Morgana never died.

Perhaps Merlin had always known she wouldn't, but it came as a great surprise to her when she woke up on the forest floor.

She raced to the lake, desperate to see how her final acts had carried out. When she arrived, there was a fire on the water, and a dark silhouette watching it burn.

Morgana felt very afraid then.

The witch went into hiding. She heard rumors of Camelot's demise, of its collapse under the pressure of the Saxons. Its queen was lost, its knights dead or scattered. The great wizard who protected it fell into myth.

Several years passed before he found her. Morgana did not know what took him so long. Despite how well she had hidden she had never truly felt safe. But Merlin finally came to her, bitter and spiteful, and Morgana, having long since regretted the loneliness, was ready.

The battle was legendary. It scarred the earth and broke it into pieces. Morgana was impossibly outmatched and she was defeated after a few hours. She knew it. He would kill her this time. And as she knelt down in the charred dirt, she was grateful. She was ready to die at the hands of Emrys.

"You said," Merlin called, and his voice surprised her so much that her head snapped up, "that you wanted to preserve magic. To protect sorcerers." His blue eyes shone. "You once killed mercilessly for it. And now," he appeared just in front of her, hand outstretched, "I ask you to follow through."

Morgana stared up at him. She could not believe it. Merlin, her worst enemy, the man who should by all rights kill her where she stood, was offering her his hand. "What?" she said eventually.

"Magic is dying," Merlin told her gravely. "I believe I—we—can save it. We can save all sorcerers from persecution. But I will need your help." He looked at her. "So either you agree, or I smite you right here."

And Morgana, with a fearful nod, reached up and gripped Merlin's hand like it was the only lifeline in a storm.

He took her away from the world, to the north. It was bitterly cold and few people to bother them. They lived in a small cottage, kept warm by two fireplaces that they never let go out. During these years, they saw little of each other and spoke less. And when they did talk, it was only of their work. Merlin said they were going to save all the sorcerers from persecution. There was no way the two kinds could live together, that was clear now. He wanted spells of disguise and glamour. He intended to hide the entire magic population from the eyes of the mortals.

It was brutal work. Morgana had never experimented with writing spells before, and the magic they knew did not possess a spell powerful enough. They struggled, together but separate. That was Merlin's fault. He wanted little to do with her. Morgana was surprised to find that it hurt.

One time Merlin grew so incredibly frustrated that he left the cottage in a whirlwind of rage. When he returned two days later, he had a large red bird on his shoulder. "This is a phoenix," he informed Morgana. "His name is Fawkes." He placed him on a perch that had not been there a moment ago. "And he's staying."

Morgana looked at the bird, and the bird looked at her. They came to a silent agreement. "So long as it's quiet," she said, and she went back to work.

After all that time, it was Morgana who cracked the code. She was startled when she realized it worked. Then her shock was soon replaced by ecstasy. She had done it. This was it.

Morgana burst into Merlin's study, scattering discarded parchment like confetti. "Latin," she said breathlessly. Her chest rose and fell with the joy of her discovery. Her eyes were nearly gold and she glowed like a sun. "It's Latin."

The language of Latin was glorious. It held magic in every word. Everyday speakers accidentally cast spells and became revered as priests and priestesses. It was an incredibly powerful language, more than Morgana and Merlin's English dialect. However, Latin was difficult to control. The two sorcerers lost control several times as they practiced casting the glamour, and accidentally created the island of Great Britain. It soon became clear than a device would be needed to channel this.

At first, Merlin used the staff from Avalon. It worked beautifully. With Morgana's hand on the staff they were able to cloak most of northern Europe and some of Asia. Anyone mortal who had lived there moved for reasons they could not explain. Merlin and Morgana went to villages, and spoke quietly of the safe haven they were creating. Word spread quickly. Soon there were Druids and magical people of all kinds populating their land, and development began. Their lone little cottage in the north was suddenly surrounded by a blossoming community. They called it the Hollow.

The staff, as it turned out, was ridiculously impractical. Merlin retired it and opted for a much smaller instrument of his own making: a wand. He came across an elder tree, deep in the woods, the only one for miles. He broke off one of its branches and spent days forming it. Within it he slipped the hair of a thestral, and it became the most powerful object he had ever seen.

He fashioned one for Morgana too. It was dark, crafted from a fir tree and containing a still pulsing dragon heartstring. He never presented it to her. It was sitting on her pillow one night and that was all that was said of it.

