The old woman didn't bother to control the violent tremors that shook her frame with the knowledge of what awaited her in the morning. She could hear the pyre being constructed, a deliberate cruelty on the part of Uther when he had chosen the cells in which to hold magic users.

She was no High Priestess of Nimueh's power, but a low priestess she was, and had trained to serve the goddess from girlhood, a calling that she was proud of; her years of service had enhanced a naturally strong desire to nurture and protect others.

When the witch hunters had captured her and dragged her where she would meet her doom Aggie had used the journey to prepare herself for the derision and hate of the folk she had once cared for, a hatred of her own burning in her gut, the sickening pain of betrayal ever present.

When she was thrown to the floor before Uther though, bound, gagged, and bloodied, she saw in the faces of his courtiers, his servants, not hatred but raw fear. A fear not of her she knew, having shared rites with some of them in the past, but of him. Of suspicion and the risk that came with showing sympathies. One in particular she recognised and the shame was visible, and she remembered his twins, barely out of infancy, giggling and playing in the river. How could she truly hate him for trying to save his babies from burning.

It did not stop the bitterness from tainting her heart, but she realised that she could forgive him, and those like him. The image stayed with her as she was led away to the dungeons. She hadn't spoken at the judgement, she refused to take Uther's bait and let him feel more of a victory. She wondered what she could do to protect those who were hidden away from the King's notice.

Tonight Aggie was held in cold iron cuffs, but once they bound her to the pyre they would be removed she knew, Uther wouldn't risk destroying those abominations.

Not for someone like her.

The pain was too distracting to properly concentrate, but she tried to think of any spell that would be quick to cast, could be done before the flames prevented her from doing anything useful. Short. It had to be short. She would send her everything, her full power into this she decided, keeping nothing to blunt the pain or try to induce sleep on the pyre, and have an anchor that would not be tampered with.

By morning she had managed to form something of a plan. Aggie was a practical woman, and no matter who lived in the castle, there was one thing in the courtyard that was sacrosanct to all. No one noticed the well unless it was poisoned, it was an easy shape to work with, and the royals were guaranteed not to fetch their own water anyway. A suitable vessel.

Tightly bound as she was, atop the pyre, there was a moment, just before the torch touched the kindling where the cuffs were removed and Aggie was briefly reunited with her magic.

"Synderlic witodlic, warian dîegol, wîgheafola ðætte ðrêowan n¯ænig pro hearmian "

To see only what they looked for and not that which was hidden, to shield those who meant no harm.

Aggie was no fool, she knew she didn't have the strength to save her brothers and sisters from the monsters even before she had been weakened by the abuse, but it would be enough to blind them to some things, and save a few lives, and in the end, saving lives was what she had spent her life doing. Fuck Uther, the bastard could burn her, but she made sure that when she cast, she looked him full in the eyes so he saw hers flash golden. He'd murder her without remorse, but he'd never know what that last act was, and that would keep him awake at night.

The old sorceress would never know it, but seventeen years later, it would result in the mad king, who had long ago forgotten her, dismissing the bold claims of a young Emrys as the infatuation of a lovesick fool.

It would also prevent the daughter of a blacksmith from noticing the magic of the kings's daughter for almost a decade of course, but magic was unpredictable like that.