Fair warning: This is an AU series diverging after S5E2 and over the course of the previous two stories I've introduced a fair number of OCs. I'd recommend going back and reading both "Reforged and Sublimated" and then "Reawakening" before continuing on. Thanks! Oh and I own nothing but the folks you don't recognize.

Chapter 1.

"I'm never going to give up. I promise. But sometimes I feel like I really will be an old woman before I get the hang of that! How do you make it look so effortless? Every time I start, my throat closes up and I can't breathe!" Leheya's large brown eyes were bright with frustrated tears that she refused to acknowledge even as they clung to her lashes and threatened to spill over.

Her mentor gave the young woman a searching gaze. Confusion was painted all over her porcelain face but her emerald eyes were kind as they took in her frustrated acolyte. "Leheya, you are without a doubt one of the most outgoing, fearless, and talkative people I have ever met. How can it be that you have an issue with speaking in front of large groups? I could see if you were shy by nature but you're so...not!"

Leheya took a few shuddering breaths to regain a small bit of her composure before trying to explain her fears. "I know it must seem that I'm intentionally being contrary but I assure you this is beyond my control. How can I phrase this? It's one thing entirely to speak to anyone, even a stranger, in a smaller setting. There I can directly interact with them and I have more control. More ability to immediately read by how they hold themselves and small facial queues when they may not understand what I'm saying. But once I get in front of a large group of people. People I can't read all at once. Who aren't reacting to what I'm saying. Those judging, judging people. I just can't!" With a groan of frustration the young priestess threw up her hand and stalked around the room in agitation before whirling to face her mentor and exclaiming, "Why are there so many Holy Days and feasts? Does it not seem like too many to you? Did anyone even ask the Goddess if she cares about this sort of thing? Maybe all she wants is for us to take a quiet moment in thanks and contemplation. I can do that. You should bring it up next time you speak with Her." They stray through lodged itself in Leheya's mind and words came tumbling out of her mouth with no conscious thought and certainly no control. "I can't believe you've actually spoken with Her! To actually be in Her presence was almost too much after the battle. I nearly fainted! I couldn't maintain any semblance of composure if She ever appeared to me directly. I wouldn't be able to speak. Or even worse! What if I couldn't stop speaking? What if I babbled on and on and annoyed Her? What would She do to me? I can't even think about it! Maybe I'm not cut out to be a High Priestess. I can serve Her in other ways. Maybe I'll take up a craft. Or attend Gaius and Alice's physician school-"

Her teacher closed her eyes and again pondered the woman in front of her as she babbled. Leheya literally could not stop talking once she got started sometimes. How was it that when she was at an altar all she could squeeze out was a small squeak? The mentor cracked a wicked grin and leaned in close to stem the verbal flood. "Do you want to know my secret?" she asked conspiratorially. Leheya stopped talking mid sentence. At her student's narrowed eyes and suspicious head-tilt the woman laughed musically, lowering her voice until it was a husky whisper. "I imagine that everyone listening to me is wearing naught but their smallclothes." Seeing Leheya's shocked expression sent the older woman into a fit of girlish giggles. "It's true! One of my tutors growing up knew that I was uncomfortable speaking to large crowds every time Uther paraded me about and suggested that I try it. It worked for me until I gained familiarity and confidence in my ability to speak before large crowds. Try it next time."

"Morgana Pendragon, are you serious? Do you really?" Leheya's frustrated tears were completely forgotten as she imagined the poised High Priestess using such imagery to cure her nerves while speaking before large groups. "I imagined that you were born able to command the masses!"

Morgana gracefully collapsed onto one of the overstuffed chairs situated along the wall in the chambers she had set aside for Leheya's Priestess training. They had retreated here after Leheya's painfully awkward latest attempt at leading a worship service. Morgana gave quick thanks that there wasn't another feast day for a month or so. There was time to help Leheya conquer her fear of speaking in front of crowds. Leheya had been a High Priestess for only a few months and while she was excelling in the day to day operations of the Isle Temple, she struggled with leading services. Which was why she'd recently traveled to Camelot begging for additional training from Morgana. "Hardly!" Morgana exclaimed with a laugh. "Arthur is the one who inherited that particular talent." Her eyes flashed gold and a violet flame appeared in her hand, dancing to a song that only Morgana could hear. "On the whole I'll take the talents I was born with over that, though. Wouldn't you agree?" With a wink at her student she stood back up and hurried towards the door. "Now I'm late for a meeting with my dear brother. Stay here and practice. Remember what I told you. Smallclothes. Tiny tiny smallclothes."

