The Science of Mergana

Merlin sat on the floor by his bed, a notebook balanced on his knees and a pen clutched in his hand. The soft glow of a bedside lamp cast a warm light over the pages filled with his neat, precise handwriting. He was lost in his thoughts, completely absorbed in the words flowing from his pen. The silence of his small apartment was punctuated only by the occasional scratch of the pen against paper.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the quiet, startling him. "Have you lost your damn mind!?"

Merlin jerked. The pen stilled in his hand as he lifted his head up, his wide eyes meeting the gaze of the speaker. His breath caught in his throat, a mixture of shock and confusion playing across his face.

It was Morgana, standing in the doorway, her eyes blazing with anger. Her sudden, furious question had shattered his focus entirely. Merlin felt his pulse quicken, his mind scrambling to process her words and her presence.

Should he be happy that, unlike their usual pattern of years apart, it hadn't taken an eternity for them to meet again this time?

Mere months instead of half centuries.

He needed to focus, he could be happy later for now needed to know why she was angry.

"I—uh, what?" he stammered, blinking rapidly. He took a moment to push himself up from the floor. "What are you talking about?"

Morgana’s eyes narrowed, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," she said, her tone icy. "You’re delving into black magic. You know how dangerous that it…"

His eyes widened further, “How did you know?”

The moment he uttered the words, he instinctively grasped the answer.

It was Aithusa. He should have known better especially after what Morgana had told him last time they had seen each other.  

The dragon cared too much about him.

How much did the dragon share?

Morgana took a deep breath, her anger giving way to a deeper hurt. “Why would you do this? Why would you care?”

Everything, it seemed.

Merlin’s shoulders sagged, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. “You know why. I just want to find a way to keep you safe…” He felt a lump form in his throat, “Even if your magic is what’s keeping you alive and preventing your body from aging, you can still get hurt, you can still…”

He gained extensive knowledge about the rituals Aithusa had conducted to save Morgana’s life and he came to the realization that without magic, Morgana was constantly at risk.

It was truly miraculous that she had survived all these years.

Morgana took a deep breath, her anger giving way to a deeper hurt. “…die.” She finished for him. “I didn’t ask you to do this.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He just nodded his head. It was all that he could do.

Though she hadn't explicitly requested it, given the immense pain he had caused her and the suffering he had subjected her to over the years, he felt compelled to do everything in his power to keep her safe.

It seemed like the least he could offer—protecting her.

It might not have been much, but if it meant using black magic to restore her abilities, wasn't it justified?

Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head, the pain evident in her expression. Once again, he was causing her anguish, unintentionally inflicting hurt even when he didn't intend to.

 “How do you think that makes me feel, Merlin?” She asked, then she was quiet for a few seconds before adding, “If this is about you being alone...We have talked about this, Merlin. Forget about the past. You need to move on. Go out, make new friends and get a job,find a girl, and ask her on a date-”

“It’s not about that.” He gently interjected to redirect the conversation. He didn’t know why Aithusa had sought Morgana yet again despite his orders.

He sympathized with the dragon's concern, but it was becoming excessive, particularly considering Morgana's reluctance to meet with him. He didn’t want to force her to do something she was uncomfortable with.

She had made it clear to him that his mere presence was enough to upset her and he was determined to respect her wishes of staying away.

Morgana shot him a sceptical glance, silently conveying her disbelief in his words.

“I am not. Truly.” He insisted, feeling unease discussing this with Morgana, “In fact, I have a date tomorrow. She wanted…We’re going to see a film.”

In the blink of an eye, her expression transformed from one of hurt to a playful grin, leaving him bewildered by the rapidity of her emotional shift. She sensed the subtle tension in the air when he corrected himself.

“A film? What is it called?”

He shouldn’t tell her. Or better yet, he should just lie.

“Twilight something. She said it was the third one.”

Despite her best efforts to conceal it, a mischievous sparkle danced in her eyes, betraying the amusement she was desperately trying to suppress. Her grin grew wider.

He should not have told her. And most importantly, why were they deflecting?

They had an imperative matter to discuss other than this.

“How old is she?”

He gave up, “Old enough to know better.”

Morgana burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room. However, Merlin, though trying to maintain his composure, couldn't hide his annoyance, his eyes narrowing slightly as he attempted to stifle his own smile.

