Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

In all honesty, Arthur Pendragon had believed that he'd had enough trouble in his first lifetime for several. He'd used to intentionally avoid Merlin's attempts to speculate with him on prophecies concerning "The Once and Future King's return" for that very reason. Between the near-weekly attempts on his life or Camelot's security, the way everyone eventually came to expect him to single-handedly keep the peace throughout Albion, and the sheer number of betrayals he'd endured over the years, he'd always thought one life was more than enough for one man.

And that was before he suffered a sudden and violent death at the hands of one of his former knights.

He could recall most of his own death in painful detail...A dawn red with smoke, the feeling of cold, sharp steel sliding through his flesh, the agonized sobs of his closest friend...and his "next" memory involved getting flour all over the kitchen flour as he "helped" his mother make a cake for his third birthday.

Ygraine...or Yvonne, rather...had lived a longer second life, though perhaps a harder one in many ways. Her husband, after a near-death accident, had grown more listless and irascible year by year, and had died of a heart attack when their son was still a very young child.

As an adult with his old and new memories intermingled, Arthur knew that his father's ill health had been exacerbated by constant substance abuse, and had to wonder if somehow that one-time brush with death had partially triggered Uther's old memories. Maybe he recalled all the bloodshed he caused and lies he told, and the guilt finally destroyed him.

Despite never having much money after her husband's decline and death, Yvonne had managed to keep herself and her son living in reasonable comfort. They'd moved from London to a tiny cottage just outside Dover for several years, and life had been good, if not luxurious. Arthur could look back on his childhood and adolescence and honestly say it had been good.

His mother had died when he was nineteen, drained of life by cancer that wouldn't go away despite the doctors' best efforts. Now, Arthur could comfort himself with the thoughts She lived longer, I got to know her, and we were happy.

And he could admit that he was glad to not have to deal with his father on top of everything else.

Especially this.

He'd been standing in the garden gate of a cottage at the outskirts of the village for several minutes, hiding in the shadows of the building as he watched the two people seated in the bright sunshine a few meters away.

Morgana was coaxing Mordred to eat something, but the boy didn't seem to be hungry. Gaius had treated him for a nasty, long-lasting viral infection as best as he could. The ill effects still lingered.

This sick child is far from the charismatic, bitter man who killed me.

Likewise, Morgana was far from the smirking, snarling woman who had died on the Plains of Andor. Arthur had yet to have a real conversation with her one-on-one, but from all he had observed since she'd arrived on Anglesey about a week previously, her voice, her mannerisms, even her eyes...they all reminded him of Morgana before evil had corrupted her heart.

Back when she was truly my sister, without knowing we actually shared a father.

Thus far, she hadn't resisted being guarded nonstop and hadn't attempted to use magic even once, though she admitted to being capable of the latter. Arthur hadn't lied to Gwaine, however; no one was ready to let their guard down. Not even Elen, who's the only person who speaks to her regularly…

He startled when he realized that Mordred's unblinking gaze had turned in his direction, and reluctantly stepped out of the shadows as Morgana looked his way as well. "Good morning."

Standing and ruffling the hair of her still-staring son, Morgana said nervously, "Sweetheart, go inside."

The boy got up and disappeared into the cottage, leaving the adults alone in awkward silence for a minute. "So…" Morgana ventured, "You're here to speak with me?"

"Yes, I..." Arthur tried to gather his thoughts. I should've planned this out better...or brought Gwen. "I don't really know where to start."

The faintest remnant of a smile crossed her face. "Do either of us?"

For a moment, he almost chuckled. Catching himself, he ventured, "So...Morgause."

"Yes." Morgana clasped her hands together, twining her fingers nervously. "She...She was stalking me, I think, long before the earthquakes started. I told myself I was overreacting; I had so much else on my mind...Then, in the middle of the chaos, when I was trying to get somewhere safe...She kidnapped me and my son, told me things I couldn't believe at first, said that I would understand in time…" She glanced towards the house, taking a couple steadying breaths. "The memories returned in dreams, mostly...of course they did...and the more I remembered, the more things did begin to make sense. And the more terrified I became."

