A/N: Back from camping and caving-and finding out I have a fear of caves a few seconds into a long, horrible four-hour cave hike. *Shudder* So, in short, glad to be back! Thank you all for reviewing and following!
11.
A fork clatter splits the silence. Leon looks down, like he doesn't know he did it.
Arthur clears his throat, loud like there's actually something caught in it. "Gwaine?" he says quickly, shaking his head. Shooting daggers at Merlin with his eyes, like the man's this close to turning those metaphorical daggers into tangible ones magically, and Merlin better shut up before that happens.
Merlin leans back a little, confused. But then he sees Morgana in the corner of his vision. Her brows are pulled together; her mouth is slit into a thin line.
Right. Keep Morgana in the dark.
If Merlin could more than just mentally slap himself right now, he would. "Yeah. Umm," he stumbles, aware of all the eyes on him, "yeah, well—his cairn anyway. Speaking of, what's with all the cairns? Are you that worried about animals?"
"Family tradition," Arthur supplies, clearly relieved. He still looks slightly murderous, though.
"Oh," Merlin shrugs, taking that as an answer gladly. Morgana's eyes narrow. "Anyway, I was looking at it, with my back turned from the gate, and next thing I know a rock hits my head and I'm out like a light. Until Leon wakes me up, finally, and by then the attacker's long gone."
"Did he take your wallet?" Morgana asks, eyes squinting at him. Like she's trying to see through him.
"No," Merlin blurts before thinking. "No—I, I didn't have it on me," he adds hastily, and now wonders if he actually did.
"A poacher, likely," Arthur says belatedly, and then looks over at Leon. "Check the cameras after dinner. And, if you need to, put on the alarms."
"A poacher?" Merlin asks, confused.
"A mugger would have brought a gun, Merlin," Arthur says, leering his name into something idiotic. "But we get a lot of poachers around here. He might have seen you, picked up a handy rock, and figured it was quicker money than hunting."
"So he's a poacher-turned-mugger?" Merlin asks, one eyebrow raised. Arthur nods smugly, staring at him. Merlin looks straight back.
"Stop saying 'he,'" Morgana protests, interrupting their staring war. "You're all sexist. I think it could have been a girl."
"Why?" Merlin says, a little wary of her answer. She really thinks I'm a damsel, doesn't she.
Morgana smirks; she probably knows what he's thinking. "Why not?" she throws back. He lets out an amused breath.
"Touche," Merlin shrugs, still smiling. His eyes lock with her pale green ones, and before Merlin realizes it he's in another staring competition with a Pendragon and he really should stop entering.
Gwen shakes her head when she sees them both at it. "Alright, you two." She turns to Morgana. "Stop your glaring, you're going to intimidate my guest. Really, Morgana, you're as bad as Uther."
Dead silence. Dead. Silence. As in, anything that had been breathing within twenty feet of Gwen's voice stops completely—even Merlin.
He's not sure why. Maybe he picks up on everyone's reactions a second before they actually show; Morgana, still smirking, Leon, watching amused. Gaius and Arthur to his right, out of sight. But the second after, it hits, and Gwen's face drops quicker than anyone else's. Like she's just said a horrible thing.
And apparently she has. Morgana's jaw clenches; her eyes are down as she stands abruptly from the table, pulling her chair back with a screech. The rest of the dinner party watches her go in silence, until she's disappeared around the corner of the doorway.
Arthur is looking down at his rice. "Well done, Guinevere."
His smile when he looks up at her then is as light and icy as his voice, eyebrows raised sardonically. Gwen bursts into tears. The men between her, Merlin included, sit awkwardly between the married couple as her sniffles only break the silence.
Merlin finishes his food rather quickly after that, though not as quick as Leon and Gaius, who both excuse themselves and say they better head home.
"Excuse me," Gwen whispers in a low tone as well, lowering her hands from her face and silently slipping out of her chair. Its only Merlin and Arthur left now—Arthur, who hasn't touched anything on his plate, Merlin sees upon looking up, since Gwen's apparent slip-up. Arthur's eyes are on him.
"And now you've been properly introduced to the Pendragon family," he says with a sarcastic smile, gesturing toward the nearly empty table with a large sweep of his hand. He chuckles grimly when Merlin shrugs, shakes his head before looking away at the door Gwen left through.
