5.
"You must be Merlin Emrys," a warm voice says, and Merlin turns to see a woman standing next to the bed of lilies, decked out completely in garden garb. She's smiling prettily, dark curls bouncing loose from a floppy hat.
"I'm Gwen, Guinevere Pendragon," she says, and when they shake hands Merlin knows he shouldn't be surprised that Arthur Pendragon has a pretty wife. But that's not what throws him off, really. It's her demeanor—completely opposite of Arthur's standoffish-ness—as she continues, "Lovely to meet you. And Gwen is just fine, don't worry about it," she says as if Merlin already is. "Sorry to greet you this way—Arthur didn't tell me you'd be coming this early." She brushes invisible dirt off her floral apron with gloved hands, embarrassed.
"No that's fine," Merlin assures her with a smile, whilst silently bemoaning the extra sleep he could have had. Why for the sake of everything good and un-early had Arthur said eight, anyways? "You have lovely flowers."
"Thank you. Though. Oh, they're not mine actually," Gwen hurries to amend, raising her hands palm-up toward the bed of lilies. "No, I'm just tending to them this morning. For a friend." She looks a little flustered, biting her lip and flicking her gaze to around the lawn distractedly. "Well. Anyways. You probably want to see where you'll be staying? Arthur didn't tell me how long you'd be here, so I just covered the basics," she continues with a hesitant smile, and Merlin smiles back.
"Sure. Yeah—I mean. Sounds good."
He's a little distracted by the roots he can see thick-woven inside this woman, running in rivulets around him in his head. She's a story of pain, loss weathered out into smooth strength. A fatherly love, a brotherly love, braided into her bone and memory flowing in her system. Her weaknesses, her fears, made stronger. She's lost, he sees, but she's also gained. Merlin watches Guinevere Pendragon closely as they go into the estate, slightly in awe of her spirit.
Which is why he retains nothing as to how to get to his room except that it's on the second floor in the East Wing. Gwen is aware of the farce Arthur has put into place should anyone ask questions—she informs Merlin he is Gwen's, brother's, sister-in-law's, adopted son, because that will throw people off the scent—and "The clean linen and towels are in the hallway closet to your left, but if you need anything, really, there's a bell installed here for maid service, I'll be in the study or the gardens usually if I'm not out, and . . . "
A child's bubbling laughter, a little muffled by the door they pass, makes Merlin turn his head. He slows a little, listening to someone probably blowing raspberries on the kid's stomach, based off the other sound he hears. Then a woman's gentle laughter joins the child's, soft and melodic.
"Merlin?" He looks back at Gwen ahead of him, realizing he's stopped. She's looking at him with a strange expression—Merlin can't tell if it's one of worry or apprehension.
He gives one more glance at the door before catching up to her.
Two left turns and three gigantic canvas paintings later, they arrive. Gwen shows him where practically everything is, hovering as she explains that Leon will bring in his things from his car.
"After you've settled in we can sit down and have some tea, or breakfast if you haven't had it already, and maybe get on the same page, since Arthur tends to be a bit closed-off with strangers, especially employees—"
"Tea's fine. Great, actually." Merlin smiles, which she returns slowly.
"Great," she replies, eyes warm. An amiable silence settles in as Merlin turns and looks out the three windows, two on either side of the bed and one next to the bathroom door. The green lawn gives way to vegetation, bright even in the dark gloom of the morning, a large forest spreading into the horizon. No highway, no evidence of modern civilization in sight. Like a faery tale.
He turns back to Gwen when he realizes he's been staring too long, clearing his throat. "We're glad to have you, Mr. Emrys," she says sincerely before he can say anything, clasping her hands together. "Truly—no matter how much of a bully Arthur seems. We're all grateful."
"I think I've handled worse bullies than your husband," he lets out an amused breath, folding his arms.
"His bark is worse than his bite," she concedes, smirking as she pats one of his arms.
Merlin tries not to act as taken aback as he feels, by both their generosity and her friendliness. He's still trying to get over the fact that Guinevere Pendragon is not a stuck-up, pineapple-up-the-arse, complete Anal Orifice too. "I'm going to go check on your things, get the kitchen crew on some breakfast. If you ever need anything I'll be within call if I'm not out in the gardens, so don't hesitate to ask," she says finally, opening the door to leave his room. Merlin stands a good ten meters away as she adds, "You're doing us a real service, Mr. Emrys. Really."
If only he knew what exactly that "service" was. The kind warmth in her brown eyes makes Merlin think he can trust her answer. "Could I ask you something?" Merlin says as he closes the distance. She smiles, nodding.
He is being treated like he's a relative—her brother's sister's in-law once-replaced, or whatever it was. And Merlin understands the need to stay at Pendragon Estate, considering its location. As in, the middle of nowhere. Plus, most malignant activity inevitably happens in the dark hours of night, when a spirit can go about wreaking havoc with incredible ease.
But never, not once in the five years he's begun to really extend his help and turn it into a profession, has Merlin been so confused.
"In any other situation it would be none of my business, but—I, I am a medium, and I can't help wondering why this all needs—well, why Arthur wouldn't talk past terms like 'pests,' disturbances,' and the 'problem' the other day. It's not much to go on, really." Merlin shrugs, half-smiling. "Do you know why your house might be experiencing supernatural activity suddenly? What might have brought it on?"
Gwen lets out a hesitant breath, and then bites her lip. Her grip on the doorknob looks almost painful.
He takes a deep breath, going in for the kill. "You hired me to get rid of a ghost. Is that why I'm here?"
"Arthur thought you might help," she acquiesces in a cautious tone, nodding.
