It was another month before the expedition to the Other Side sent word to the King that their mission was complete. Along with the letter, they also sent a sealed wooden box, about four inches square. A label was attached to it, bearing the name 'Naira Hallie'. It was written by a computer, and looked strangely out of place in Camelot.

Arthur delivered it to her personally. To his relief, Merlin was also at home, sitting at the long table and scribbling in a book. He did not want her to be alone when she opened the box. He didn't know what was in it, but he'd read the letter from the expedition.

She took it from him, a mixture of delight and confusion and a tinge of fear all reflected on her face. "Is this it? Couldn't they come this time?"

"No," Arthur said. It was the truth, after all. He saw Merlin looking at him sharply, and gave him a look that said, help, things are going to be bad.

Cottia was yanking at the string that wrapped the box. She'd already broken the wax seal. Merlin gently took it from her hands and cut the string with a handy knife. He placed the box on the table. Arthur retreated to the corner by the door and tried to look like a piece of furniture. He wanted to leave, but felt vaguely that that would be disloyal to both of them. Mostly to Merlin. As he had pointed out in several occasions, he had to live with the girl.

Cottia sat down and opened the box. Her face went completely blank. She picked out an envelope, tore it open, and read the single sheet enclosed. When she had finished, she laid it down on the table and stared sightlessly ahead. Merlin looked at her, to Arthur (who made a face and then tried even harder to look like a broom with clothes on), and then reached out a hand towards the letter. Cottia did not move.

"May I see it?" he asked. She gave a tiny nod. He could see thoughts flickering behind her eyes, but there was no clue as to what they were.

" 'Naira,' the letter began abruptly. " 'As you should have known, I will not listen to this treason and 'run away', as you somewhat melodramatically put it in your crude notice. I am deeply disappointed in you. I did not pay for an expensive education to have you throw it away. I must take a little of the blame for your loss on myself, since I see now that you were clearly mentally incapable of handling the responsibility of becoming a Monitor at such a young age. But that is the incalculable chance of risk. I cannot help it if my pawn was flawed.

'As you should observe from the letterhead, I am now Deputy Controller of the entire Asian Plains Zone. I will not waste my promotion and gold buttons on your folly. Indeed, the contact your representatives made with me has already done severe, though hopefully not irreparable, damage to my good name. Please be informed that I will not hesitate to commit them to execution should they contact me again. This is your only warning. There is no reason for them to do so, since I do not wish to ever hear from you again. I have formally registered the severing of all ties with you. You have wasted your gifts and are a failure, and as such are unfit for all offices. You may not claim any services from me from the date of your receiving this notice. You are no longer a member of my family.

'I am saddened to inform you of the death of your mother. She became deceased six years ago. It was unadvisable to allow you this knowledge then, as it would have distracted you from your tasks. I have broken all ties with her family, of course. It was a mistake to be deceived by her outward appearance of conformity and docility. It is unfortunate that all the undesirable family traits of her flawed ancestors have chosen to descend on you. However, you should have the strength to realize the error of your ways and repent, although of course there is no redemption for you. You are as dead as your mother to all rightminded and dutiful citizens. I hope I fall into that category.

'I send you the heathen token inherited by your mother. I thank the Corporation that there were no more children to be tainted by her madness. Do what you will with it. I also send a message she wrote on her deathbed. I do not know what it is, nor do I wish to know, but I hope it will convey to you some sense of how far you have strayed from all that is good and proper.

'Jonas Hubert Parker,

Deputy Controller, Asian Plains Zone,

Lead Biochemist, Certified Agricultural Manipulator,

Gold Level Value' "

Merlin put down the letter. Arthur caught his shocked eyes and made another face.

"Cottia?" He reached out across the table and took both her hands. They were as cold as ice. She blinked once, slowly.

"I never liked him," she said conversationally, almost casually. "I think I shall return to the Other Side when I am stronger and kill him."

Arthur felt as if a red-hot needle had run up his spine and into his brain. The look on her face was eerily familiar. He had seen that frozen rage in his half-sister's eyes as she had claimed the throne of Camelot and forced their father to kneel before her.

She turned her attention to the box. Merlin could see that she was trembling now. She could barely hold the next letter. It was older, yellowed and creased, and written by hand. She read it through, and then passed it to him and looked thoughtfully into the box.