Merlin's mouth pulls to the side; he stands, walking to where Arthur lounges moodily in his seat.
"That I have," Merlin agrees without looking down, lower lip pulling up for a moment. He's maybe beginning to guess what Gwaine was asking about, concerning the couple.
His eyes meet Arthur's below him. "The day's gone. It's nearly night."
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "And?"
"And now, I require your help."
12.
Its nine, according to the many ornate clocks scattered around the house and the two in his room, when Arthur knocks on Merlin's door and proceeds to come in. Merlin, in the middle of pulling out all his things, waves the man inside.
"Just finished getting set up," he says, zipping his now-empty backpack. "Did you find what I asked?"
Arthur holds up a pair of scuffed up tenny shoes, cracked and slightly green.
Merlin pulls a face, walking closer to inspect them. "That's what you decided on? Old athletic shoes?"
Arthur looks offended. "I'm very attached to this pair. I won my first college footie game in these."
"I assume, considering there's no other reason to hold onto such disgusting things for 15 years," Merlin says, getting a whiff as he passes Arthur and gagging a little.
"Hardly 15 years, Merlin," Arthur rolls his eyes. "I'm not that old."
"Yeah, sure. Well, hand them over, I guess," Merlin says, taking the pair cautiously. He keeps them at an arm's distance as he walks to the other side of his room, where everything is set up, mostly.
Arthur follows, and Merlin can tell by the man's face upon seeing the set-up on the floor that he has some explaining to do. Merlin will admit it all looks a little . . . intimidating. Complicated.
And it is complicated. It takes Merlin the better part of half an hour each time to paint the shapes, the curved pattern, the symbols etched around the circular summoning grounds. Only two positions are empty, and Merlin sets the old shoes in one of them. He gestures for Arthur to sit behind the pair, who does so stiffly. Arthur looks down at the display in front of him—and laughs.
"This is what I meant when I said crazy voodoo," he chuckles, gesturing at the symbols and runes.
Merlin shakes his head, grinning. "This is nothing like voodoo, believe me."
"Oh?" Arthur's eyebrows rise. "Should I take your word for it?"
"Ha ha. Stop stalling. This really isn't that bad—it's actually one of the simplest ways to conjure a ghost. If it works." Merlin chews on his lip, eyes scrutinizing his work for any flaws.
"That brings me to an excellent question," Arthur says. "How exactly does this work? Why did I bring my shoes?"
"Well I'm assuming you brought them because they're special to you. I did say not just anything you've worn. Something with meaning."
Arthur waves away his words. "Yes yes. I know, and this is probably the only thing I've ever worn and felt attached to. I care very little for possessions." He folds his arms, stubborn.
"Good. Then your part is mostly done." Merlin shrugs, getting down to business. He turns and lights the candles on either side of the circle with a match, ignoring Arthur's amused expression. "Right. If you're sure, we'll continue," he says, going to turn the two bedside lamps off. Darkness immediately floods the room as he switches off the last one, and when Merlin rounds the corner of his bed back to Arthur, the man's face is decidedly more serious in the small candlelight. Somber, even.
"The point of this is to call the dead, to speak with them," Merlin explains quietly as he takes a seat on the floor across Arthur. "It requires two different people—the messenger and the affected. In this situation, as you've been haunted by this spirit and are the owner of this house, you are the affected. I'll be the one calling to our little ghost friend. Not much is required of you," he adds when Arthur grimaces, looking almost cross, "mostly your presence and your belonging. I'll be doing all of the actual summoning." He takes the bark and leaves that are to his right, making a pile on a small metal pan that rests in the center of the circle.
Merlin gives him a look, and Arthur nods his consent for Merlin to continue. He's staring down at the pile, at his shoes, at the symbols. His eyes follow Merlin's hand when it picks up the candle closest to him, dripping wax in a redundant pattern over the summoning grounds. Merlin waits a moment, then—
"Nothing's happening," Arthur breaks his focus. "Isn't something supposed to be happening by now?"
"Not if you can't shut your gabber," Merlin snaps, annoyed at the interruption.
Arthur puts his hands up defensively. "Just checking," he says innocently. "It's just slow-going work, I guess." But then he smirks.
Merlin rolls his eyes and gets back to business. He drips wax from the candle near him, though just in a small puddle across from the shoes. Then he places his left hand on the wax, ignoring the heat against his skin. It melds his hand to the floor, to the summoning grounds.
