A/N: I'm so excited to officially have explained rivulets, last time (which was a while ago, sorry, have I mentioned yet that I'm VERY irregular at updating, and life in general?), and that most of you are excited as well! Woo-hoo for long-overdue revelations! In my head I imagined you've all been silently shaking your head at me for 24 chapters as the fic's very title refused to fit into the rest of the plot, but I hope you see soon that it does very, very much, if I wrap this all up right. But don't worry, if you are, because at my rate that won't be too soon.

Now, without further ado:

51.

"If what you say is true, Merlin," Gaius says slowly, shaking his head, "perhaps this explains more. What's already happened—like to Gwen, Mordred."

"You mean Uther possessed them both to lead them to their deaths?" Merlin frowns, trying to fit this in. "I suppose it is a bit out of character for Gwen to go looking for the fire, not call the fire services, but she did do that first—perhaps Uther possessed her afterward? And Mordred—"

"Mordred was never possessed," Morgana cut in rather firmly, and Gaius gave a challenging eyebrow. "I told you, Gaius, everything that happened. I know for a fact it would take a very, very powerful, malevolent spirit to attempt that on him."

"I'm not sure I understand everything that happened," Merlin says uncomfortably, and the two break gaze to look at him. "I was sort of—well, being mind-controlled into a lake at the time—and directly after we were racing back to the hospital for Gwen."

"You know that Mordred saved your life," Gaius says like it's a question, and Merlin gives a slow nod.

"Yes," he says, remembering the piercing, childish scream of: "STOOOOOOOOOPPPPP!" just before he'd gained control of his limbs again. He didn't think of it much after, but it almost makes sense—except: "How was that enough to stop Uther? Exorcism, it requires that the exorcisor is proprietor of wherever they banish the spirit from. It was a lake."

"Yes, unlike what I just did a moment ago to save your life again," Gaius explains, "Mordred had no claim. Which makes it all the more curious that he was able to, until one looks at it from an entirely different perspective."

Merlin gives him a confused look and Morgana jumps in, "You've done exorcisms for places that weren't your property, haven't you Merlin?" When he nods she says, "Because you're a medium."

"Yes . . . "

"And because you're a medium it's both ten times easier for a spirit to communicate with you and ten times harder for it to manipulate you," Gaius finishes, giving a meaningful look.

Merlin guessed Mordred has a kind of sight, ever since the child saw Gwaine's disappearing form and spent an hour trying to ask him "who" it was. For children it's much more common, much more heard of to connect with someone dead and past the bridge. But what these two are implying would mean much more than that.

"You mean you don't think Mordred just has sight—he's a true psychic? A psychic medium?"

Gaius sighs. "What I'm saying is that, from all Morgana has said, there's no other explanation. And as for not being actually possessed to drown, which was clearly Uther's plan . . . well, Uther couldn't fully possess you, could he?"

"No . . . ?" Merlin thinks begrudgingly back to the awful scene: Uther threatening him, identifying him as a Druid somehow, and then physically forcing him into the water. There was a slight similarity to his experience with Nimueh, that burning away of his control,—but nothing to the same extent. Nothing like being torn from his very body, invaded and violated from the inside out as she had.

"Because he's a Druid," Morgana says, looking down almost embarrassed, and Merlin realizes she's not speaking of him, but her son. "I didn't have Mordred at a hospital—an old woman named Finna, Morgause sent her to help me. She was a Druid and I let her perform the prayers and protection they give to newborn babies, to protect them from evil spirits." She looks up at Merlin through her eyelashes, smiling ruefully. "I'm never been gladder that I let her."

"Of course: that saved his life," Merlin gives a small smile back. Then he snorts, musing, "Perhaps we should call her up and get the whole household prayed over."

"But I fear that is why Uther was able to push you into the lake," Gaius puts in, frowning. "You've become a Druid much later in your lifetime—and you hardly practice it now. The Triple Goddess would not deign to protect you any longer."

"So the person that happens to be safest from the evil, clever, plotting dead Uther Pendragon, can speak about four words and wears dinosaur nappies," Merlin deadpans, and swallows down his smile when Gaius only nods solemnly at him.

"It appears so," he says, "though I believe my house will be a refuge for a time at least. I've driven him out myself; I don't believe, weak as he must still be outside of the estate, that he could penetrate through in the time it will take me to fix this." He gestures to the mess of broken talisman, and for some reason Merlin feels heat rush to his face, remembering the cause exactly of its fallen state and thereby this whole fiasco.

"I want to check on Mordred anyway," Morgana says, biting her lip as she looks down at the mess as well. "He may be safe from Uther, but that doesn't mean the plants you're growing up in the attic are safe from him." They all exchange a chuckle, Morgana turning to the way of the stairs, when the atmosphere suddenly and quite drastically changes.

