Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine.

They were all dead.

Her mother was dead. She didn't think of her mother very often. Somehow, in the grand scheme of how everyone in her life had wronged her, she never laid much blame at her mother's feet. She was sure that the affair with Uther hadn't been her idea. She'd been weak and vulnerable and lonely. Maybe Uther had even forced himself upon her. Yet she'd managed to love Morgana, the child who was not her husband's and who was the living proof of her infidelity. She'd loved Morgana, and she was dead.

Her father, too. Gorlois. He had loved them very much, and the memory of his goodness had been enough to sustain her for so long during her years in Camelot until one day when it couldn't anymore. If only he'd had the chance to raise her properly…but he'd been cuckolded by his best friend and then sent to his death. He was dead.

Her sister was dead. She had treated Morgana as a woman to be nurtured and loved and taught rather than a specimen that ought to be kept in the dark. She didn't make Morgana feel like she was impure or dirty and unnatural for her powers, and Morgause was the first and only person that Morgana had loved utterly and completely and without reservation. But Morgause was dead.

Even Agravaine was dead. He had been largely incompetent and as lacking in subtlety as he was in common sense, but he had been loyal. His loyalty had stemmed largely from desire, yes, but he had never wavered from her side. His support had been all but ineffectual, but he had been loyal and he had loved her. And he was dead.

Helios was dead. She had no delusions that he had loved her, but that was good. She hadn't wanted his love. She had wanted his support, and she'd gotten it. He had been her equal, so much as a man lacking in her powers could possibly equate to her. He had worked with her for his own aims and he had known that she was working for her own. There were no secrets. She hadn't loved him, but she had valued him. He was dead too.

They were all dead. All those who had not turned on her because they were unwilling to look at things her way and see that she was right and who had remained true to her and remembered why she did what she did…they all died. They were her family and friends and allies and they were good for her and they were dead, before their time and mercilessly and so very unfairly. It hadn't even taken much for most of them. Her mother, illness. Her father, betrayal. Morgause, subterfuge. Agravaine, his own foolishness. Helios, the tides of combat. They'd all taken their last stands of sorts, their final moments before meeting the deaths that rushed toward them. Their final moments were final, as final moments tend to be, and they were all dead.

But then there was Merlin, the boy who had poisoned her and killed her sister and interfered with just about everything that he could manage that did not involve him and he betrayed her and he betrayed everyone, and there he was standing alive and well and smiling at her. Did nothing kill him? She had seen him defy death against all logic and all sense and all justice time and time again and now he had done it again when no one else ever seemed to and she hated him for it.

Among other things.

He also talked too much.

"Hullo, Arthur!" said Merlin, picking his way around the perimeter of the courtyard, ignoring Morgana and Mordred as he approached the king.

Arthur was looking at him with a strange look on his face, an expression that seemed a combination of smugness and wariness that just made him look ugly, in her opinion.

That wasn't the point. Arthur wasn't the point just then. Merlin had gone and survived again and he didn't even look sore and now he was hailing Arthur as though they were passing in a corridor. It was so annoying.

It occurred to her that she probably ought to do something to stop Merlin from traipsing freely across the courtyard. It wasn't exactly the largest space that one would desire, should one have the urge to go traipsing, but Merlin's gait was so irritatingly casual that she could only call it 'traipsing.'

Also not the point, she told herself. She should have stopped him. She was vaguely surprised that Mordred hadn't, but he seemed to be leaving things to her. Still. It was his spell that had apparently failed to do its job. Shouldn't he have to be the one to deal with the stupid idiot who refused to die?

But Mordred didn't say anything and Morgana didn't do anything and they both stood uselessly as Merlin traipsed his way toward Arthur. "Alright there, sire?" he asked heartily, stopping a few feet away from Arthur, facing him and keeping his back to Mordred and Morgana. She was distantly insulted.

She saw Arthur swallow hard before answering. "I'm fine, thanks."

Merlin nodded. "Did I miss anything important?"

Arthur's eyes flickered between the three sorcerers. "…Just that they're even worse at being open with each other than we are?"

