A/N: And HERE IT IS. The chapter you have all been waiting for (well, one of them). I cannot tell you how much of a bitch this chapter was for me to write. I spent weeks agonizing over it, thinking through one version and discarding it and thinking through another and repeating the process over and over and losing sleep over it. It was just awful. But now I'm rather quite fond of how it turned out.

**EDITED**

"Mordred, fetch Sir Gerund. Bring him to the throne room," Merlin barked, and Mordred was off immediately. By the time that he had rounded the corner out of the room, Merlin was already fully armoured again and strapping a sword around his waist.

Merlin swept past the squire, who handed him the scroll and fell in beside him, struggling to keep pace with his sovereign's longer strides. The missive was a short one, saying only that she would be there within the hour, that she came in peace, and that she would speak with the newly crowned king on a matter of urgent business.

"How was this message delivered?" Merlin demanded, forming and discarding and reforming plans, his thoughts spinning at dizzying speeds.

"By raven, sire," the squire answered. "Just a few moments ago."

He still had time then. Within the hour, she had said. Merlin handed the scroll back, uninformative as it was.

"Thank you for being prompt. You may go," he said.

"Do you wish for me to summon the council for you, my Lord?"

"No, that will not be necessary," Merlin said darkly. "I will deal with her myself."

The squire bowed quickly and sprinted off ahead of him, undoubtedly to spread the word of what was happening. Merlin did not try to stop him or swear him to silence about what he knew; there would be no way of keeping it quiet once she arrived, and a little forewarning might help to prevent widespread panic if Morgana showed up in the courtyard.

But he did not want the council on his back right now. He generally appreciated their help and their advice and he had a great deal of respect for the wisdom that their experience lent them, but none of them knew Morgana, not like he did.

The squire must have stopped off at Merlin's chambers, because by the time Merlin reached the throne room, his manservant was waiting for him. Raime wordlessly handed him his crown, which Merlin donned, and then threw the heavy blue cloak with the enormous royal crest stitched intricately across the back of it around his shoulders, fastening it neatly and smoothing it down a few times unnecessarily.

He was worried, Merlin knew him well enough by now to see that clearly, but he did not try to offer advice or caution, for which Merlin was very grateful; he probably would have snapped at the boy in the mood that he was in, too tense to be anything but argumentative in these circumstances.

Merlin only had to endure his manservant's nervous fussing for a moment, wondering briefly if he had been this obviously anxious whenever Arthur had been doing something dangerous and deciding that he had probably been worse, before the doors were thrown open again, admitting Mordred and a very grim faced Sir Gerund.

"What's happening?" Gerund asked, striding forward with a tight grip on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.

"Morgana is on her way," Merlin told him. "She will be here within the hour."

"I will call the guards and assemble the fighting force at once," Gerund said promptly, turning to do just that, but Merlin shook his head.

"No," he said firmly.

"You mean you will see her?" Gerund asked incredulously.

"I will."

"Are you sure that is wise, Merlin?" Mordred inquired, a trace of apprehension in his voice.

He had a right to be nervous about meeting Morgana again, Merlin supposed; the last time Mordred had encountered her, he had betrayed her, quite literally stabbing her in the back in favor of protecting Arthur. It stood to reason that he would be a tad bit fearful at the prospect of retribution from one as powerful as her. Not that Merlin would allow any harm to come to him.

"I would rather face her directly than continue as we have been, with her skirting around the edges of the kingdom, always posing a threat but never actually engaging. It needs to end, one way or the other," Merlin said.

Gerund sighed but nodded in understanding. There was only so long that they could stall a confrontation such as this, and their time had run out. At least this way, Morgana was not coming as a hostile party, but as a supplicant in Merlin's court. He would be in the position of authority and she would be the one at a disadvantage. He could ask for no better opportunity.

"As you wish, sire," Gerund said with only a hint of reluctance, though he still sounded as though he thought Merlin mad for taking this path. "I will bring her to you directly." He turned towards the door again, but Merlin called him back as something occurred to him.

"Sir Gerund! If you could, try not to mention my name in her hearing," he said. Gerund gave him an odd look, but Mordred nodded in understanding.

"Why, may I ask?"

"Morgana and I have…a great deal of history. Much more than she knows, I'm afraid." Merlin said enigmatically. "But she's about to find out, and I fear what her reaction will be. I need to be the one with her when she discovers my identity; no one else has a chance of containing her when she is truly angered."

