I'm so sorry this chapter took so long; I had thought I'd be able to update again before the end of 2019, that I'd have more time to write over the holidays...but obviously that didn't happen. I don't even know how the time got away from me. Anyway, here it is, finally.

Gwen rushed at Morgana the second she entered the room, hugging her with such exuberance that she nearly lifted the sorceress off her feet. "Morgana! Oh, I'm so glad you're back! I mean, you've been back for weeks now, but-"

"It's all right, Gwen, I know exactly what you mean. I missed you too, even though I didn't know it until last night." Then she turned to Arthur, who claimed not to have missed her at all but nearly cracked her ribs with the force of his embrace before she freed herself. She wasn't sure yet how her newfound immortality would withstand serious injuries, and didn't want to put it to the test quite so soon by allowing herself to be suffocated.

Arthur and Gwen were taken aback to learn that she had changed in the same ways as Merlin, and their attempts to explain how it had come about only seemed to further confuse their non-magical friends, but they accepted her just as readily as they had him, and by the time they all sat down to breakfast, it was almost like they had never been apart, as if no more than a day had passed since their last gathering. It had in fact been much longer than that, though, and certain things that had occurred in the interim still needed to be addressed.

"So, Arthur," Morgana began as they helped themselves to pastries from the tray in the middle of their table, "I've heard some interesting stories about what you've been up to while I was away. Something about you conspiring with Nimueh to imprison Merlin in a cave?"

"It wasn't his fault," Gwen defended him while he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "We really did believe there was something seriously wrong with Merlin - which turned out to be true, even if it wasn't what we thought - and he wouldn't accept Nimueh's help willingly. Anyway, it sounds like things worked out for the best, since whatever happened in the Crystal Cave enabled him to bring you back to us."

"No arguments there. I was only teasing."

"Did you really have to tell her about that, Merlin?" Arthur demanded. Even though things had indeed worked out for the best, as Gwen said, he still wasn't proud of the fact that he had doubted his closest friend's sanity.

"Actually, she saw it in a vision," Merlin tried to explain, but Arthur wasn't listening.

"I suppose you just had to tell her all about that whole fiasco with Mithian too, didn't you?"

"As a matter of fact, I never said a word about Mithian," Merlin informed him with a slight smirk. "But you just did."

"Mithian?" Morgana's eyes narrowed to dangerous-looking slits as they darted between the two men. "Who is Mithian?"

"The princess of Nemeth, remember? You've never met, but Camelot and Nemeth had a longstanding dispute over parts of Gedref," Merlin reminded her, grinning at Arthur's look of dawning horror upon realizing what he'd gotten himself into. "While you were gone, Arthur tried to settle it by arranging a betrothal between us."

"He did what?!"

"Well, obviously I'd forgotten he was already married," Arthur muttered, cringing away from the poisonous glare Morgana shot him.

"And what is she like, this princess? Is she pretty?"

"Well, she looks like you in some ways, so I thought she was pretty enough. Her eyes are brown, though - much less interesting than yours."

"I suppose that's all right then," Morgana conceded, mollified at hearing that Merlin judged other women's attractiveness by their resemblance to her...then her gaze hardened as she turned back to Arthur. "Still, you overstepped by interfering in the personal affairs of your fellow king. Such presumption cannot go unpunished." She rose from her seat and stalked toward him.

Alarmed by the look on her face, Arthur jumped up and backed away, keeping the table between them. "Merlin, do something! You're not just going to sit there and let her kill me, are you?"

"Oh, I don't think she means to kill you," Merlin replied unconcernedly. "She'll probably just turn you into a toad for a few days. Pass the jam, please, Gwen?"

"But I don't want to be a toad," Arthur protested in a tone which, if it had come from anyone other than a High King of Albion, might have been called whining. Seeing that Merlin wasn't going to be any help, he appealed to the only other person in the room. "Guinevere, help me!"

"What's this?" Morgana taunted as he took refuge behind Gwen's chair. "The great King Arthur, hiding behind his lady's skirts? Not so tall and mighty now, are you?" She thrust out her hand as if to cast some spell on him, and he ducked out of sight with a sound that was most definitely not a whimper.

That was when Gwen decided to take pity on him, setting aside her fork and standing up to place herself between him and the irate sorceress. "I understand how you feel, Morgana - heaven knows I'd be furious if I'd been kidnapped and then found out that someone tried to promise the man I loved to another woman while I was gone - but you will change him back in time for the wedding, won't you? I'd really rather not marry a toad."

