In another lifetime, Morgana might have been afraid of the Sarrum. Something in his eyes, perhaps, lent him an air of menace. When taken with his stout figure and balding head, though, the notorious king reminded her of nothing so much as a goblin stumbling out of the darkness of the faerie wood of Broceliande. She schooled her expression to keep from laughing. "When faced with a ridiculous opponent, you must never laugh at him." That was the only good advice Uther had given her, and she followed it now. She kept her back straight and her chin up; a warming spell wrapped her up against the cold instead of a cloak. Every soldier had his eye on her as they walked by, the priestess and the king, and she knew she impressed them all- with beauty and bravado.

"Tell me again, Witch, why I shouldn't call my forces down upon you, or have one of my archers bury an arrow in your throat? I've been fighting witches and sorcerers since before you were born. I am not unprepared in this matter."

"Because witches are minor creatures, Sarrum, and you know better than to try to rain destruction down upon a high priestess of the goddess of war and strife. Besides," she looked toward the trees surrounding the camp and, as though on cue, a raucous choir of crows filled the trees with their noisome calls- the voice of the Morrigan. All around, Amatan soldiers shot nervous looks at the forest, their fingers making superstitious gestures to ward away sorcery. No need for them to know that Accolan, Ruadan, and a force of their men waited within the forest as well. "I'm not the only representative of the Old Ways here in the camp."

The Sarrum sniffed, but Morgana did not miss the hint of unease in his eyes. She suppressed a smile. "What is it that you're here for, then, Priestess? Speak quickly. I have a siege to run and an army to maintain. I have no time to indulge a woman's whims." A wide-eyed page swept open the door to the command tent, tripping over himself to both bow and not look like he was staring at Morgana as she passed.

She gave the boy no more thought than the Sarrum did, enjoying the warmth inside. Though a warming spell kept most of the cold away from her, it was still winter and they were still in the foothills of the mountains. Her spell-soaked dress might keep her from needing a cloak, but the effect was more dramatic than practical. A priestess might look like she was above such concerns as warmth and comfort, but it did not mean she actually was. She settled into the chair across the map-strewn table from him, straightening her sleeves and adjusting silken skirts. Much as he might disdain it, he would indulge this woman's whims. "We have a common desire, you and I," she said at last, "and a common enemy."

"I assume you mean your brother?" he said, gesturing for a servant to bring them wine. He leaned back in his chair, his compact frame radiating an aura of disinterest not reflected in his eyes.

"My younger brother," Morgana affirmed, "Who sits upon the throne that is mine by right."

"Your father never acknowledged you."

"He did at the end. And the truth of the matter is known throughout the Five Kingdoms. My claim to the throne of Camelot is not the issue here. You have a fortress you want to conquer, I have a throne to take back, and there is one man who stands in the way of our achieving our goals. Either one of us could defeat Arthur on our own, but it would a long, costly process." The servant set a cup of spiced wine in front of her, redolent with the scent of ginger and cinnamon. Rare spices. Apparently, the Sarrum wanted to impress her. 'Or it's laced with poison, and the spices are meant to cover it.' She pretended to sip the wine.

"What do you intend, then?" The Sarrum took a long drink of his own wine, holding the jeweled cup loosely in his hands.

"An alliance. Separately, it could take months, perhaps even years for us to defeat Arthur, but if we were to unite, we could have our respective desires in hand well before the festival of Imbolc."

He raised an eyebrow. "Taking Blackheath is not my end goal. Surely you know that. Camelot is a rich land. You are not the only one with your eye on that throne." He sipped at his wine again, but Morgana saw the calculations behind his eyes. He might scoff outwardly, but he was considering it.

She graced him with a frosty smile. "You're not the only one with an army behind you, Sarrum. I have my own forces at Tintagel, not to mention the armies of Rheged. King Urien is hardly opposed to having a strong ally across the border, and as I am marrying into the royal household, they cannot deny me. Call it a temporary truce, if you will. A cessation of hostilities until Arthur Pendragon meets his end. Once you have Blackheath and I have my throne, we can go back to being enemies. See whose army is stronger. Or whose gods are stronger." Morgana stared back at him, daring him to dismiss the notion outright. He faced a protracted winter siege that would cost him untold amounts of gold and lives. Perhaps he was willing to spend both, but the man was known for his expediency.

"What makes you so certain that your plan will have Arthur dead by mid-winter?" He set the cup down and folded his hands in front of him. She had his full attention.

"If you take Blackheath, Arthur will march north with his full army, despite the season. The valley beyond the fortress opens up into open land- the whole of Camelot lies open you at that point, and with the castle at your back and your own men occupying it, you have a strong base from which to attack the lowlands. Arthur will never stand for that," Morgana said.

"Then I will be facing another winter siege. From a more tenable position, of course, but a siege all the same. And while I hate to do so, I have to admit that Arthur is as skilled a tactician as his father was. How do you propose do deal with the armies, or do you intend to play no real role in this little. . . adventure?" The Sarrum's brow lowered.

"I have him." She smiled again. Arthur may have Uther's gift of good tactics, but his also has his father's temper. Make him angry, and there is no telling what he might do. Except, that is, for losing his grasp on reason. Make Arthur angry, and he'll lose all sense. throw his troops into confusion, and you'll have your victory."

"How do you propose to do that?"

"You'll take prisoners along with the fortress. I am assured your inquisitors are quite skilled and that they enjoy their work. They'll question their prisoners extensively, and when they're done," Morgana shrugged and gestured to a polearm resting against a weapon rack, "Decorate Blackheath's southern valley with heads and spikes. You'll have plenty of time. If you feel that's not quite enough, there is a second part of this plan. Have you heard of the sorcerer, Merlin, who's always at Arthur's side?"

"I've heard of him," the Sarrum rumbled, "Men sometimes keep strange pets. Arthur would do better to have a dog at his side, but no matter. What do you intend?"

Morgana let the veiled insult roll off her back. "It's true that Arthur is strangely fond of him, despite a lifetime of loathing sorcerers. It's also true that Merlin is quite powerful. And yet, I have the means to deprive him of that power, to make him no stronger than any common man. Catch the dog in a trap, take him from his master, and give him to your inquisitors. That will make Arthur angry enough, though I'm sure you can find other means of using the servant against the master."

"Indeed." He leaned forward, perhaps an inch or two, but Morgana knew she had him. "You seem quite sure of this plan, Priestess."

"I have the gift of foresight, Sarrum, and I have seen these events. Fire and ash, blood on the snow, and a fallen crown. I have seen how I will trap Merlin, and I have seen what it will to do Arthur. Your victory is my victory, and if you fail, then we both fail. We can go back to hating each other when this is over. But right now, at this moment, we are stronger together."

The Sarrum stared back at her for a time, testing her resolve in the face of his silence. She refused to give an inch, reflecting the same intensity he gave her. "Very well, then. It is a strange alliance, Morgana Pendragon, but in this season, we are allies." The decision made, he relaxed back into his chair. "Now. I assume you have a plan to get us through the gates of Blackheath?"

"I do," she said. "With fire and with blood."