Gerund's brow pinched and he shifted uncertainly on his feet, apparently torn between following orders and staying where he was. "You wish to see her alone?" he asked.

Merlin nodded.

Gerund's hand clenched spasmodically around the hilt of his sword, a nervous gesture that Merlin had never seen from him before. "I do not believe that's wise, sire," he said. "You should have a contingent of guards at your back to—"

"That won't be necessary, Gerund, I assure you," Merlin said. "I have fought Morgana before and know myself to be more than her match."

"I don't doubt it, sire," Gerund said, but he stepped forward, practically vibrating with tension. "But as your advisor and as your friend, I would be more comfortable if you had someone at your side. Just in case. I can help protect you."

Merlin saw the tightness of Gerund's features, the protectiveness that radiated from him, the near-desperation in the normally implacable man's face. It was a moment before he could make sense of it and place it in the context of what he knew of Gerund. Then it became very clear and he reached out to put a hand on Gerund's shoulder, making sure to look him in the eye.

"I am not my father," he said softly. "I'm not Balinor."

Gerund slumped like a puppet with his strings cut.

"I should have gone with him," Gerund said, his voice rough with long-suppressed emotion. "If he had told me he was leaving, I would have. I would have been by his side and no harm would have come to him."

"You can't know that," Merlin said. "Some things are inevitable, no matter how much we wish it otherwise. And some journeys are meant to be undertaken alone."

"I can protect you," Gerund said, his lined face earnest. "I failed Balinor once. I cannot allow his son to come to harm."

"You never failed him, Gerund. And you will not be failing me in following my orders," Merlin said gently. "Your skill and wisdom and experience are invaluable to me, as is your support. But I can't have you here now, not like this. Guilt and feelings of responsibility can make a man reckless and prone to taking unnecessary risks. I don't need that."

Gerund opened his mouth to protest but Merlin shook his head. "I'll have Mordred at my back," he said. "He's got a clearer head right now, and he's got his own history with Morgana. He knows her well. This is an old fight, Gerund, and one you have no place in. There is nothing you can do for me here."

Gerund's face crumpled, but it was only a moment before he drew himself back up to his full height. He granted Merlin with a low bow full of respect even as his eyes continued to betray his worry.

It was a sign of Gerund's respect for Merlin's power and skill that he did not push further in an attempt to convince him to bring in a whole slew of mages for his protection; he knew well enough that Merlin was as capable as the lot of them together. There was nothing left but for him to follow his monarch's command. He swept from the room with a swirl of his cloak.

"What are you going to say?" Mordred asked quietly once the door had shut with a bang, Raime slipping through in Gerund's wake.

Merlin shook his head.

"I have no idea," he admitted. "I don't know what there is to say at this point. She has become too volatile, too unpredictable." He turned to Mordred, who looked a bit pale even as he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

"You do not have to stay for this, Mordred," Merlin offered, even though he'd told Gerund he'd have Mordred as his backup. "If it comes to violence, I would not see you get caught in the crossfire."

"I will stay with you through anything, Merlin," Mordred said resolutely, the picture of determination and faithfulness.

Merlin smiled at him, inordinately grateful that he would not have to face this completely alone. He crossed the throne room to stand before the brightly colored windows, Mordred falling in behind him without a word. His mind was curiously blank now compared to the swirling maelstrom that it had been before.

The thought of facing Morgana ought to scare him, he thought. She was an immensely powerful sorceress and incredibly dangerous, ruthless and vindictive in a way that he never would have expected when he had first met her. She had been so kind back then, spitfire and rebellious but unfailingly compassionate in all of her dealings. Everything had gone so wrong since then.

Merlin looked out over the courtyard, distorted and mottled with colors as his view of it was, and watched the people going about their day, unknowing of the conflict that was about to take place.

He wanted to strategize, he wanted to plan out his next move, but he found that he couldn't. He had no way of knowing what Morgana's reaction would be, not with how unstable she had become in the last few years. There was nothing for it but to wait until she arrived and see how it all would play out. He did not have to wait long.

It seemed like much less time than it had to have been, but the door to the throne room came flying open and he heard footsteps cross the threshold, two sets of them. He did not turn around, but he noticed that Mordred was no longer at his shoulder. The young knight must have retreated to a safe distance, for the moment at least. There was no need to anger her from the start with his presence.

"The Lady Morgana to see you, sire," Gerund announced stiffly.