" 'My dear daughter,

'I am afraid that you alone are left to carry on our line. Your aunt has died childless, in what they say was an accident. I am dying now, and I fear that that is no accident either. But no matter. Do not seek revenge for me. I warn you now, do not ever trust your father. He is not the man I believed him to be. Many men are like that: double-faced, accomplished liars. Never believe their words. Always judge them by their actions.

'I miss you bitterly, and I wish I could have watched you grow up. But I know from our infrequent conversations that you are strong. Take up our name and go discover your destiny and your doom. They will be intertwined, as they have been for every member of our family. We die for those whom we love. I do not begrudge you my life. It is worth every last second.

'Wear our family crest with pride, my dear. I know you always thought it stuffy, but a real lineage and crest is a rare thing these days. Remember that love is a much stronger force than bitterness and hate. I pray that you will find someone who will teach you that. I love you more than anyone else, for you are the only light in this darkness. Goodbye, my princess. Never worry about what you will have become.

'Your mother, Vivie' "

Merlin took her hands as she reached towards him again. She looked lost, and terrified, and hurt. He got up and came to her, putting his arms around her and holding her close as she clung to him and cried.

A thought nagged at him. It was funny, how her mother phrased that. 'Your destiny and your doom'. He had heard those words before, spoken to him about what he would become to Morgana. Her again. She kept popping into his head. He'd barely given her a thought for hundreds of years, mostly because it hurt too much.

Arthur was watching them. He looked embarrassed and uncomfortable.

And the way she has of making her face go totally blank is just like how - oh, shut up, he said to his thoughts. There's no way. Absolutely no way! Morgana never had a child. She didn't have the time!

Cottia let go of his jacket and sniffed. She looked almost as embarrassed as Arthur. Merlin tried to look reassuring and sympathetic. "I think you can be allowed to be upset right now. After all, both your parents are basically dead."

Perhaps that wasn't the most tactful thing to say, but it seemed to reassure her. She rummaged around inside the box after scrubbing at her face with her sleeve. There was the rustling of paper and she drew out a silvery bracelet. Arthur glanced at it and suddenly came to attention.

It was about one and a half inches wide, made of a sheet of silver with decorated edges. It was not a full circle, but was designed to be slipped on over the wrist. An elaborate circular design was worked in gold in the middle. The design was a crest.

Arthur and Merlin both stared as she slipped it on. It was slightly too big for her, and slid a little as she moved her arm. She scowled. "It's still ugly, and I don't like how it feels." She shivered and took it off again, putting it back in the box. "I suppose I have to keep it, though, to give to my kids. I don't even want kids." She wandered off into her room, still grumbling.

"Shut up," Arthur hissed as Merlin looked wildly at him. He nodded violently.

0000

"It could just be a coincidence," Arthur argued as they searched through the musty books of heraldry. "It could have been stolen by one of her ancestors, or picked up off the battlefield."

Merlin shook his head stubbornly. "I don't think Morgana would have let it go."

"She wasn't even of that house!"

"She thought she was. Here." Merlin laid the book down on the table and pulled the candle closer. Geoffrey had closed the library up hours earlier and they were completely alone. "It is the crest of the house of Gorlois."

Arthur was still trying to make excuses. "Yeah, but that still doesn't prove . . . I mean, it's been hundreds of years. Her mother's family could have picked it up anywhere."

"It's definitely the bracelet Morgause gave to Morgana. She wouldn't have let it be taken by anyone other than one of her family."

"But Cottia's coloring is all wrong. She looks nothing like Morgana."

Merlin gazed unseeingly at the page. "No, it isn't. Morgana looked nothing like the rest of her family. Your father was fair, and so was Morgause. I'd bet anything that her mother Vivenne was too. Cottia has the right bone structure. It's there for everyone to see in her hands and her face. And - oh, how could I have been so stupid?"

"What?"

"She told me! She said that her mother's family passed down names, mostly for the girls, and they were always forms of Vivien and Morgan."

Arthur looked worried. "Well, so what if she is related to Morgana? She isn't Morgana. And we might be all wrong. Is there any way to see for sure? Would the druids know anything?"

"If she had had a child, it would be recorded. It would have been still a baby when she died at Camlann. I might be able to find something."

"It's worth a try, I suppose. It would settle the question of the succession."

"Cottia has all their mannerisms, too. The way Morgana could conceal all her emotions, and that way Morgause had of standing, sort of relaxed but very poised. And - what? Succession to what?"