It was that same night that Morgana realized she loved Merlin.

How very strange that she should fall in love with him. All those years of hate turned to regret and longing. If only she had not been so foolish, had seen what she was becoming. She spent her nights dreaming of Merlin, even though he was only a few yards away. In the day she watched him and imagined he loved her too.

Perhaps a year after she realized her affections, she entered the main room of their cold cottage to find Merlin sitting on the sofa, beside a candle. A book was open in his lap, spells from the tribes of Africa. He was translating them to English, and then, eventually, to Latin.

Morgana had been in her room, enjoying her wine a little too much. She sank into the open spot beside Merlin and snuggled up against him. Carefully, she watched his reaction.

He did not move away from her. He did not even speak. Instead, he smiled.

If he had not smiled, Morgana would never have done it. But the fact remains that Merlin smiled, and Morgana was a little drunk. For her fogged state, the upturned corners of his lips were the cue she had been waiting for.

Morgana leaned over and nuzzled against him, finishing with her lips on his perfect neck. She felt him tense and heard the book snap shut.

She took his reaction as an invitation to continue. In a heartbeat she had swung herself over his lap and encircled her arms about his neck. She kissed him on the mouth, running her tongue on his closed lips. He barely responded. All inhibition had left Morgana. She tried to kiss him harder and rocked her hips into his.

Suddenly she was on the sofa, facing the ceiling. Merlin had pushed her off. He did not meet her eyes and his hands were balled into fists. For a long time, nothing was said. Morgana stared at him with rejection weighing on her heart and he ignored her. Finally, he said, "Morgana."

The witch perked up hopefully.

Merlin gritted his teeth and kept his head facing away from her. "Never do that again." He rose then and left the cottage, and she did not see him for several days.

After four days she went searching for him, and found him easily. He was at the lake, sitting on the grassy banks and looking out over the still, dark water. Idly his fingers tore at the green blades, and when Morgana sat down beside him he did not look at her.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Morgana did not know if he spoke to her or to the boy in the lake, but it did not matter. In that moment it all made sense to her. Merlin loved Arthur. In spite of God, of Arthur's marriage, and everything, Merlin loved the king of Camelot.

It should have repulsed her, infuriated her. But it just made her sad.

Merlin turned and met her eyes now. He smiled a little, forgiving. "Arthur will rise again," he informed her. "And when he does, I'll be ready to serve him again."

"Merlin," Morgana said, and he became attentive, "I wouldn't trust that." She said it with sincerity, not jealousy.

"He will rise again," he snapped. He stood up. "I want to make a… a school. A place to train young witches and wizards. No more secrecy, no more unprepared sorcerers facing the pyre. We're going to revolutionize the magical world, Morgana. Just like you always wanted."

The names of Merlin and Morgana were too old, and their immortality was a secret they were determined to keep. They invented new names, silly ones. Merlin became Godric Gryffindor. Morgana giggled and turned into Rowena Ravenclaw.

They found two other powerful Druids and brought them to Camelot. The white castle had turned dark with age. Parts were crumbling off. Rats and spiders had made it their home.

"Oh, it just needs a little love," Helga muttered. She produced her own wand (a man named Ollivander had taken up the trade after seeing Morgana's a few decades ago) and together the four of them rebuilt the citadel. They made it grander, more magical. Impossible floors and rooms were added. Salazar and Morgana chortled together about the changing floor plan, imagining the confused students running amok in the school.

"They'll never make it to class," Salazar guffawed.

"Lord forbid they find your dungeons," she retorted happily.

"That's not so nice, is it?" Helga inquired, gazing up at the shifting stairs. "The poor students!"

"Just imagine the first years!" Morgana cackled.

At that moment, Merlin strolled by, reading a piece of parchment intently. "Oh, Godric," Helga called, beckoning him, "come here and tell them this is not all right."

Merlin blinked innocently. He gazed up at the staircases and saw nothing amiss. "Seems fine to me," he declared, and carried on his way.

The four of them picked houses later that day. Merlin opted to take the brave. Morgana said nothing. He was looking for Arthur, foolishly. Did he really think the king would be born a wizard? But she kept it to herself.

