She is by far the worst thing about immortality (or perhaps she is the best, he has never been able to tell until it is too late when it comes to her). However far he runs, however many years go by, their paths never fail to cross at least once every lifetime. Fate, she muses to him over a couple beers sometime in the mid twentieth century, really is a bitch. He hums in a agreement, So is immortality. Her response is accompanied by a derisive snort and a deceptively sweet smile, At least you don't die before hitting thirty five in every lifetime.
Apparently he won't either in this one, for an hour later he's lying on the floor, gasping for air. She holds him till his last breath, holds him as he once held her, once upon a time and long ago, when life was simpler and they had been friends. She cradles his body to hers as people panic all around them and the hemlock (because of course she would use hemlock) steals the breath from his lungs and drains the life from his body.
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The next time she sees him is a few decades later. They are both college students, taking the same history course, their bodies and lives are new, but they know how to recognize eachother by now. He taps her shoulder and slips a scrap of paper between her fingers. His number.
"You poisoned me," is the first thing he says when she calls him that night.
"Well, you did do the same to me the first time," she says with a smirk, "and now we're even."
"To be fair, you survived."
"No thanks to you."
"Five hundred years is a long time to hold a grudge Morgana."
"Like you don't still hate me for what I did to Arthur."
A beat of silence.
"Can we talk?"
"Seems like we're already doing that."
"You know what I mean. Coffee. After class."
"Not afraid I'll poison you again, Merlin?"
"I'll risk it."
The severity in his voice kills the edge of laughter in her own immedietly.
"Okay. Coffee, that's it."
"Thank you. Thats all I wanted."
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She's waiting for him outside the next day. They walk together in silence to the little stand and order. A few minutes later they are sitting on a bench several yards away. Morgana stares down at her coffee, Merlin stares at her face.
"Do you think he'll remember us? Remember everything we— I, did?"
He blinks at her, of all the things she could have said this was the least expected. But as he searches her face he sees no mockery, only a deep sadness, and a vulnerability he has not been witness to in centuries.
"I— I don't know Morgana. But we always remember don't we? I don't see why he would be any different."
"If he does then he'll hate me for it. They all will."
I won't, he wants to say, I couldn't. But all he says is, "That's not Arthur, or Gwen."
Her chuckle is bitter, an echo of what she was the first time she had died. "Ah yes, my perfect, golden brother. King and savior of all Albion. And his sweet and beautiful bride. It seems I'm always destined to be in their shadow."
He humms softly in agreement, "Well at least you aren't eighty in every legend, book and movie."
Morgana smirks down at her cup, "And who's fault is that Merlin? As I recall you are the one who decided to drink that aging potion whenever you did magic in front of people!"
"I didn't have a choice!"
Morgana is quiet for a moment before she replies, "There's always a choice Merlin. You could have chosen to tell me you had magic in the first place. You could have chosen to trust me instead of the dragon and not poison me. You could have chosen to tell Arthur. You could have chosen to side with me and Mordred."
"We both know going against Arthur was never an option for me. It was my destiny to serve Arthur. It was yours to destroy him."
She closes her eyes, drawing in a long, shuddering breath. When she speaks again her voice is a whisper, horse and tight with restrained tears. "I'm tired of destiny."
Then she stands and walks away from him without another word. Merlin can only watch her go, frozen in his place on the bench. Finally he looks down at his coffee, now long gone cold and murmurs softly to the girl far out of reach, "Me too."