Arthur closed the book with a thump and laid his hands on it. "Merlin, if she is indeed a descendant of Morgana, then she has a claim to the throne. If anything happens to Gwen after I am gone, Cottia will be my nearest blood relation if I do not have children. She's my niece. Of course, she'd have to prove it to the satisfaction of everyone concerned, and that will be difficult."

"But Morgana was illegitimate," Merlin protested.

"No matter. My father acknowledged her - not openly, but some of his most trusted advisors knew. She was a Pendragon. If Cottia is her granddaughter, then she has Pendragon blood and while she lives she is an heir to the throne. The laws are specific."

"Couldn't you fix them?"

Arthur looked exasperated. "That would make people wonder why I was fussing about it. Look, it's not like we even have proof beyond a few chance resemblances and a bracelet that could have easily been bought or stolen in the generations between them. It's not like we'd tell her even if we had solid proof." He looked up at Merlin, who was standing behind him holding tightly to the back of his chair. "Or should we?"

"No! She doesn't need to know now or ever. I really think we shouldn't tell her anything."

"Not now, anyway. Perhaps when she is older and more settled in -"

"She doesn't need to know!" Merlin repeated vehemently. "It'll just poison her mind like it did to Morgana."

Arthur sighed. "Maybe you're right. I'll talk it over with Guinevere. But absolutely no one apart from you and I and Gwen is to know anything about this. Don't let Cottia wear that bracelet, either. Someone might recognize the crest and start asking questions."

"I won't."

"Let me know immediately if you get some solid evidence either way of her ancestry. Thank goodness she doesn't have magic," he added as an afterthought.

"Yes," said Merlin. So that's why she's so powerful, he was thinking. That's why she heals so quickly. And that's one more reason why I know she is related to Morgana.

0000

Cottia was puzzled. Merlin was drawing away from her. He seemed to be uneasy in her company, and avoided it on the weakest of excuses. She was rather hurt. What had she done wrong? Was he just tired of having her always asking questions? Was he finally becoming embarrassed that he was always having to bring a girl along on otherwise exclusively male activities? Had she disappointed him somehow by showing emotion on learning of her mother's death?

There was a swirling void in her mind now. She had always kept the hope that one day she would have a family again in that space, and now it had collapsed. Merlin was the closest thing she had ever had to a real family. He was father and mother and brother to her all at once. Gwen was kind, and so was Percival, and Arthur and Leon were quite friendly to her when she was with them, but she felt safe with Merlin.

At least, she had felt safe. Now she didn't know how to feel. She was slowly being forced back into herself. The astonishing thing was that she had enjoyed being able to come out of her shell. It was dark and lonely back inside it. The void was becoming bigger and bigger. She tried to banish it by spending more time with Sophie, and with Sophie's family. She liked her older sister Jenny, who was slender and blond and incredibly dangerous with any weapon or no weapon at all. She said that she had been born to be a soldier, and she approached the world like it was a tactics exercise. Cottia was fascinated. She'd always looked on the world as a giant game. It was great to find someone with a similar approach.

Jenny and Sophie's aunt and uncle were nice people, too. Rose was cheerful and caring, with a warm heart and a sensitive conscience. The Doctor (why did everyone call him that? Did he have a name? No one seemed to know) was painfully similar to Merlin. He cared for everything and everyone, and seemed to have a limitless supply of knowledge about everything. Cottia could talk to both of them about anything, and they would listen and have a real, thoughtful, conversation with her. Both of them treated her as yet another daughter, who just happened to live away from home. She accepted their informal adoption happily, but it could not substitute for the bond she had thought she had had with Merlin, especially during the times when she wanted to talk about the things she had read in the Red Book, or about magic, or the nights when the storms roared overhead. He had always been there for her before. No matter what time of the night they came, she would get up and go out into the main room and find him there, making tea and lighting the lantern, and then they would curl up on the couch together, each in their own cocoon of blankets. He would read to her until the storm ended or she fell asleep, lulled by the sound of his voice. He was an amazing reader, and could do different voices for all the different characters.

But now she was alone in the dark when the storms came. The weather was warming slightly, and the snow was becoming slush. The thunderstorms came twice or three times a week, and every time they came she sat in her room alone and shivered, straining her ears to hear the floor creak and know that he had gotten up and was coming to check on her. But there was always silence, and for the first time in her life, she would cry from loneliness and fear and frustration. She had caught a glimpse of what life could be like without constant isolation. To be condemned to it again was misery.