A/N: Here it is - the last chapter. What a journey.

Nine.

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The snowstorm had worsened over the night. Cal had trusted his life in Arthur's steady grip on the wheel, which, though not so bad, could not have made any difference. Ever since the last night Cal had the urge to hit himself on the head in every five minutes. He should have chosen his words more carefully. Should have knocked harder on the bathroom door, ignored her request to be left alone (for once in her life), told her that he really didn't care if she was sane or not. That he was stupid, and scared, that he wanted to be with her. Wherever that was.

The worst part was, when taking off, it appeared as though Morgana had taken a leap and finally left everything and everyone behind. Her bag, her phone, her documents... If something horrible had happened to her- Cal was not able to finish that thought, dared not imagine.

'Look, Cal. I'm sorry, man,' Arthur said without glancing off from the road. 'I can see the was... something, between you and Morgana.'

Cal said nothing.

'And from what happened, I take it she must have cared about you too. Y'know, in the old-fashioned, non-delusional, fairytale kind of way...' Arthur trailed off, having made it worse somehow. 'If you want to and she asks for you... You can come and visit her, when we... when she's back.'

Cal stared ahead, far far away, where the dark strip spewed white sprinkles of ice and snow against the windshield, under the immeasurable vastness of the sky that made people seem small and ridiculous in comparison.

It did not feel right.

For if he delved deeper into his mind, deep beyond his conscience and psyche, he saw the truth, just below the horizon, a throbbing glow resembling a heartbeat.

The wind grew stronger as they got nearer to the coast. The air was salty, but no colder than inland. Cornwall had been a lucky guess at first, but Cal had begun to understand how Morgana's mind worked.

The clues had been scattered all over her notebook, a rare glimpse into a mind of a schizophrenic: a mess of names and events, scribbled timelines, lined and written over, many many times. But it was the places that had caught Cal's interest and led them there. Arthur was mildly impressed.

'You know, you should come work for me.'

Cal snorted, 'No. But thanks.' He had a faint idea how bad that could turn out. Being a year younger than him and already with so many men at his command, while all Cal wanted was his freedom. That and Morgana...

The bus station was empty. She could have easily walked, or hitchhiked her way where she needed.

Cal turned the map in his hands. It refused to bend and be folded it used to. Arthur already took the next turn by heart.

'You been here before?' Cal suggested.

'Not that I know of.'

Tintagel was stormy when they reached the castle. But the rain and snow made it unbelievably worse, almost blowing them off the walls. To increase their odds of finding her, they split up, and Cal took the north wing. The visibility was so bad that he nearly missed her, the lone slender figure standing amidst the crumbling ruins overlooking the cliff.

Upon approaching her, Cal saw she was not wearing her coat, leaving her completely exposed to the elements. She was facing away - frail, as if wind could pick her up. Could it really be that this tender being was the cause of such terror in the past? He no longer knew. All he wanted was her away from that cliff.

'How long have you been here?'

'I've been thinking,' Morgana began, with some inner turmoil. The back of her heel trailing dangerously close to the edge. 'I thought that if I could find a place... one that was real. That if it was still here, then maybe, I was not crazy.'

'Morgana, stop this. You're not mad. I believe you, I do.'

'You're just saying it. I can't stand to be like this, Cal. Do you understand?'

'Better than anyone.'

She wiped her face, looked into at the chasm below. Waves gathered and crashed against the cliffs. All real, so very real.

'It's what you said. About being free.'

Morgana's ink black hair lashed against her face. The wind ripped right through them, but neither really cared.

'We are driftwood. We don't belong anywhere.'

Cal balked at the full extent of her agony. Everything he'd said and talked about - Morgana had taken in a different way. It seemed as if nothing had changed between the moment they had met in that bus shelter and where they stood now, beaten to an inch of their lives by the elements.

'You're wrong.' He fought back against the wind. 'You've got it all upside down.'

Merlin stretched out an arm to reach her, to remind her again, how much they had belonged just days ago.

'Please, let me help you.'

Something in Morgana cracked, and in that suden movement...she slipped. Morgana fell.

Digging her nails into the cold slippery stone, Morgana thrashed her legs, clinging to her dear life, while Merlin grabbed her arm and sleeve, trying to keep her fixed on the ledge, watched the wish for survival take over her body.

'Hold on. I won't let you go,' he breathed, fixing another hand around her elbow.

Thankfully and just in time, Arthur had finally caught up with them. Leaning himself dangerously far over the edge, he grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up. At the unfathomable relief of solid ground under her feet, Morgana was too much in shock to move or say anything.

Overwhelmed, Arthur ran his hands over her hair, her arms, her face, all wet and cold.

'Jeesh- Morgana. You're soaked to the bone.'

Opening his coat hems, Arthur wrapped it around him and his sister, the two remained entwined till the help came.

It was then, at the presence of the once and future king, that the key of his mind finally slipped to its place and Cal felt a wave of images, so faint at first they could be mistaken for his imagination, wash over him with the dull certainty of knowledge. It was a blissful and horrifying while it lasted, before Merlin collapsed on the ground below him.

He watched the ambulance drive up to the coast, the workers rushing out with a stretcher and warm blankets, to minimize the damage from hypothermia, and shivered.

That's what it took: the two of them together and Arthur, mirroring their very last meeting, to cause this rift to happen.

'You're a good man,' Arthur's voice was filled with gratitude.

Merlin staggered, despite the hand on his shoulder, as if recovering from the blast by the scepter of the dead, and moved to sit on the sidewalk.

The Once and Future King walked away, sat beside his sister to accompany her to the town for healing. And even as the ambulance took them away, he could still not move, recovering from the sheer shock of it all.

It had taken ages and ages, but he was there.

Merlin remembered.

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A/N: I'm a sucker for open bittersweet endings, but oh wait, there's one more - the epilogue.

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