39.

"I know the Pendragons, if that's something you're wondering. I work for them," he starts, "have so going on three years now."

"Lance, originally, was the one to ask for my help. Lawn-mowing, security duties, chauffeuring. Bunch of monkey work, I'll be honest. But I've been going at it that long, still figured no point in stepping out after Gwaine and everything. Gwaine—we became fast friends we did," he says, smile soft, "got each other into a lot of trouble. Arthur wanted both our heads. Not so devious all by myself, of course. I've stayed, since, kept the lookout."

"For what?" Merlin asks, and Percival's level of alarm seems to go up . . . alarmingly.

"Erm. S-security things, I reckon," he stumbles, and quickly takes the last bite of donut to hide it. Merlin waits patiently, until the silence is awkward enough that the man feels obligated to continue. "I was, ahem, doing those things, with Arthur—security things, I mean—about three weeks ago. And that's when, this," he pushed down his hospital gown, revealing thick white gauze over his shoulder. "This happened."

"How?"

"We were just talking, really." Percival is staring at his hands in his lap, eyebrows pulled together like he's concentrating on the memory. "I started looking for the right things to chop up the felled tree. He was going on and on about how close it was to the cairns, to demolishing the left side of the gates. Then, he . . . he stopped talking." Percival looks up and meets Merlin's eyes. Expression haunted.

"I didn't care. I hardly noticed. But then . . . all a sudden I felt this jolt, and then pain, crippling pain, almost straight through me. Like someone just tried to hack my shoulder off."

"You didn't see it happen?"

"Had my back turned. That's all I remember." The man shakes his head. "All except . . . Arthur calling for help. That's the last thing."

"And the next thing, just hospital," Merlin fills in, and the man nods. His eyes shift away though; down, at his untightening and retightening fists. Merlin can feel something between them, unspoken. "What do you think happened?" he tries.

"It fell," Percy says rather defensively, "probably placed haphazardly on the tack board and came down the second I leaned over. Only possible explanation."

And now Merlin knows he's lying.

Merlin sees Percival doesn't seem to carry much hold on the afterlife. His only personal tie seems to be Gwaine – but through that Merlin can see the overall-goodness the man emanates, the easy task doing the right has always been for him. A fierce honesty, only second to an even fiercer loyalty, quickly bought yet still hard-won by those lucky enough to have it.

"I met Gwaine at his cairn," Merlin starts, intent on making this man trust him before asking for the absolute truth. "He was hoping he could meet with you there, but instead it was me. He thought perhaps you'd left, after he died. I guess I can tell him why now. But he . . . told me to trust, trust you. Maybe he had an idea that Gaius would send me to you, looking for answers. I can only guess it has to do with," he waves at Percival's injury, "and that makes me think there is something more to this. Something that might help me get rid of what's haunting the Pendragon house."

"What happened to my shoulder?" Percival asks, skeptical, and when Merlin nods, the man shakes his head. "It was a freak accident. Nobody's fault. Even if it was caused intentionally by this spirit you're chasing, I don't see how knowing that will help you."

"It can," Merlin replies, "if you have an idea why. Tell me: what was your relationship with the late Mr. Uther Pendragon?"

"Arthur's father?" Percival says, eyes wide in surprise. "Professional, I s'pose, is all. Mostly I interacted with Arthur—Uther was either gone working from dawn till dusk, or confined to his bed, after all his heart problems and the most recent episode. Near the end—of his life, I mean—I saw a bit more of him."

"And why's that?" Merlin raises a brow. Percival looks supremely uncomfortable, pulling a hand through his hair anxiously.

"Well, he—he—Oh sod it. If you're telling the truth about all of this, you'll find out soon enough," Percival sighs, slumping in defeat. He meets eye contact with Merlin rather resignedly, saying, "This is under wraps right now. But for about a year, since Uther's decline in health . . . Arthur had been doing some digging. About Camelot and what exactly Uther was investing in." He shakes his head. "It wasn't pretty, to say the least.

"Arthur knew it was near the end for his father, and he knew he couldn't trust any of Uther's inner circle. So he started his own. I happened to be in on that—majored in Business in university, though I never made a decent job out of it—and somehow Uther got wind. It was in his last few months he kept sending for some of us up to his room, on the top floor, and interrogated those he suspected. Including me."

"The top floor . . ?" Merlin feels slightly numb. "You mean, the one at the end of the hall, large, two windows—"

"Covered in big drapes, makes it feel like there was never any sunlight," Percival nods, and seems curious by what Merlin knows must be horror on his face. "That's the one."