During the time of preparing the school, Morgana saw less and less of Merlin. Her affections shrank, but did not disappear. Instead, she swooned and smiled after Salazar. He returned her feelings and though they did not marry, they had a long and happy affair. They had a daughter, Helena, and a son, Balthazar, and Morgana was happiest she had been in an eternity.

Throughout the years, however, Morgana's visions never ceased. When Helena was sixteen, the witch woke in the middle of the night to the image of a giant snake crawling through the halls of her school.

She ran to Merlin, terrified. "The students," she whispered to him. It was the dead of night. Merlin was hardly awake and the many children the castle now housed were sound asleep. "They could be slaughtered.

Merlin nodded, rubbing his eyes. He yawned. "Look Morgana," he said, "we would have found a snake that big by now. Where would it hide? And it couldn't just waltz on in, could it?"

Morgana rolled her eyes. "Of course, Uther," she snapped. She spun around and marched away, hoping her insult stung.

That night, she did not go back to sleep. She had the idea to amplify her visions, to make them clearer and more informative. No more of these foggy, sleep-dazed warnings. She was going to maximize her ability.

By the morning she had created her diadem.

Before Salazar woke, she had used it.

And then she knew.

Morgana confronted her lover. He denied it openly. She went to Merlin, insisting it was the truth. They combed the school and found nothing. Furious, she used her diadem again. It told her the same thing.

"I'm telling you, Merlin," Morgana huffed, "Salazar is hiding something."

Merlin pursed his lips together. He lowered his head. Then he stood up.

Morgana followed him to Salazar. The Slytherin was pulling a book off his bookshelf when they burst in.

The interrogation went on for two hours. Salazar cursed them both and laughed that they would never find his "chamber of secrets."

Merlin stepped forward until his face was an inch from Salazar's. "Leave," he said dangerously.

"Excuse me?" cried Salazar.

"Flee this school. Or else I will destroy you where you stand."

Salazar Slytherin laughed openly. "You cannot match me!" he exclaimed.

"I am Emrys," Merlin hissed slowly. "I can turn you to ash with a snap of my fingers."

The dark man looked confused, but the confident smile still pulled at his lips. "What?"

Merlin did not waver. He murmured an age old spell, and his eyes flashed gold.

Salazar Slytherin was never seen again.

Merlin lowered his head sadly. "Tomorrow," he said quietly, "we'll look again for the basilisk."

Morgana nodded.

Merlin pursed his lips and looked at her. "I'm sorry. I know he was… important to you." His brow furrowed apologetically.

Morgana was surprised at how little she hurt. "I'll be fine," she said. She whisked around and returned to her apartments.

When she opened the door, the diadem was gone and Helena was not in her room.

You know the rest of that story.

After the death of her daughter, Morgana fell into true despair. She left Hogwarts and abandoned her son. Merlin looked for her, but she did not want to be found and he decided to respect that.

Eventually, Godric Gryffindor became too old. Merlin let that name die and finally sought out Morgana. She was in Australia (but it was not yet Australia), on the coast, not doing much of anything and being very lazy. The only effort she exerted was to magic fruit and alcoholic drinks to her side. She looked young again, and had forgotten decency. But who wouldn't?

Merlin conjured up a hammock and clambered into it, shedding his thick wizard robes. His skin lost its wrinkles and his hair turned black again. "It's nice here," he remarked.

Morgana did not open her eyes. "Yes," she agreed. "Lots of funny animals, too." She sighed. "What year is it?"

"1083," Merlin replied.

Silence. Then, "Immortality is awful."

Merlin only nodded.

Almost nine hundred years passed before Morgana had a vision worthy of my telling. Over these centuries Merlin lost his wand. He returned to the Hollow, now Godric's Hollow, and decided to return to the school of Hogwarts for the fifth time as a Transfiguration teacher. He won his wand back by sheer luck, and became employed as Albus Dumbledore. He picked Albus as his name because it sounded like Emrys, and he missed his name.

On a Monday night in 1925, Morgana was in America. She had been in a bar, smiling at a well dressed man across the room, when the vision hit her.

A baby, newly born, was being held in the hands of a woman. The mother was lying in bed, breathing the last breaths of a dying woman. "Tom," she gasped. "Tom… Marvolo… Riddle."

She fell asleep, and Morgana knew she would die soon. The woman held up the babe and peered at it. It squirmed like all babies should.

Then Morgana snapped back to reality, to the bar in Chicago, to the man now leaning down in front of her.

