A/N: Wow, so many new follows and favorites! I am in awe of the amazing response you've given! Man you guys are cool. I'm really honored so many keep reading this (especially all of you guests!), it totally boosts my motivation to keep writing even when I'm in a tough patch. You know what else does? Reviews. Honestly, I just look back at them and get all these fuzzy feelings inside telling me KEEP WRITING SOMEBODY CARES. So, thanks. This chapter doesn't have some of the answers I intended to fit in, but I'm positive all the important pieces of the puzzle are now on the table. All of them. Only thing left is to start piecing them together, right?
Just updated a small reincarnation one-shot if anyone wants to check it out. That'd be cool...
Okay, end of shameless self-advertising.
Warning-depictions of major character death. (DEPICTIONS, mind you, not the actual thing.) Also no knowledge when it comes to businesses and investment firms AT ALL. Bear with me.
21.
He turns around, glares at the chair.
It glares back.
Merlin can tell, quite quickly this time, what's taken him longer to identify the three times before. First, at the front door, then at the cairns, and last using the Summoning Circle Monday night.
It's here.
Sitting in the chair he'd sat in like the past few days of dormancy never happened, looking straight at him. Merlin can't see, but he can feel. The icy bitter hatred clawing at his nerves, pricking at his skull.
Possessive, I see. Was I sitting in your favorite chair?
Another wave of hatred washes over Merlin's scalp, making him shiver. But the spirit stays silent.
You're a strange one. You acted so high and mighty, so superior my first day here. Yet you've stayed in the shadows, dormant since then, up until overturning that table and scaring Gwen.
Is that all you're here for? A little scare or two?
Nothing. If it wasn't for the heavy coldness present in the room, Merlin would think the spirit left.
What has Arthur done?
What is it he's paying for?
The room seems to be getting darker. Like an impromptu shade of cloud cover has conveniently rolled in just now.
It's cloaked in invisibility, in silence, but he still feels it when the dark presence draws nearer. Merlin moves back a little, kicking his feet against the wooden floor. He doesn't realize he's trying to get away until a wave of horror turns his stomach. Horrible images flash behind his eyes:
Gwen, pieces of glass embedded like crystal in her neck, eyes glassy and blood pooling crimson on the floor.
A small little body, floating on its back in a green lake, black hair rippling with the water.
A dark sky looming over the estate—countless other faces Merlin doesn't recognize, turned away from the gates..
Then, Arthur. Standing amidst all of it, face wavering. Like there could be two outcomes. Merlin sees them both; he sees Arthur crumble to his knees, defeated. But he also watches a different Arthur—standing resolutely, at the gates of the estate. Smiling.
The distance between him and the spirit is closing in, its presence thicker, heavier, all but wrapping around him, and Merlin is suffocating on the images, his throat squeezing uselessly for air, like gripping fingers are grabbing, then choking, then quickly closing around his shoulder—
Merlin wrenches back from the hand, fear panging like a pulse in his gut. His eyes don't fully comprehend what they see above him as the other horrific images fade: a worried face, an outstretched arm, a hand still reaching for him.
"Merlin. What's wrong? Merlin, are you alright?"
He blinks a few times, breathing in a miraculous lungful of air. He meets the concerned face again, this time with recognition. "Are you alright?" Gwen repeats, still offering out a hand.
Merlin takes it, rising to his feet unsteadily. His legs feel brittle, more unsteady than ever. "Fine," he manages, cringing inwardly at the light filtering into the room and warming the air. Like that dark presence, that horrible imagery of Gwen's unseeing eyes and blood-matted curls were just guiles of his imagination.
Because here she is, in front of him, completely un-maimed if a little anxious.
Gwen is leading him somewhere; the north side of the floor, he thinks dimly. Almost all of those doors had been locked during his initial exploration. They pass two hallways, turning on the third. A blond maid is retreating from one of the doors, locking it behind her, when they turn round the corner.
"Eira?" Gwen says lightly, quite unaffected despite Merlin's heavy grip on her arm.
The girl jumps to face them both. She appears taken aback, both at the sight of them and the state of Merlin. He must look quite wretched.
"Mrs. Pendragon! I'm so sorry, I was just—" she blushes, smoothing down her gray skirt. Still shooting Merlin almost curious glances. "Is something the matter? Shall I—"
"Bring tea for Merlin and I," Gwen says firmly. "Yes. We'll be in the study."
