13.

At first Merlin thinks Monday night was a good start. Sure, he makes little to no headway concerning the malignant spirit terrorizing the Pendragon Household, but he's made contact. And after a good number of nights, he can A) convince the spirit to leave in peace, B) find out what is causing it to lash out and help it find peace, or C) forcefully exorcise.

Of course, his progress takes a definite backward turn almost immediately. Two more nights—two more of Arthur and his skeptical, amused attitude, two more Merlin spends creating summoning grounds, two more cleaning them up after an hour of nothing. More and more, nothing.

By Thursday morning Merlin knows it's time to take a different approach. For one, he hasn't heard a word or felt a thing from the spirit for more than 48 hours. For another, he can't use his bathroom anymore; Tuesday morning he turns the faucet on his toothbrush, only for black liquid to gush onto it. The shower follows suit—and thank goodness he decides to test that one out before standing under it. Plus, his room smells almost permanently like smoke now, the sweet smoke from the pyre, except mixed with something dead, almost like—

"Weed. I've figured it out. You're Arthur's drug dealer."

Merlin jumps, turning to find Morgana in his doorway. She looks triumphant.

"Weed?"

"Weed. You two have been holed up in here the past three nights, and I've thought about the options," She puts her hands on her hips, smirking. "You're either Arthur's pity project, his not-so-secret lover—" Merlin makes a gagging face that she ignores, "—or his drug dealer. Or at the least, his fellow druggie."

"I'm not," Merlin shakes his head, laughing.

Her head cocks slightly. "You haven't been smoking pot in here. Interesting. What do I assume this nasty, sweet smell in here is, then?"

"You caught me. I smoke—I'm a chain smoker."

"You're not a smoker. Or at least, this isn't cigarette smoke. Believe me—I would know," she half-smiles, shaking her head.

Merlin raises an eyebrow. "You would?"

"Yes. Very well. I smoked for four and a half years. Which I guess isn't that long compared to a lot of people," she shrugs, "but long enough for me to recognize it anywhere."

"What made you quit?" he asks out of curiosity.

"Mordred," she answers, this time with a genuine smile.

He raises an eyebrow. "This Mordred must be a character. I hear you mention him practically every time we've spoken, or someone asks you about him, but I've yet to meet him. Does he live here, with you?"

Merlin's just being curious, he tells himself. Nothing to do with the only slight uncertainty whether this Mordred is the very-lucky boyfriend or not.

She gives him an odd look. "Yes, of course."

It was a valid question, though. Morgana hasn't shown up to dinner the past two nights since Gwen's seemingly harmless but oddly catastrophic comment, so he's seen little of her and absolutely none of her boyfriend/lover. And for the little they have crossed paths she hasn't said a word. Which makes it all the more surprising that she's here, talking to him at 10:30 in the morning, completely friendly.

Then Morgana's face brightens. "Would you like to meet him?"

"Sure," Merlin shrugs, though inwardly conflicted on the idea. He's very very curious, but also very very jealous of a person he's never met. Which is a little pathetic.

Morgana beckons for him to follow, turning on her heel back into the hallway. Merlin is still in his pajamas—because this is his idea of sleeping in, unlike Arthur—as he trails behind her for a couple minutes. He makes a commendable effort to not look look at her, especially with the prospect of meeting her boyfriend in his head. But it's hard, considering the very interesting and not unappealing way she walks.

"I didn't escape notice that you've dodged the drug subject, by the way," Morgana teases over her shoulder. "I will figure it out." Merlin just shakes his head. Not if Arthur has his way, you won't.

They end up at a door Merlin slightly recognizes, though it's honestly too early for him to remember why. Maybe he's noticed the canvas painting across from it enough, passing by—a scene of night, two figures on either side of a well. Merlin glances at it, and then back at Morgana who has stopped, waiting for him to catch up.

"Mordred?" she calls after he does, and they both walk inside. Merlin scans the room, taking in the muted earth tones and bright greens of the furniture and walls. A slightly cluttered desk with a laptop on it is just ahead, and a mini-cooler. And a corner with comfy chairs and the second flat-screen he's seen in this house.

But no man, lounging in her bed half-dressed, like Merlin expects.

Sound comes from an open doorway, connecting the bedroom to another room, and Morgana holds up a finger for Merlin to wait before walking over to it. "Mordred," he hears her say, and it sounds more like addressing someone now instead of calling. When she turns around, Merlin stares a little, uncomprehending.

