Note: This chapter is from Merlin's point of view, the majority of this story is going to be from Morgana's but for some reason I just really wanted to write something from Merlin's point of view and see where he is coming from and what is going on in his head a little bit.
He couldn't believe he was doing this. How exactly had he agreed to this? How had she convinced him? Oh, right because she was Morgana and she had that way of getting whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. To be fair, he supposed she was off doing his dirty work, or at least that's the line she'd told him to convince him to pick up some stuff from her flat. She was off at the pub hoping Lancelot would turn up again and she was going to talk to him. He thought that probably meant she was going to bat her eyelashes and flirt with Lancelot. And why oh why was he picking up her shit and taking it back to his place? He didn't want her there but he just couldn't bring himself to make her leave. Plus there was still part of the manservant somewhere inside of him and she was still the Lady Morgana.
He didn't trust her. She could be plotting something, lulling him into a false sense of security. But then there was times when she'd look at him like she used to before and she'd followed his every move for a millennium and knew every time he found them reincarnated, she could have hurt them, killed them but she never even breathed in their directions.
He should have just stayed home and yet there he was one corner away from Morgana's flat debating the merits of keeping her around. He was considering turning around and going back to his own flat when his phone rang, he pulled it out of his pocket and swiped the screen to answer the call, "Hello?"
He couldn't decide if he was hoping it would be Morgana or not. Instead, it was Sarah's voice that came over the line, "Merlin, hey, I just wanted to know if you wanted to meet up at the pub? Say, fifteen minutes?"
He stopped in front of the building and sighed, things would be so much easier if he could just say yes to that and go drink and forget his troubles for the night but instead he was going to go rifling through Morgana's personal belongings.
"I can't, Sarah, I told Morgana I'd help her out with a few things."
"What things?"
"I said I'd pick some stuff up for her."
He heard her sigh heavily, it was the sigh of someone who clearly had something they wanted to say but were trying to hold it in because it was something the other person wouldn't want to hear.
He sat down on the stoop to Morgana's flat, "Whatever it is, Sarah, just say it."
Another sigh, "I just…I feel like you two are a closed circle, you have all this history between you that neither of you will elaborate on it. But it does not seem like a good type of history."
"It was good and bad."
"This is just a guess, but Merlin, it seems like she is bad for you, like she is toxic, like maybe she made you the way you are not. Broken."
He felt himself get defensive and protective over Morgana but again he just put it down to left over servitude.
"Sarah," he started, his voice lower and harsher than he intended it to be and he swallowed to get it back to its usual tone, "Did you ever consider that perhaps I was and am the one who is bad for her, that maybe I made her the way she is, that maybe the two fucked up individuals you see are the result of what I did?"
"Merlin," she said quietly and he thought he heard a hitch in her voice, the one that said she was close to tearing up.
He shook his head, even though she couldn't see him, "I'm sorry, Sarah but I have to go."
For the first time since he'd met Sarah, he hung up on her. He got up off the stoop and raced up to Morgana's door, took a deep breath and let himself into her world.
It wasn't what he was expecting, though he wasn't sure what exactly it was he was expecting, he guessed something dark and gothic, something that reflected the bitter soul she was in the end in Camelot. But this….it was vibrant, colourful, it was warm and inviting, none of the things he had associated with Morgana.
Was who she was now a trick? Could she have really changed so quickly? But then he supposed a thousand years wasn't exactly quickly, even if it was only a mere drop in the ocean to two immortals that literally had an infinity worth of time.
He tried to shake off the thoughts about Morgana's seemingly split personality and focus more on the task at hand. She'd said she wanted those marshmallows she was always saying he needed to buy. He strode to the kitchen and pulled open a cabinet door. The cupboard was empty. So, he went to the next and the next and the next. All empty. He pulled open the fridge and besides a half empty bottle of milk, it too was empty. Morgana's cupboards were bare. Literally. She had not a scrap of food. He felt a strange niggle of worry creeping up his spine but shook it off and told himself that she probably just forgot to shop. She had more important things to worry about after all. Like stalking him, sitting on his couch and fighting with him. He was her penance. He grinned slightly at that.