"The wedding?" Morgana repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Oh yes, I remember now that you told me the date is set. I suppose that means it's too late to talk you out of this folly, then?"

"You know," said Arthur, who had come out from under the table once he saw that she was distracted, "I think I liked her better without her memories. Can't you take them away again, Merlin?"

Morgana glared at him, but Gwen quickly diverted her attention by asking, "I never got a chance to show you my dress, did I?"

Her question had the desired effect; Morgana's gaze was instantly riveted on her once more, Arthur all but forgotten. "No, you didn't. Did you decide to use that beaded lace we were admiring during our last visit to the seamstress' workshop? What about the design of the bodice? I hope you didn't settle on anything too conservative!"

"Well, it's not as daring as yours was," Gwen admitted, "but I think it'll do, even if it does cover my shoulders." Upon seeing the well-hidden flicker of dismay in Morgana's eyes, she added, "Why don't you come to my chambers and take a look? I'm sure you'll approve once you see it."

"Which you can do after you finish your breakfast," Merlin interjected, finally getting up and steering Morgana back to her seat. "As you pointed out last night, you haven't recovered your full strength yet, and for that you need food. The dress will still be there after you've eaten."

###

Morgana did indeed like Gwen's dress once she actually laid eyes on it; it may not have been very revealing, but it had an elegance befitting the king of Camelot's bride. The two women spent the rest of the morning discussing every aspect of the wedding in great detail, and by the time Morgana left her friend's chambers, her spirits were higher than they had been all day, except of course for that perfect moment when she woke up in Merlin's arms.

As she headed back to their chambers to prepare for her appearance in court that afternoon, she encountered a woman who didn't seem to share her good mood - in fact, she had the look of someone marching off to her own execution - and stopped to ask if she could help her.

Instead of appearing grateful for the offer, the other woman's look of dread deepened as her gaze flickered over Morgana's features. "You're Queen Morgana, aren't you?"

"Technically, I'm still just a princess. With everything that's been going on, Merlin hasn't yet had a chance to crown me as his queen, though we intend to correct that as soon as possible." Gwen's coronation would of course take place immediately after she and Arthur said their vows, so they had decided to make it a double ceremony. Morgana did not, however, feel any need to share the fine points of her plans with a total stranger. She was about to ask the other woman's name in turn when it suddenly occurred to her that, with her flawless porcelain skin and lustrous dark hair, the lady bore a certain resemblance to her - at least, the way she had looked before her imprisonment in Sarrum's pit - except that her eyes were brown, and with that realization, Morgana thought she knew exactly who she was. "And you must be Princess Mithian."

Ice flooded her insides as she sized up her would-be replacement, because Mithian was very pretty - her beauty would have easily equaled Morgana's if she were in perfect health, but as things currently stood, it seemed to her that the princess of Nemeth held the advantage there - and even though she knew the proposed betrothal between Merlin and Mithian had come to nothing and that there was no chance of it being revived now, she couldn't shake the thought that under different circumstances, she might have returned to find her husband married to this woman.

For her part, Mithian felt as if she might melt under Morgana's intense scrutiny, and would have given almost anything to be anywhere else. Although she had never met Dagon's future queen in person, she and her father had received word of Merlin and Morgana's wedding; they had even considered attending until an unseasonably early snowstorm made travel impossible, though they made up for their absence by sending gifts. When her memory of these events returned, she had been horrified to realize that she had, however unwittingly, tried to steal away another woman's husband, and felt compelled to seek Morgana out and attempt to apologize for her actions.

She had known, of course, that the situation was bound to be awkward, but nothing could have prepared her for the shiver of fear that went down her spine as she faced the woman she had unintentionally wronged. At first glance, it seemed absurd that she should be intimidated by Morgana, since she didn't exactly possess an imposing physique - on the contrary, she had the wan look of someone recovering from a long illness - but her frail facade was offset by the raw power emanating from her, and as she gazed into her otherworldly green-gold eyes, Mithian felt a sudden, dreadful certainty that she could vaporize her in an instant if she so desired. Even as this dawned on her, however, she knew she was powerless to avoid such a fate; there was something hypnotic about the shimmering gold flecks in those eyes, something that held her like a mouse trapped in the stare of a cobra. No wonder Merlin never responded to me, she thought in the single corner of her mind that wasn't frozen in terror. How could I ever compete with such a fearsome sorceress?