The leaves on the ancient trees of Camelot's famed forests had traded in their customary green for a thousand different shades of gold, amber, and ruby. Only the evergreens stubbornly refused to relinquish their emerald adornments. In the months since the rebuilding of the Isle of the Blessed, Camelot had seen substantial changes. The Atzinganoi had moved their camp just outside the walls of the citadel. The Druids were reclaiming long-abandoned villages and putting down roots for the first time in a generation. Word had quickly spread throughout Albion that the Isle had been rebuilt and the constant stream of pilgrims had required Arthur to pave and improve many of the roads that had been neglected for years. Thanks to the ingenious Atzinganoi sorcerers, the roads were both straighter and more level than anyone had ever imagined possible. And with the small tolls being charged for access to the roads, Gwen had been able to fund a small legion of civilian protectors to ensure the pilgrims had safe passage through the lands. This relieved the army from the task and provided many brave men and women with honest work.

The Druids had used their knowledge of a vast underground water reservoir and had used their powers to create hundreds of bubbling springs, steadily irrigating fields that had been at the whim of the uncertain weather. Non magic users shared with the Druids their new methods for tempering steel. Thirty years of forced separation had lead the groups on divergent paths and as they came back together there was an explosion of industry as the two groups shared their advancements with one another and built upon them.

These changes all had stemmed from the same act. Arthur's acceptance of magic. That decision had lead to the Druids being welcomed back into Camelot society. The defeat of the evil god Elolam. The strengthening of the Triple Goddess's powers. The rebuilding of the Isle Temple. His Kingdom was quickly making up for thirty years of needless strife. If Arthur could talk to his father now, he would have stood tall and proud as he announced his decision. He would not have ducked his head or sought his father's approval. He was confident in his leadership and his decisions. The creation of the Round Table council afforded him the ideas, thoughts, and opinions of people that he trusted. Gave him unique perspectives. And he didn't regret his choice for a moment.

Well maybe once or twice. His sister certainly wasn't shy in arguing with him. Especially when it concerned her people, the followers of the Old Ways. With the Isle of the Blessed having been cleansed of the taint of the evil Elolam, and rebuilt with an immense amount of magic, there was some confusion as to how exactly to manage what was essentially a small city-state that had literally been built in a single day.

Morgana and Arthur had spent the past five months negotiating the terms of the treaty. Arthur had argued for long hours that because the Isle was within Camelot's borders that it was sovereign territory. Morgana argued that while Arthur was a good and kind king, she was determined to protect the future of her people. They would need to be able to see to their own defense should they at some terrible day be faced with aggression from Camelot. Even Arthur could concede that he had no way to actually guarantee that his successors wouldn't try to take the island by force.

Merlin and Gwen had mutually decided to avoid those meetings at all cost after the months began to drag on, and had just that morning decided between the two of them that there was only one way to determine what should happen. There was a visitor to Camelot. The Liaison to the Isle of the Blessed who had traveled back with High Priestess Leheya a few days prior. They knew he was the one person in the kingdom who they trusted implicitly to give fair and wise advice.

"Oh that? They still haven't come up with the solution? What needs to happen is a three part treaty. Political, Financial, and Military. Camelot must acknowledge the the Isle is an independent kingdom. The Isle must integrate Camelot's core laws into their own and provide Camelot reparations in the form of gold, goods, and services in return for this acknowledgement and the freedom to rule themselves. Finally, the Isle must not prevent their subjects from joining the Camelot military with the understanding that their first allegiance shall always be the Isle and that under military threat from one side to the other that these troops shall side with the non-aggressor. Additionally should Camelot pose a military threat to the Isle all reparations would cease immediately."

The words were calmly spoken, as if the speaker were not currently engaged in training with a greatsword in his powerful hands. As he finished, Sir Percival nodded to the new druid spellsword he was engaged with in mock battle to indicate that they were finished. The man gaped in awe at the giant knight and bowed before heading back to the armory, no doubt to spread the tale and embellish it liberally.

Gwen handed the hulking knight an ewer of water which he took with a grateful smile. His intelligent eyes sparkled in a face that was far too handsome by half. His size and good nature had caused many who came across the normally quiet man to discount his intelligence. A mistake that he took gleeful advantage of at every opportunity. However, in the years since he had first come to Camelot, he had let those in the King's inner circle come to know the man behind the muscles. He was perceptive and wise beyond his years. Truly had he not been an elite knight and a terror on the battlefield he would still have been made an advisor to the crown for his ability to cut directly to the heart of a matter without getting lost in the details. He had been the perfect choice for official liaison to the Isle.

Merlin shared a laughing look with Gwen as Percival poured water over his head and shook like a dog. "I would not have thought to include goods and services in the agreement but I see the wisdom. Gwen, I assume you'll casually mention this to Arthur as I will to Morgana? I'd like to see this taken care of before too long. I have waited too long to seek out the other Dragonlords as it is"

Gwen shot the master warlock a wry smile. "I will of course. But you must realize that it is entirely within the realm of possibility that they are simply using these extended negotiations as a way to practice their verbal sparring skills and have a few months rest before your next adventure? Though I don't think they'd figured out including Camelot's unilateral rights laws into the Isle's own," she mused.

