but it did not worry her at the time.

There were also thirteen other witches, called Protectors, who were bound by the Coven’s Creed to spend their lives protecting the Wand, its Bearers, and Future Bearers. That is, they had to do so until their chosen successors (usually their children) were of age (twenty-one). There was also a non-magical member of the coven, a Guardian, who would take away the Wand in times of trouble, so no one could do harm with the great wand.

So the rules were that fateful day, Morgan’s eighteenth birthday, when she opened the first Meeting of the Coven in the Coven’s house, an Unplottable palace near Maridunum, Merlin’s birthplace.

"Protectors, I, Morgan Le Fay, Bearer, do open the first Meeting of the Cassadaga Coven," she declared. She stood in front of a table in the midst of a huge room, the ceiling of which was stained glass, and upheld by thirteen marble pillars. One Protector stood at each pillar, each with their successor. "And I read to you the Creed by which you shall live by!

"‘As a Protector of the Viridian Wand, its Bearers, and Future Bearers, and as a member of Cassadaga Coven, I shall forever be silent as to the existence and purpose of the Cassadaga Coven. I will do nothing which will hinder the use of the Wand to ensure that justice is done. I will allow no use of the Wand except that ensures justice and/or the well-being, safety, and protection of the Wand, Bearers, Future Bearers, and the Coven.’

"First Protector, state your name and that of your chosen successor, then swear your allegiance!"

A woman stepped away from one of the pillars, hand in hand with a small boy.

"Queen Morgause of Orkney and Lothian. My chosen successor is my son, Gawaine. I swear my allegiance to the Cassadaga Coven, and that I will abide by the Creed." This was repeated around the room eleven more times, as Damien Malfoy, Sandry of Maridunum, King Melwas of Summer Country, Lind, Juliennes of Gaul, Merlin, Rhea of Rheged, Tydwal of Dunpeldyr, Guiomar of Gwynedd, Casso of Dyfed, and Mariona of Cornwall swore their allegiance to the Cassadaga Coven.

"Thirteenth Protector!" shouted Morgan to the final Protector.

Accolon stepped toward her, holding a small baby.

"King Accolon of Rheged. My chosen successor is our daughter Isolde. I do solemnly swear my allegiance to the Cassadaga Coven, and that I will abide by the Creed."

"And you, sir."

"I am the Guardian of the Wand, and I will protect at all times. I swear my allegiance," said a small figure in a woolen cloak, who sat near a door. Guardians were never to declare their identity.

"Then our ceremony has almost ended. Each Bearer, from now on, when they take their seat in the Cassadaga Coven, and when they leave it, must contribute a Tale to the Great Pensieve. I hereby submit my tale, of my life." Morgan touched head with her wand, then touched it to the golden pool in the centre of the table that stood in the middle of the room.

* * * * *

"Just a year later, Morgan sent Accolon to steal Arthur’s sword. He was killed by Arthur for his treachery, of course, and not long afterward she was caught in a rainstorm out on the moors. Almost immediately a high fever set in, and three days later she died. She was nineteen," Caro said. "The Future Bearer was born two years later. Nimue was her name, and she was the last Lady of the Lake. She banished Avalon and the lands of faerie to another Realm, and only when Morgan’s descendants come to power can they open up again. Nimue also destroyed Merlin, for he was loyal to Arthur. Her daughter Aeris took Merlin’s place in the Coven."

"So this is the legacy of the Coven, passed down from Bearer to Bearer?" Mica asked.

"Not quite. You see, there is still my Tale to submit to the Great Pensieve, and you need to hear it."

"What is this tale, then?"

"It is the story of your mother’s discovery of the Coven, and the story of the Amulet, which it is your destiny to find and wield."

Mica blinked in surprise.

 

COMING SOON: PART II

In which Hermione researches incessantly, gets married, and discovers surprising things related to the aforementioned researching.

 

Please review! I have only gotten one review so far, and that’s sort of disenheartening. So review!

Big thanks go out to Lissanne, my beta reader, and Mom, who has suffered through several versions of this story. J

You can email Love @ [email protected] to complain that it takes her forever to write these chapters, or to praise her devoutly and worship at her feet. No, not seriously.