Arthur is quiet; Merlin can focus. He takes three breaths.
"Spirit I summon thee, evoco lemures, by the Old Religion I bind thee, larvae manes, and call for thy presence this night." Merlin stares at the kindling at the center of the circle, readying himself with three more breaths. "Spirit, I summon thee. Evoco lemures. By the Old Religion, I bind thee, larvae manes. This night, I call for thy presence."
A tiny flare lights in the bark and leaves, catching the pile aflame. The bark's sweet scent fills the air, and Merlin feels confident. This will work. This will work.
Arthur sucks in a breath at the flames, glancing from Merlin to the small fire. He says nothing though, as Merlin retracts his hand from the cooling wax and leaves his handprint on the summoning grounds. He reaches out his hands for Arthur's, and almost rolls his eyes when Arthur takes a reluctant moment to do so. As it is, Merlin is concentrating, focusing on the clairvoyance that often comes to him unbidden, and not often on command. But it feels strong and focused, tonight. Like looking through clear water. Merlin repeats himself again, eyes closed and hands interlocked with Arthur's.
It comes.
He feels it the next instant; the same cold iciness as always chills his gut, freezes his marrow. He feels Arthur's grip tighten, and Merlin wonders if he feels it too.
Foolish child.
Leave this house in peace, boy, while I still give you the chance to.
Merlin's spine tightens; he exhales slowly, trying to ignore the sickening feeling twisting inside him each time more of the malicious words slip into his mind.
Leave this house yourself, and I'll leave it as well. You've terrorized these people long enough. Go, in peace.
You know NOTHING. And I will show you no mercy either. Tell Arthur this: I will not stand idly by. I will recompense.
Merlin's hands go limp; they slip out of Arthur's as the presence leaves him. He opens his eyes, finding the entire room clothed in night. The candles and burning pyre have gone out—it is only Arthur's eyes, reflecting the dim moonlight, looking at him silently.
"What happened?" Arthur asks, but Merlin is already shaking his head. He makes to get up, turn on a lamp, when Arthur grips his wrist. "Merlin," he says impatiently. He glances down at Merlin's forearm, and Merlin feels his heart catch. Arthur is looking at his tattoo, half visible from his sleeve, almost with . . . recognition?
Merlin watches Arthur's face closely, waiting as the man looks at him hard. But then his eyes soften. "Merlin. Tell me." He releases Merlin's arm.
"I spoke with it," Merlin answers before going to turn on the lamp; the room warms in its glow and chases the last of the creeping cold from his spine. He turns back to Arthur, who sits watching him. "Little happened. It had a message though—for you." He watches for the man's reaction, but Arthur disappoints. He only nods, as if he gets supernatural messages on a daily basis.
"What is it, then?" Arthur asks calmly, standing.
"It said 'I will not stand idly by. I will recompense.' That mean anything to you?"
Merlin watches his face closely, suspicious when the man merely shakes his head and dusts off his slightly wrinkled trousers. "Not really," he shrugs, and then glances down at the old athletic shoes. "I think I'm still a little confused," he changes subject. "Why exactly was this needed for your . . . ritual thing?"
"I needed you to be emotionally linked to the summoning circle," Merlin answers. "Plus things people wear a lot tend to keep traces of them in it. For instance," he smirks, "your horrible foot smell."
Arthur looks indignant. "My feet do not stink."
"No more than the average arrogant, self-important ass I'd reckon," Merlin grins. "You'd best head to bed, if you're leaving as early as you said," he adds before Arthur can gripe his jab. But if Arthur does get up at 4:30 in the morning to be at work at 6, till basically 6 in the evening, Merlin speaks true. It's no wonder he said eight for this morning. That's probably sleeping in to him.
"So eager to get rid of me," Arthur shakes his head, but his eyes look amused as he take his shoes and heads to the door.
Then Merlin remembers. "Arthur?" he calls as the man opens the door. Arthur hmm?'s in answer. "Gwen told me this morning that something, two weeks ago, made you believe that you needed my help." After a moment, Arthur nods silently.
"What was it?" Merlin prompts eventually, trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice. Arthur looks at him hard, and then turns the door knob.
"Good night, Merlin," he says shortly, and closes the door behind him.