Percival interrupted their conversation gently, "Am I to understand that they are in negotiations and are not expected to be done for some time?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow and answered the unasked question. "Yes, my friend. Your lovely Leheya is in Morgana's study and currently has several hours of downtime."

Gwen shouted out instructions at Percival's quickly retreating form, "Do her a favor and bathe before you go to her!" Giggling at the rude gesture the knight made at them behind his back, she placed a hand on Merlin's arm and let him lead her back to the keep. As she reached the top of the stairs she let out a soft gasp and touched her protruding belly.

"Gwen, what's wrong?" Merlin firmly directed the Queen to a bench and began to inspect her with the impersonal touch of a physician.

Gwen batted Merlin's hands away and looked into her dear friend's bearded face. "Merlin I'm fine! Stop your fussing! You know as well as I do that these children are divinely protected while they stay in my womb. One of them merely kicked and it startled me!"

Merlin gave an abashed grin as he flushed with embarrassment. "I know that. I do. But I can't help but to worry. Carrying children is dangerous, Gwen. Birthing them even more so. You can't blame me for my concern."

The queen merely raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and waited.

Merlin held out for almost ten whole seconds before blurting out, "Fine! I'm sorry! I know the Goddess Herself is watching over you and your children and it's insulting and unnecessary to worry. There. Are you happy now?"

"Perfectly happy. And Perfectly hungry! Come help me raid the larder and I'll join you in the library and stuff my face with my feet up as I watch you do more research. Does that sound fun?" Gwen rose and linked her arm in Merlin's, leading him towards the kitchens and the blackberry pastries she knew were being baked even now.

Leon clapped Mordred on the shoulder and smiled at the youngest of Camelot's elite knights. "You'll do fine, my friend. You've got four strong men joining you, one from each of the clans you'll be visiting. Just remember, answer any questions the people have about the spellswords honestly and to the best of your ability. If you come across a question you don't know the answer to simply write it down and we will send a messenger or a raven with the answer. We want to make certain that each of the clans understand what we're hoping to accomplish as well as seeing the progress we've made in the past several months."

Mordred gave his mentor a lopsided grin. "I can do that. With the progress you've made in training the civilian watchmen to police the roads I doubt we'll see any trouble. I'm anticipating a quiet trip. We're bringing several of Morgana's ravens with us just in case, though."

Leon's eyes crinkled at the sides as his smile deepened. "Hoping for the best and planning for the worst, I see. That's very smart."

Mordred flushed at Leon's praise. "Well you never know, after all." Clearing his throat he continued, "We should be back to the citadel within a month or so. Well before the first snows at any rate. If you have need of us, send a raven to each of the clans and we will respond as soon as we receive the missive."

Leon's grip on Mordred's shoulder tightened a small bit and brought the young knight's eyes to his own. "You're going to do fine. I have every faith in you and your men. I will see you by Samhain. Safe travels, brother."

As Mordred walked towards the stables to ready his horse, Leon touched the place over his heart where an oft-read letter was hidden safely beneath his chainmail. With luck, Mordred wouldn't be the only one he would see by Samhain.

Turning back towards the citadel with an entirely different smile hovering on his lips, Leon spied Elyan speaking with a group of craftsmen. Elyan had overseen the quarrying and transport of the stone for the rebuilding of the Isle the previous winter. What had initially been an unwelcome task had in fact proven to be an excellent fit for the Knight. The son of a blacksmith, he respected craftsmen and understood the artistic spirit that was all too often overlooked in their work.

With this understanding he gained the respect of the craftsmen that worked to add roads and buildings to an ever-growing Camelot. As a result, new construction was both solidly built and beautifully finished. Roads had subtle patterns in the stone. Woodwork was embellished with clan sigils and the golden dragon of Camelot. In fact, some of the more prosperous families had banded together to found a school where more could be trained in these crafts. This wasn't entirely altruistic, of course. If they had their own team of highly skilled craftsmen building their estates and townhomes then they could get the highest quality work and show up their neighbors with the opulence of their estates during the frequent balls that Arthur so often tried to avoid.

Many of these new craftsmen were the Atzinganoi to had settled into the forest just outside the city. Their unique style and methods had been foreign and exotic to the people of Albion from whom they had so long stayed apart. Thus their services were in high demand by the elite and common peoples alike. The egalitarian attitudes of the Atzinganoi ensured that they treated each of their clients equally and provided the exact same quality of work regardless of if they were being paid in gold coins or in barter.