Morgana glanced at Mordred, as uncertain about how things were meant to proceed as Arthur seemed to be. Unfortunately, Mordred did not seem inclined to make any particularly helpful moves. He was just staring stonily at Merlin, an expression of something awfully similar to alarm in his eyes. But this was Mordred. The "alarm" was probably just surprise, or even dismay. She couldn't blame him. For Mordred to have apparently incorrectly cast a spell was mind boggling. Once again, Merlin was only surviving because of the errors of bigger and better people than himself.

She only hoped that Mordred would take his anger out on Arthur or Merlin rather than on...anyone else.

Merlin didn't seem very concerned. "How do you mean?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment, clearly wondering what the hell was going on and why the hell they weren't either running away or trying to kill her or doing something other than having a mild conversation about recent events. Merlin just waited expectantly for an answer.

"…She doesn't know," said Arthur slowly.

"Know what?"

Arthur took a few steps toward Merlin. "Merlin, she doesn't know," he said significantly.

For the first time, Merlin looked surprised. "Are you sure?"

"Yep."

From what she could see of Merlin's profile, he was unconvinced. She wasn't sure whether she should be pleased to see that, miraculous recoveries aside, they didn't seem to have any elaborate and well-choreographed plans for defeating her, satisfied that Merlin didn't seem to be willing to take Arthur on his word, or just annoyed because now Arthur knew something that she didn't know. Arthur, of all people.

This was all too much for her. It was too surreal. They might as well have been back in the Camelot council room, discussing what Arthur wanted for lunch and the realistic unlikelihood that Merlin would take the initiative to fetch it. They didn't even seem properly afraid of her!

"If you've quite finished!" she said loudly. Merlin turned around to face her, looking mildly amused. She supposed that she might have chosen to open the conversation with a phrase slightly less…primly indignant.

Stupid Merlin. It was all his fault.

"Apologies, Morgana," said Merlin, sidestepping to his left until he almost blocked Arthur from view. Now Merlin was the she-wolf, she supposed. "I forgot my manners."

"I'm used to it," she snapped, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. "I didn't even get a proper hello before you decided that you would go ahead and attack me."

Merlin snorted. "Well, we all saw how well that went for me."

Morgana smiled. "I see that you're not trying again."

Merlin shrugged. "Yet. Patience is a virtue, Morgana. It's nice to see you, by the way. As lovely as ever."

She just glared. Merlin turned to Mordred. "Why so silent, friend? Surprised to see me up and about?"

Mordred didn't answer, and Merlin smiled a very unpleasant smile. "I bet you are."

Mordred didn't move.

"Well," said Morgana, trying to seize control of the situation. "I don't know how you managed it, but you're not dead. Well done."

"Thanks. I put a lot of effort into it."

"You needn't die, you know," she said conversationally. "You have magic. You're one of us. Arthur…none of our kind belong by his side. He'll pay for his crimes, yes. As he should. You needn't die for them as well."

Merlin snorted again. "Really, Morgana? You're trying to seduce me to the murderous side of magic by trying to get me to turn on Arthur? Go back in time and ask me eight years ago. Then you might have had a shot. Nowdays, you would have had better luck trying to straight out seduce me like a normal person. I've gone through too much hell sticking by Arthur's side to give up now."

Morgana narrowed her eyes. She was no normal person. "So, what, now that you're properly alive again, you intend to put up a fight? Take on myself and Mordred for the sake of Arthur? He's not that lovable."

"I was always alive," he said lightly. "What is it with Pendragons and thinking that I'm dead?"

"Do not call me 'Pendragon," she snarled, not particularly offended by the association but having the strange urge to do a bit of snarling. She had to vent somehow. "I'm no Pendragon."

Merlin smiled again. She hadn't known that he was capable of looking so unpleasant. "Of course not," he said lightly. "You're a bastard."