He missed that sound.

He pondered whether she shared the same sense of isolation as he did, but he understood he could never broach that topic with her. She had made it clear she didn't want him to delve into her inner world. Even the prospect of rekindling their friendship felt like an insurmountable barrier for her.

At the moment, he resigned himself to her playful teasing, hoping to persuade her to explore alternative methods for freeing her magic at a later time. “You clearly heard of them, so don’t be like that!”

“Have you watched the first two?”

“No…” He shook his head. Did he have to?

“Well, you need to be prepared. We’re going to watch the first two tonight.”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, each second stretching painfully as his eyes darted around, avoiding contact. The weight of unspoken words pressed down on them, amplifying the awkwardness of the moment.

The whistle of the kettle pierced the heavy silence, its shrill sound a welcome interruption to the tension between them. They both glanced toward the kitchen, grateful for the brief distraction from their uneasy quiet.

“I’ll get it.” Morgana rushed into the kitchen to make the tea. She soon returned with mugs in hand, her eyes briefly settling on the man's bruised face, a knot of distress tightening in her stomach.

“Was it drugs or alcohol?” She asked, placing his mug on the small table in front of him.

He eyed the tea but didn’t reach for it. Nevertheless, he nodded his head, “Thank you.”

“So?” she persisted, wanting to know what kind of shit he had gotten himself into.

“Neither.”

A lie.

Then, Morgana raised one eyebrow high, an elegant, curved arc that spoke volumes. “What happened to your face then?”

The room fell silent as the question hung in the air, a palpable weight pressing down on everyone present. Merlin leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing in thought.

How hard was it to answer a simple question?

Finally, with a slow, deliberate nod, he turned his eyes back to her. The silence broke as he began to speak, his voice measured and deliberate, the result of careful consideration. “I am really sorry for what took place the last time we met… I was-”

He really didn't want to talk about what had brought him to this point. If he was willing to bring up the hotel incident 50 years later, it must be a big deal.

No matter, she’d forget about that for now.

He struggled to find his next words. “…I didn’t have all the facts and I just assumed…when you said-”

Ah, now she got it.

“You thought that I survived all these years because I was stealing the lives of other people. A life for a life. Is that it?”

A look of remorse washed over his features like a sudden wave crashing onto the shore. Lines etched themselves into his brow, as if the weight of regret pressed down upon him, heavy and unyielding.

Of course, he’d thought that. In a way, that did explain his aggressiveness towards her. “Well, I am just thrilled your opinion of me has remained so stagnant, Merlin.”

He continued as if he didn’t hear her, “Aithusa told me how she had saved you, that you lost your magic because of the ritual she had performed-”

She cut him off, he still didn’t have all the information. “I didn’t lose my magic. It’s tapped inside of me. I cannot use it, but it is what’s keeping me alive.”

In the beginning, it had been a fate worse than death. Being so vulnerable all over again. With time, she came to live it. But never accept it.

Merlin nodded his head and cleared his throat, “Yeah, I know that now….I am really sorry. Truly.”

She almost smiled in exasperation, her lips twitching with the urge to release a sigh of frustration. “Why do you keep doing that, Merlin?”

“What?”

“You assume the worst of me and then you hurt me.” Morgana snapped, “You cannot apologize after all these years. What exactly are you expecting? My forgiveness?” she locked eyes with his, a defiant fire blazing within them. “Never.”

“Morgana…”

No matter what foolish excuses he came up with, she had no interest in listening. "You've never trusted me, Merlin; that's the crux of it. For centuries, I kept my distance, avoiding both you and Camelot. Yet, one slip of the tongue, and suddenly I'm labelled as evil once more."

It was all because she had said that she couldn’t heal her injured palm.

“You continually evaded me every time we crossed paths. You never given me the opportunity to inquire properly.” He countered, rising to his feet in front of her. He swayed, but managed to ground himself quickly, "I made an effort to trust you, Morgana. I was adamant about not repeating past mistakes, but it was you who consistently appeared out of thin air only to vanish just as quickly."

Of course he blamed her for his shitty demeanour.  

