The first time Merlin met Morgana he was terrified of her. She was definitely beautiful, and there was something intriguing about the way she moved.
"So, your name is really Merlin?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
Merlin let out a long suffering sigh, really too used to this. "Yes," he responded a bit peevishly, "is your name really Morgana?"
Morgana bristled visibly and Merlin shot her a cheeky grin. "People don't talk to me like that," she informed him, dark tendrils of hair framing her face.
"Too bad, they probably should," Merlin informed her. "It's not good to be a stuck up witch, you'll bring about the death of the monarchy itself if you're not careful."
Morgana frowned at him, clearly not used to men who didn't fall at her feet. “Could you please, just get me my tea?” she asked, sharply.
“Absolutely, and how much poison...I mean milk...would you like in your tea m’lady?” Merlin asked.
Morgana stared across the counter, frown deepening. “I’ll prepare my own, thank you.” She took the tea, and turned to get the pitcher, flustered by the way he’d spoken to her.
No one talked to Morgana that way. Absolutely no one.
She kind of liked it.