She couldn't speak for a moment, stung. She didn't understand why it had hurt for her to hear. While the whole basis for her claim to the throne lay in the fact that she was Uther's daughter and eldest child, there was no way that she could try to twist history to make herself legitimate. She was Uther's daughter to a woman that was not his wife. If she was going to claim royalty, she had to be a bastard. That's how it was. And so what? She wouldn't let on that it bothered her to hear it said aloud, even if it was said so patronizingly as had Merlin. She wouldn't dignify him with a response. So what if she was a bastard?

"So are you," she muttered sullenly.

Merlin shrugged. "I know."

She bit her lip, angry and sad and confused all at once. This was not the time for her to begin relating with him. How did he do this? No wonder he'd managed to remain by Arthur's side. He just seemed so damn forgivable.

Stupid Merlin.

She looked at Mordred. He didn't move.

She looked at Arthur. He looked very uncomfortable and was pointedly avoiding look at either herself or Merlin. After a moment, she realized that Arthur didn't like listening to other people talking about their personal issues so cavalierly in front of him. He was uncomfortable with all of the sharing of feelings that was going on.

She laughed. She couldn't help it. He was still so Arthur sometimes.

"So, you were always alive," she said, pulling herself back to the situation at hand.

Merlin nodded. "I was always alive. People don't come back from the dead, Morgana. It just so happens that some of us are really hard to kill."

"Are you so sure of that, Merlin? You intend to actually up a fight here? You and Arthur against myself and Mordred?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so, no. Arthur's been through enough today, wouldn't you say? I think that I'll handle this one on my own."

He raised his right hand and pointed it at her.

She laughed again, incredulous. "You're as big a fool as I remember, Merlin. Even if you're a fool who seems strangely incapable of dying and staying dead like a normal person. You intend to fight us both? At once?"

"Well, I'd rather not. I don't suppose that I could persuade you to go one at a time?"

She grinned. "I don't suppose that you could, no."

Actually, her "supposing" was not at all an informed supposition. For all that she knew, Mordred would insist that Merlin face only one at a time. It did seem the more sporting option, but she was tired of Merlin escaping death. If they were going to do this, they would do it right. And thoroughly.

Merlin heaved a sigh and shrugged.

"Fine," he said, sounding resigned. He then swung his right arm away from Morgana and pointed it at Mordred. Raising his left, he aimed it at Morgana. One arm extended at each of his two opponents, he raised his eyebrows. "We'll do it your way."

A shiver ran down her spine, and she found herself falling back a few steps. She couldn't help it. Merlin was being so odd. So…confident. It was unnerving. And something seemed to be radiating off of him. She wasn't sure what it was, but it occurred to her that this was the first time that she was facing the real Merlin, the Merlin who was not posing as an idiot servant, the Merlin who had powers—no matter how negligible—and who now had the freedom to use them before others. That was what was different, she thought. Merlin was just being all of himself. That's what it was.

But why was it so…eerie?

She looked at Merlin and shivered again. There was a hardness behind his eyes, a certainty. Determination. Determination, and hatred, entwined together in those blue eyes of his as he looked at her. When he averted them to the ground, she was glad for just a moment that she did not have to see herself reflected in them. After that moment, however, she realized that she rather preferred seeing where he was looking than having to wonder.

She took another step back.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking to the side, she saw that Mordred had finally moved. He was closer to her now than he had been since he had been a child. Since he had become a young man, he'd kept his distance…had he always been shorter than she was, all this time?

"Do not be fooled, Morgana," said Mordred, his voice flat. His hand was heavy on her shoulder, squeezing only the tiniest bit.

"What do you mean?" she whispered, keeping her voice low in the hopes that it would not sound quite so quavery as it was.

"He is trying to take advantage of your uncertainty," he answered, not bothering to keep his voice low. When she looked at his face, she saw that he was looking not at her but at Merlin. "He was not conscious the entire time that he was on the ground. He is not well. Do not fear his tricks, Morgana. Merlin is weaker than he appears."

