[ Morgana is not a deer, but she has perhaps never quite been so reminiscent of one as she is now. Long black hair hangs limp and dishevelled about her face; naturally pale skin streaked with dirt and daubed above her right temple with the alarming dark red of dried blood. Her eyes are slightly wide, though not with panic or fear - what makes its home there is an openness that has become uncharacteristic of late, like a stained glass window propped suddenly open to afford an unfettered view of the outside; though it's true enough to say that the inward view in this case is the much rarer thing.
For how long she has been wandering, who can say? She wears no more than her chemise, now black with dirt and ragged at the hem. Her bare feet are no less filthy. And yet she carries herself with inherent grace, as though she knows no other way to be.
But as she takes half a step forward there remains an air of caution in her tentative bravery. A certain readiness to turn and run.
And, though she sees him clearly, not a trace of recognition. ]
[ Merlin finally turns to see what is approaching him. It is most definitely not a deer. If he could label it as anything, he'd say this was the answer to their hopes. To all of their hopes. There is no doubt in his mind exactly who this is. Her beauty, while dimmed by dirt and stains, is unmistakable. The way she walks, the sound of her voice.
This is without a doubt Morgana.
Merlin feels his grip tighten around the bundle of herbs. She's here. After all this looking and searching she appears barely half a day's walk from the castle.
More than that, more than all of that, she doesn't recognize him. Merlin. The man who-- His shock turns to confusion as he approaches her. ]
[ The name sparks no recognition in her. So little, in fact, that her immediate assumption is that he must have mistaken her for another. That cannot be her name, for she does not know it. Though were she asked what her name was, she could no more answer than she could grow wings and fly.
All she knows is waking up like this, not far from here - how far exactly, she couldn't say. It feels like much further than it is when walking has been such effort; her steps aimless and painful, the world swimming sometimes before her eyes as she's overtaken by dizziness and staggers. Every turn looks the same as the last. The very trees themselves seem united against her, closing ranks to deny her safe passage, branches catching at meagre cloth, at hair and skin.
One hand - still somehow elegant despite the mire, as though priceless gems and fine silks are in some way worn on the inside - betrays the chill in her bones by reaching to rub at the opposite arm. Cold, hungry and lost (so lost, so irreparably lost) she is eager to seek help in the first person she has come across. ]
I... [ She falters, unsure of what to say. She is afraid, desperately afraid - though not of him. ] I suppose I must have gotten lost...
[ He glances at her moving hand and-- Oh! Yes! Right!
Sorry. ... Sorry.
Merlin didn't think that, of course, she must be freezing. She's barely in anything. At that thought, he looks her up and down and blushes. He does not want to think where her clothes might have gone or how they could have vanished. He moves forward, after putting the herbs away, and takes off his coat to offer to her. It isn't much, not really fitting for a Lady, but it is all he has and she clearly needs it more than she does.
He moves to wrap it around her shoulders. He doesn't give her the chance to deny it. ]
What happened to you, Lady Morgana? Everyone's been looking for ages.
[ He's concerned, legitimately concerned. Her clothes, the stains, the mud. She has not been treated kindly wherever she might have gone.
He pulls away, eyebrows knitting. Something is off. She may carry herself like Morgana and sound like Morgana, but something is definitely missing. ]
[ That name again - he acts as though it were hers, and she slowly begins to doubt her assumption that it isn't. She knows no differently, after all.
The coat looks ridiculous, coarse material hanging off her slight frame. Slighter now than when she left; not starved but clearly not so well fed as she had been before, though she cannot know so herself. In those bright eyes of hers there remains a spectre of pain and fear, a darkness she no longer understands. She accepts the garment gratefully, pulling it close about herself to fend off the worst of the cold. ]
Was somebody looking for me?
[ And in her eyes and voice there is a plea. Her whole life has been since waking up here, she can remember nothing before it and even that itself is vague and patchy. All else is dark, and she aches to find the light. ]
[ His heart sinks as he realizes exactly what has been off about her.
She has no idea who she is. She has no idea about any of it. Losing ones memory is rare. It almost never comes without magic, or a much shorter version with alcohol and illness. This is different. This is her life. His heart breaks all over again. In a way, his unfortunate mission to kill her succeeded.