Eira the maid nods quickly, darting past them whilst fixing slightly ruffled hair. Merlin wonders if she wasn't the only disheveled person to walk out of the room.
Gwen stops at a door halfway down the hallway. "Merlin?" she glances up at him, expression almost apologetic. "I need my arm."
He stares at her stupidly for a moment before realizing. "Sorry," he tries for a grin, releasing the arm that then pulls a key from her pocket, unlocking the door and permitting them inside.
The inside is both plain and expensive; shelves and furniture of plush fabric and dark, thick wood, shining wooden floors and simple decorations. The study is all that the name entails—closed-off, comfortable, quiet, with lampshades next to each chair. Gwen sits him down in one, placing a hand on his cheek.
"You're freezing," she almost scolds, moving to warm his face with both hands.
Merlin's hands stop her own. "It's fine." He lets go of one of her hands, patting the other. "Sorry to give you a scare."
"Give me a scare? Merlin, you look like you've seen a gh—" Gwen stops herself quickly, gentle smile freezing unnaturally. Merlin swallows.
"You look horribly pale," she amends eventually. "Perhaps I should call Gaius—?"
He shakes his head.
They stay like that, Merlin sitting and holding one of her small hands, Gwen standing with one against his warming cheek, up until a tentative knock sounds from the door. Eira leaves them their tea, after being reassured by Gwen she needs nothing else, and they drink silently. And though Merlin seriously still has no fondness for the beverage, when he drinks the warmth seems to seep into somewhere deeper than his stomach. Somewhere still harboring memories, as heavy as a stone, reminding him of the one time in the past a spirit has shown him equally horrid things.
There's a closed laptop on one of the ottomans, and Gwen swivels the latter to a chair and sits near him. Merlin watches as she taps and types for a little, taking a sip of tea every now and then. Completely alive. No glass embedded in her neck.
"You need to tell me everything," he blurts suddenly, putting the cup down.
22.
Gwen jerks in surprise, gasping as her tea spills a little and burns her neck. Merlin's next words dry up in his mouth.
"Oh, Gwen, sorry—"
She waves off his apologies, wiping the skin dry with a napkin. "You just startled me is all. What with not speaking more than a few words, the past few minutes."
"Sorry. I've just . . . you are . . . I need to know." Merlin can tell by how Gwen is still dabbing at her neck, eyes down, that he won't pull this out of her easily. "Whatever you're not telling me."
Silence. "Mrs. Pendragon, there is something." Their eyes meet, hers wary.
Merlin pours all the fervor he can into his next words. "And that secret, whatever none of you are clueing me in on, it's going to cost you. More than you think." His tongue feels heavy, just imagining the task of describing what he's seen to Gwen.
Her face pales, mouth working silently. "I can't be kept in the dark. Whatever part of Arthur's past, the part that's caused all this to happen, I need to hear it."
He feels his heart sink impossibly lower when she begins to shake her head.
"Gwen, listen—"
"No, you need to listen," she cuts in, voice drawn. "This is not. Arthur's. fault. He's trying his best. He's doing his best for me, for Morgana and Mordred, for Camelot. Whatever the cost his best demands, it's worth paying."
She isn't making any sense. "What if this spirit isn't just a nuisance? What if it means greater harm, worse than spooking you in your mirror and overturning a table?"
Gwen opens her mouth, then closes it.
"Merlin," she starts slowly, "I didn't say that I saw it in my mirror."
"I overheard you tell Arthur," he deadpans. "I heard what you said: that you saw his face. 'Truly did,' as you put it." This woman knows more, he's positive, than what she's letting on.
Gwen's face turns frightened. "Please Merlin, let's talk about something else."
"No. This is why I'm here, if you recall, not to entertain Arthur or babysit Mordred. I've had enough of all you Pendragons shutting down the second I try to do my job." Merlin knows he's being harsh, knows his words are what is causing the panic in her eyes. But he's not done. "This is the—the strangest—job, case, I've ever undertaken, considering the past five days hardly any of you breathe a word to me, yet you hired me knowing full well what this would entail. I'm a psychic medium, Guinevere. I am the channel between the spirit stalking your household, and you."
He shakes his head. "A channel is useless, though, if one side is completely dammed up with secrets and lies."
Gwen says nothing, holding gaze between his blue and her brown. Apparently marrying into the family also includes taking up the classic Pendragon stare.
There's a moment, a clear singular second in which Merlin sees her face waver. Falter, almost.
