57.
Merlin helps Morgana down the spiral stairs, one step at a time. Her fingers grip hard enough to hurt where they clung around his waist. He can tell she is still a bit spooked; hell, he is himself. But her voice is clear and calm when Arthur takes in her state and cries, "Morgana! What-"
"Save your breath Arthur, just got a bit dizzy is all."
Merlin helps her into the armchair, Gaius quickly rushing in to replace him and put a calculating hand against her cheek. "Are you alright?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "Your skin's as cold as ice."
"Can't keep her out of trouble for more than two seconds Merlin," Arthur snaps in anger, though Merlin can tell it's more out of worry.
"Not his job," Morgana snaps right back, and Arthur merely rolls his eyes, not responding. "I'm really just peachy, thank you all. Only . . . worried for you. If you would stop reminding me what a protective dolt you can be of course," she ends hastily, color slowly returning to her cheeks.
A distant chime from above them sounds, barely heard over the insistent patter of rain. "Nine o'clock," Gaius frowns, staring up at the ceiling. Then he looks between Arthur and Merlin, expression solemn. "If you're to do this tonight, now is the time."
Merlin swallows, nodding. Thinking of Morgana's brief warning, of what they're getting themselves into tonight.
"Let's do it," Arthur sighs, and pulls on his jacket from where it hung on the chair. Merlin takes his from over the sofa.
"Wait! Before you go," Gaius says, and hurries surprisingly fast up the stairs for such old legs. Arthur exchanges a look with Merlin, both shrugging. When the old man comes back down he's wheezing, but in his hands are possibly the most important things ever to have handy in times like these; in a haunted estate, in the middle of a night, with pouring rain further darkening the sky.
Two torches.
Two rather ancient looking torches, but Merlin is not about to complain. Sure there are probably much higher-tech ones in the estate, but they'd still have to have some kind of light to find those by.
For some reason Merlin finds himself expecting there to be a need for torches, tonight.
"Thank you, Gaius," he says sincerely, and Arthur slips them in his jacket's deep pockets.
"We'd best be off, then," Arthur nods at Morgana and Gaius each in turn, moving towards the door. Merlin follows.
"Don't be idiots!" Morgana calls after them, though her voice lacks any kind of malicious enthusiasm. Merlin looks back at her over his shoulder, hoping to offer a reassuring smile.
But her head already hangs heavy into her hands.
"Merlin, come on," Arthur says from in front of him, waiting on the porch where Merlin has paused at the doorway.
"Right," he nods, and without looking at his employer shuts the door behind him, pulls his hood over his head, and walks into the slanting rain.
The car ride there is relatively quiet; Arthur immediately turns off the radio when the car purrs to life, flicking the windshield wipers to the fastest setting before pulling out of the long drive. The rain pelts against the glass, a dull roar filling the otherwise silent drive up to the estate.
Merlin looks out the window in the passenger seat, mindlessly watching the blurry trees rush by in a flurry of dark colors. His mind, of course, is up ahead, already in the house and thinking of the supplies they'll need from his room.
His candles, matches, chalk, and altar wood lay untouched in a zipped up section of his suitcase since the third night of failure with the Summoning Circle, more than a week ago now. It feels like a year has passed really, not a mere nine days.
And then, of course, there's a matter of determining where the best place to draw the Summoning Circle is, a decision Merlin has inwardly dreaded making.
Mostly because he knows exactly where they should go.
When they reach the closed gates Arthur rolls down the window next to the voice box, sticking his hand out in the rain to pull down an inconspicuous panel and punch in a long-digited number code.
It makes a faint beeping sound, barely audible over the rain pouring, and silently the gates in front of them open outward.
"Welcome home," Merlin says ironically, and Arthur breathes out a harsh, amused breath.
"Let's make this quick," is all he says, pulling up at the roundabout instead of the large garage that lies further down the drive. The estate looms above them in shadow, darkened even further by the blackening sky hanging heavy as the rain beats down. It's probably just his nerves, but the hair on the back of Merlin's neck is already standing up.
"Right, in we go," he mutters to himself after Arthur nods to him and quickly jumps out into the storm. Merlin opens and shuts the car door, sprinting out to join him in the next instant up at the porch.