For a long moment, silence reigned as they stared one another down, each lost in her own thoughts about the other; only when Mithian actually began to shiver did Morgana realize that the icy feeling in her guts wasn't just her imagination - the air around them had grown palpably colder. Taking a deep breath, she very deliberately drew the magic that had leaked out as her emotions ran high back into herself. "My apologies, princess; my magic recently underwent some changes to which I haven't yet fully adapted. Is there something I can do for you?"

Mithian's fists clenched in her skirts as she fought the urge to wring her hands together, to maintain her outward composure. "I don't know what happened to you, why everyone seemingly forgot your existence until last night, but judging by your reaction to me, I assume you already know that a betrothal between your husband and myself was attempted during your absence."

"So I've heard," Morgana replied stiffly.

"It wasn't my idea...but I must confess I made every effort to win Merlin over, which I now regret immensely. I only hope that one day you can forgive this affront." Then she bowed her head, awaiting what she fully expected would be a harsh response.

Instead of the tongue-lashing she anticipated, Morgana merely said, "An affront requires intent, does it not? I suppose I cannot fault you for trying to make the best of a situation thrust upon you by your father and my dear brother." Realizing that her tart tone implied otherwise, she attempted to soften it. "Truly, I harbor no animosity toward you, Princess Mithian...or even Arthur. Neither of you are to blame for anything you did while deprived of your memories. ...It just came as a shock, to have suffered what I have and then returned home to find that I almost lost the person I love most in the world without even knowing it."

"No, you didn't. Despite my best efforts, Merlin never showed the slightest interest in me. At the time, I thought we were simply incompatible, but now I believe his indifference was due to the fact that he never stopped loving you, even when he couldn't remember you."

This cheered Morgana up considerably. "And what of your feelings? I hope you aren't too disappointed that your betrothal didn't work out."

"Actually, it did," Mithian said with a small yet radiant smile, "better than I had hoped for, in fact. Leon and I have far more in common than I did with Merlin, and I can already tell we'll be very happy together." She and her fiancé were still getting to know one another, but they spent almost every waking moment in each other's company, and had recently shared their second kiss during a stroll through the town, after they had finished ministering to some of Nemeth's wounded soldiers from Camlann who weren't yet able to make the long journey home. In Mithian's opinion it was much better than their first kiss, which had been an act of despair and desperation, while their second was an exploration of the affection that was already growing out of their friendship and attraction to one another, with the promise of many more to come.

"Sir Leon, first knight of Camelot?" Morgana asked, her eyebrows arching in confusion. At Mithian's nod, she said, "Well, this is certainly a surprise, but a pleasant one. He's a good man, and you're lucky to have found him. I'm curious, though - how exactly did your courtship with Merlin end in your engagement to Leon?"

Encouraged by the genuine warmth in her voice, Mithian began telling her tale, hesitantly at first, then with greater enthusiasm as Morgana eagerly took in every detail, laughing and exclaiming in all the right places much like her maids at home would have. As they walked off together, she was startled to realize that she had stopped thinking of Morgana as a sorceress; the golden sparks in her eyes were still clearly visible, but it appeared that underneath the magic was a woman like any other - perhaps, Mithian thought hopefully, one she might even call a friend.

###

The great hall was buzzing when Merlin and Arthur walked in, though the people fell silent at the sight of their High Kings and turned to watch expectantly as they seated themselves on their respective thrones.

"No doubt many of you have questions about the events of last night," Merlin began, "and we've gathered you here this afternoon to answer them. Some months ago, my wife was abducted by the traitor Mordred, who used dark magic to erase her from all our memories in order to prevent Arthur and myself from rescuing her."

A wave of angry murmurs went through the room, as the crowd grumbled about how Mordred was an even worse monster than they'd thought.

Arthur took up the narrative then, raising his voice to be heard over their rumblings. "Fortunately, Merlin finally succeeded in breaking the enchantment last night, and restoring what was taken from us."

"But where is she?" a nobleman near the front of the assembly called out. His voice was soon joined by many others, all clamoring to know what had become of Morgana.