Merlin grabs her arm with a "Morgana," just to say . . . well, he isn't sure now, exactly. Perhaps the words simply flee his mind when she recoils back, wrenching away from his touch as if he's burned her and hurrying up the stairs without a backward glance. The amiable mood quickly turns somber.

Merlin whips around to Gaius, who by his expression has seen the quick exchange. The old man shrugs at Merlin's bewildered face and says, by way of explanation: "Pendragons."

52.

"Morgana?"

She jumps, whipping her head back so quickly from where she's sitting, back to him, it must have hurt. Merlin quickly pulls his face into a grin, hoping to reassure her, and holds out the tray as way of explanation. "Gaius thought you two might be hungry," He clarifies when Morgana only stares further, expression slanted at a cautious, guarded angle. Her gaze flickers to the food hesitantly.

"Mewin!" Mordred comes running out of nowhere, arms up and smile dimpling. It's clear he's happier to see the food than the man, of course, running to him only to hold up chubby arms and make distressed, obviously hungry sounds.

Merlin proceeds to place it on the ground, sitting and handing Mordred first the orange wedges the boy's wide blue eyes are looking so keenly at.

Morgana has been up here in the attic with her son for the better part of four hours, since the choking and possessing fiasco. He hasn't seen her since till just now, overseeing Mordred as the boy delightedly gobbles up every bit of orange, peas and fish sandwich Gaius has prepared them. Which is saying something, considering the peas seem a bit mushy and the sandwich looks like something might have sat on it.

" . . . Are you going to eat?" he asks eventually, and Morgana blinks.

"Of course," she says, standing from the old chair as if unaware she's doing it, but goes no nearer. Albeit, there is a whole army of plants blocking her way.

But something is blatantly not all right. In a way to reassure her, he tries, "No harm done before, by the way. Not that I think you're worried, of course—you just shouldn't be, if there's a chance you are, erm, a bit. Completely fine."

Her frightened expression turns . . . all right, yes, angry. His eyes can't be deceiving him, considering how angry she sounds saying, "Good. I'm glad it was no trouble to you, anyway."

Merlin stares at her, dumfounded. "It wasn't," he says, at a loss of what else to say. So he stands, making to move nearer—and there she goes, flinching again. "Morgana, is something wrong?" he asks, baffled by her strange behavior.

Of course just when things couldn't get stranger they do. Morgana laughs; and she's quite good at it for the uncompromised state of her tight, controlled face. Its sound reminds Merlin of the first time he heard it; aloof and light and careful, perfectly measured out.

Not open and honest, like he's been getting used to.

"I just tried to strangle you, Merlin, and you ask if something's the matter?" Morgana's smile turns rueful, but her eyes remain mocking as she continues, "Was that part of your training, as a Druid? Spirits attacking you, possessing you—trying to kill vicariously through you?"

"I'd never experienced anything like it, actually," he says, realizing what this likely is about. "And Nimueh never tried to kill through me. Maybe she would have eventually, but . . ." he steps closer, ignoring the wary flicker of her eyes tracking his approach. "It was probably one of the worst experiences of my life," he admits quietly. "Every time something has forced me to relive it . . . I've usually run from it."

"But you didn't this time," Morgana points out, features slightly softened.

"No," he agreed. "This time it's not just about me."

He should have known going into the domestic medium business wouldn't be the best way to run from his memories—there doesn't seem to be a best way. But it is better than completely cutting out that part of himself, try to live a lie until the spirits dragged him under with the weight of their needs, their words, their secrets. And maybe now is my chance to face it.

He makes to sit next to Mordred and start on the meal before it's completely gobbled down by the chubby child, on his fourth fish sandwich, Merlin feeling that conversation has reached its conclusion. Morgana eventually sits as well, across from him with the tray in between and next to Mordred, reminding Merlin faintly of their checkers game.

They're still eating when Mordred runs off without warning, disappearing completely into the leafy jungle of the attic's potted vegetation. Morgana watches him go with a fond smile, which fades into a sort of unidentifiable one when she meets Merlin's eyes. He realizes probably too late he's wearing a similarly fond smile himself.

"I don't like feeling useless; incapable," she blurts without context, nodding at him like he should understand. "I told you that, about Uther hoping to marry me off. Then Morgause, after I'd fulfilled her master plan of ruin for the Camelot Industries, when she had no use for me. I don't like being . . . a pawn. No control over myself."

All at once Merlin does understand. "And when you were possessed—"

"Even more, I don't like being afraid of myself," Morgana interrupts, eyes burning with something unfathomable. Merlin still tries to fathom it. "And I literally just got around to getting rid of that."

Before Merlin can so much as open his mouth, she moves rather effortlessly to sit beside him, their shoulders grazing as she says, "But I think, for a second there, I did a bit of reverting." Merlin watches as she slots a hand in his firmly, glancing up again to see her smiling at him. "Sorry," Morgana finishes simply, and it could be for a million different things: sorry for mocking in their earlier conversation, sorry for flinching away from him downstairs, sorry for somewhat being the cause of the current soreness around his throat—maybe sorry overall for being a messed-up, complicated person.