There's an impatient three seconds that Merlin stands there, getting soaked to the bone as Arthur fumbles with his key in the lock, and then they're in and Arthur flicks on the closest light.
The entrance hall flares into existence, electric candles lighting up on the two chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceilings. Merlin glances up at them warily before stepping forward, making to go upstairs.
A cold, strong hand grabs at his arm.
"AHHHHHHhhhhhhharthur. Arthur. It's you."
"A little scared, I see," Arthur smirks, retracting his hand from Merlin's arm. Merlin scowls, shrugging out of his defensive pose indignantly.
"What'd you do that for anyway?"
"You're about to put your muddy shoes on our antique carpet." Arthur looks down at Merlin's dark shoes pointedly, which, fair enough, are covered in a bit of sludge.
Merlin rolls his eyes and steps back onto the slightly-less-posh door rug, making a special effort to rub the wet grime deep into it.
"We need to head up to my room first," he explains as he steps off the mat again, heading towards the curving staircase ahead. Arthur follows. "To get all the supplies for the circle. And then once we're done-"
He cuts off, dumbstruck. The second he set a foot on one of the stairsteps the first rumble of thunder echoed from the storm outside. And the lights flickered off.
"Isn't this cliche," Merlin says out into the darkness, to Arthur's answering chuckle. A moment later Arthur has his torch clicked on, holding it just below his face so the angles hit his face ominously. Merlin smirks, clicking his on as well and flashing it straight in the man's eyes, of whom shouts and swipes it away, cursing.
The torch is knocked out Merlin's hands, flying across the room and landed with a sharp sound on the old wooden floors.
Merlin and Arthur exchange quick looks, both guilty, before Arthur goes with his own torch to find it. "Ummm, Merlin," he says crouching down and picking up the torch. "I think you broke it."
The torch's face is slightly cracked, Merlin can see as Arthur nears again, and even as he shakes it and clicks the on button again and again, it won't turn on.
"Very cliche," Arthur laughs, though it carries a sharp, worried edge at the end that echoes into the silent estate and morphs into something more sinister. An echo from farther down the main floor answers back, the sound of feet moving fast and the slam of a door.
A harsh blow of cold air rushes up from the foot of the stairs, pushing past them with a force that has Merlin grabbing onto the railing for balance. The only light is the dull globe hitting the dark wall from Arthur's torch, but Merlin swears there's a flicker to it for a moment, like the shadow of something.
He shivers.
"Drafty in here, isn't it?" Merlin tries for another joke, though it falls rather flat. Arthur merely nods, something dark in his eyes, moving past him to take the lead up the stairs. Merlin stays at his heels, not sure whether to be thankful he's no longer leading them without a light or alarmed that he is now the caboose.
Another rumble of thunder has them both pausing a step, this one sounding slightly closer than the last. For the smallest of a second the windows light up, illuminating a harsh, white-washed version of the second floor just ahead. "Do we really need to go to your room?" Arthur whispers harshly, and Merlin would tease him for being a coward if he didn't feel such a black foreboding himself, looking past the piece of hallway Arthur's weak torch illuminates into the dark beyond.
Like an empty, yawning mouth.
"It'll only take a moment," Merlin answers, sounding braver than he feels, before nudging Arthur to keep going. Without further ado they enter the main hallway of the second floor, turning left toward Merlin's rooms and possibly toward their deaths.
58.
"Looks like we've been robbed," Arthur says dubiously as he shines his torch over the mess that used to be Merlin's living space here.
Merlin walks grimly through the already open threshold, nodding. The door hangs by one hinge, the room looking more like a twister just blew through than a person. Everything has been overturned, smashed and spread out across the floor save the bed, which upon closer inspection Merlin can see has its sheets ripped into shreds. His clothes are in similar states. The windows are both open, soaking half his things in rain.
Merlin closes one while Arthur does the other, Merlin's foot stepping on something hard. He looks down at it, and at once it dawns on him the true meaning of all this destruction.
"Arthur," he says, after crouching down and rolling the object in his hands, immediately recognizing it. Arthur shines the light over at him, blinding Merlin for a second until he holds a hand in front of his eyes. "This isn't good."
