Authors note: This is fanfiction so obviously characters belong to BBC Merlin and not to me, original ideas, however, are my intellectual property.

I loved BBC Merlin but I also despaired over quite a few things that happened with Morgana, with Merlin and with the reveal to Arthur. In this story, I will attempt to undo some of the damage done whilst still keeping characters in character and remaining true to the canon of the show in part. We will not remain in modern times but we will start there! You will have to read the story to understand how it is that all will be restored and accomplished. I hope you enjoy it. The story will be updated regularly and I promise it will be completed. PLEASE favourite or follow. Reviews are welcome positive or constructive. Thanks!

Destiny Begins

by Milui Elenath

For many centuries Merlin thought himself the sole remaining wielder of magic but he had forgotten the Great Dragon's words of long ago, that Merlin's future was joined forever with the powerful sorceress Morgana Pendragon. Merlin believed her death by his hand had brought that destiny to a close. He was wrong; it was only the beginning. Albion's fate would rest once again on his shoulders.

Chapter One

Current day.

Merlin trudged along the streets of Glastonbury Tor, his grey beard blowing in the frigid breeze. The Tor was to his left but his eyes were fixed ahead. He would not look again towards the Isle, that crumbling promise of what might have been. One glance, one momentary lapse into regret was all he allowed himself each day. The isle had no comfort. Camelot was no more. Centuries had passed and still, Arthur had not returned.

Not yet.

His elderly appearance was belied by the speed and constancy of his steps that resumed, perhaps even quickened as he sought to put the view beyond temptation.

Merlin's aged lips curled in disdain as he neared the town. A bus fuller than usual passed by. "Festival goers," he grumbled, eyeing them with discontent. They were loud, (not really) they were many, (not so that it was inconvenient) and they marked the passage of time. Merlin sighed deeply.

It was some small comfort that some came not solely for the music but out of curiosity for the legend of Camelot, to see Glastonbury Tor, to know that Arthur's legacy lived on. And yet, Merlin thought, what was there to remember? What had he and Arthur really accomplished? Where was Albion now?

Gone.

The great and lasting peace for a kingdom united was a mere blip compared to the war and tragedy Merlin had seen since.

And where was magic?

Merlin no longer searched for the answers but the burden of its absence was a heaviness that stole over his heart such that even his footsteps slowed.

Magic had never come to be accepted, instead Merlin had watched it disappear year after year, century after century until it was nothing more than myth. Forgotten.

In other kingdoms and other countries, it had suffered the same fate. Wielders of magic dwindled, and creatures of magic disappeared. Yet Merlin retained his own powers. He alone. Why?

All those years ago, when the great dragon had told him of his destiny with Arthur, Merlin had thought he understood why it was he was born with magic. What a comfort it had been, what hope! But that had ended and despite the Dragon's words that Arthur would return, Merlin could see no purpose in why he should suffer so many centuries of waiting, of lingering on in this life, the sole possessor of magic, the sole survivor of Camelot. Why? Why!

Merlin's hands clenched and he felt the rage and despair building in him. For a moment he regretted ever meeting Kilgharrah and Arthur Pendragon! The fury was quick to subside from his heart, though its intensity took a moment to fade the visible flare of his eyes and to soften the hardening of his jaw.

No, he thought, whatever had been, whatever may be, he did not regret the times he had in Camelot nor the bonds he had formed with Arthur, Kilgharrah, Gaius or the many others he had come to know. The memories still warmed him; bitterness had not completely taken his soul. A wane smile took his expression; long years and disappointment had not entirely stifled his optimistic nature.

As Merlin continued to walk the hedgerows thickened and soon concealed the tormenting view of the Isle. He took a turn towards his home. He had purchased it long ago then passed it down to himself with each new identity he had taken. Which admittedly was getting harder to do; faking documents was easy but meddling with computers quite another. The green wooden door of his home greeted him, he turned the key and went inside.

Merlin passed through the entrance to the living room, having garnered furniture pieces from different periods it had a functional but eclectic feel. Merlin ignored the many books old and new that filled shelves. There were scrolls too but they were hidden beyond the eyes of the casual observer. He was focused solely upon an ugly red chair. He threw his coat onto a nearby table and sank into the chair. His eyes closed and the strain on his face began to ebb. His hair began to change, dark brown wicking from the roots replacing the grey, his beard mimicked the colour change and shortened to a modern goatee. Finally, the skin on his face smoothed and the aging spell completely dissipated.

Merlin frequently used the aging spell when he went out. He had discovered long ago that people were less likely to bother an old man than a young one. And he was not young, at least not inside. Outside he looked almost the same as he had all those centuries ago in Camelot, inside he was aged and weary.

