"Merlin? What in god's name are you doing down here?" Morgana hears Arthur ask.
"Looking for you," says Merlin. "I completely forgot but the other night when I was picking herbs for Gaius I think I saw Morgana. In the empty houses past the well. I just completely forgot."
There's a short silence. Then, "Merlin, you idiot, how do you completely forget seeing the evil witch the whole Kingdom is looking for?"
"I don't know. I had other things on my mind!" Morgana can hear the relief in Merlin's voice at being believed.
"The empty houses past the well are in completely the opposite direction. Men! We're not wasting any more time here. My idiot servant thinks he saw someone..."
Morgana listens as the footsteps and chatter fade out of hearing. When she is finally safe, her legs give way and she sinks to the dirt covered floor, head in shaking hands.
She's still there when Merlin returns, several hours later, although by now she's lifted her head and is looking emptily into the darkness of the chamber, thinking. She scrambles to her feet as he comes in, hands out in front of her for protection, then relaxes slightly as she sees his face.
"Just me," he smiles at her. "Sorry I was so long, Arthur co-opted me into helping with the search. And then I had to round up those women's chickens."
Morgana shakes her head. They stand for a moment, just looking. Holding themselves as still as they can so that they don't break the fragility of the moment.
"Here," says Merlin finally. "Forbearnan." The candles in each corner of the room spring to life with a faint whoosh. The shallow light flickers, accentuating Morgana's hollow cheeks and the deep worry lines in Merlin's brow.
Morgana steps towards him. "I've been practicing," she says softly. Clasping her hands tightly she whispers, "Apyffan fleoge." As her hands fall apart, five perfect white moths appear, soft and furred and pure, seeming almost to emit their own light. They fly towards Merlin, landing on his shoulders. Morgana claps her hands gently, and they disappear.
Merlin looks at her with amazement in his bright blue eyes. He wants to say something about how magical it is, how proud he is of her for coming here and making this kind of magic. After a moment, though, he says hoarsely, "You're beautiful, Morgana." She thinks she can hear a depth of meaning in the three simple words.
He kisses her, again, lips gentle and careful. When he undresses her, pulling the shirt the colour of old blood over her head, he does it softly. The way you would touch someone who's bruised all over their body.
Making him love her, that was always part of Morgana's plan, but falling in love with him, that never was. She doesn't want to end this. She doesn't want any more people to die. Morgana Pendragon is here to kill the king, but she isn't sure if she wants to anymore.