Merlin could hear the strained wariness even in his tone, could picture the tension in ever line of his body, ready as he was to spring into action to defend his sovereign the second the known threat made any move against him.

"Thank you, Sir Gerund," Merlin said, but he still did not turn. "You may go."

There was a moment of hesitation, a pause as Gerund fought down his protective instincts. Then more footsteps rang out as the mage exited the throne room, the large double doors creaking shut behind him. They were alone now, the three of them. Merlin heard Morgana's lighter steps as she approached him, the clack of her heels against the stone floors echoing up to the cavernous ceilings, so much taller and more spacious than those in Camelot.

"I am grateful for this audience, my Lord," she said courteously, the accented cadence of her voice, so achingly familiar, bringing back floods of fond memories that made Merlin screw his eyes up against the ache of nostalgia and regret. "I would apologize for missing your coronation, but I'm afraid it was a little short notice."

"It was all a bit rushed, wasn't it?" Merlin said, a small half-smile stretching his lips at the understatement. He turned to face her. "Hello, Morgana."

She was as different from her old self in appearance as she was in character. Her hair, once a waterfall of sleek black waves, was now a mess of tangles and curls piled haphazardly on the top of her head and pinned there to keep it out of her face. The black lace of her dress was torn and dirty whereas before she had taken pains to keep her brightly colored garments in perfect condition no matter the circumstances, the consummate highborn lady.

Upon catching sight of his face, or maybe even recognizing his voice, her cold eyes, usually so shrewd and calculating, widened in shock. She took a faltering half-step backwards, reflexively reaching for the wrist that had once borne the intricately wrought healing bracelet gifted to her by her sister. It had been said to ward off nightmares, though Merlin knew that it had helped her to suppress and control the prophetic visions that plagued her in her sleep. It was no longer there, but the meaning of the unintentional gesture was clear.

"You are not dreaming, Morgana," Merlin said, moving to face her in the middle of the room. "And even if you were, would that make it any less real?"

He could hear her teeth click together as she clenched her jaw, her face hardening as she snapped out of her daze of incredulity.

"Merlin," she spat. He did not bother responding. She strode toward him, practically snarling, but he held his ground. "You lied to me!"

"Don't take it too personally; I lied to everyone," he said coolly. He wondered distantly where this aloof callousness was coming from. A way to deal with the stress, he supposed, to hide his uncertainty. But it seemed to make Morgana very angry indeed.

"You're a sorcerer," she said accusingly.

"Warlock, technically, but we don't need to get into the semantics."

The distinction was not lost on her. Sorcerers were taught, they needed to be trained in order to utilize the potential for magic that they possessed. Warlocks, on the other hand, were like witches in that their power was innate. Their magic developed naturally, without any choice, and it needed to be controlled rather than developed. Merlin had been through much the same struggle that Morgana had, albeit considerably earlier. And he had done nothing.

"You could have helped me. I was so scared and so confused and you could have told me that I wasn't alone," she said.

Merlin could hear the sting of it beneath the anger of betrayal. He nearly winced, nearly gave an outward sign of the crippling regret he still carried for that decision, but he managed to hold his expression steady; he could not afford to show weakness, not now.

"I tried," he said instead. "I sent you to the druids so that they could—"

"And then you lead Arthur right to us," she growled. She seemed to realize what it was that she had said and her furious expression took on shades of bewilderment.

"How could you have followed him like you did?" she demanded. "A Pendragon! You should have been fighting with me, not with him. He is the reason that people like us are ostracized, murdered in their beds, hunted down and slaughtered like animals," she said, stalking toward him, her eyes alight with righteousness.

"That was Uther's doing. Arthur is a good man," Merlin said.

"Then why are you here?" she shot back. "Why aren't you still in Camelot?"

He did not answer, swallowing hard around the ache of homesickness, and she smiled vindictively, knowing that she had hit a sore spot.

"He cast you away, didn't he? When he found out. He couldn't stand to be near you, couldn't stand to have a filthy traitorous sorcerer in his kingdom. How did you even make it out alive?"

"Arthur is not his father," Merlin gritted out, clenching his fists at his sides to keep from lashing out at her.

Her words stung far more than he liked to admit. Arthur may not have tried to kill him, not really, but he had made it clear that Merlin was no longer welcome in Camelot, and that hurt just as much. But he would not rise to the bait, no matter what Morgana threw at him or how close to home it hit.

"If anyone could have changed his mind about magic, it would have been you, Morgana."

She scoffed at him, an ugly sneer taking over her beautiful face.