"A piece of . . . wax?" Arthur peers at it, frowning.
"Indeed. A broken piece of wax, from a candle. My candle." Merlin moves over to the closet, rummaging through it only to find his travel bag missing. "Oh great. Shine a light around the floor, see if you can find my bag."
Arthur complies, and they do find his missing item and the things previously inside it - spread out across the entire room, completely destroyed.
The candles are in irretrievable pieces. The chalk is ground down to dust in the bathroom. The match box is completely soaked under the window, ruined. The only thing Merlin and Arthur find relatively untouched is the bark and leaves behind the door, only strewn about.
"I guess even a ghost couldn't guess you actually had a use for such rubbish, Merlin."
"Lucky for me, I suppose," Merlin grumbles, picking up the last leaf. "What are we going to do now? Go to the nearest convenience store?"
"The nearest convenience store is an hour away," Arthur gripes back. "We'll just have to look around the house for the right things."
Merlin stares at him, waiting for the punchline.
It never comes.
"You can't be serious."
"Why not? Why couldn't we just-"
"We can't 'just' because we'll just get killed, that's why!" Merlin shouts, standing from his crouch with wide eyes. Arthur still doesn't seem to be getting it, his expression blank. "Your father's going to do the same to us as he did to this room. Rip us to shreds!"
"We'll make it quick," he shrugs, already walking towards the door. "The ghost hasn't attacked us yet."
Merlin laughs in disbelief, exasperated. "And that's a great reason to go through the entire house, searching for him. Let me guess: the matches are in the kitchen. The kitchen, with the knives."
"And there'd be chalk in Morgana's rooms that she keeps for Mordred," Arthur says brazenly as he strolls fearlessly down the corridor, Merlin at his heels. "Gwen is the only one I know to have candles, and then the important memo of mine would be in my rooms. Simple."
Merlin would laugh again if he was even an increment less agitated.
"Look, Morgana's room is just back near the stairs. We'll head there first," Arthur picks up his pace, Merlin struggling to keep up. By the time they make it to Morgana's door, still shut and not hanging loose like Merlin's, he's out of breath.
Arthur opens the door, revealing a rather normal-looking bedroom. They go in, the entire space looking completely untouched, not a dust mite out of place. Merlin raises an eyebrow in disbelief. I'm almost offended by this. "Your father really has nothing against her?"
He's surprised to see Arthur grimace. "He should, in so many ways. But Morgana's always been . . . well, the favorite child. Long before she knew she actually was one."
"Apparently that doesn't extend to her son," Merlin says, stopping in the middle of his inspection of the room. "Shine the light over here, Arthur."
What the flashlight illuminates is just what Merlin guessed at; the nursery has been turned over and ripped apart in much the same way Merlin's room was. Things are strewn about the floor in every direction, toys broken and drawers completely pulled out from the dresser. It all stops in an eerily noticeable line, separating Mordred's room from Morgana's.
They both stare at the ruin silently, the only sound the distant beating of rain and a near-constant rumble of distant thunder. "Better start searching around," Arthur finally says, and Merlin nods mutely. He kneels on the ground, rummaging through the mess that Arthur keeps a spotlight on.
Its in Morgana's closet that they find the chalk, along with a variety of children workbooks, crayons, and a small chalkboard slate. Merlin looks down at the box of it all with fondness, grateful at least something of Mordred's was spared from his grandfather's wrath.
"One down, three to go," Arthur says confidently, standing up from his crouch as Merlin runs the chalk between his fingers.
"It'll do," he nods and rises as well. Already imagining the runes and symbols to be written, sweeped and intertwining with the Circle, though trying very hard not to imagine the room he would be in.
Merlin is trying very hard not to think about that.
"Where to next?"
"Gwen's rooms," Arthur beckons toward the door.
The second he opens it another rush of arctic air gusts against them, slamming the door closed - Arthur moves just in time to avoid having his arm shut on.
A cold, dark something hangs heavy in the air, prickling Merlin's neck and making him shiver as he watches Arthur wrestle with the doorknob, unable to open it. "Hell!" he finally curses, stepping back in defeat. "Its jammed."
