"Can I help you, sir?" Morgana asks, timidly approaching him. She still has that incredible warmth in her voice and in her expression. Merlin is relieved; she does not remember.

"My apologies," He replies, his voice coming out withered and aged—he has forgotten that he is old, that he is Emrys—"You just look like someone I knew... long ago..."

Morgana seems to take this as an acceptable answer. She smiles warmly,

"Who was she?"

"A... A princess." He says lamely. Technically, he isn't wrong and he certainly can't say it was a powerful sorceress with a hunger for vengeance.

"A princess? Well, I'm flattered."

"Ah, yes. She was once very kind and caring, even to those who were below her. She was well loved by the people for a time." He explains, reminiscing. Morgana smiles in polite interest, he thinks. "My apologies. I will not bore you with the stories of an old man." The sooner he can get away the better; surely this means that Arthur's return is nigh.

"I'm not bored at all." She says kindly, "I would gladly listen to your stories, if you will continue to tell them."

Merlin hesitates.

"I... Well, I'm sure you have better places to be."

"No, nowhere. Come, we can find somewhere quieter."

"Ah... Yes, of course. Whatever you wish."

Morgana begins to walk and Merlin knows he's supposed to follow. He can sense her power, even though she seems to be unaware of its existence. Begrudgingly, he does follow and she leads him into a forest. He is wary as they walk through the trees. Despite her lack of memory, he does not trust her. He will never trust her again.

They soon reach a small clearing and she invites him to sit upon a stone there. They are next to a large, sparkling lake. In the distance, there is a small island with stone buildings.

"No, no, my lady. I prefer to stand."

"If you insist. Now, please, continue your enchanting story. Tell me all about this woman."

"Well, uh... She was very beautiful. She was once so kind that she would help anyone who sought her help, especially children. She had a soft spot for children. She was very... warm-hearted, sweet-natured. Though she had a feisty side."

"That sounds like me." Morgana laughs. Merlin continues,

"She always spoke up against wrongdoings, even when it would have greatly benefited her not to speak at all. She was, at times, punished for her opinions, for her speaking out. She was strong-spirited. Once so kind..."

"You cared for her, didn't you?"

"Greatly, at one time."

"At one time?"

"She... changed."

"Changed?"

"Yes. She... She became power hungry. She wished to rule, to sit on the throne of the kingdom. In revealing this desire, she committed many heinous acts, hurt many people. The throne was destined for her brother, who was to unite the kingdoms. She became intent on killing him and taking the throne. She had already made many attempts on the life of their father, with whom she had constantly quarreled. After he died and her brother became king, her anger turned to him. She wished him dead and herself on the throne."

"Did she succeed?" She is smiling slightly, but Merlin doesn't even notice; he is too caught up on reliving his past.

"Yes and no. She succeeded in causing a war (with, in fact, the help of one of those children she had aided so long ago) that resulted in his death, but she was slain before she had the chance to take the throne. From then on, the kingdom would then have been ruled by the queen, a woman whom the king loved dearly. Now this woman was truly kind. And so intelligent, so knowing. This woman would be a glorious queen. The people loved her because she was one of their own. You see, she had been a blacksmith's daughter, but the king—then a prince—had fallen in love with her. Her kindness, her beauty, her honesty, and her council... it all enticed the prince and he began to change, to become a better man. It was she who truly formed him into a man worthy of being king. And I... I, too... At least, I hope..."

His eyes are closed because he can feel tears him them. He bows his head. He cannot see that she is no longer smiling.

"Well done." She says, her voice losing its warmth, "You've remembered it all very well, Emrys." Merlin's eyes snap open.

"Morgana," His voice is tired now, "you remember, then?"

"Only just." She raises her hand and her magic grasps him in a choke hold, "For years, centuries, millenniums... I lived."

"But... But... I..." Merlin manages to gasp.

"Killed me? Yes, I suppose you did. I was reborn; I returned from death. I didn't remember. All those years, I lived confused and alone, never understanding why others kept dying, yet I lived on. I had to keep moving because people kept noticing my lack of aging. I was hunted at times and still, I didn't remember. I, the last High Priestess, who was once so powerful... I knew nothing. I thought magic was something for kids to believe in. And you!" The choke hold tightens and Merlin clutches at his neck, "You've known this whole time! You, who killed me! Well, I think it's now time I return the favour." It tightens further. It tightens and tightens until, suddenly, it's gone completely.

Merlin falls to the ground, gasping and trying desperately to breathe in as much oxygen as he can. It takes him a moment to even think to look up at the cause of his release.

Morgana stands there, her mouth open in a pained gasp. Through her side is a shining sword, glistening brilliantly in the golden sunlight. She sways for a moment before falling. Merlin squints through the dizzying blurriness in his vision and the bright light of the sun. Black dots begin to cloud his vision, but he manages to make out a figure and then, slowly, a face.

Standing behind her is none other than Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.

Merlin falls back, the blackness of oblivion consuming him.