"Right. As if he wouldn't have strung me up at the first hint of magic," she scoffed. "He is no better than Uther."

"You're wrong!" Merlin said steadfastly.

He stepped forward to face her more fully, but the movement meant that Morgana caught sight of the young knight who had been lurking half hidden in the shadows behind the throne. Her eyes widened once more, manic fury overtaking her features again at the sight of her betrayer, and the floor beneath their feet gave a slight tremble.

"You!" she shrieked, sparks of magic flying from her fingertips as her hold on it slipped.

Mordred flinched away, but then raised his chin defiantly, as if angry at himself for being so cowardly, and moved forward to stand boldly at Merlin's side. Morgana advanced on him, stopping just short of invading his space in earnest, her hands curled into claws at her sides with small glowing balls of energy collecting in her palms. She didn't even seem to notice them, but Merlin did, eyeing her warily.

"You traitorous little worm. I saved your life and you betrayed me for the likes of him!" She was nearly spitting in her anger, the window panes rattling in their settings.

"Arthur saved my life as well, if you'd remember," Mordred pointed out, taking a step back to put space between him and the sparks Morgana was emitting. "He had as much a part in it as you did."

"You would side with a Pendragon over your own kind?" she shrieked, looking quite mad in her rage. "I would have given you anything. And you stabbed me in the back!"

With a wordless cry, she threw up her hand and sent a jet of fire roaring at him. Before Mordred could even comprehend the flames rushing toward him, Merlin had thrown up a shield. The attack dissipated against it, leaving Mordred unharmed, though a bit shaken, and Merlin fuming.

"You have gone too far, Morgana," he thundered, striding toward her with his cloak billowing out in his wake and energy crackling around him nearly palpably as his magic raged with him, driving her back with the sheer force of its presence. "You invade my kingdom, you threaten my Lords, you attack my knights, and still you have the audacity to ask for my support?"

"You betray your kind, Merlin," she screamed. "You and Mordred both. You should be clamoring for Arthur's blood as he is for yours. Camelot has brought nothing but pain and suffering for those like us, and it deserves to be destroyed."

"I will not allow Arthur or Camelot to come to harm, not by your hand or any other," Merlin vowed.

"You would defend him after he's turned against you?" she asked disbelievingly.

"I will protect Arthur as I have always done, as I am destined," Merlin said, fierce in his loyalty.

Morgana's lips curled up in a snarl again, but then she froze, as did all the chaos her uncontrolled magic wrought. Something in Merlin's words seemed to have struck her. She stared at him for a disconcertingly long moment, her expression stuck halfway between derision and dawning comprehension, her feverish gaze fixed unblinkingly on his as her thoughts whirled.

He saw the moment she drew her final conclusion, her eyes flicking to Mordred for the briefest of seconds. Mordred shifted closer to Merlin, his stance protective. That was enough to convince her.

"No," she whispered, a kind of frail uncertainty making its way across her features. "No, you couldn't be." She did not say it out loud, but she did not need to.

"I may have been a little hard to recognize in that form, but I've been told the resemblance is in the eyes," Merlin said evenly.

"Emrys?" she said, a mere breath.

"That is the name given to me by the Druids," Merlin said, pulling his magic around him like a mantle and allowing it to shimmer visibly, sparks of gold hanging in the air; there was nothing wrong with a little intimidation factor in situations such as these. He was the most powerful magic user to ever exist and he relished the flicker of fear that crossed behind her eyes in that moment.

But she pulled herself back together quickly, masking her trepidation with bravado in the same way that Arthur always did; they were more alike than either of them would ever admit.

"The Cailleach was an old fool," she jeered, "to think that you would be my end."

"You would do well to heed her words, Morgana," Merlin warned, but she was smiling now, a manic sort of thing that was rather frightening to behold, especially as there was no obvious reason for it.

"You cannot stop me, Emrys," she said, triumph in her voice though she had won no battle. "Camelot will fall to me yet."

"I will not allow you to—" he began, but Morgana cut him off with a cackle of insane laughter, looking quite unhinged in her sudden glee.

"Ah, but you will, Emrys! Arthur will heed no warning from a traitor like you. And, you see, Camelot is not the only kingdom at stake anymore, is it?"

Merlin's heart turned to ice in his chest as Morgana devolved into wild laughter again. Through his panic, he did not hear Morgana's transportation spell until it was too late to stop it. With a rush of wind and another shriek of mirth, she was gone.