He thought since he was there he might as well snoop, know thy enemy and all that. He perused her bookshelf, eying up her books on DaVinci and Picasso and Van Gogh and other obscure artists he couldn't remember. He made a mental note to take a few books back with him. Not that he wanted her to be comfortable or at home in his flat. It's just she'd probably remember she wanted some of her books and bitch at him for not just knowing that.
He moved onto her other shelf, which was home to CDs and DVDs, obviously Morgana was one of those people who still listened to CDs and watched DVDs. Something on the shelf caught his eye, a CD case with his name on it, he looked around the flat as if he expected Morgana to walk in on him, then pulled the CD from its place on the shelf. There on the cover in Morgana's writing it said: 'Songs that remind me of Merlin'. Weird. He looked back at the shelf and saw other CDs labeled 'Arthur' and 'Gwen'. But the only one that interested him was the one with his name on it. He pocketed it to listen to later.
He went into the bedroom and stared. She really did have a four-poster bed. Ever the Princess. Pulling open the wardrobe, he pulled down the suitcase she had on the shelf, set it on the bed and opened it then turned back to the wardrobe. What had she said? Jeans, t-shirts, boots, coat. He started chucking the various items unceremoniously into the suitcase. And then he froze. Underwear. Had she said anything about underwear? He didn't really fancy rifling through her underwear drawer but a voice that sounded worryingly like Gaius whispered in his head, 'The Lady Morgana cannot go without undergarments, Merlin.'
So, that was how he found himself pulling open one of the drawers of Morgana's dressing table and staring down at the frilly, lacy items that lay there. He decided he wasn't prepared to pick any of these items up so he pulled the drawer out completely and dumped the contents into the suitcase.
When he finished shaking the drawer, there on the pile of Morgana's unmentionables was a small, carved wooden dragon. His wooden dragon. The one his father had given him. Merlin had thought he'd lost it in Camelot sometime between delivering Arthur to Avalon and Gwen growing old and dying without an heir. Now it was clear, Morgana had become a kleptomaniac and stolen it. He pocketed the little dragon, settling it in beside the CD; he reasoned with himself that it wasn't really stealing; that he wasn't stealing from her if the item he was taking belonged to him to begin with.
When he walked back into his own flat, Morgana was already sitting on the couch, hot chocolate in hand, still wearing the clothes she wore to the pub, which by the way were his even though he asked her not to wear his wardrobe out in public. Apparently, his opinion and the fact they were his clothes meant nothing to her.
She looked up at him, opened her mouth like she was going to say something and then shut it again. He dropped her suitcase on the floor. Her not saying anything meant it hadn't gone well. Lancelot didn't remember.
He slumped down beside her, feeling defeated, "How did it go, Morgana?"
"You said you didn't want to know."
"Just tell me."
She shrugged, the shirt she was wearing as a dress slipped down her shoulder a little with the action, "It was fine. It was actually fun. He brought me a drink, we chatted, and he's still a really nice guy."
"You flirted with him didn't you?"
"No, of course not," she smiled coyly, "Though he did ask for my number."
"Did you give it to him?"
"Aww, Merlin, are you jealous?"
"No, just worried about Lancelot, you might be somewhat of a vixen or is it siren?"
She laughed quietly, "Well, he's safe from me, you have my word."
He smiled and nodded and then his smile slipped away, "So, not even a tiny slither of recognition?"
"Not in relation to me."
He frowned, "What do you mean?"
"Well, I may have slipped your name into conversation and his eyes kind of glazed over for a split second. And he whispered your name."
Merlin shrugged, "It doesn't mean anything."
"What do you mean it doesn't mean anything, he recognized, remembered your name."
"Everybody who has ever heard any of the King Arthur legends knows my name, it doesn't mean anything." He got up off the couch, went into his bedroom, slammed the door and hoped she wouldn't follow.