He did look paler than she remembered. He had never exactly been a bronze specimen of rugged masculinity, but there was always a little bit of color. And he did look rather wobbly. Of course, she reminded herself, it was possible that Merlin always wobbled when he stood still. He did tend to fall over a lot, and it wasn't like she'd spent a great deal of her time in Camelot just watching him stand still. Still, he did look distinctly shaky, and from the concerned looks that she caught Arthur throwing at Merlin from time to time, it was not just his typical ungainliness. She inhaled deeply. How wonderful would it be if all of his accumulated near-death experiences caught up with him all at once and he just…keeled over?

As was his custom, Merlin immediately spoiled her hopes. As soon as Mordred stopped speaking, his head shot up, and he looked more alert than ever.

"What did you just call me?" he asked, looking at Mordred.

Mordred scowled, and Morgana got another shiver as she heard him answer. "I need not repeat myself for the likes of you."

Merlin stood up tall and straightened his shoulders, looking interested. "'Merlin,' you called me."

"That is your given name."

"Not by you," countered Merlin, his face beginning to flush with something that looked awfully like excitement. "No, you don't call me 'Merlin.' We went over this not half an hour ago."

"I need not explain myself," reiterated Mordred, his voice going up an octave. Morgana realized with a shock that he was beginning to sound like the teenage boy that he was. It didn't feel like a very good sign.

Especially since Merlin seemed to be growing more delighted as Mordred's scowl grew more and more pronounced.

"I'll tell you what, Mordred," said Merlin. "You call me by my other name, and I'll let you have a free shot at Arthur."

"What?"

Merlin waved Arthur's surprised protest aside. "I mean it. Free shot. I won't try to stop you or interfere or anything. Hell, I'll get out of your way if that would make it easier for you."

"What?"

"Trust me, Arthur," Merlin said over his shoulder before returning his focus to Mordred. "Go on, Mordred. Say my name, and you can have your free shot. Otherwise..."

"Merlin!"

Merlin finally looked annoyed. "Oh, settle down, Arthur!"

"Are you kidding me with this?"

Mordred just glared and remained silent, seemingly unaffected by Merlin's offer and Arthur's less than enthusiastic reaction. She wished that she could say the same. She may not have been around them very much in recent years, but their "banter" that everyone seemed to find so endearing could just be extremely irritating.

She decided that it was time that she stepped in. Someone had to take control of the situation, and who else of the four of them was more suited?

"Merlin," she said, her voice lofty and dignified. "Your mind-boggling ability to keep coming back aside, you have nothing to hold over Mordred. He'll kill Arthur if he so chooses. He'll kill you if he so chooses. What difference could a 'free shot' from you possibly make?"

Merlin shrugged innocently. "I just want him to call me by my other name. What's the harm in that?"

"I have some names that I'd like to call you," she grumbled, scowling at him, her brow so deliberately furrowed that she knew that she'd give herself a headache if she kept it up. She really hated him sometimes.

Then, Merlin's entire body began to shake, and she saw him double over. He was laughing.

"Why does everyone keep doing that?" she yelled to the sky, forgetting herself in frustration.

"Told you," said Arthur, looking down at Merlin.

This was unfair. This was absolutely unfair, and she didn't have to take it. She was a priestess of the Old Religion. She deserved respect, not this inexplicable laughter. She almost suspected that they'd worked this out ahead of time to laugh at her for no perceivable reason just to frustrate her, but they hadn't spoke to one another. She and Mordred might have actually noticed that Merlin wasn't quite so dead as they'd hoped if he had started speaking with Arthur.

It didn't matter why they were laughing. Why should it? They didn't matter, but they owed her respect. She took several deep breaths, trying to collect herself before she did something foolish. She couldn't lose control now.

Then, in a fit of what was either very good or very bad timing, Merlin looked up and met her eyes, his as merry as hers were murderous.

So, she snapped. Wheeling backward, she drew back her fist and began to swing it forward, as though she was throwing a particularly heavy stone. The words were already beginning to stream from her lips before her arm was even past her ear.

Merlin noticed. He made a floppily halfhearted gesture with his hand, and she would have believed that he was just attempting the swat away a particularly irksome fly if she had not seen his eyes glow golden.

