A/N: This is late coming, but here it is anyway! Thanks for your patience, your reviews are just AWESOME. Enjoy :D
15.
Merlin's first year at uni was a difficult one, and in one way more than any other.
He still had heartbreak in the back of every thought, every emotion. Still raw and painful from months previous. But he continued on regardless; started his Business Major, paid his rent and roomed with Will, dated a girl named Cara. It all worked out for the most part, till it got worse.
It, referring to his sight of the other world. The afterworld. Instead of fading, like told in accounts of what children with the gift often experienced, it was growing stronger. He couldn't look at someone anymore, not really, without seeing them.
And he was going mad because of it.
Will understood. Will made excuses for him when he declined invitations to parties, walked away mid-conversation with someone, spent entire days in his bed and missed class. He was spiraling down into a maniacal hermit state. But though Will covered his tracks, he also hounded on Merlin every day—to "eat something for your own sake," to "get off your bum and study for your test."
To "do something about it."
What could he do? It was a lot like ignoring a limb, trying to forget one of his arms was attached to him. He couldn't just stop using it, stop feeling it there. Cara kept asking him to go see a psychiatrist, see if he might have chronic depression after the devastating events of his last year in secondary school. Then, after he shook his head or made excuses, she would hint and suggest to him that maybe this was something else, something deeper. Suggest that he talk to her about it, so she could truly help him. The look in her vivid blue eyes was so knowing, so understanding . . .
He told her, despite Will's disapproval. Cara didn't even blink.
ooOOoo
"Merlin?"
Merlin raises his adorned head above the clothing aisles, meeting Gwen's amused eyes. "Yes?" he grins, pulling off the pink, furry hat he has on. Mordred makes a noise of protest below him.
"Morgana and I are about done. Could you bring Mordred and meet us at the dressing rooms?" she asks, and leaves once Merlin gives her the thumbs up. He puts the hat back on quickly, crouching to his feet at Mordred's level again.
The kid is wearing a cotton-candy-blue hat with two eyes sticking out of the top. All four eyes look at Merlin for a moment before Mordred makes a decidedly un-two year old sound and switches the hats he and Merlin are wearing. Then the corners of his little mouth tug up, satisfied. Apparently the blue, goggly-eyed hat suits me better.
"Let's go find your mum, kay Mordred?" Merlin says after a minute more trying on hats, putting them back on the racks. Mordred immediately looks sullen, but he lets Merlin pick him up.
After a bit of searching Merlin finds the dressing room, just as the two women emerge laughing with each other. "Merlin!" Morgana calls upon seeing him, though her eyes are on Mordred. "Did the little man have you running after him end to end again?"
"No actually," Merlin shakes his head and sets the child down. "This time I managed to distract him with some hats."
The past two stores required "serious shopping," as Morgana put it solemnly, and so Mordred was put in the charge of Merlin. And gave him a good cardio workout, sprinting this way and that to narrowly pull the child out from the paths of legs and shopping carts alike. Now Merlin sees what Morgana meant by serious shopping as they put high heels, expensive perfume and fancy bras in the cart. He feels his face go slightly hot when Morgana catches him eying them, and she winks at him.
"I think I understand the 'serious shopping' hint now. Hoping to get busy?" He says it a light, joking manner—easy for them to roll their eyes and scoff at.
But Morgana's eyes sweep up and down him, serious. "I don't hope, Merlin. I plan."
Merlin isn't sure whether to be enticed or alarmed, and she immediately starts laughing at whatever expression on his face has combined the two.
They have lunch at the food court, Morgana holding Mordred in her lap and feeding him chips and chicken. Merlin's munching on his second burger when Gwen comes back with a disgustingly (as far as Merlin's standard on food goes) healthy-looking salad, looking down at her phone.
"We have an extra stop to make," she announces, looking up from the screen upon sitting down. Morgana raises an eyebrow. "I texted Gaius before we left, asking if he needed me to pick up anything while I was out, and for once he responded." Both the women smile knowingly then, looking amused.
"Is that funny?" Merlin asks, confused, looking between the pair of them.
Gwen shakes her head good-naturedly. "It's just—well, he doesn't text very often, if he can help it. When he does, it's usually . . ." she doesn't finish, shaking with silent laughter.