"Mordred left her in the custody of his accomplice, Agravaine," Merlin explained, "who as we now know sailed to the Saxons' homeland in order to recruit them to Mordred's cause. I have yet to hear the full details of what Morgana endured during this journey, but you'll be happy to know that she escaped and has returned to her rightful place among us."

With a wave of his hand, the intricately carved double doors at the other end of the hall opened, revealing Morgana - a bit paler and thinner than they remembered her, perhaps, though she had made up her face in such a way that the changes were barely noticeable, and further camouflaged them by choosing a gown of pale gold and silver rather than a bright crimson or violet that would have contrasted harshly with her pallor, but still recognizable as their beloved princess.

The people welcomed her with applause and exclamations of joy, and as she made her way down the center aisle, she stopped to greet several of them, clasping hands and sharing a few words here and there, all while giving everyone a dazzling smile that was matched only by the glint of gold from her necklace, earrings, hair accessories - and, of course, her eyes.

Eventually she reached the dais at the front of the room, and Merlin got up to escort her to a seat beside his throne. She felt a pang in her chest as she recalled that the last time she presided over a meeting of the royal court, it had been Balinor occupying the throne - and of course the only people in attendance were various members of Dagon's nobility, while their current audience contained representatives from almost every kingdom in Albion. Although she was sorry that Merlin had been forced to take up the mantle of kingship so much sooner than expected, and under such tragic circumstances, she couldn't help feeling a surge of pride at seeing what he and Arthur had achieved in such a short time.

"Thank you all for this warm welcome," she began, and everyone instantly fell silent, hanging on her words. "Words can hardly express my happiness at being here with you all, or my gratitude for my husband's valiant efforts in saving me and bringing me home." She paused to squeeze Merlin's hand and smile warmly at him - much to the delight of their audience, particularly the women - before continuing. "Of course, I understand that our realm has suffered a great upheaval in my absence, and I do not wish to disrupt the vital business of this court as we strive to recover and rebuild. Please carry on as you were."

"On the contrary, we were awaiting your presence before seeing to a particular matter," Arthur told her. "Most of Mordred's allies have already been dealt with - by the decree of the High Kings, and with the support of all the other rulers, King Alined was executed for treason against Albion and his next of kin, the Lady Alinette, crowned in his place - but there was one whose sentence Merlin believed should be left in your hands."

"Sefa," he replied to her questioning look. "I know what she did to you."

Morgana's stomach clenched as she recalled the awful feeling of her body succumbing to the drug with which Sefa had laced her water, of realizing that she was completely at Mordred's mercy...and worse, that the person responsible for consigning her to that fate was someone she had trusted. She tightened her grip on Merlin's hand, certain she would need help to maintain her self-control when she faced her betrayer, yet her voice remained steady as she ordered, "Bring her in."

The doors at the far end of the hall opened again, and a pair of guards strode in, each clasping one of Sefa's arms. She trudged along between them with her head bowed, looking rather disheveled after spending a few weeks in the dungeon but otherwise no worse for wear. The guards marched her to the front of the hall and pushed her to her knees before the dais, then stepped back.

Morgana stared down at her, her mind awash with so many conflicting emotions that she couldn't begin to name them all, though annoyance soon pushed its way to the forefront when Sefa continued to gaze fixedly at the floor, refusing to acknowledge her. "Look at me," she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like the crack of a whip.

Sefa flinched and quickly lifted her head, the lank strands of unwashed hair that had escaped her bedraggled braid falling aside to reveal deeply shadowed, bloodshot eyes set in a drawn, haggard face. Morgana had no doubt that she had been well cared for during her incarceration - apart from not having access to a bathtub, obviously - yet it was clear that something had been tormenting the girl. Seeing her in such a state sparked a flicker of pity in Morgana, but she ruthlessly tamped it down, determined not to let the traitor off so easily.

"You know why you're here, Sefa - you wormed your way into a position of trust in the royal household, then used that trust to betray me and deliver me into Mordred's hands. Tell me, what did I ever do to earn your hatred?"

"N-nothing, your highness," Sefa sniffled, seemingly surprised by the question. "You were always good to me."

"Then why did you do it? Were you simply driven by your fear of Mordred? You thought it better to leave me to his tender mercies than risk his wrath turning against you?"