"It was all Aithusa's doing," she explained, feeling it necessary for him to understand the full truth. "I never intended to re-enter your life, Merlin. I was content living mine, away from yours. But then you were injured in the war, alone in the hospital. Aithusa badgered me relentlessly until I relented. The same happened when you were poisoned and on the brink of death. Sailing to America was her suggestion, and in hindsight, I should have known better. And again, when I visited your hotel, it was at her insistence. Even today, you're here in my flat because she sensed danger and asked me to help you." She took a deep breath, “Believe me, Merlin, the last thing I wanted was to see you again.”

As he gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes flickered with a mixture of fear and longing, a silent plea for reassurance in the face of uncertainty.               “You must hate for what I said the last time we met.”

He was referring to the confession she had made in a moment of brief insanity.

“I wish I could hate you, but you're nothing more than a footnote in a story I've long since closed." Morgana shrugged her shoulders. “I am no longer the Morgana you knew Merlin. That one died at your hands along with her memories and feelings of hate…and love. Unlike you, I’ve put the past behind me.”

“Then help me do that. Help me move on.”

“Tomorrow.” She didn’t know why had had said that. She should have declined immediately and he would have accepted her answer.  The moment of insanity had not brief after all. “But now, finish your tea and then leave.” she instructed, her tone firm.

“I got what I deserved?” Morgana echoed, her voice trembling with disbelief. “I deserved to be lied to, betrayed, and killed by someone I once trusted with my deepest secret?”

Merlin remained silent, refusing to meet her gaze. Morgana pressed on, her resolve unwavering. “It wasn’t just my secret, Merlin. I trusted you with my life.” Her voice quivered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to,” His confession came softly. “From the moment I knew you had magic, it was all I wanted to do.”

“Why didn’t you?” Morgana’s voice rose. "We could have supported each other. Eased the burden of our secret together.” She hesitated, then added, “Perhaps I wouldn’t have turned to Morgause.”

If only that was easy.

A feeling, a mix of anxiety and relief washed over him as he prepared to unburden himself from the weight of his secrets.

Merlin’s nod was barely perceptible. "When I arrived in Camelot, like you, I knew nothing of magic. Not until I received Gaius' teaching and Kilgharrah's guidance." He paused, his next words caught in his throat. His gaze dropped to the floor, and he took a deep breath, clearly wrestling with the decision to speak. "I trusted them with my life. So when they warned against revealing my magic to you, I listened.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

The air between them crackled with unspoken emotions, the tension palpable.

"The worst part is, I didn't always listen." Merlin admitted. "I knew Mordred was destined to kill Arthur ever since we first met him, despite that knowledge, I still saved his life, and it cost Arthur his."

Her eyes widened, her mouth slightly agape as she stared at him in utter disbelief. The news was too shocking to comprehend, too surreal to accept. "You knew?"

“Kilgharrah foresaw much,” Merlin replied. “Including your path toward darkness. Camelot’s true enemy was never Uther—it was you. Lives could have been spared if I’d heeded his warnings.”

“But not mine.” A heavy sigh escaped her lips, carrying the weight of her disappointment. It was as if the air itself had grown heavy with unmet expectations.

"You, more than anyone, ought to grasp the ease with which your demise could have been accomplished." He instantly noticed how her brows furrowed, "If we are here today, it is because I disregard his counsel. I adamantly refused to acknowledge the potential for malevolence within you, as I held firm to the belief in your inherent goodness." He drew a deep breath, his voice heavy with resignation. "Yet, your actions have validated his warnings. You've obliterated entire lineages, laid waste to kingdoms, and snuffed out countless innocent lives. For what purpose?"

"You had those who cautioned you, whereas I had Morgause." A storm brewing behind her eyes as frustration began to simmer beneath the surface. "She exposed me to the true horrors of our world, the injustices inflicted upon our people by Uther and the likes of him. They needed to be halted."

"By seizing control of Camelot?"

"Uther's reign had to end, and though you may protest, Arthur was his father's son. What other recourse did I have, Merlin? To remain subservient and obedient, as you did? Clearly, that path led to naught but disappointment. You never trusted Arthur—"

"Because of you." How could she fail to see it? "Magic is merely a tool, neither inherently good nor evil. Its use determines its nature. Arthur needed to understand that. But how could he comprehend this, with you are embodying his father's teachings? Magic was evil, and you have only confirmed Uther's beliefs."

"I acted as I believed right at the time—"

“Don’t justify what you have done. You were no child Morgana, you should have known better. Done better.”

“You poisoned me.”

