Author's note: English is not my first language so beware— there be monsters in here. Also, this is a translation of a story I wrote in Spanish: Cambio, repetición. Yes, I translate myself, shuddup. Feel free to let me know of any mistakes I made. Nice reviews are nice. You know what else is nice? Merlin/Morgana.

Change, repeat.

The woods remained the same. Of course, trees grew and died, the little stream that ran across the forest seemed to become even more winding every year, and little animals left their burrows and dug new ones all the time. Still, nothing really changed. Not quite. The higher branches were still intertwined, knitting some sort of vault that kept the sun's rays from shining through; the ground was still covered by a carpet of dead leafs that sometimes seemed to have a life of their own, snapping and rustling as if an invisible entity walked freely all around; an owl still ululated, turning the night into something spooky and haunting. The druids still lived there.

Merlin did have changed. Now he crept through the woods just like another ghost, and nobody could see him unless he wanted it so. He decided to make a detour, though, for he was going to the druids' camp. He walked confidently towards the back of the last tent to the south, whispered some words and passed through its canvas as it were only a smoke curtain. Inside, a woman was writing. The sound of the quill against the parchment was the only thing which dared to break the silence.

'Lady Morgana,' the sorceress turned at the sound of Merlin's voice, dropping her quill as she stood up.

'I dreamt you would come,' she said quietly. 'Emrys.'

'Don't call me that.' Morgana smiled mischievously.

Against his will, the lips of the young warlock curled, imitating those of his old friend. Morgana made the space between them disappear when she stepped towards him and wrapped her arms around his body. Merlin stood stiff for a moment, but then he blinked and allowed his hands to rest on her back, trying not to give in into a hug that seemed too close, given the circumstances. Of course, that had never bothered Morgana even the slightest.

'I've missed you.' Merlin moved his fingertips almost unnoticeably to the right, until they brushed against a black loose lock. 'Have you missed me, Merlin?' whispered Morgana into his neck.

'Every day.'

She seemed to find his answer funny, because she giggled quietly, provoking little explosions of hot air against Merlin's skin. At last she broke the hug and took a step back to look at him intently, with almost critical eyes.

'You have… grown.' The warlock blushed. Since he had occupied his new position, he had started taking fighting lessons; this fact had had two consequences: a considerable growth of his muscle mass and a new appreciation for his magic powers. 'And your hair's longer, now.'

Merlin did not answer, but he looked at Morgana. Unlike him, the young woman had lost some weight, and that made her look wilder, more fragile. Her hair was as black as before, and it stood out beautifully against her pale skin, which seemed untouched by the sun's rays even now that she lived in the wilderness. Her pale green eyes still had that passionate sparkle, almost febrile, and now they looked at him with fondness. She was wearing a simple green dress made of rough fabric, similar to the ones that the maids who had once served her wore, and it revealed the bare skin of her shoulders and the beginning of her breasts. Merlin felt a warm cloud grow inside his lower abdomen, stinging and making him numb.

'I'm glad you are alright. I sometimes fear for you, this forest isn't safe.'

'No; no, it isn't,' she said with pride. Merlin lowered his gaze. 'So what brings you here, Merlin? I am sure you did not come all the way just to enjoy my company. After all, how long has it been? Two years—'

'Three,' said the warlock, trying to hide the anxiety that tainted his voice. 'I needed to speak to you.'

Morgana observed him with calculating eyes.

'Speak, then.'

And Merlin spoke. In a rushed voice, he told her how the relations with King Olaf had gotten cold, especially after Camelot had forged an alliance with the northern kingdoms. He told her that they had started to save provisions, that the people were worried and the streets empty, that the price of wheat had soared and there were rumors of mercenaries in the frontiers. His lips trembled when he spoke about the messenger they had found with an arrow stuck in his throat. Merlin spoke of the sorrow Arthur felt, of his doubts, of the responsibility he had towards his people. Of remorse. He spoke of war.

'You have come here to ask us to fight.' It wasn't a question. Still, Merlin replied.

'Yes.'

Morgana walked absent-mindedly around the tent. She walked barefoot on the ground made of reed, hugging herself, pondering, sinking her fingers into her own flesh. One step there, two steps here. Merlin gritted his teeth.

'Did Arthur send you?'

Earth seemed to vanish under Merlin's feet. It had all ended before it could even begin.

'No.' Morgana raised her head. 'But I will speak to him. He will listen to me, Morgana.'

'Every fair king should listen to his counselor— especially if that is you, Merlin.' The warlock lowered his head, accepting the compliment. 'I'm sorry, but I must decline your offer.'

'Please.'

'Do you really think we can just forget everything? Do you think that we can work together, pretend that the past never happened? You're a fool…' Morgana spitted these words with her throat thick of emotion. Merlin did not know if that was rage or sadness.

'Arthur is not like Uther.' The name of the former king struck Morgana like a slap. 'He understands that magic isn't something to be afraid of. He is not consumed by resentment or fear, Morgana. I know he is willing to forgive you.'

'Uther's death—'

'He knows you didn't kill him,' he said in haste.

'If only. I wish, I wish I had.' Morgana clenched her fists, as if to prevent her hands from shaking.

'That's not true!' Merlin had almost yelled; he stepped forward and held the witch by the arm. He felt the magic inside her body stir like an animal, acknowledging him as one of its kind. He wanted to kiss her.

'And what about you, Merlin?'

'Me?'

'Arthur wasn't the only one who lost a father.' Merlin felt the viscous claw of reproach clenching his heart.

'You didn't kill Gaius either,' he murmured.

'No. But I killed others. I killed knights. Brothers, fathers, sons of Camelot.' Morgana pursed her lips. They were only a few inches away from his. 'And if Gaius had gotten into my way I would have killed him too.'

The warlock released her from his grasp and turned away.

'I would have killed him, and I would not regret it now. And you, Merlin…' He looked at her. Morgana sighed. 'I could have fallen in love with you, had things not turned out like they did. But that day, the Old Gods know it, I would have ended your life.'

'Morgana—'

'After all, you killed me first.'

Merlin gulped and lowered his head, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was exhausted.

'Don't become Uther, Morgana. He never learned to forgive; not others, and certainly not himself.'

'I'm sorry.' The young woman remained silent for a moment. Then she spoke with confidence, with the voice of the leader of the druids. 'I have made my decision.' Merlin gazed at her: green eyes, red lips, black hair, white skin. He tried to keep that image in his memory. Then he turned to leave; he had nothing else to say. 'I am glad to see you again, Merlin. I did miss you.'

'So did I. You wanted to change things. You wanted to make a better future.'

Morgana smiled, and for a slight second Merlin saw in front of him the same woman scared to death, frightened of herself, she had been so long ago.

'I see the future every night, Merlin. There is nothing good about it.'

Merlin left the camp as he had arrived: unseen. He allowed himself a moment and then, with words that sounded bitter on his tongue, he disappeared. Behind, he left the woods. Eternal and unchanged, like he had never been there.