Before she knew what was happened, she was lying on her back, spine tingling and skull throbbing from the force with which she'd been thrown to the ground. She hadn't skidded or slid or even lost her footing. She'd just…gone down, as though the broken white brick floor had swung up to slap her from behind. She couldn't even recall falling. She'd been…pulled.

When she pushed herself up on her elbows and looked at Merlin, she was breathing hard.

"I'm sorry, Morgana," said Merlin, sounding genuinely apologetic as he ceased his laughter. He gestured for her to stand. As she climbed to her feet, trying to retain what little dignity was left to her, she saw that Arthur had his hand on the hilt of his sword again, although he had not risked drawing it and calling attention to himself.

Mordred hadn't moved at all.

"It's not fair that you should have to be in the dark about this," Merlin continued. "And it's certainly not fair that you haven't been told. Still, I'm surprised that you haven't put it all together yet."

Morgana rubbed the back of her head. "Put what all together?"

"Emrys," intoned Merlin, as though she should have known exactly what he was talking about.

"You know who Emrys is?" she asked dully, too doubtful to bother to care very much about what he'd have to say.

"I do," he said, so brightly that she found herself wondering if maybe she ought to listen to him.

Stupid Merlin.

"Does everyone know who he is?"

"Everyone but you, it seems."

"Merlin…"

"Come on, Morgana," he urged. "Put it together. You must have heard the rumors."

For the first time in years, she found that she almost didn't care. She really wanted to sit down. "What rumors."

"Tell me, Morgana," said Merlin pleasantly. "How long have you been staying with out mutual friend here?"

He nodded at Mordred.

"Long enough," she said guardedly.

"And he promised you something."

She stared at him.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Humor me. I missed a few things while I was on the ground. Pretending to be dead can take a toll on effective eavesdropping."

She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. She didn't want to attack him again. "He promised that I'd—we'd—learned the identity of Emrys if I aided him."

Merlin laughed again, although thankfully with less gusto than previously. "He got the better part of that deal," he said, sounding honestly amused. "He's known the identity of Emrys since he was a little boy. He knew who Emrys was before Emrys did. He could have told you anytime he wanted."

"Who then?" she asked, speaking before she had to acknowledge how easily she would be able to accept Merlin's claim as accurate.

Merlin gave a strange smile and didn't say anything.

He looked at her.

He looked at her, and Morgana understood.

"Oh, come on," she said, exasperated.

He raised his eyebrows, just a little bit.

"I'm not an idiot, Merlin," she said, raising her own eyebrows in mockery.

He didn't say anything at all.

Morgana found herself laughing, desperately. "Come on! You're trying to tell me that you're Emrys? You, Merlin?"

"A bit anti-climactic, isn't it, Morgana?"

There was a pause as they stared at each other. Then she scoffed, half ashamed of herself for entertaining the thought. It was too ridiculous. She was able to deal with a lot of coincidences in her life, but this would have just been too much of one for her taste.

"You lie."

"Would you care to put that theory to the test?" he asked, waving his hand at her in a gesture that she understood. If he thought that she would just stand idly by while he did again what he did before to knock her to the ground, he had another thing coming. That had hurt.

"You lie," she repeated.

"Why would I lie about this?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Because you're annoying," she informed him honestly. It seemed plausible.

Merlin laughed. "The two aren't mutually exclusive."

She crossed her own arms over her chest. "You don't look like Emrys."

"I don't look like a lot of things that I am. I made it nearly ten years without anyone so much as suspecting that I was a sorcerer, and I made a lot of stupid mistakes along the way that should have had me caught," Merlin retorted reasonably, before adding, "Sorry to bring that up, Arthur. It was relevant."

Arthur snorted from somewhere behind Merlin. Morgana ignored him. She didn't want to look away from Merlin, because if she looked away, he would give away his tell and she would know that he was lying and then they could all blast each other to pieces to their hearts' content and it would all be as it was meant to be.

"So you're trying to tell me that you're my destiny and my doom?" she asked.

Merlin glanced from Morgana to the motionless Mordred, then back again. "Yes."

Something was wrong. He didn't understand something. This was good.

