«Anál nathrach, orth’ bháis’s bethad, do chél dénmha»

MORGANA: Your eyes never leave me, Merlin.
MERLIN: Can’t I acknowledge beauty?
MORGANA: Can’t you acknowledge… love? Perhaps you ache for what you’ve never known.
MERLIN: Perhaps you lust for what you cannot have.

 

MORGANA: Tell me the secret charm of Making!

 

Anál nathrach, orth’ bháis’s bethad, do chél dénmha
(il respiro del Serpente, il fascino della morte e della vita, ecco l’omen del Fare)