Ah, of course she would throw that back at him.

"Then direct your anger toward me alone," he bellowed. "But you cannot justify the slaughter of innocents—"

"You destroyed me that day, Merlin," her voice fractured. "I loved you, and you ruined me. Magic did not corrupt me, Merlin. You did."

Her revelation struck him like a physical blow, stealing the very breath from his lungs. She regarded him, awaiting. But there was nothing that he could offer her back.

She loved him?

Should he believe her?

His heart pounded deafeningly, drowning out his thoughts. All he managed was, "How unfortunate."

It felt as though they had been transported back to the throne room, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy in the air. The intensity of her gaze mirrored that fateful moment, as if the passage of time had dissolved, leaving only the raw emotion between them.

He had just poisoned her all over again.

In her eyes, he glimpsed a reflection of the betrayal and hurt that had marked their past, a silent acknowledgment of the wounds they had inflicted upon each other. It was a poignant reminder of how far they had come, and how much they had lost along the way.

"Indeed, it is," she sniffed. "Goodbye, Merlin."

Her hesitation was palpable. The timbre of her voice pulled him from his reverie, evoking memories long buried within his mind’s depths. He shook his head, dispelling the ghosts of the past. Now was not the time for nostalgia.

Yet, he found it impossible not to study her. She remained unchanged, as beautiful as that fateful night forty years ago. But beneath the surface, darkness lingered—a truth he should have recognised. After all, Morgana excelled at hiding it.

“Merlin?” Her call drew him fully into the room. His day had already been wretched; it was about to worsen.

“I must insist you vacate the premises,” he said, his anger simmering since he learned of her presence. “Immediately.”

Morgana tilted her head, her green eyes searching for something no longer present. Still, she smiled, as if he jested. “You’re mistaken, Merlin. My stay at this hotel has been paid in full.”

“I care not,” Merlin snapped. “This is my establishment, and I determine who stays. You, Morgana LeFay, are unwelcome here.”

“It’s Pendragon,” she corrected, surprise flickering in her eyes. She hid it well, his newfound aggressiveness marked a shift in their dynamic—one that she concealed adeptly.

But he knew better than to believe her innocent act, years of relentless pursuit had led him to the spell Morgana had employed for her salvation. Its discovery shattered his very existence. No longer the smitten servant, he now faced her as Emrys, resolute in keeping her at bay.

“I confess, Merlin, I harbored suspicions over the years. This land never remains barren. Castles, palaces and mansions torn down and rebuilt over the years where Camelot's castle once stood. And now, a hotel. An peculiar choice.”

“For Arthur,” he replied curtly.

She hummed, unimpressed but that, "Did you have to name it Camelot?" Her disapproval evident, she twirled her hand in the air, gesturing around her. " It lacks creativity,” she declared.

His patience waning, Merlin asserted, “I will not ask again, Morgana—”

She cut him off. “Then don’t.”

Ignoring her, he continued, “You shall collect your belongings and leave at once.”

Morgana shook her head. “What’s the matter, Merlin? If this is about that night—” then realisation dawned on her, “I see. I am not allowed in Camelot.” The irony, the symbolism. “It was once my home too, you know.”

“Not anymore,” Merlin replied. “It stopped being your home a long ago.”

“Did you decide that?” she challenged.

“Yes.”

“I won’t leave,” she held her head high, arms crossed like a defiant child.

Merlin’s resolve remained unyielding. “Then I’ll have you removed.”

“I won’t be threatened.”

He glared, closing the distance. “Without magic, how will you retaliate?”

Morgana’s humourless laugh echoed around them. “Millenniums later, and you’re still stuck in the past? You started all this, Merlin, remember? If only you’d trusted me, if only you had explained before handing me that waterskin, we would not be here."

I blame myself for what you've become.

“I, too, once believed that. Yet, as the Millenniums passed, contemplation became my companion. I bear no responsibility for the path you treaded or the malevolence you wielded. You got what you deserved."

The air crackled with tension as Morgana and Merlin faced each other. Their shared history, the unspoken promises, and the years apart hung heavy in the room. Morgana’s wine glass trembled slightly in her hand, its crimson contents mirroring the storm of emotions within her.

“Well… this is awkward,” she finally murmured, her voice barely audible over the distant music. Morgana’s eyes darted around the crowded party, seeking refuge in the familiar faces of her friends. No one seemed to notice the reunion unfolding before them. Perhaps it was better that way.