"Yes," Sefa admitted, nodding miserably. "And it was what my f-father wanted... All my life, I knew he was disappointed that I didn't have magic...so when he entrusted me with such an important mission, I saw it as a chance to finally prove myself to him. I just wanted him to be proud of me...to love me."

"Love? Yes, people have certainly done many things, great and terrible, in the name of love," Morgana said thoughtfully. "But what sort of love is it that must be bought at the cost of your morality?"

"I know, I know what I did was wrong, and I'm sorry! I'm so sorry... I would ask for your forgiveness, your highness, but I know I don't deserve it." Sefa bowed her head once more, her tears falling silently to pool on the floor.

"You cannot begin to imagine the horrors I endured because of your selfishness and cowardice." Morgana's voice came out in a cold hiss, and the air around her crackled, while the entire hall seemed to darken as if some invisible beast had spread its wings overhead. "I admit, part of me wishes in return to make your life a very short and painful one..."

This time it was Merlin's turn to squeeze her hand. Control yourself, my love. This isn't the time or place for a magical outburst. He looked pointedly at their audience, some of whom were growing nervous at her display of unbridled power.

Realizing he was right, Morgana leaned back in her seat and took a deep, calming breath. Light instantly returned to the room, and the charged atmosphere, like the feeling in the air just before a storm, dissipated. "...However, there has been enough death and destruction already. What this land needs now is healing, not further bloodshed." She briefly closed her eyes, calling on her Sight to confirm that the girl harbored no more nefarious intentions, before adding, "Since you no longer pose a threat to the security of our realm and its people, I also see no reason to continue holding you in the dungeon, burdening our taxpayers with your upkeep. You are free to go."

Sefa made no move to take advantage of her newly granted freedom; instead she remained on her knees, gazing up at Morgana in utter disbelief. "Truly? You're sparing me...and I'm not a prisoner anymore?"

"Correct. The father you tried so hard to please is dead, killed by the very man he thought would give him a better life; as punishment for your crimes, I believe his loss will suffice. You may go," she repeated, suddenly impatient to have the girl out of her sight. "Return to your druid band, if you will. No one will stop you."

"I don't know how to find them, though," Sefa said, anxiously biting her lip. "With my lack of magic, I never really felt at home among them anyway."

"So you've nowhere to go?" When Sefa shook her head, Morgana asked, "What are we to do with you, then? The last thing this city needs is another beggar on the streets..." Then an idea formed in her mind, one that would allow her a small degree of retribution without excessive cruelty. "I suppose we'll just have to keep you employed here. You'll no longer hold a trusted position such as you once did, of course, but there are plenty of other jobs in a castle this size. Our master gardener, for instance, is always in need of an extra pair of hands. Would you like to work in the gardens?"

"Oh, yes," Sefa said eagerly. "I've always loved being outdoors, and if the gardens here are anything like the ones at the palace in Dagon, I know they'll be beautiful."

"That's because they're nourished with the finest fertilizer in Albion. Do you know what that is, Sefa?"

"No, your highness."

"Dragon dung," Morgana revealed, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "I hear the garden staff is frequently up to their elbows in it."

Sefa's face fell, but before she could voice her opinion on this, if indeed she had anything to say, the guards stepped in and led her away to prepare for her new assignment.

I don't know if you're being incredibly generous, Merlin remarked with an amused glint in his eyes, or deviously diabolical.

Morgana's only response was a sly smile. Don't worry, I'll find something else to do with her in a month or two. Didn't you once tell me that's the longest a person can handle dragon dung without losing their sense of smell? I might be angry with the girl, but I'm not vengeful enough to permanently deprive her of her olfactory capabilities.

I'm glad to hear it.

"What are you two conspiring about?" Arthur demanded, guessing from their expressions that they were conversing through magical mind-speak, which of course excluded him.

"Nothing," Merlin said too quickly, knowing his hasty denial would only serve to further aggravate Arthur.

"There is something I want to ask you, though," Morgana interjected, leaning around Merlin so she could speak to her foster brother while simultaneously raising her voice to direct her words to the court as well. "When I learned of Agravaine's plot to bring Saxons to Albion, I sent a boy named Daegal to warn you. Did he ever reach Camelot?"

"Daegal? Yes, he did. I'm sorry to say I doubted him at first, especially since he accused my uncle of treason."

"And what became of him afterward?"

"He stayed with us. I heard Gaius has taken him on as an apprentice."

