Merlin appeared with a clap of thunder, an impressive entrance bound to impress even a swaggering bunch like the knights currently gathered for the tourney on the Pendragon's courtyard, no doubt peppering poor young Arthur with questions and his guardian Sir Hector with ill-disguised demands.

Instead, he found young Morgana Le Fay admiring the sword once in the stone, supervising three men with pickaxes, and eyeing him with a decidedly less than impressed expression.

"Give it here, girl," he said, gruffly. "I'll reform the stone and no harm done."

Her eyes and hair were raven dark. She'd grow into the sort of beauty that could enchant a king and the magic to keep him at her side even after she grew old. Unfortunately for her, she was the daughter of Queen Igraine and her first husband Gorlois, not Igraine and Uther Pendragon who Merlin served.

"I think not," she said, dark eyes flashing. "What sort of test to determine the rightful ruler is this? My half-brother is what - fifteen this year, if I recollect - and does he have the wit to solve this riddle as I have done?"

Arthur was not particularly clever, no. But he was kind and humble, unlike his father who cast covetous eyes on another king's queen. Morgana's bitterness over the matter, made plain by her deeds here, must not harm the boy. He said, "It was no riddle, but a sign to mark the true king. No one will mistake you for the Pendragon's legitimate heir and thus you have accomplished nothing."

Shouts from the tourney announced another contest at arms. A worried looking squire darted from the stands towards them and passed into the row of knights' tents.

She cried, "Haven't I? I've shown your 'true king' to be nothing more than a magician's tool. This sign was not of legitimacy but rather of he who would make Merlin his master!"

"You are a fallen witch indeed to hate your brother so and endanger his kingdom," he said, drawing himself up so darkly that the workmen dropped their pickaxes and fled. "He was entirely innocent of the wrongs done your mother."

The squire, not finding whatever he was looking for in the tents, came rushing back out. He saw the shattered rock and the sword in her hands. "Lady, good lady, have you a use for that sword?"

Merlin froze. For the boy was Arthur. In a few more years, there'd be no hiding that he was the Pendragon's son.

Morgana looked from him to the squire, and said haughtily. "I have magic beyond your reckoning and thus no need of a sword. But what need have you?"

He bowed, clearly in imitation of the knightly manners he'd learned alongside his older (adopted, though he knew it not) brother Sir Kay. "My brother, Sir Kay, broke his sword in the fray. Without another one, he cannot compete. I would not see him disappointed. And so I dare ask you: would you grant my brother your favor and your sword so he may compete to your honor and glory?"

Much to Merlin's surprise, she softened her stance, tore a black ribbon from her gown, and tied it to the sword before handing it over. "That was nobly asked, squire. If your brother asks after the ribbon's color, tell him you and I both mourn our fathers."

He blinked, his face a mask of confusion and growing alarm. "Sir Hector was fine when I left him..."

Merlin cut in harshly, "He's fine now, squire. Run along." Where he saw the Pendragon's hard features in his youthful mien, it was natural that Morgana saw her mother's just as clearly.

Arthur left as he was bid, swiftly carrying the sword to Sir Kay, with no idea that he was about to be thrust headlong into his destiny more by his witch-sister's contrivance than Merlin's magic. The wizard glared at her.

She more than matched him, glower for glower. "Of course he's an innocent, you meddling old man! You stole my infant brother from my mother's bedside as your patron lay dying. No, you never thought about how she would feel, to lose husband and son at one stroke-"

"The rival kings would have killed him-" he protested.

"My arts could've protected him better than yours - you haven't even disguised him." She accused. "And he would have known he had a mother and a sister who loved him, not a false family who are about to be ripped away from him in exchange for a dead man's crown."

The crowd noise grew dead silent. She glanced back towards the stands and, again to his surprise, her bitterness softened. "He is not what I expected."

Stiffly, he said, "I served his father and his father's father faithfully. I had a very long time to consider what sort of son I wanted to serve."

For the first time, as she studied him under lowered brows and he examined her not as an opponent but as a potential colleague, they understood each other.

She said, "No more loss and falsehoods. He will gain a mother and a sister. I will gain two brothers and an adopted father besides, even if the youngest of us wears the crown."

If she could let go of her anger, he could surrender to the inevitable. "I will remain long enough to make explanations to the court and then leave your new family alone so long as he is in no danger."

She held out her hand. As he kissed it, a vision of foretelling rose before his eyes: Arthur, old and gray with wisdom, would have no heir of his own flesh to pass on the crown. The young man kneeling before him was raven-dark of hair and eye, and he ruled as justly as his uncle was humble and kind.