"Codswallop!" Merlin heard Gaius' voice, long dead rebuke him. "You're younger and fitter than I ever was. Did you see me lying around complaining when there was work to be done?" Gaius' voice continued kindly and with a more serious note. "And Merlin, my boy, you know what happened the last time you let yourself become idle."

Merlin shuddered. "I know, I know." He had no wish to repeat that particular dark time. He sighed. "I wish you were here Gaius." He hung his head, "I wish anyone was here who remembered Camelot." The words echoed in the empty room, spoken aloud, clear and desperate for happier times.

Well perhaps not anyone, Merlin reflected on his words. There were some who would bring no comfort or companionship to his recollections - the head cook, Uther, Mordred and of course Morgana.

"Right, tea," Merlin ordered himself and taking to his feet he headed for the kitchen. He walked to the pantry inspecting its contents while behind him his kettle took to the air from its position on the shelf. The kettle travelled the width of the kitchen and halted mid-air beneath the faucet of the kitchen sink, popping open its lid. The water flowed from the tap steady and expected, pouring itself into the open vessel. Merlin's favourite cup in the dishwashing rack began to hover, lazily righting itself at the last moment as it settled on the nearby bench. Meanwhile, in the pantry, Merlin was reaching for the biscuit tin and then suddenly he heard it, felt it. A thrum in the air made his outstretched hand shake. The kettle, suddenly lacking in magic, fell to the sink, the stream of water spilling over it continuously and Merlin gripped the pantry shelf as consciousness of his surroundings faded.

Someone or something was using magic!

Merlin's eyes became alert. Powerful magic!

Magic! Magic was being done here and now, nearby and perhaps just as shockingly it was as powerful as his own!

It had been so long, so very long since he had felt magic outside of himself. It thrilled him, it excited him, it terrified him. Might it be Aithusa? He had lost track of her a couple of centuries ago. After Arthur's death, he had not been willing to call for her, too angry and confused at the part she had played. Later hoping for answers and reconnection he attempted to call her but she had not come to him. He feared her dead, for how else could she resist a dragon Lord's call? However, he heard whisperings that a white dragon had been seen in Sussex and other murmurings of dragons further afield. For a time he had searched but he had not found her.

Merlin focused on the magic, he listened. He could almost see where it had taken place, a shadowed area, a tent perhaps, he heard voices, music, laughter. The festival! Whatever magic had been done, that was where the magic had manifested.

Merlin did not waste a moment, forgetting the biscuit tin and the water still pouring from the kitchen faucet he headed for his loungeroom, shrugged into his jacket and set out for who knew what.

Aithusa or some other being. It did not matter. Someone or something else out there had magic and maybe answers. Merlin had to find them.

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Merlin had no difficulty entering the festival, he always purchased a ticket, despite himself. There had been something that warned him that someday he would be glad he had. His purchase was linked to his elder persona, a decision that had no discerning reason other than a whim. So once again he was aged.

Inside there were people milling, music was loud but Merlin focused on the source of the magic or the remnant of it. He walked feeling the magic out, there was something about it that screamed urgency. He quickened his pace.

He came to the Pennard Hill camping ground, he began to pick his way through until he felt certain he had found the right spot, magic had been done here. He came to a halt. A tent, like so many other tents. No sign of who or what may be inside. Probably not Aithusa though he thought drolly, nothing could rob him right now of his enthusiasm. Yet the tent was securely zipped, there was no sound from within.

He stood there awkwardly. How was he to approach this person? Somehow, 'hello, I'm Merlin and I'm a sorcerer' had never gone over well but he had come this far and he had waited too long to waste time on strategic introductions. What could go wrong if he just winged it. "Um hello?" Merlin called.

There was no answer.

"Is anyone in this tent?" Merlin pushed lightly against the canvas, wobbling it as some sort of feeble attempt of a knock.

There was still no reply. It seemed the magic user and or the owner of the tent had vacated. Merlin hoped that was temporary.

Merlin pondered his options. He could wait until the occupant returned but that may be many hours or, he let an aged smirk grace his lips, he could slip inside and see if he could determine something about the owner's identity. He glanced about, no one was paying much mind to the area he stood. It was a moment's decision to unzip the door and step inside.

His eyes took a moment to adjust but it was the warmth of the interior that first gave him warning as to what he would see, the smell of blood permeated the stale air. Merlin soon saw the source, a shirt stained through and left in a container, nearby were gauze and tape. Merlin felt sure suddenly that it was healing magic he had felt. Whoever had been the recipient had been in serious trouble but the question remained who and why. Closer inspection of the tent revealed that the owner of the tent was likely a woman, female clothing was neatly stacked alongside the sleeping cot but more excitedly Merlin saw tomes that alluded to magic. The tent user was the source of the magic.

The only issue now was how to find this individual and sus them out. For he could not immediately assume that they were benevolent, it had not taken centuries of experience to know that magic users came in many forms. On that note, he thought it best to leave the tent before the owner came back and possibly called security or worse. He'd rather an encounter be on more neutral terms.

