You're on holiday in New York when you see her across the park. She's dirty and homeless by the looks of it. Her once beautiful hair is greasy and badly cut. As you get closer you can hear her babbling about Camelot and King Arthur and the magic that flows through her veins. Your heart breaks for her when you see her ducking off the path into the woods, a blackened spoon already in her fist. You catch up to her just as she plunges a needle full of cloudy liquid between her filthy toes.
"Oh Morgana." You sigh as you kneel next to her, taking the syringe from her limp and trembling hand.
She reaches for you, recognition fighting the haze of the drug. "Merlin? My Merlin?"
"Yes 'Gana." You say, stroking her face. "Your Merlin. I'm here. I'm going to take you somewhere safe, ok?"
She pulls away. "You killed me." She accuses. "Twice."
You huff a bitter laugh. "Well only the second one stuck. But back then it was kill or be killed. You weren't exactly innocent." You stand and pull her to her feet. "Will you come with me? I can help."
Her eyes turn cold and it has nothing to do with the heroin coursing through her system. "Oh yes Emrys, I remember your 'help'. I don't want anything to do you or your help." She turns to go but her steps falter and she falls to the ground.
You bend and place one arm behind her knees and the other behind her shoulders. "If you won't walk, I'll carry you. I'm taking you to my hotel and cleaning you up."
She mumbles a protest but wraps her arms around your shoulders and nuzzles your neck. By the time you reach the street you've got tears streaming down your face. You hail a cab and place her gently in the back before walking around the car to join her. The driver doesn't question your tears or mention the dirty junkie that you're holding tightly. You give him the address of your hotel and sit back to look at the broken woman beside you.
She's passed out, from the drug or the emotional strain you don't know, and in her slumber she looks like the young unburdened woman you once knew. The haughty but kind noble that helped you save a wounded druid child. Thinking of Mordred makes you think of Arthur and you realize that for the first time in almost two thousand years you don't care about your kings return. At the moment all you care about is getting her clean and healthy.
The taxi pulls up to your hotel, after paying you tuck the sleeping Morgana tightly against your chest, her head under your chin. No one stops you on your way to the elevator but the elderly woman at the desk catches your eye and whispers something about room service and towels. You nod your thanks and continue to your room. Stepping out of the elevator is a young couple with a child. The boy asks you why you're crying and if she's ok.
"She will be," you manage to choke out. "She's been lost for a long time but I've found her and she's going to be fine."
The boy takes his fathers' hands and tells you that being lost is scary and you should hold her hand so it doesn't happen again.
When you get to your room you set her on the bed sitting beside her and placing your hands on her face. You ask your magic to remove all traces of the addiction from her body. As always your magic is eager to heal someone you love. Long ago you realized that you don't need to speak to perform a spell and healing is no longer a weak point. She begins to stir as your eyes fade from gold to blue.
"What did you do to me?" she asks, standing as she takes inventory of her body.
"I helped. You're clean and your body doesn't remember needing to get high. Are you hungry?"
"Famished." She eyes you warily. Clearly uncertain of your motives. "I'd like to take a bath as well."
"Of course. I'll call for room service and see if the shop here has anything for you to wear. Leave your clothes outside the door so I'll know your sizes."
"Why are you doing this? How long have you remembered?"
"I never forgot My Lady. In your search for Emrys, did no one tell you what it means?" She shook her head. "I can't die. And so I live with everything that I did back then. Every day for fifteen centuries I've lived with the choices I made that turned you into who you became. I'm sorry."
She has tears in her eyes as she steps toward you. Resting one small hand on your jaw and the other on your shoulder she leans in and presses a chaste kiss on your lips. The moment is broken and the tension lifted when a primevil growl comes from her stomach. You both laugh and comment about the size of the noise compared to her petite frame. She moves to the bathroom and you go to the phone. Neither of you expect the level of comfort or the domestic feel that has fallen in the space. You order a deli tray and a fruit tray with instructions to knock once and leave the food in the hall. Gathering her clothing, you holler through the door that you're going to the shop and that food is on the way.
Downstairs you find a few outfits in her size that she might like and you're struck by how similar it is to when you rescued Freya. Brushing off the painful memories you pay and head back to the room. Finding the cart in the hall lets you know that she's probably still enjoying the hot water. As soon as you enter you see her standing by the window in one of the complementary robes and in the evening light she glows. Not for the first time, her beauty takes your breath away.
Clearing your throat, handing her the bag of new clothing, and bowing your head respectfully you greet her, "My Lady."
She giggles and you recognize her court laugh. Obviously she's uncomfortable and trying to hide it. She takes the bag and goes back to the bathroom to dress while you lay out the meal.
Sitting down to eat you chat about where you've been and what kind of life she's had. She has a large and loving family. When her memories came back five years ago on her 21st birthday her parents had her committed to a psychiatric facility for schizophrenia. Last year she convinced the doctors that her meds were working and she was released. She'd been homeless since then and using heroin for the last six months. Her medication was expensive and dope was cheap, she says.
You finish the meal in silence. Each of you thinking about the past.
Somehow your hands have found each other across the table. Looking down you ask her if she would like to go back. If she would like you to remove all memories of having lived in Camelot so that she can resume her life here. You tell her that you can remove the memories and record of her supposed mental illness from her family. You tell her that she can go home if she wants and that all of this can just be a bad dream.
She gives your hand a squeeze and asks what you'll do if she goes home. You tell her the truth. You'll continue to travel and wait for Arthur to come back. You tell her what the dragon said about the Once and Future King. You refuse to give in to the little flutter of hope in your heart. Maybe she'll come with you. Maybe the two of you can start again.
She removes her hand from yours but stays close and traces your fingers.
"Can you take some of the memories from this life? Can you make it so that the last five years feel like I've read it in a book?"
The spark in your chest dies and you nod. Of course you can do that.
She thanks you and kisses your hand. She tells you that she's going to sleep. You nod again and move to put the dirty dishes back in the hall. When you return the bedside light is off and she is resting. You sit in the chair by the window and watch the city that never sleeps.