She downed her drink and left without saying a word to him.

Merlin seemed thrilled at her vision. "It must be Arthur," he whispered. "It has to be!"

Morgana managed to convince him to wait until the boy was old enough to be admitted to Hogwarts. Merlin visited him in the orphanage and came back looking shaken. "It's not him," he whispered. He collapsed in his chair and looked on the verge of tears. "It can't be him."

In 1941, Morgana had a vision of the basilisk again. She saw it haunting her precious school like a shadow. With the hope of protecting her students, she rejoined the Hogwarts staff under a corruption of her own name: Minerva McGonagall.

She did not waste time gloating that the Chamber existed to Merlin. She was a lady, after all. But when the girl died, all the games ceased. A boy was convicted and expelled, but Morgana was certain it was wrong. She did not see Salazar in him. Merlin agreed with her. When the boy grew up, and Merlin ascended as headmaster, he offered him a job. Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts gameskeeper.

In the year 1978 Morgana had another vision. It was violent and the clearest one she had had in centuries.

A grey figure loomed in the darkness. He burst into a home, and instantly murdered a man she recognized with a flick of his wand. James Potter. The boy she used to have in detention most weekends. The sight of it made her heart clench, but the man did not stop there. He pushed on and came upon a child's bedroom. The mother was there, beautiful, sweet Lily Evans. She was on her knees, begging, pleading.

She fell to the ground in a flash of green.

Morgana was sobbing. He turned to the toddler, crying in his crib. He raised his wand. The room glowed green once more, and Morgana woke.

She told Merlin immediately. He blinked. "I think…" he said slowly, "I understand now."

"I know the Potters don't have a child yet," Morgana said, "but the moment they do we must hide them, Merlin. I'm sure that was Voldemort. Merlin, he was Tom Riddle. Why go after them, I don't know, but we must save them."

Merlin nodded. He looked very different old. Spectacles rested on his nose. His blue eyes twinkled a little more. She wondered if his beard was terribly itchy. "I will see to it," he promised.

There is no need for me to explain this. You know the fate of the Potters. And you know, now, that the great wizard Merlin left Harry Potter on the Dursley's doorstep while Morgana tried to convince him otherwise, and when he was eleven he sent him the letter—the letter that changed the boy's life.

Morgana watched Merlin very carefully during the school years of Harry Potter. He took an extreme fondness in him, more than any other student previously (except, perhaps, Tom Riddle). When he was sorted into Gryffindor he nearly stood up and cheered, because that meant Harry was brave. Arthur was brave. Morgana was happy she could easily watch the boy, being head of that House. That same night, she had visions of Harry in front of a mirror, fighting with Voldemort, but she had been unable to recreate her diadem and the vision was unclear.

At the end of the year, Harry defeated Voldemort again. Merlin was too ecstatic for his old age. He jumped around his office and became very nostalgic. He started carrying his old neckerchiefs around. Morgana knew what he was thinking. Harry was who he had been waiting for. His Arthur had come back at last.

She thought he was wrong.

That summer Morgana saw the snake again. She demanded Merlin close the school this time, so they could finally find the beast, but he refused. "Ar—Harry will certainly get rid of it," he said.

Morgana shook her head. "Merlin, fifty years ago it killed a girl. If you think I will let it do so again so you can test your little theory, then—."

"Morgana!" Merlin cried, and she fell silent. How the roles had reversed since they first met. She was servant now. He was lord and master. They both knew it. "It will be all right. Now, help me choose the new teacher." He held up one application and smiled. "He'd be fun."

The witch pressed her lips together and folded her arms. "Very," she said shortly, and she left.

She really should have said no, because stupid Merlin hired the bumbling idiot anyways. And it was a disaster.

Again, Harry Potter proved his place in Gryffindor when he pulled Excalibur (now the sword of Gryffindor) out of the Sorting Hat and slew the basilisk, saving Ginny Weasley. Merlin would not be swayed. He was so overjoyed at finding his Arthur that he canceled exams.

Then, Harry was thirteen. Morgana dreamed of Sirius Black, of his innocence and of the dementors. She went to Merlin. He nodded and said he would look into it. He had his doubts. But once again, she was not wrong. She was never wrong.

Fourth year. Voldemort rose again and Harry shone with the valor of bravery and the anguish of losing a friend. Morgana wondered if Merlin cared that the Diggory boy was dead. He had eyes only for Harry.