"And I'm your destiny and doom?" she pressed.

A shadow passed over Merlin's face. Confusion. Uncertainty. Indecision. For the first time, he looked like he wasn't so sure of himself. It was nice.

The moment passed quickly, however, and Merlin's mask of confidence slipped back into place. "You're half right, Morgana."

"How do you mean?"

"Tell me something, my lady," he said, his voice straining beneath the casualness. "Do you know what Emrys means, in the old tongue?"

She didn't, but Merlin didn't have to know that.

"How do you know the old tongue?" she deflected.

Merlin waved the protest away, and she jumped reflexively at the motion. Fortunately, Merlin didn't seem to have noticed. "Let's just say that I was born fluent. Do you know what it means?"

Morgana gave up and shook her head. What the hell, she thought. She wanted to know, and it seemed like Mordred wasn't likely to tell her anything that she particularly wanted to know. She may as well hear it from someone.

"It means immortal, Morgana," said Merlin. "Immortal. So you may be my destiny, my lady, but you will never be my doom."

Over Merlin's shoulder, she saw Arthur give a nervous glance at his friend, believing.

It was enough for Morgana.

She thought about it.

No. No. No. Merlin was not Emrys. That was not possible. She thought of when she had encountered Emrys for the first time, back in her hovel when she had infested Merlin with the Fommoroh. Emrys had come to kill the mother creature. How had he known? She'd never thought of it before. How could he have known about the creature in Merlin's neck? Merlin himself was oblivious to it while it was active in him, and Arthur was oblivious to almost everything. But…what if it had gone into hibernation? Or failed, even for a moment? Merlin would have known, and Merlin had been to her hovel, he could have remembered the way. Could Merlin had found Emrys and told him everything that he needed to know to face off with Morgana?

Not mutually exclusive, she thought, beginning to grow nervous. And then there was Dragoon, Emrys'…brother? They had looked so similar, but their behavior could not have been more different. Dragoon had inexplicably involved himself in the love life of Arthur and Guinevere—she still wasn't entirely sure how that had worked out—whereas Emrys had taken it upon himself to save Arthur's servant and, correspondingly, Arthur. Dragoon had been goofy, for lack of a better word. Emrys had been…sinister, in his own way.

Not mutually exclusive…

Emrys had made an appearance in the castle, on the night before Arthur and his cavalry had shown up with that new sword of his to retake the kingdom. They had lost the old sorcerer, despite his advanced age and weak body, and not just because he was powerful. He'd had a knowledge of the geography of the castle that somehow hadn't struck her as odd at the time. Nothing else had gone wrong that night, but the next day, when she'd gone to strike down her brother, her magic had failed her. Merlin had been in the room…

Born fluent…

Merlin survived everything. He should have died a thousand times over, from dangerous situations and attacks and injuries, but he still managed to survive. Even today, with Mordred's attack…even Mordred seemed shocked that Merlin was alive, and Mordred was rarely shocked when it came to his own magic.

Emrys means immortal…

And then there was Arthur, who should have been dead even more times than Merlin. So many of his unlikely instances of death-defying had occurred before she'd been told of Emrys. Emrys couldn't have been any sort of recent addition to Arthur's circle of protectors. And then there was Arthur's quest to the lands of the Fisher King, where he should have died long before he'd gotten within a hundred feet of the damn trident. Merlin had been mysteriously missing from Camelot during Arthur's absence…and Arthur had come back healthy. Arthur had survived the bite of the Questing Beast. Arthur always managed to retake the citadel from the various usurpers. Arthur had a magic sword. Arthur was never alone...Friends of Merlin tended to survive despite all odds. Enemies of Merlin tended to…not.

My destiny and my doom…

She looked up at him, horrified. He stood there, disheveled and skinny and clumsy and wearing the same clothes that he'd been wearing for the past decade, unimposing and unintimidating and unintelligent and unlikely. He stood there, alive. He stood there…

"Oh, no," she whispered.

Merlin grinned.

"Surprise."

.

.

.

.

.

Thank you for reading. Please review!