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"I'm not the girl I used to be. Not the man I used to be, either," Merlin says, tracing small mindless patterns on Morgana's arm, hooked around her middle.
Morgana hums in agreement. She knows the feeling – not all of it, not quite – she's been spared the gender dysphoria, but she knows what it feels like when memories come crashing in and past self overlaps and interlocks with current self, when you can't even think or see yourself in the mirror without double-vision, vertigo of centuries.
Sometimes Morgana looks down at the nimble girl-creature sharing her bed and sees Merlin grinning back up at her – squarer jaw, differently aligned body – and has a freefall through old memories and fears. It's a mood killer like nothing else. Sometimes Merlin pretends not to notice and Morgana shakes herself, opens her eyes wide and gets back to those lovely, lovely breasts begging for her attention. Other times – like now – Merlin sighs and let's the sexiness ebb away. Morgana cuddles in close and presses her nose to the soft tangles of hair at the back of Merlin's neck. They talk in soft broken fragments.
They met as vivacious, a little rebellious girls – a few months of teenaged twirling romance dance. Morgana has a photo album tucked in the bottom of a drawer from that time. It's paradoxically heavy, because the pictures are full of light. Playfulness. There's no history in them, no harrowing old secrets in their eyes.
It's not a pretty feeling and not one she's proud of, but Morgana really wants to keep Merlin to herself. She can't stand the thought of being alone. And in the shadowy corners of the small hours of the morning, she thinks that if Merlin found someone else she could be abandoned without a second thought. What they have is too messy, too complicated – but it has its hooks in every part of her life and ripping it away would tear her apart.
There's no Gwen in her life this time. No Morgause either. All she's got is Merlin, and this time, Merlin is hers. Merlin is neither the girl she fell in love with, nor the boy who poisoned her once, yet both of them. Morgana shifts between calling her by the name of the girl she met and the sorcerer she knew long ago.
One sunny evening in May Morgana spots an old friend on the sidewalk, one of those she drifted away from. (After Merlin, after the memories.) A brash boy, the sort to take over a whole room with his presence but hide all of his emotions away far out of sight. He'd made uncharacteristic moony faces when Morgana introduced him to her girlfriend.
Now she meets his eyes and instantly knows that it's Arthur. She curses, heartfelt, and turns to leave but he grabs her arm.
"What?" he says, and she can see the exact moment the realisation dawns across his face. "Oh no."
"Oh yes," she says and her smile feels vicious, bitter. Arthur stares at her, seeming torn between a thousand questions and choice swear words.
They find a bar and proceed to get quite mind-blowingly drunk. Sure, there's conversation in between the drinks somewhere, about the lives they're living and the people they're living them with (Merlin, Merlin, Merlin). But Morgana can't recall the details of what they said as she leans against the doorbell until Merlin opens, looking ruffled and tired, annoyed and a little relieved.
"Meerlin," she singsongs and stumbles through the door.
"Don't call me that tonight. Just get yourself in here and go get some sleep."
Morgana laughs loudly, and Merlin's eyes flashes and burns. This is one of the things Morgana never does, shouldn't ever do: question when her girlfriend is or isn't Merlin-the-sorcerer-of-old.
"I met someone today. Can you guess? You've met him too, Merlin my Merlin. It was Arthur. In all his fucking golden glory," Morgana says, toppling against Merlin who catches her and holds her steady despite everything. Morgana is too drunk (on alcohol and desperate fear of loss) to understand the emotions warring in Merlin's body.
That is the moment when they break. Or maybe they've always been broken; maybe one more fracture in the glass of their relationship won't matter. Maybe they'll just keep clinging anyway, two rebellious little broken girls with mismatched bodies and minds.
Morgana dreams of smiles that night, of kings and queens and maids and servants, of sorcerers and ladies. Smiles filled with joys of morning, filled with the wild old magic. Arthur's smile, Merlin's grin in response – shifting back and forth between the bodies of then and now. When she wakes she turns and kisses the lovely girl still asleep next to her.
It's a velvet morning, still for the two of them. Destiny looms golden like the sunlight through the windows but Morgana draws the blinds and ignores it a little while longer. Tonight was the first time she dreamt like this since remembering. She can feel the seer, the sorceress growing stronger within her, taking over her mind more and more. The same thing must be happening to the lovely girl-creature slung out over the bed. She's becoming more and more Merlin. There's a Merlin and an Arthur in the world and Morgana can almost see the golden threads intertwining, their past and future. But she closes her eyes against the image and its negative, the swirling emptiness around a Morgana standing tall.
Destiny will have to wait for now. It's history that was and that will be, but for now Morgana has drawn the blinds to shut the light out. The morning inside is dark and velvet and there's a beautiful beloved girl opening her eyes, reaching one hand out for her. Morgana tumbles down on the bed. A little while longer.