The next year, Merlin found something. He was very excited about it, but he kept it hidden. Morgana could not see what it was in her dreams, but she saw Voldemort return publicly. And when he did, Harry was honored like a king.

But he was not the king. Morgana was sure of it.

Harry's sixth year at the school, and Morgana noticed Merlin's black hand. She tried to ask him about it, but he repelled her questions. He also spent an awful lot of time with Snape.

Strange…

There was absolutely no doubt in Merlin's mind, though, that Harry was Arthur. He always wanted to talk about it, to prove to Morgana all his theories. That Ginny was Guinevere, their names were even the same. Ron and Hermione were the knights, from Elyan to Gwaine to Leon. He even likened Hermione to Morgana, but the sorceress crushed that idea in an instant.

Morgana found this year oddly quiet. She had no visions of what was to come. Not until the night before.

As Morgana slept, she saw Merlin take Harry to the sea cave. She watched him give the blood offering—old magic, from their time—and enter the rock. They boarded a small boat that propelled itself through a lake full of dark shapes.

Bodies.

They stayed beneath the surface. She watched Merlin writhe with torment as he drank the potion, heard him screaming "please, please." She could imagine what he was seeing. Arthur dying over and over. Camelot falling to pieces. Gwen's death. All of it Morgana's fault.

And Merlin had asked Harry to brave this, to watch him suffer. Morgana felt sick just seeing it.

Then Merlin lifted his head. He had gone very quiet. He grabbed Harry's arm and whispered, "Water."

No, thought Morgana. Don't touch the water.

"Yes sir, I'll get it," Harry insisted. He rushed to the lake's edge. He dipped his cup in the still blackness.

Morgana looked away.

Her vision went black, but she still heard the sounds. She clawed at the darkness and climbed back into her body, gasping into wakefulness.

She stormed the headmaster's office. Never mind the hour, or the noise. Morgana burst in on Merlin and Snape, facing each other across the office.

Morgana pursed her lips. "I need to speak with you," she hissed.

Merlin gazed at her, taking in her frazzled hair and tired eyes. "It is one in the morning, professor," he said, his voice irritably calm.

"Then let's hope it will be brief," she snapped. She fixed Snape with her devil's eyes. "Leave."

Snape looked at her with a simpering smirk. He folded his arms and said, "Of course, professor." He left the office without a glance back at either of them.

Morgana's eyes flashed gold, and she tore away her elder self. She became the Lady Morgana again, and she was livid.

"What are you plotting," she demanded.

Merlin kept his ancient shell, looking at her through his half-moon spectacles. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Do not take me for some common fool, Merlin!" she shouted. She pointed fiercely at his hand. "What is that!? Why all the secrecy? With Snape, of all people! I can't believe you trust him!"

"It is all for the best," Merlin assured her.

Morgana eyes him furiously. "I've seen what you're doing, Merlin," she hissed. "You're trying to relive Camelot with Potter. It's not healthy. You'll get him killed, I swear it."

He raised his black hand in an effort to calm her down. "It will be fine."

Suddenly Morgana could not look away from the shriveled appendage. She fell silent, thinking hard. Then she met his crystalline eyes. "Why haven't you changed back?" she asked quietly.

Merlin pursed his lips and did not answer.

"What aren't you telling me?" she wondered.

For a long time, Merlin held her gaze in silence. Then, finally, he sighed. "I made a mistake," he told her softly. "I came across a…very powerful artifact. And I was a fool and tried to use it." He looked down at his hand. "And now I am dying."

Morgana blinked. "Dying?" she repeated incredulously. "Dying?"

Merlin nodded once.

The witch opened her mouth to say something, and then realized she had no idea what to say. Fear filled her heart. Throughout the years, Merlin had been the one constant. And… now he was going to die? And leave her alone in this world?

"No you're not," she said shortly.

"Promise me," Merlin requested as he rose to his feet, "that you will take care of Harry once I am gone."

"He's not Arthur," Morgana quickly stated. "He's not who you should be dying for, no, Merlin, believe me, he's not Ar—."

"He is," snapped Merlin, and Morgana stopped talking. The glare he gave her made her feel cold. "He is destined for great things. And I will die for my king. Now go to bed, professor."