Merlin, on the other hand, wore his emotions openly. His smile stretched across his face. It was a smile that said, I’ve missed you, and I’m glad you’re here.

But Morgana wasn’t ready to reciprocate. Not yet. Perhaps, not ever.

“On the contrary,” Merlin replied, his voice warm and familiar. “I think it is lovely running into you, Morgana. I have waited four years to see you again.” His eyes held hers, and for a moment, time seemed to blur. The scar above his eyebrow was gone.

Morgana’s heart fluttered at the sight, but she quickly masked it with a sip of her wine. “You’ve taken care of it,” she observed, her gaze tracing the contours of his face. “The scar.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, touching the smooth skin above his eyebrow. “I’ve been learning how to heal. Can’t keep hoping you’ll do it for me. You’ve broken your promise twice already.”

Morgana’s breath caught.

Keep hoping. The words echoed in her mind.

But she couldn’t let him off the hook so easily. She was Morgana after all. “It’s not like you haven’t broken a promise or two yourself, Merlin,” she retorted, her tone sharper than she intended. She took another sip, savouring the bitterness of the wine. “Trust me, I should know.”

His smile faltered, and he looked away. “yeah,” he mumbled, suddenly fascinated by the glass in his hand. “I’ve made mistakes too.”

Why are you here? Morgana almost asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Why come to America? Why leave England?

For all she knew, he was here for the same reason as her.

Coming to America meant a new life, a new beginning. A second chance.

But to her it wasn't just that. Deep down, she had her own reasons for crossing the ocean. Reasons she couldn’t share.

“Merlin!” someone called, rescuing them both from the awkward silence that threatened to engulf them. “It’s your turn, mate.”

Morgana sighed, her gaze flickering toward her friends. “I should go as well—” she began, but Merlin shook his head.

“Or you could watch me play,” he suggested, his voice tinged with nervous energy. “It won’t take long. I…” He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “I have so many questions, and I really—”

“Merlin!” The interruption came again, more insistent this time.

Rolling her eyes, Morgana relented. “Fine, I’ll watch,” she conceded. But answers wouldn’t be exchanged tonight.

She followed Merlin to the billiard table, observing as he lined up his shot. The cue ball missed its mark, and his friend took over. The game flowed around them, a dance of precision and chance.

Then, in an instant, chaos erupted. Morgana must have stood too close to the rail or rested her hand too casually on the edge. The billiard ball collided with her wine glass, shattering it against her palm. Pain flared, and blood welled up.

She hated the sight of blood. Merlin was at her side immediately, concern etching lines on his face. “Are you all right?” he asked, reaching for her injured hand. “Let me see—”

Morgana yanked her hand away, shoving him with her other. “Do not touch me!” she snapped. The nerve of him, showing concern after all these years.

His hurt expression went unnoticed as she hurried away.

The restroom’s harsh fluorescent light cast shadows across Morgana’s face as she washed the wound. The pain pulsed with each beat of her heart, a reminder of her vulnerability. But then, like an unwelcome apparition, Merlin appeared in the doorway.

“Bloody hell, Merlin, get out of here,” she snapped, her patience fraying.

He ignored her, his gaze fixed on her bleeding hand. “Damn it, that’s a lot of blood,” he muttered urgently.

Morgana scoffed. Of course there would be blood—it was a shard embedded in her palm. “Don’t worry about it, leave.”

“You have to stop the bleeding,” he insisted, stepping closer.

“It’s just a cut,” she retorted, her voice sharper than she intended. “I’ve seen worse. Besides, I can’t just heal it.”

“What?” His eyes widened, and Morgana cursed herself. She didn't mean to say that aloud.

“What do you mean you can’t heal it? What about your magic?” Merlin pressed, concern etching lines on his face.

“I cannot deal with this right now.” Morgana sniffed, pushing past him and fleeing the restroom. He didn’t follow.

The truth was, she’d left England to steer clear of him, but fate had other plans—plans that involved shattered wine glasses, bleeding palms, and a reunion she hadn’t anticipated.

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”

The fever seemed to play tricks on his mind, for Morgana’s unexpected words were the last thing he anticipated coming out of her mouth.