She turned back to the crowd, her eyes seeking out the old physician. "And is your apprentice with us today, Gaius?"

"Yes, my lady, he's right here." Reaching behind himself, Gaius took hold of the boy's arm and propelled him forward into the empty space before the thrones.

"Hello, Daegal," Morgana said warmly. "I'm pleased to hear that in this, at least, I placed my trust in the right person."

Daegal just stared at her, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging slightly open in astonishment - in fact, he'd been doing that ever since she walked in, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that the desperate, beleaguered captive who had once pleaded for his help and seemed so terrified of Kara now sat beside the High Kings of Albion, and apparently wielded power that made Kara's magic look like a cheap parlor trick - until Gaius elbowed him. Then he hastily executed a stiff, clumsy bow while stammering out, "Your majesty, I- Thank you...and I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time about it. I didn't know you were..." Suddenly afraid he was about to end up shoveling dragon dung alongside Sefa, he added, "But you can have your necklace back. Cursed thing turned out to be more trouble than it was worth anyway."

"That's quite all right; I have all the jewels I'll ever need, and I want nothing from Agravaine." Even now, the very thought of him sent a shudder of revulsion through her. "But what trouble did the necklace cause you?"

"Well, everyone assumed I stole it."

"Did they?" Looking past him, she addressed the court. "Well, let me tell you all that this boy is no thief; if not for him, my husband and brother might not have known about the Saxons' impending invasion until it was too late. We all owe Daegal a debt of gratitude - which I hope this will repay in some small measure."

A servant brought her a leather pouch filled with gold coins; she then stepped down from the dais and personally handed it to Daegal, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that he had come by his newfound riches honestly. When the applause ended, she asked, "Is there any other reward you desire? If so, name it and it shall be yours."

Daegal frantically shook his head. "No, your majesty, you've done more than enough. I'm happy working with Gaius." He retreated back to his place at the edge of the crowd, privately thinking that the best reward would be if he was allowed to live out the rest of his life peacefully, and never again got entangled in the affairs of royalty.

Morgana also returned to her seat, and presided over the rest of the court's business with Merlin and Arthur as she used to do with Balinor, and Uther before him - until at last, just as they were about to adjourn for the day, the doors were flung open and a messenger came pelting up the center aisle. He staggered to a halt in front of their thrones and bent over, gasping for breath.

Since he was one of Camelot's men, this time it was Arthur who stepped down and helped to steady him. "Easy there. What's your hurry, my friend?"

"Sire...just got word from scouts...south," he wheezed. "The Saxons-"

Arthur tightened his grip on the man's arm as a flurry of whispers and grumbling broke out at the mention of their hated enemy. "What about them? Have they taken ships from Deorham and returned to their homeland?" he asked hopefully, even though a voice inside him warned that the news couldn't possibly be that good. Why would the messenger have run himself ragged simply to report that the Saxons were gone?

His fears were confirmed when the man shook his head. "No, sire; they've left Deorham, gone farther south."

"Farther south?" Arthur repeated, puzzlement furrowing his brow. "Why? There's nothing there but nomadic Southron tribes."

"Perhaps they mean to settle there," Merlin suggested.

Again the messenger shook his head. "Begging your pardon, your majesties, but it seems there is something there besides Southrons. Rumor has it that they're being drawn to some hidden fortress in the desert, gathering under the banner of some warlord who's enthralled them with dark magic...and there are local legends in the southernmost villages about raiders who appear out of nowhere every few years, pillage and terrorize the towns, then vanish without a trace. Most people in that area are too afraid to say much on the matter, especially to outsiders, but we did manage to learn the name of the man who supposedly commands this mysterious fortress. They say he's called Sarrum."

Merlin leaned forward, a dozen questions already running through his mind - mainly revolving around how the messenger, who otherwise seemed like a sensible enough fellow, could have been taken in by such a fanciful tale - but before he could voice any of them, he heard a soft gasp from the seat beside his throne and looked around just in time to see Morgana slumping over in a dead faint.

Uh-oh, looks like Sarrum's stirring up trouble again! Well, I did warn you that we hadn't seen the last of him. I have to admit, I'm a little nervous at the prospect of writing an epic magical showdown between him, Merlin, and Morgana, so don't get worried if it takes some extra time and probably several rewrites before I come up with something I feel okay about releasing for public consumption. I'll do my best to make it worth the wait.