#mermor

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."