His blood-stained lips quivered, attempting a smile. “Once upon a time, we tried to kill each other,” he murmured.

“Exactly,” Morgana replied, her eyes fixed on the ancient book before her. In her hand, she clutched a vail containing the antidote. “I should be the one responsible for your demise, not some unseen serpent.”

“It wasn’t a snake—” The pain surged, electric and unyielding. He knew he was dying, and Morgana was his only hope.

After all, She had found him and brought him back to his flat. She had rifled through his magical tomes until she found the venomous creature that had bitten him.

Not only that, she was making the antidote.

How the hell did she know that he needed help? How did she find him?

As he caught his breath, Morgana was standing over him, her voice cutting through the haze. “Drink this,” she commanded, shoving the vail into his shaky hands.

No sympathy for the dying man.

He had no other choice but to accept, realizing that the consequences couldn’t be much worse than his current state.

He looked down.

His gaze lingered on the vial she placed in his hand, noticing that she had wrapped her fingers around his.

“I won’t drop it,” he assured her, struggling to sit down.

As the liquid flowed past his lips and down his throat, Merlin glanced up just in time to feel her fingertips tracing the scar above his eye. It was a miracle he hadn’t lost it.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Morgana replied. “We still don’t know if it’ll work.”

But it was working; he could feel it. For some reason, he kept that revelation to himself.

Morgana’s touch remained on his face. “It healed badly,” she remarked, her tone betraying hidden pain.

“If only you’d healed it as promised,” he said, half-teasing.

Funny how fast time simply flew by.

She had left the hospital with a promise to return the next day. Tomorrow. she had said.

Unfortunately, that next day turned out to be ten years later, and once again, he was at his lowest.

She hummed, her expression suggesting she owed him no explanation. “How are you feeling?” she deflected.

“Better,” he replied.

Morgana nodded, satisfied. “I’m glad. I should let you rest.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

Why? He wanted to ask. Or perhaps he wished she’d stay. But he couldn’t voice those thoughts—how pathetic it would be.

Instead, he settled on a safer question: “Will you be back?”

“Maybe.”

His voice sounded small, but he blamed it on the poison. “Soon?”

“Perhaps tomorrow.” Something flickered in her eyes as she offered a small smile. “We can try to do something about your eye.”

They both knew she wouldn’t return tomorrow.

“I thought you were dead,” he murmured, his voice a fragile thread woven through the centuries. For two thousand years, they had not crossed paths, and yet, the first words to escape his lips were as sharp as the sword that had once pierced her.

His rudeness was understandable, she mused. After all, he had thrust that very sword through her midsection during their last encounter. Morgana stepped closer, her gaze unyielding.

Was he ashamed of his failure to end her life, or merely unsettled by her unexpected presence?

His eyes avoided hers, but she persisted.

“How is it possible?” he finally whispered.

Ignoring the bouquet of flowers she had brought—flowers he hadn’t even acknowledged—Morgana considered throwing them at his face. With just one eye, he wouldn’t dodge them easily.

She retrieved a nearby chair, her tone dripping with wry amusement. “Honestly, Merlin,” she said, “for someone once revered by druids, your naivety remains astonishing.” She waved the flowers before practically tossing them at his lap. “A token for you.”

He used to give her flowers. She was merely returning the favour.

There were other favours she would love to return as well but those needed to wait.

His confusion was almost endearing. “I don’t understand,” he confessed, voice lowered. “I killed…you.”

She corrected him gently. “Stabbed. Fatally. But stabbed.” Her near-death experience had been more complex than mere mortality.

His gaze met hers at last. “I watched you die.”

Suppressing her cheerfulness, Morgana revealed her secret. “Almost die,” she clarified. “Dark magic has its perks—it anchors the soul even in death. And having a dragon on your side helps.” She leaned in, her smile sharp. “My dragon succeeded where yours faltered.”

“Aithusa? What did she do?”

She nodded, her eyes holding ancient secrets. “She led me to Avalon,” Morgana replied. “Healed my wounds—at a cost, of course, but one I willingly paid.”

His curiosity stirred. Here she was standing before him, veiled in mystery.

With a graceful adjustment of her dress, Morgana rose. “Visiting hours are nearly over,” she announced. “I must leave.”

His objection died on his lips. “Tomorrow,” she promised, her gaze unwavering. “Perhaps we can mend that eye of yours.”