It was not only their crafts which were of interest to the people of Camelot, though their unique weapons with the beautiful waving pattern to the metal were in high demand. But their martial skills as well. Sir Gwayne had been charged with training with the Atzinganoi he had led to battle the previous spring to see what he might learn from them that could be applied to the Army as a whole. That this gave the Knight more access to the lovely second-in-command of the tribe, Purah was merely a coincidence the knight had no shame in taking advantage of.

"Surely you must see the logic, my flower. You are liaison to my people. I am liaison to your people. It makes sense for us to lock ourselves away for a few hours and...liaise…" Gwaine leaned in to nibble along Purah's collarbone as he murmured to her. "Let us find a secluded place. Your tent, perhaps?"

Purah leaned into his skillful embrace for a moment before pulling away with obvious reluctance. "I would like nothing better, but Vadoma is expecting me to report to her on the progress with the negotiations between Arthur and Morgana. She has a vested interest in how this all turns out, obviously." Gwaine groaned in disappointment but before he could protest Purah leaned in to whisper in his ear, "This should only take an hour or so. Why don't you meet me at the corral and we'll take a private ride in the woods. To that small pool with the waterfall. You know the one." While his eyes glazed over in memory of the day they had found the secluded glade she sashayed away, throwing a smoldering look over her shoulder and smirking at the look on her Knight's face.

"I still find it hard to believe that the King has so easily accepted magic. And this Spellsword business. Well, Sir Mordred, you must admit that it could be interpreted as a means to keep our best warriors under close eye." The Chieftain was a tall, thin man with a stern face but kind eyes. He had greeted Mordred and his knights as welcomed guests when they had arrived the previous evening. Insisting that they eat and rest before any official business was started.

"I can certainly understand your reservations, Chieftain. And were I in your position, and not privy to the information I have then I might well share your concerns. But I remind you that Emrys himself is the highest adviser in the land and the reason that the spellswords were created. Arthur realized that the reason he always had such good luck on the battlefield was that his own servant was a warlock who used spells to change the tide of battles. The logical deduction from there was of course that if one magic user had proven to save so many lives what would an entire regiment of them do? How quickly could skirmishes be ended? How many injuries and deaths prevented?"

"I concede that seems wise," the chieftain reluctantly admitted.

"In addition, Gaius and Alice have opened a medical academy and in time we will have battlefield physicians that are assigned to each unit, thereby further decreasing the likelihood of casualties. Arthur is no fool. He knows that we live in dangerous times and that his duty to unite all of Albion under our banner won't come with no blood spilled. But he is doing everything he can to ensure that his people, all of his people, are as safe as possible." His eyes took on a faraway look for a brief moment as he remembered first hearing the reports from the battle for the Isle and the lives lost that day. Battlefield physicians could have prevented so many needless deaths.

Mordred had said these same words once before in the past week since he'd left Camelot. And felt quite certain he would be repeating them twice more as he spoke with the other two clans he was meeting with in the coming weeks. Their concerns were justified and he was pleased to find that they didn't have any objections to the spellswords, per se. But rather than they were simply concerned for the wellbeing of their clansmen. This was perfectly understandable and in Mordred's opinion, the sign of a wise chieftain. Regardless, he droned on with only a fraction of his mind fully in the moment and when a young man burst into the tent and yelled something he had to ask the frantic messenger to repeat himself.

"Armed riders, Sir! They're attacking the village! Hurry!"

Mordred didn't hesitate, turning to his men who were already unsheathing their swords and tightening their gauntlets he gave his orders. "We've prepared for this. Our top priority is the safety and protection of the clan. These people don't need heroes. They need guardians. Am I understood?"

As one his men voiced their understanding and the five knights quickly raced from the tent and towards the screams they heard. The battle was brief and violent. As the clan hunters peppered the attacking raiders with arrows from a distance, Mordred and his men jumped into the melee and tried to draw attention to themselves. The moment they started casting spells the attackers switched their focus and Mordred found his team surrounded by at least thirty men. Using the telepathic link his people all possessed he yelled to the Chieftain to leave them to get his people to safety and send word to Camelot. He needed only to buy the clan enough time to find safety in the forest. They were well able to hide themselves away."

Calling on their training the five men worked in tandem to alternately push their attackers away with focused wind bursts and light them aflame with fireballs. Those men that made it through that onslaught were met with blade and shield as the knights prevented them from reaching the fleeing clan. So focused were they on their task and so lost in the heat of battle that Mordred forgot his training, exultant in their seeming victory. He dropped his guard. Didn't consider that he could be flanked. He heard a startled yell begin and quickly die in a gurgle from behind him. As he turned to see what had happened he felt a sharp pain in his right temple. And then he fell and knew no more.