Morgana blinked once, twice, three times before aging herself again and striding out of the office. She kept her composure until her chambers. The moment the door closed behind her, she broke down in raucous, terrified sobs.

The next day she taught her classes stonily. She talked little more than she had to and she ignored Harry Potter completely. Everything was painfully slow. She desperately wanted to see Merlin and at the same time wanted never to see him again.

Surprisingly, Merlin came to her. It was after supper, and he rapped gently on her office door. She jumped and twisted around. Merlin closed the door. "Morgana," he said, and he looked so very much like his old self. Not young, no, but timid and cheeky and clumsy and adorable. Morgana's heart throbbed. She swallowed and replied, "Merlin."

"My lady," he went on, and he bowed slightly. Morgana blushed. Her feelings for Merlin had only dimmed, and now she felt them come back full force. "I just wanted to tell you… thank you. For everything you have done for me."

Morgana remained seated behind her desk. She did not think she could have stood if she had wanted to. "Of course," she said faintly.

Merlin looked at her for a moment, smiling that familiar smile. "You know," he murmured, "I always thought you beautiful."

This took her completely by surprise. Her mouth fell open, and she sought words that did not exist.

"And I am sorry I could not be what you wanted." Merlin bowed his head again, still smiling, before he left the room, just as calmly as he had entered.

Morgana was left shell-shocked, still hearing his words in her ears. She sat there for a long time, before eventually putting down her quill and retreating to her bedroom, where she lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

It was four hours before she heard a commotion above her head. As if in a trance, she stood up and when to her window. She could see the astronomy tower from here.

In fact, she could see everything.

In the morning the phoenix was sitting on her windowsill. The funeral had been terrible. Morgana wasn't sure how alive she had been through it. But it was over now, and all that was left of Merlin was the bird currently looking at her with his golden eyes.

Morgana went to it slowly. Carefully, she reached out and stroked its red plumage, and it cooed in response. She could see tears in its eyes, and the few drops that landed on her skin took away the age, the wrinkles, and the pain.

"We've both outlived our times, haven't we?" she murmured. The bird almost nodded. Then it stretched its neck, nuzzled Morgana's cheek, and flew away, towards the ForbiddenForest, singing its final lament.

Morgana watched it go. Then she thought about Harry Potter. She imagined she could hear him and his friends, down by the lake, discussing matters beyond their years that Merlin had foolishly left them to deal with.

Matters he had foolishly left her to deal with, too.

Morgana's first duty was to her school, not Mr. Potter. And certainly not to any once and future king.

Why could Merlin never see who Harry was? A boy, born with magic, destined to save all magical folk—now who did that sound like? They even looked alike.

And who did young Harry run about serving? Whose life did Harry save, using magic when he shouldn't have?

Yes, Morgana knew it was unlikely, but Dudley Dursley was growing up to look a lot like her half brother. Perhaps he would join the Muggle military, and find some courage, and become the king.

And perhaps not.

When the next school year started, Morgana was unsurprised to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione absent. She was surprised, however, to see Neville Longbottom stepping up. The young boy had always been in the background for her, and now he was taking the lead. The students looked up to him more than they ever did Harry. And while Snape and his Death Eater friends thought they had the run of the place, Morgana never felt she had lost control. It was still her school. She was still in charge.

So when Harry finally returned, Morgana greeted him with the confidence that all would end correctly. She did not even need a vision to confirm it.

The battle was glorious, the kind she had always dreamed of destroying Camelot with, not saving it. Her magic was as powerful as ever, and she happily fought on the side of the castle. And when day broke and Harry Potter's body was carried into the courtyard, Morgana did not fret. She was inclined to give Merlin that point, though—dying just as success was so near tasting. A very Arthur thing to do.

But then Harry was alive, and the battle was over, and Morgana was clapping and cheering with her beloved students. And she was just fine.

While they celebrated later, Morgana visited Merlin's grave. She touched the cracked marble and smiled. "I want you to know," she told him happily, "that you died for the right person. Not Arthur, no, not even a king—but a boy, who is full of nothing but love, and he just saved the world." She smiled. "A world where mortals and sorcerers live together in harmony. That you and I built." Her old eyes grew wet and she felt tears coast down her wrinkled cheeks. "Don't you see, Merlin?" she whispered. "It was never about Arthur. It was always about you."

END

*if you find a typo, I'd love to know.*