Arthur frowned. "And Mordred...He truly remembers nothing?"

"He doesn't have the actual memories, but...he listens. And Morgause wasn't shy about talking in front of him. So he knows more than he should, responds to his old name…" Morgana laughed bitterly. "I kept forgetting to call him Matthew. I should've protected him better…"

When she trailed off into preoccupied silence, Arthur said, "You were in Tamworth Castle for an entire year?"

Nodding, she said, "Yes, just about. At first, Morgause expected me to run away, so she kept us under close guard...Then when I started to remember everything, and refused to join her, she put us in the dungeon. When Mordred got sick, she didn't heal him, even though I know she could've...I think she wanted him fragile, so if I did manage to escape, I'd be hindered by him...I would never leave him behind."

"I can understand that." Why am I not surprised that Morgause was willing to leave a child suffering to achieve her own ends? He imagined someone treating Llacheu that way and shuddered. "What is Morgause up to, exactly? Do you know?"

"Not the details; she never trusted me enough for that." Morgana's flickering gaze finally held his. "But I do know that she's part of some coalition of sorcerers, old ones who regained their memories before everything fell apart. In fact...I'm certain they had something to do with it all."

"Old sorcerers? Reincarnated ones, you mean?"

"Yes, ones who want power, revenge...The only name I'm sure I heard as being involved was Nimueh...She was a High Priestess who, well…"

"Died when Merlin got her struck by lightning, yeah. I heard that story." Arthur rubbed his hands over his face. "So a group of evil sorcerers have come back to life, probably caused an apocalypse, and are, in all likelihood, trying to take over the world while what's left is vulnerable. In your opinion, does that sum it up?"

"I believe so."

"Just like old times. Except Merlin's no where to be found. Wonderful. I don't suppose you've heard from that idiot?"

"Oh, no, nothing at all. I don't think Morgause and her allies know anything about Emrys' whereabouts, either."

Even better. Damn you, Merlin.

After a pause, Morgana began to speak again, shakily. "Arthur, I...I know you have no reason to trust me, but please believe me when I say...I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for everything I did, all the destruction and death I caused." She stopped, took a quavering breath, eyes downcast. "I could say I was scared, living under Uther's rule, and manipulated by Morgause, and angry for wrongs done to me...and all that's true. But that's no excuse for hate, for evil actions...I wish…" Her voice cracked. "I wish things had been different."

Tears glimmered in her eyes, the remorse in her voice seemed genuine, and as Arthur looked at her, he felt almost nothing but pity. The anger at her betrayals and the sorrow of losing his sister had indeed faded with time. Never to be forgotten, but not to rule the present. If she's truly sorry for all she's done…"You're right. The things that you suffered through are not excuses. But they are explanations, and I do accept them." She looked up at him, and he continued, "I may never be able to forgive you completely, yet I'm willing to give you a second chance. Mordred, too...He's just a child now, after all." He hesitated. "You understand if we keep our guard up?"

"Of course; I would expected nothing less." Rubbing her eyes, Morgana said briskly, "I'll have to prove myself. So if there's anything you'll let me do, any task, however small...I'll do it. I'll do whatever it takes to show you I've changed."

"Well, you could start by apologizing to Gwen and Lancelot for the hell you put them through with that shade business...then to Leon for that short-lived first reign of yours…and to Percival for his family…"

"And Sir Gwaine? Elen explained to me about his wife…"

"Right. That." Gwaine had finally returned to the training field a couple days earlier, and Arthur remained cautious around him. Barclayns tend to be loose cannons. "I'd wait for him to approach you for that; I'm not sure that he won't kill you if he sees you up close. Besides, Cleva did know what she was walking into...It's not like you wanted her dead."

"But I still caused her death." Seeming to deflate, Morgana whispered, "I have so much to atone for…"

"So did I, once. And I learned that you can't get it over with in one fell swoop. You have to find a place to start and take it from there, one step at a time."

Forgiveness can be like that, too.

Their gazes met again, and for the first time in far too long, the Pendragon siblings exchanged smiles.