She's holding hands with a chubby little child, directing the toddler into the room with a smile-glance at Merlin. "Say hi, Mordred," she tells her son, who looks unmistakably like her, and a tiny hand waves a little at Merlin.

"Hi, Mordred," Merlin waves back.

14.

Mordred is still in pajamas too—dragon pj's, because Morgana obviously gets her child nothing but the best—and Morgana tells Merlin "Entertain him" as she disappears through the doorway again to "get Mordred some day-clothing."

That's how Merlin ends up sitting cross-legged across from the child, who's staring at him silently. "So, Mordred, how old are you?" He tries first, and Mordred hold up 2 fingers solemnly. And then, the knuckle of one.

"Two . . . and a half?" Merlin guesses, though the child doesn't confirm it. He simply looks at Merlin, with the familiar Pendragon "sizing-up" stare. Merlin takes the initiative to do as well, and notes Mordred has a dark head of hair, like Morgana, though it's a mess of curls. The mother and child also carry the same pointed chin, evident even despite the toddler's remaining baby chub, the same eye shape and lips. His nose is a little different, though—and his eyes are wide and blue, staring at Merlin solemnly.

He looks quite serious, quite put together for a toddler wearing dragon jammies. Obviously not what Merlin had guessed. But there can't be blame that Merlin assumed Mordred was related to Morgana in an entirely different sense of the word, seeing as the woman looks pretty young to have a child—even a two (possibly two-and-a-half) year old one. He finds himself slightly confused, and mostly relieved.

Suddenly Mordred holds his hands out—reaching towards Merlin's face, and interrupting his train of thought. Relieved that the kid isn't just going to stare at him the entire time, Merlin leans forward so the child can reach, assuming Mordred will want to pat his cheeks, squish his lips together or something.

Instead, the toddler starts tugging on his ears.

Figures.

Merlin lets him though, content that at least the child looks entertained now. After a good amount of tugging, Mordred pushes his ears against his skull then, and lets go quickly to watch as they—for lack of a better word—flap back into place. He does it a few more times, and right when Merlin's decided that's enough humiliation for one day, even by means of a 2-and-a-half year old child, Mordred's solemn little face breaks into a grin. He laughs, a high, bubbly little boy laugh.

Merlin can't exactly ruin the fun now, can he?

Morgana suddenly rushes into the room, gray little sweats and one small tennis shoe in her hands. Her eyes locate the pair of them, Mordred still doing that flapping thing to Merlin's ears and Merlin leaning forward and letting him, and the surprise in them immediately softens. Merlin, meanwhile, feels his face go aflame having been caught in such a compromising situation. Mordred notices his mother as well, and reaches forward to tug on Merlin's ears one more time, smiling at Morgana as he does so. Like saying, hey Mummy come try this, his ears are ridiculously hilarious.

Morgana smiles at her son, and then looks in wonder at Merlin. "I heard him laugh," she says, shaking her head, "and thought I was going crazy."

"Why?" he asks as Mordred loses interest and heads back to his mother.

She shrugs, smiling a little sadly. "He just—doesn't, that often. With me, he will I guess, occasionally. With others . . . " Morgana gives Merlin a slightly-comical pained expression, shaking her head. "Let's just say, Gwen is convinced Mordred hates her."

"Gwen, of all people. Strange," Merlin answers, surprised. "She seems so—so. I don't know."

"Motherly?" Morgana supplies, and Merlin nods. "Yes, well, maybe it's just such a mental shock for him, being in the presence of perfect maternal love." She smirks.

"I'm positive you're not a horrible mother, Morgana," Merlin shakes his head. He remembers her offense Monday night and adds, "Or horrible at all really."

At that Morgana's eyes flash. She ruffles the top of Mordred's curls, the ghost of a smile still on her face. "Opinions are that—opinions," she says breezily, and proceeds to guide Mordred into the other room. "Just dressing him, then you and I can make breakfast," she calls over her shoulder.

Merlin finds the unfounded cliché of "you and I" and the feelings it supplies to mushy people—well, not so unfounded.

A couple minutes later she reemerges with Mordred slung at her hip, out of his jammies and wearing a little T-shirt with the Tardis on it—reaffirming Merlin's theory on Morgana's clothing standard: only the best. Merlin gets up from the chair he waited at, and the three of them head downstairs to another part of the house he has little more than glimpsed into.

