A becoming pink flush settles over Morgana's cheeks as she laughs, good-naturedly. "You really cannot hold your wine, can you?"
Merlin can't quite make out the words, so he just grins, and Morgana leans forward and presses her lips against his, her fingers tangling in his short hair. He remembers to cup her face, kissing her back. She giggles against his lips.
"Tell me a secret," she whispers.
He doesn't hesitate, doesn't even think. "I can do magic."
She pulls back, suddenly, and he can't read her expression. Then she gets up and storms off.
* * *
"What brings you here, Merlin?" she says, coldly, pouring him a glass. He raises it, like a toast, but he checks to see if there's a sheen of poison on top of the wine. He takes a careful sip.
"Arthur wants you to come back to Camelot."
She arches a perfect eyebrow. "Does he, now?" She sounds amused, as if the desires of kings are beneath her. If what Merlin has heard of her powers is true, they probably are. "And why should I listen to him? Or you, for that matter?"
"Morgana -"
"Morgaine."
"Morgana," he repeats, insistently. "We used to be friends."
She lets out a sharp bark of laughter. Her eyes are wild. They'd always been, a little, but she'd been tame, when he knew her. Now she looks positively feral. "I loved you. I told you my secrets. I trusted you. And you couldn't even tell me who you really were."
"I had good reason..."
"What reason?" Morgana stands. "Now, get out of my sight."
Merlin knows better than to argue with her. He rises to his feet, feeling suddenly heavy.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
She just glares at him. He reaches out to touch her arm, and she flinches away.
"Your secret would have been safe with me," she says, bitterly.
Merlin can't quite make out the words, so he just grins, and Morgana leans forward and presses her lips against his, her fingers tangling in his short hair. He remembers to cup her face, kissing her back. She giggles against his lips.
"Tell me a secret," she whispers.
He doesn't hesitate, doesn't even think. "I can do magic."
She pulls back, suddenly, and he can't read her expression. Then she gets up and storms off.
* * *
"What brings you here, Merlin?" she says, coldly, pouring him a glass. He raises it, like a toast, but he checks to see if there's a sheen of poison on top of the wine. He takes a careful sip.
"Arthur wants you to come back to Camelot."
She arches a perfect eyebrow. "Does he, now?" She sounds amused, as if the desires of kings are beneath her. If what Merlin has heard of her powers is true, they probably are. "And why should I listen to him? Or you, for that matter?"
"Morgana -"
"Morgaine."
"Morgana," he repeats, insistently. "We used to be friends."
She lets out a sharp bark of laughter. Her eyes are wild. They'd always been, a little, but she'd been tame, when he knew her. Now she looks positively feral. "I loved you. I told you my secrets. I trusted you. And you couldn't even tell me who you really were."
"I had good reason..."
"What reason?" Morgana stands. "Now, get out of my sight."
Merlin knows better than to argue with her. He rises to his feet, feeling suddenly heavy.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
She just glares at him. He reaches out to touch her arm, and she flinches away.
"Your secret would have been safe with me," she says, bitterly.
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