Then music blares into the air, ending that moment. Gwen pulls her eyes from him, taking her ringing phone from her pocket. "Arthur. Yes, I did." She stands, giving Merlin a wan smile before heading towards the door.
He feels a short, sick turn in his stomach when the door clicks shut. "The last of the files . . . " Her voice fades into nothing, Merlin left sitting alone in the study. The tea is just warm enough now in his hands, warm enough to taste its bitter tang.
There's no real explanation for why he does what he does next. Moving over to where Gwen was sitting, moving his finger over the black screen.
It flares to life again, tabs Gwen's pulled up still lined up under the search engine.
Chilled Investors bear the blunt of a Frozen Camelot (by Julius Borden, June 21st, 2014, editor-in-chief of the Albion Times.)
Camelot Industries, global investment firm, headquartered in Albion, England. The recent
halt of activity, freezing all assets and investments, has been engaged by Arthur Pendragon
not a year into his acquired position as managing director. Investors are now left at odds with
this sudden, unexplained cessation of what has been an exponential growth of capitol, the
most in recent years Camelot Industries has seen since its formation in 1986. Since Camelot
adjusted its strategy to focus on leveraged buyoutsand growth capitalinvestments, in more
mature companies like Nemeth Packaging and Gormause Inc., their model to buy . . .
Merlin skimmed through the rest, ignoring the Business Major in him. His eyes are all but yanked back to a portion at the near bottom of the article, when a certain name catches his eye.
Speculation on the mental state of the young, inexperienced Arthur Pendragon, likely still grieving
over his father the late Uther Pendragon (CEO of Camelot Industries, July 1986-January 2012),
running a firm managing more than $75 billion of investor capital . . .
The rest features mostly gossip, an anonymous source informing on Arthur's strange behavior at headquarters and lack of communication with major investors. Merlin's brain feels exhausted, just reading about all of it.
The next tab is little more telling—an answered email:
My problem, as you so pointed out, still remains. Whatever new deals or
promising investments you wish to push down my throat, you'll be wasting
your time doing so. I'm not sure what you expect of me, Mr. Pendragon,
but I can tell you what I expect of you. Your father had it right in very few
things, but in this we always agreed. Whatever noble cause all this stems
from, you need to take into account the thousands of jobs at risk. The
billions of dollars at stake.
I expect you'll make a grand show pulling out of every investment you
define as immoral, and revert right back to Uther Pendragon's standard of
Camelot Industries, in the end. Because there's no other way to keep up
the empire your father's created. You will lose, and keep losing, and I will
pull out quicker than even Alined would dream of the second you start.
Camelot will crumble into nothing and all you'll have is your spoiled family
name and whatever cash is stuffed in your drawers.
I say all of this, and yet numbers speak better for me: 54 public limited
companies and 23 billion in venture capital. You lose me, you lose that.
You lose that, you lose me.
Friend to friend, I would start rigging some anonymous sources.
Cenred King
At the bottom of the email is the url to the article Merlin just read. In response, Gwen has only a few words typed out:
Thank you for responding. As I've pointed out before, either way you will
lose any chance at profit. However if you would continue to aid Camelot in
time your losses would be repaid. Double, if things can be worked out
between Gormause Inc. Uther spent most of |
Camelot Industries is facing troubles, then. Merlin puzzles over this, wondering at Arthur's decision to put the entire firm on standby. It wouldn't hurt investments for quite a while, but it would leave his primary investors edgy. And what Cenred King, obviously one of them, sent about "pulling out of every investment you define as immoral," what did that mean?
Of course, this has little to do with anything Merlin is trying to figure out. The bit about the late Uther Pendragon, CEO before Arthur, and Cenred's comments on Uther's "standard of Camelot Industries," tell Merlin a little more on the man, but nothing about who he was to Arthur. Other than, it appears, his father.
Gwen has yet to come back. It would be pointless even if she does, Merlin knows, judging by the relieved way she shut the door behind her. He's gone to all of the Pendragons for answers, yet here he sits, having to resort to reading their emails. It's unsettling, after helping many people eager to spill their stories and reconcile with their deceased. Who would have guessed it, Merlin misses other talkative people.
The atmosphere of the silent study changes. Like an answer to a prayer, Merlin feels an unexpected, dominant presence slam into him almost like a rock to the head. With all of the force, and none of the pain.
"Gwaine?"
He turns to see a weak shadow of the man, leaning against the bookcase with his arms crossed.
Gwaine grins. "Did you miss me?"