"Let me see it, Gwen," Morgana says emphatically, smiling widely. Gwen hands the phone over, and after a few seconds Morgana is laughing as well. The sound reminds him of a quiet bell, a soft melody.
And that comparison is probably a little off, but it pulls from the back of his head a distinct memory—hearing that same laugh as he was shown to his room, Monday morning. The pieces click together, and he remembers. It explains why he heard a child, Merlin thinks as he glances at Mordred, and why that certain door was slightly familiar.
Morgana hands the phone to Merlin, interrupting his thoughts, and gestures for him to read. He looks down and sees a long, strange text.
That is very sweet in you
Gwen are you actually have
a few things from Alice
Apothecary In need forget
come give you a list if you
call me sugar. Thanks Gaius.
The girls immediately start laughing when he glances up, a bemused look on his face. "That one is mild," Morgana says between breaths, eyes crinkled in amusement. "One that Gaius sent to Arthur asked him to 'Come over and cup me between chats.'" Merlin's eyes widen comically.
"He hates the keys for typing the letters," Gwen explains, and Morgana nods, "he says his old hands can't figure them out. So Arthur thought he was helping when he bought Gaius a phone with voice recognition. But, well . . ." She shakes her head fondly.
"What do you think he meant to say?" Merlin asks, reading the text over again.
"'Come over and cup me between chats?' He says he meant 'Come over and have a cup of tea, we need to chat.'" Morgana shrugs, still smiling.
"I think Merlin meant this text, Morgana," Gwen says, giggling.
"I did actually," Merlin concedes, "though I'll admit I was curious on that other one as well."
"Well, to be honest I'm not entirely positive," Gwen bites her lower lip, moving to stare at the message over Merlin's shoulder. "Something about calling him for a list, and Alice's Apothecary." She looks at Merlin and Morgana, brown eyes twinkling. "Definitely not sure what the "call me sugar" part was about."
16.
Alice's Apothecary is many things. But, Merlin thinks as he walks through an aisle, mostly . . . smelly. Gaius's list is extensive and very strange, when Gwen calls him to ask for it, and the items Merlin undertakes to search for—hogwort, feverfew, hollyhock, fenugreek—leads him to the back aisle, where everything gives off even more peculiar odors and requires weighing in measurement.
He only hopes he has the right amount of everything when Gwen checks out for them and loads the paper bags, vials and bottles into the boot of her yellow Mini Cooper. As she drives back onto the main road Merlin asks, "Does Gaius live close to the house? Or just close, in comparison to everywhere else?" It took them the better part of an hour to reach the shopping center, making Pendragon Estate almost as far away from anything as his hometown.
"It's a ten minute drive between the house and Gaius's place," Gwen says, shrugging. "So—yes to both, I guess."
The ten minutes tacked onto the drive aren't noticeable to Merlin, who shudders awake out of a hazy dream when the car turns off an hour later. He looks over and sees Mordred watching him from his booster seat, blinking sleepily as well.
"You two have a nice nap?" Gwen asks over her shoulder, unbuckling and grabbing for her purse. Merlin grins, nodding as he stretches. It looks as if Mordred almost—almost—rolls his eyes. Morgana was not kidding about him hating Gwen.
They all climb out of the car and Merlin blinks upon seeing Gaius's house. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but he doubts it was anything close to the strange structure. The lot is shrouded by trees and shadow, the evening sun barely illuminating a tall, brick tower through the dim. They approach a small door on the side of the circular structure after taking Gaius's requested things out of the boot, Morgana knocking on its wooden frame.
"Come in!" A muffled voice says, and when Merlin follows after Gwen he takes in the round room, eying the odd trinkets cluttering the old man's house and up his stairs. Merlin's eyes flicker across book shelves and bottles, a dusty duster and a cracked horn, and . . . Merlin notices what probably should have gone unnoticed: a horse shoe embedded with onyx and sapphire, pointing up and mounted above the sole window. He walks closer, squinting at the simple design and precious stones. Merlin has seen such a talisman before, many times, starting one day years ago, the night after he'd told Cara the truth, and many nights after—
"An old family relic," a clipped voice interrupts his thoughts, jolting Merlin to the present. He turns and sees Gaius at the base of the stairs, hands clasped in front of him. His expression is unreadable, eyes on Merlin. "Not sure where it came from, really, but pretty to look at."