The kitchens are big, full of stainless steel appliances, four ovens, five islands, six sinks, two pantries, a freezer room—Merlin stops trying to count everything when he bumps into a blond girl carrying a pot of carrots and nearly sloshes half the water on the both of them. Apologizing swiftly, he catches up to Morgana, who is putting Mordred in a high chair at the very end of the kitchens and strapping him in. She gestures Merlin over.

"Peel and dice," she commands, holding out an pear and a knife. Merlin obeys, watching as she cuts up strawberries, kiwis on and bananas in about the time he finishes the pear. Morgana takes the pear chunks and adds all of her chopped fruit together in a bowl, sprinkling a shaker of what's probably sugar over the mix and setting the bowl, wrapped, in one of the fridges.

She comes back with a carton of eggs among other things, gesturing at one of the electrical stoves. "Omelet time," she says, and pulls open a cupboard. She takes out two pans, one for each of them.

Eggs Merlin can do. He cracks open one and then another confidently, adding things Morgana places on the table. He grabs for another from the carton, reaching over Morgana—and her hand stops him.

Do not tell me another person is staring at my tattoo.

Turns out she isn't, though; her brows are pulled together, eyes looking at the egg he's grabbing for. "Not that one," she says in a strange voice, and as Merlin pulls his hand back slowly she takes it, moving over to a nearby trash can. Merlin watches, at first wondering whether she's gone crazy.

Then Morgana cracks the egg open, and immediately there's a distinctly wrong characteristic to the insides. That is—the insides are bright, gooey red. "Gross," Morgana says lightly, tossing the whole thing in the trash with a comical grimace. "Glad you didn't put that in your omelet."

"Me too," Merlin says numbly, not slightly weirded out. "How could you tell?"

He feels more than sees her freeze, just for a second, next to him. Then she's back to grating zucchini onto her omelet calmly. "There was a little blood on the side of it, opposite you," Morgana shrugs, smiling at him brightly. Merlin nods, shrugging as well and deeming the morning a strange one. First, Morgana is friendly with him. Next, Mordred turns out to be two (possibly two-and-a-half), not a youthful 30 or something. Now, he's the damsel in distress again.

Merlin refuses to put that one under any other category besides 'Out of the Ordinary.'

"Just getting breakfast now, are we?" Merlin turns to see Gwen walking toward them, smiling softly at them all. She waves animatedly at Mordred, and the child glowers back.

"We can't all be budding flowers at the crack of dawn," Morgana replies defensively, though she's smiling. It appears the two of them are not on bad terms after that dinner, if they ever were.

"Well, after you eat you should come run errands with me," Gwen says. "I think Mordred and you should get out of the house for at least a little while."

"How considerate," Morgana laughs, flipping her omelet expertly. "But don't leave out poor Merlin. He's been cooped up here doing heaven knows what almost as long as me." Her eyebrow rises on the "heaven knows what" part.

"Would you like to come?" Gwen says brightly to him, putting a hand on his arm. "Though it may be dull for you," she retracts her arm, looking worried, "I don't know, I'm not male. What sounds worse: entertaining yourself here or entertaining yourself while we shop?" She bites her lip, her brown eyes twinkling amusedly.

Merlin laughs. "I'll tag along," he agrees, putting his omelet on a plate. "If you two ladies don't mind."

"Don't worry, if you get too drab we'll send you and Mordred to the mall play-place together," Morgana smirks, and Merlin rolls his eyes, smirking back. Two things he's probably done more at the Pendragon Estate collectively than his whole life previously combined.

"Well, great. You three hurry up and eat," Gwen says, patting both their backs and ruffling Mordred's curls before leaving. Mordred shrinks back almost immediately, looking grumpy up until Morgana places small portions of omelet and fruit salad in front of him later.

Merlin and Morgana eat across from each other at one of the many counters, and there's a growing pile of questions cluttering his head, begging to be asked. Who's the father? Why did you have a kid so young? Why do you live here?

Who's Uther? Why wouldn't Arthur want you to know what I am? The last one inevitably unsettles him most.

"Something on your mind, Merlin?" Morgana pauses, looking closely at his face.

He smiles, hopefully shuttering the burning curiosity that had likely been shining through. "Nope."

They finish their omelets in silence.

A/N: Okay, yep, flaming Mergana throughout this one. I promise more diverse character interaction next time!