"Maybe Morgana has a key somewhere around here?" Merlin suggests.
Arthur looks at him like he's the biggest idiot. "A key? Merlin, the only way a key would be useful is if someone had locked it. With the same key," he emphasizes, looking put out by Merlin's apparent stupidity.
Merlin doesn't deign that with a response, rummaging around Morgana's drawers and things without a word. After a moment Arthur sighs and joins him, rifling through her dresser on the other end of the room.
When he opens the second drawer of Morgana's bedside table Merlin pauses, pulling out what he can barely make out in this dark but immediately recognizes.
Its the bottle of pills Morgana took from Gaius the week before, warped and twisted like it'd been under a flame. The whole drawer smells like burnt chemicals.
Uther really can't accept the fact his daughter hates him.
Merlin has no idea what the purpose of destroying this particular item could be, but he would make a large bet Morgana's father can't fathom what his daughter truly is-different, psychic, a 'freak.' And out of all the things in this room, its what Uther singled out to destroy only.
He reaches back in to put the warped plastic back into the drawer, and feels something thin and metal.
"Arthur, shine the light over here," Merlin tells him, and Arthur sighs, pausing in his searching.
"We really need to find you your own torch," he complains, rounding the bed over to Merlin and shining the light in his direction. His face visibly brightens upon recognizing what's in the other man's hands. "Well done Merlin!" He grins, as if forgetting just a moment ago how sure he was that the door couldn't be locked.
They both approach the door again, and Merlin reaches for the knob hesitantly, trying to twist it one last final time.
The door slips open.
This time it's not a gust of cold wind that comes from the pitch black entrance, but merely a chilling puff that breathes across their faces. Like the hallway they're about to enter is in below-freezing temperatures.
Thunder rolls, making both Arthur and Merlin flinch.
Arthur turns to Merlin and merely nods before taking the lead into the sub-temperature corridor.
Somehow since the men went into Morgana's room the rest of the house seems to have plunged deeper into the dark, into the cold and the shadow. Arthur's steps are slow as he shines the light ahead of them, and Merlin can barely resist the urge to take it from him and check behind them at the yawning pit of darkness that is the other end of the hallway.
With his back to it, Merlin feels something much akin to eyes boring onto his back.
They reach the stairs, finally, the opposite wing of the second floor looming ahead. "Want to switch for a while?" Merlin whispers hopefully.
Arthur glares at him over his shoulder. "Not particularly, no," he mutters, though simultaneously hands Merlin the torch and with the same hand makes a grandiose gesture to lead the way. Merlin feels infinitely better with Arthur behind him and the light ahead of him, even if the illumination it provides casts warping shadows across everything.
Of course, as they turn the corner he gasps; a tall, dark ominous shadow looms over them across the wall, in the very shape of a man. "There!" He throws himself back, stumbling into Arthur and dropping the torch to put both hands out in protection of the other man.
The shadow immediately dissipates, and Merlin lowers his arms in relief.
"You idiot!" Arthur shouts, though he sounds more amused than anything as he picks up the torch and the hall illuminates once more.
Initially Merlin almost gasps again - there it is, the great looming dark man on the wall in front of him. But then Arthur grabs his arm roughly and despite Merlin's protest raises it above Merlin's head.
And then Merlin realizes.
"Oh, its just . . . oh."
He turns back to Arthur with a sheepish smile, bracing himself for the glare he's sure will be on the other man's face. Its with surprise then that Merlin turns around, only to witness Arthur's face just as it morphs from shock to horror, staring over his shoulder.
Merlin whips his head back, looking into the dark hallway ahead with alarm, but only another crack of thunder answers.
"Arthur, what is it?" he asks, turning back to the man.
Arthur shakes his head; the fear in his eyes dims, slowly calms to something sad and accepting. He whispers, "My father."
A/N: Yay for finishing long chapters! Also I'm very happy how close we are to the climax of this novel. ARE YOU READY FOR THIS? I AM SO READY FOR THIS! Two-ish three-ish chapters left before the epilogue and I finally end this monster of a fic. Thank goodness.
Thanks for reading! Please Review!