"Well, what do you think," Merlin urges. "Do you believe there's a spirit in need of help?"
Gwen's face darkens; she lets go of the doorknob finally, gripping her hands together tightly.
"No," she shakes her head, letting out a breath. "No, I don't think so."
Merlin nods, not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. If she speaks true, he could leave and be rid of Mr. Pendragon. If no spirit is in need of help—if this is another false alarm, if there's nothing really going on, if that voice when he first arrived was just his imagination . . .
Then, with a whine and a crash, the door slams shut behind her.
6.
Must have been a blast of wind," Gwen recovers, turning to look at the door. It's so innocently still now it's hard to recall the loud WHAM the wood made hardly a moment before. Merlin nods absent-mindedly to her excuse, walking past her to it.
He twists the doorknob, feeling no give.
"Did you lock it?" He looks back at her, one eyebrow raised. The door still won't budge, and Merlin's using all his strength now, trying to wrench it open. She shakes her head, one hand to her mouth as Merlin pulls on it again.
Eventually he stops, a cold feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he backs away. Searching through his head, searching with his eyes and seeing nothing. The presence of this spirit is just that; a presence.
A harsh, frostbitten presence.
Merlin feels his skin prickling as the lamp on the bedside table starts flickering, casting strange, half-second shadows of them on the door. Gwen breathes in sharply, and suddenly rushes to the door, banging against it a few times with her shoulder. She pulls the doorknob with both arms, stopping only to look back at Merlin, stricken.
"I'm so sorry," she tells him. The light is flickering on and off her face now, looking more sad than frightened. "I had no idea this . . . "
They both turn their heads, the rest of her words forgotten. On the other side of the door, footsteps are approaching. Clear, insistent, louder by the second. Gwen's face whitens, and she steps back with one hand on Merlin's arm—as if to protect him. Ma'am, I think I have a little more association with ghosts than you.
She flinches as the footsteps stop, clear outside the door. Gwen is breathing quickly, hand no longer holding him back but digging into the fabric of his shirt. "He must not like you at all," she whispers, likely to herself, since when Merlin whispers back "What?" she doesn't respond.
The door knob starts turning. Even though it's locked.
And then it opens. "Are you two alright?"
Instead of the demon Merlin is expecting, it's more like an angel who opens the door. Well, a dark angel—long dark hair and slate gray clothing, wearing an amused expression and an upturned chin. She's staring at them oddly, and that's when Merlin realizes he's staring. He immediately rights that wrong, looking over at Gwen's relieved smile instead.
"Sorry, Morgana, the door wouldn't budge. Must have gotten stuck from the inside," she laughs breathlessly, shoulders relaxing.
"Really? Strange." Morgana raises an eyebrow, strolling past them. Merlin turns as she passes, not realizing what she's doing till she eyes the lamp.
"What's wrong with this old thing I wonder?" she says, and crouches to the wall for a few seconds. Suddenly the flickering light resolves itself, casting a warm glow once more against the gloom of the morning. Merlin tries not to gape as she stands up again, dusting off her hands with a grin.
"What was wrong with it?" Gwen asks, and the woman shrugs.
"The chord wasn't plugged in all the way," she smirks. Then her eyes, a strange, pale green, flicker to Merlin. "You haven't introduced me yet, Gwen. To your—what was it? Cousin?"
"Oh! My brother's sister-in-law's cousin—"
"Her sister's brother-in-law's step-nephew—"
They overlap one another and stutter into silence, Gwen's face flushing. Not much of a liar, Merlin thinks. Of course, neither is he.
"Ah yes, that's right." Morgana's smirk widens until it becomes a genuine smile, spreading across her face as she shakes her head. "Well, whatever reason Arthur's having you stay, Cheekbones, I hope he's paying you well. I'm Morgana," she tells him with a nod, walking back to the door.
"Mordred's probably wondering why I abandoned him," she shook her head fondly, "but I heard someone banging against a door and thought I'd come investigate and save you, Gwen, from a break-in. Little did I know I'd be saving two damsels in distress." She winks at him.
Merlin rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging up. "I believe the correct term would be 'dudemar,' actually, as in 'love interest of strong female character, an attractive male with little brain power or skill.'" He's not entirely sure whether that was an attempt to impress, or a part of him truly wants to repel all females of interest. It could, very likely, be the latter.
"So you're the eye candy?" She raises an eyebrow, solemn, like she's considering the idea.
Merlin twists his mouth to the side for a moment. Then nods.
Gwen laughs at the exchange. "His name is Merlin, Morgana, and he's just visiting me for a while is all. Sorry to worry you, but we're both fine. Give Mordred my love."
That was a cue to leave, but Morgana doesn't take it. Her eyes turn to slits, scrutinizing Merlin. It reminds him supremely of Arthur and the dozen once-overs the man gave Merlin just in the time-span of their single conversation. Except Merlin felt like he was a specimen being dissected by Arthur's eyes, and now, well—to be honest, he feels like he's being undressed by Morgana's eyes.
Which isn't necessarily a horrible thing, even if it's a slightly uncomfortable one.
"Well, until we meet again, Merlin," she murmurs finally, leaving with a swish of her hair.
Merlin is probably not the most stable on his feet—not that he ever really is—when Gwen turns to him wearing a slightly amused expression on her face. "That was Morgana, Arthur's sister," she says, as if those are weighty words. But then Merlin remembers. Their weight pulls him back down from the clouds and back into annoying, prattish reality.
That's Arthur's sister—the ONE PERSON he's supposed to completely avoid, at all costs.
Shite.