Ah, but there's the rub. "Nothing to apologize for," he shrugs, thinking of the state his life is currently in.

Morgana, always surprising him, whacks Merlin in the shoulder with her free hand, quickly cutting short that thought. "Don't get all saint-like now, honestly Merlin," she complains rather deploringly, "it doesn't become you."

He grins in answer, effectively melting the mock sternness from her face.

"We all do battles," he shrugs later, when the streaming light of the attic turns pale and gray, and they're on their backs side by side under a few rather large potted fig trees. Morgana squeezes his hand in answer. "My first love, Freya, she lost one of hers," he says into the air, staring up at the underbelly of leaves even when he sees Morgana look at him in the corner of his vision. "That's really the only way you can lose, when she ended her life. But I thought I'd lost one too. I think that's why I ran into Cara's arms so quickly, once I realized this talent of mine could allow me to summon the departed. Figure out how to win battles, by listening to how they lost theirs."

"You sound like Arthur," Morgana says. "He's always been on and on about winning and losing. I don't know what he truly thinks about you being here, or what he'll think when you tell him what we've realized—about Uther planning to possess him. But Arthur knows, I'm sure of it, somewhere inside him that our father is here again. After what we did to him . . ." she sighs.

Merlin leans up on an elbow, staring down at her in alarm. "What? What did you do to him?

She bites her lip, though her eyes aren't nearly as frightened as they've been before. "I'll tell you," Morgana whispers, swallowing and looking down, "but remember what I said. You'll despise me once you hear all of it, everything I've done."

"Morgana, I won't—"

"No, Merlin. I know you well enough by now. But, I will tell you." Morgana takes a big breath, sitting up and hunching forward just the slightest. Merlin waits, not allowing even the smallest part of himself to be worried by her warning. "Arthur and I were finally on . . . better terms, when Uther became confined to his bed. I didn't ask after him, but Arthur would update me anyway. When it neared, the end, he started asking me if I saw anything. In my head, you know, what our father's fate would be," Morgana explains, and Merlin nods. "I started paying more attention to what I saw . . . and about a month later, I saw him go into a coma following a second and last heart attack."

"It didn't immediately kill him?" Merlin asks, remembering her previous explanation.

"No. I just told Arthur it would," Morgana replies in a deadened voice. He hardly has time to process what that means before she continues, "I had no idea whether he would wake from it or not. I just didn't want him to."

" . . . and Arthur believed there was no hope. So he had them pull the plug," Merlin realized out loud, feeling a bit dizzy in the head. Which mostly had to do with a new puzzle piece materializing practically in front of him, sinking into place in his head with a sickening kind of lurch.

CAN'T SPEAK, CAN'T BREATHE, Arthur is somewhere near, CAN'T THINK, CAN'T TALK, Arthur speaks unthinkable words, STUCK IN THE BEEP, BEEP, BEEP OF A MACHINE, He is signing off your death, signing off your life, CAN'T MOVE, CAN'T STOP HIM, Stuck somewhere above, looking down at yourself detached, screaming at him no, No, NO, NO,NO—

I WILL RECOMPENSE.

It was the memory of Uther Pendragon, thrust at him when he'd put his hand against those grooved words in the man's old bedroom. Merlin tries to slow his breathing, can tell by the hopeless way Morgana is regarding him now that she assumes he thinks her a murderer, a monster.

He's not sure what he thinks.

But something makes Merlin grab onto her arm, reliving this memory that is not his but feels so ingrained inside him it might as well be. And when he feels her stiffen hard as a board against his hand, Merlin has only a thought to wonder at how on earth he's actually managed to share this vision the spirit left on him, with her. Some reversal of when he was caught up in her waking vision, he can only guess. But still, somehow, he can feel her experiencing the same moment with him. Shaking, as it nears its end.

"Stop, STOP," Morgana suddenly cries out, wrenching away from Merlin with a wild look in her eyes. She stares at him. He can only stare back.

"Was that . . . " she swallows, not finishing the thought, and it's obvious she knows. Merlin nods anyway. He reaches out an arm. Morgana stares at it then, blinking the tears down her face like she doesn't know they're there—before accepting the offer and falling gratefully into his arms.

They're a crouched mess: Merlin leaning against a pot, having to stoop so as to not hit against the lowest branch of a fig tree; Morgana low in his lap, her tears wetting a large stain in his shirt, barely letting out a single shudder as she cries.

When the tears do eventually dry out Morgana looks up at him, eyes green rimmed with red. She tells Merlin, "Now. I finally feel the regret."

A/N: Sorry for very disproportionate chapters this round - but what can you do! Anyways, always lovely to hear your thoughts :)

Oh! Last but not least, my friends, here's a mention to "Still A Secret," a tiny (post-canon) side-project of mine. Go check it out and see if you like! (I know, weird me not writing Modern AU, right?)