Merlin nods silently, trying to clear his face when both Morgana and Gwen shoot him puzzled glances.
"We brought everything," Gwen cuts in, and Gaius breaks their gaze to look at her. "I wasn't sure about the kind of slug repellant you wanted—"
"I'm sure whichever you picked will be fine," Gaius waves her off, suddenly friendly. "I'm sorry. How are all of you? Please sit down, I'll make us some tea."
"Oh, no need, Gaius—" Morgana says with a polite smile, but he interrupts again.
"No, I insist. You all make yourselves comfortable," he articulates, casting a strange smile at all of them before hurrying up the stairs. They all find a seat in silence, till Morgana raises an eyebrow.
"Well that was . . . odd," she finishes, bouncing Mordred on her lap.
"He's usually so particular about his list," Gwen adds, shaking her head.
Merlin is hardly paying attention. He's looking around the room, and feeling in increments more and more unsettled as his eyes sweep across the shelves. Books like The Weiser Field Guide and Wicca Book of Pentacles and Moon are enough to turn his head, but the Pagan Ritual Prayer Book, Of Crone, Mother and Maiden, and most concerning, The Grimoire . . . Merlin has only ever seen one copy of said book. In the hands of the author.
"—Don't you think, Merlin?"
Merlin tears his gaze from the bookshelf, looking at both of the women and unsure who has spoken.
"Don't you think the weather has been holding out nicely, Merlin?" Gwen repeats politely, and he hurries to nod.
"Sure, yeah." He leans back, smiling. "We've definitely been lucky, so far at least." His right leg starts shaking of its own accord, and Merlin wonders distantly if he at all resembles a canine as his eyes glance furtively at The Grimoire, away, and back again.
"Are you alright?" Morgana says, brows pulled together.
Before he can reply, Gaius's voice calls down to them from the stairs.
"Merlin! Could you come up here and help me bring down the tea?"
"Alright," he flashes a grin to Morgana as he stands up and passes her, almost relieved to get a moment alone with Gaius. He can feel their eyes on his back as he mounts the rickety, spiraling staircase, and after a few seconds reach the second floor.
It's obviously the kitchen, though nearly as strange as the parlor below. The floor is primarily blockaded in plant plots, the counters and table covered in bottles and more books. Light filters from double windows into the dusty air. Gaius is next to an ancient stove, checking on his kettle.
"The tea's not done," Merlin guesses, and Gaius turns, giving him a tired glance. He nods.
"Not quite yet," Gaius says, crossing to Merlin and pulling out one of the chairs at his table. He has to pull off a flowering plant before Merlin can sit.
Then Gaius is looking down at him—calculative, testing, wary. Like Merlin's an unidentified specimen, either poisonous or remedial.
Merlin cuts to the punch. "You have genuine Druid text on the Triple Goddess in your library."
Its not an accusation, just a statement.
And Gaius nods again. "You have the mark of the Druids on your right arm."
Merlin can't help the small smile that forms on his lips. "You have a relic talisman hanging on your wall," he counters.
Gaius harrumphs. "You have the Mark of Nimueh."
Merlin's blood drops cold a few degrees.
"You couldn't have—"
"An educated guess, "Gaius informs, lips pursed. "And based off what we now have confirmed of each other, it is essential I speak with you."
Merlin's mind is turning too quickly to respond. How the old man would know of such a mark, much less that Merlin carries it on his skin—right above his heart—is unfathomable. Unless . . . unless. Just behind his eyes he can see Gaius, Merlin's clairvoyance flipping the image. The future is derailed for the old man, but the past is more heavy and present than . . . well, the present. A lot like Merlin.
"You are a Druid," Gaius is saying, wringing his hands, "or were one before you started this business of yours. And that being said, you are in great—peril, being here. With these people." Unconsciously he's moving closer to Merlin, who's staring at him in confusion.
"I don't get what you mean," Merlin replies, shaking his head. "They asked for me to be here."
"But if they were to find out what you are—"
"They know what I am!" Merlin's hands fly up of their own accord, his heart beating in a stunted rhythm.
"They may know you can speak with the dead," Gaius replies slowly, "but if Mr. Pendragon learns of your past, of your title, Emrys, you will regret it."
"What? What's the worst he could do—fire me?"
Gaius shakes his head, grave. "He'll kill you."