He knows it's not really exactly proper, but his hand stays on her shoulder. It's almost this feeling like she'll vanish again if she lets go. ]
I do. You don't? [ It's obvious she doesn't. He still feels he has to ask. Something like this... It's hard to take in. What had they, whoever they were, have done to her to make her like this.
Merlin keeps his voice gentle, trying to keep calm. Can't be very nice to hear who you are from a total stranger. ] Your name is Morgana and your family has been looking for you for almost a year.
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no subject
For how long she has been wandering, who can say? She wears no more than her chemise, now black with dirt and ragged at the hem. Her bare feet are no less filthy. And yet she carries herself with inherent grace, as though she knows no other way to be.
But as she takes half a step forward there remains an air of caution in her tentative bravery. A certain readiness to turn and run.
And, though she sees him clearly, not a trace of recognition. ]
Excuse me, sir...
no subject
This is without a doubt Morgana.
Merlin feels his grip tighten around the bundle of herbs. She's here. After all this looking and searching she appears barely half a day's walk from the castle.
More than that, more than all of that, she doesn't recognize him. Merlin. The man who-- His shock turns to confusion as he approaches her. ]
Lady Morgana?
no subject
All she knows is waking up like this, not far from here - how far exactly, she couldn't say. It feels like much further than it is when walking has been such effort; her steps aimless and painful, the world swimming sometimes before her eyes as she's overtaken by dizziness and staggers. Every turn looks the same as the last. The very trees themselves seem united against her, closing ranks to deny her safe passage, branches catching at meagre cloth, at hair and skin.
One hand - still somehow elegant despite the mire, as though priceless gems and fine silks are in some way worn on the inside - betrays the chill in her bones by reaching to rub at the opposite arm. Cold, hungry and lost (so lost, so irreparably lost) she is eager to seek help in the first person she has come across. ]
I... [ She falters, unsure of what to say. She is afraid, desperately afraid - though not of him. ] I suppose I must have gotten lost...
no subject
Sorry. ... Sorry.
Merlin didn't think that, of course, she must be freezing. She's barely in anything. At that thought, he looks her up and down and blushes. He does not want to think where her clothes might have gone or how they could have vanished. He moves forward, after putting the herbs away, and takes off his coat to offer to her. It isn't much, not really fitting for a Lady, but it is all he has and she clearly needs it more than she does.
He moves to wrap it around her shoulders. He doesn't give her the chance to deny it. ]
What happened to you, Lady Morgana? Everyone's been looking for ages.
[ He's concerned, legitimately concerned. Her clothes, the stains, the mud. She has not been treated kindly wherever she might have gone.
He pulls away, eyebrows knitting. Something is off. She may carry herself like Morgana and sound like Morgana, but something is definitely missing. ]
no subject
The coat looks ridiculous, coarse material hanging off her slight frame. Slighter now than when she left; not starved but clearly not so well fed as she had been before, though she cannot know so herself. In those bright eyes of hers there remains a spectre of pain and fear, a darkness she no longer understands. She accepts the garment gratefully, pulling it close about herself to fend off the worst of the cold. ]
Was somebody looking for me?
[ And in her eyes and voice there is a plea. Her whole life has been since waking up here, she can remember nothing before it and even that itself is vague and patchy. All else is dark, and she aches to find the light. ]
Do... you know who I am..?
no subject
She has no idea who she is. She has no idea about any of it. Losing ones memory is rare. It almost never comes without magic, or a much shorter version with alcohol and illness. This is different. This is her life. His heart breaks all over again. In a way, his unfortunate mission to kill her succeeded.
He knows it's not really exactly proper, but his hand stays on her shoulder. It's almost this feeling like she'll vanish again if she lets go. ]
I do. You don't? [ It's obvious she doesn't. He still feels he has to ask. Something like this... It's hard to take in. What had they, whoever they were, have done to her to make her like this.
Merlin keeps his voice gentle, trying to keep calm. Can't be very nice to hear who you are from a total stranger. ] Your name is Morgana and your family has been looking for you for almost a year.