Merlin exited and carefully pulled close the zip.

"Can I help you?" a stern masculine voice demanded.

Merlin turned slowly, stretching his aching, aged back as casually as he could. Being old really did give you a lot more leeway with people.

The young man, standing by the neighbouring tent waited for further explanation but a scowl was on his face.

"Um, yes," Merlin smacked his lips together as he thought. "Maybe you can. Ah, I er was looking for the young lady." It was a logical statement. No matter her age, she'd be young to a man as elderly as Merlin appeared.

"Anna?" said the youth, the scowl lessening on his face only slightly.

"Of course Anna," Merlin feigned a disgruntled manner, "unless this tent belongs to someone else."

The youth was unbothered by the grumpy old man before him and folded his arms. "Anna's manning a stand down in the field of Avalon, Candy floss I think."

"Candy floss?" Merlin confirmed as the young man nodded.

Merlin nodded back. "Field of Avalon?"

"That way," The young man responded, not taking his eyes from Merlin until he felt certain the strange old man, sniffing around neighbouring tents had set off.

Merlin had no wish to loiter, he was anxious to find this Anna, fearing that like all the other magic in the world, she too would suddenly disappear if he didn't find her. He unconsciously increased, his pace - as best he could with aching joints - pondering the bloodied shirt and the possible implications. He had thought it too indiscreet to ask the man about any injuries the woman might have had, or any injured visitors. Who knew if she were the injured party or the person offering healing but either way this Anna would hold the key to that knowledge if he could just find her.

Of course, he would be very unwise to ignore the immense power he had felt. It had to be a very serious injury to wield such power and a very powerful magic wielder to perform it and yet the fact that such power had been used for healing was somewhat reassuring, wasn't it? No malevolence could come of healing.

Smells of food began to increase in the air and Merlin knew he must be getting close. He willed his feet to go faster, feeling his anxiety heighten. The closer he got the more he felt it, something. It was not magic but something like it, a premonition perhaps. A premonition that some great mystery was about to be uncovered and it was long overdue. Merlin did not much like premonitions, they boded ill and he regretted that he had not remained in his younger format. The aging spell was taking its toll on his energy and it did not allow him as much speed as he might have had at his disposal.

The stalls, at last, came into view and he quickly spotted a sign selling Candy floss, its name was painted in pink, The floss of the Faye. Merlin tried to see the stall itself, hoping to observe this Anna unnoticed and get a sense of what she might be about but the area was busy and the crowd in front of the stall was thick. He edged closer trying not to be taken with the crowd himself.

He managed to make his way to the stall opposite, such a short distance from the candy floss seller and yet the crowd remained constant. For a moment Merlin caught a glimpse of a woman, dark-haired and young but a tall man and his family abruptly obscured the view. Merlin shuffled sideways, finally, a gap in the crowd occurred, there was nothing to block his line of sight and there she was.

He gasped.

Merlin's mouth was dry, his body stilled, stunned into motionlessness by the visage before him. He could not be seeing her, it wasn't possible! He must have fallen into madness. . . and yet it was his heart that felt ill, not his mind.

It was his heart writhing in turmoil as he saw before him Morgana Pendragon in all the youth and beauty that had once upon a time been hers.

He watched as she, unaware of him, bent to speak to a child, giving them a stick enveloped in candy floss. The sun lit her face, the wind caressed the tendrils of her hair, though most was tied back and the smile she bestowed upon the child provoked memories of her kindness past.

Oh, how it hurt! Merlin moaned audibly, the old wound that he had thought had long calloused over was throbbing. He chastised himself at his weakness, Morgana had not been that kind and good soul for a long time. He thought he'd come to some sort of peace about that centuries ago but the frustration, the guilt, the anger, the misery were clawing at him now, gouging their escape from their cage of suppression. He tried to stuff them back into that hidden place within his heart.

His feelings had no place in this moment, his mind argued, adding rather callously and with finality, that in any case, Morgana was dead, he had killed her. This could not be her. If Merlin would just close his eyes this would not be happening. Merlin was tempted to try but suddenly, Anna/Morgana lifted her gaze. A slow, almost curious movement that sought something that had called her to attention.

Her eyes met his and in that instant his heart jolted as if struck. Fear washed her features. The crowd that had parted seemed to rush forward and in an instant Merlin lost sight of her. The chaotic feelings remained but finally old habits kicked in. Morgana could not be allowed to escape!

He made towards her ready to take hold of her, to demand answers, to put a stop to her but another step revealed what he had already suspected. She had fled.

Merlin spun on the spot, although the crowd had thinned, she was not among them. He ran his hands through his hair. How could this be? How could Morgana be alive after all these years? What magic was she doing? What harm?

He could not begin to guess.

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