There was no denying, now. Uther had spent his days in that room—probably died in that room—and now, as the spirit slowly gathered his strength for whatever he's planned, it is likely that makes his room where the least amount of effort is required: to slash angry messages on the wall, send Merlin vague images of his dark intent, and throw a knife directly over his son's head. All in warning.

"Who else is in this 'inner circle' of Arthur's?" Merlin asks urgently, realizing what this could mean.

"'Inner' is a key term, mate," Percival says, exasperated, "Arthur doesn't want anything leaking out to the media about—"

"More's at stake than just that!" Merlin interrupts, standing. Not caring if Percy's looking at him like he's crazy. "Don't you get it? Everyone in this group of yours—they're in danger. Uther is back, Percival, he really is, and I'd bet whoever else is in Arthur's 'Inner Circle' could be next!"

A warning beeping starts going off; Merlin looks at the machinery next to Percival, only to see that he's raised the man's heart rate quite considerably. But Percival still answers, suppressing panic, "You're wrong, Merlin. That, that's not what this is about."

"Isn't it? Gwen was almost attacked, frightened out of her mind, just last week. I'm willing to wager she's part of this as well, is she not?" Merlin counters.

The machinery starts making alarmed sounds, while still Percival answers, "It wasn't Uther who attacked me, Merlin! I know it wasn't!"

Merlin resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Oh yes, of course, like all of you say, an accident—!"

"NO!"

Percival's mouth sets in a firm line, hands gripping the sides of the hospital bed so hard the plastic creaks. "No," he repeats, "you want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? It wasn't Uther—or gravity. It was Arthur."

40.

Merlin really should be used to people incriminating Arthur by now. But even so, this is a bit far. "Arthur?" he repeats in shock still, eyes threatening to pop out of his sockets."Arthur whacked at you, with a hatchet?"

Percival looks slightly sheepish. "After I came to, there were a lot of people asking questions. Because apparently it's a pretty deep wound—almost hit my lung, even—and too deep for it to have just fallen on me unless it'd been from the top of a two story building, or something."

"And Arthur was behind you . . ." Merlin mutters, frowning in concentration. What on earth would possess Arthur to bury an axe in his employee's back?

"He was. He . . . he also, had the axe in his hand, before I turned around," Percival manages to admit, looking down at his lap.

"This makes no sense," Merlin says bluntly.

"It doesn't!" He sounds relieved. "That's why I haven't told anyone. But Arthur hasn't come to see me since," Percival shrugs, shaking his head. "So I can't ask him what he remembers about it. He keeps sending cards with Gwen, and his cell is always busy. Which makes it seem . . . like he's avoiding me, and the truth. I probably should tell the truth. The crazy prick put an axe in my back, accident or not! But still, I can't incriminate him when it makes absolutely no sense . . ."

"Right before he decided to get 'professional help," Merlin mutters, remembering this piece of the puzzle. "Right when he decided to account for the possibility all this could be supernatural. What if . . ."

His musings are cut short. "Excuse me, I'm sorry, there was a high jump in Mr. Galles' heart rate. I need to make sure everything's alright," the nurse has come back in, smiling apologetically until Merlin realizes he's in her way of the machinery.

As he steps back, Percy shrugs, "You might as well call Morgana and Lance back in, since she seemed to know after all: 'the truth will out,' and it certainly has. Maybe we can all share the breakfast Lance brought!" He seems enormously pleased by the idea.

Merlin nods, grinning; he leaves the nurse putting a compressor on Percy's arm and decides to go back to the sitting area of this particular hospital unit. It's the most likely place Lancelot and Morgana are waiting—though he ends up never reaching it.

There's no need to walk much farther than the door to find the two of them, leaning against either wall with hatred burning in their eyes. A tension already stands, moving like a live wire between them and making it clear he might have just walked into a rather heated discussion.

"Oh, Merlin!" Morgana says, though she's looking at Lance still as she speaks, "How good of you to come fetch us. I can't wait to hear everything Percy's told you." Loathing drips from every syllable, her eyes dark and brooding in a way Merlin's never seen.

In a way that is slightly frightening.

Lance's eyes widen; he looks at Merlin in horror, saying urgently, "Keep to yourself anything he's told you—don't say a word to anyone else. To her."

Morgana laughs; it's a hard, dry sound, bitter and course. "Sorry to disappoint, Lance, but I actually do have a few allies these days. Merlin's a recently acquired one."

"And how long will that last? You may have convinced Arthur, Gaius, maybe even, even Gwen," he stutters, sounding pained, "but you'll never fool me twice." His hands are clenched in fists at his sides.

She still hangs against the wall, completely at ease. "I don't know, Lance, you tell me. How long do your relationships seem to last?"

Morgana seems to have struck a nerve there. "You just love watching everyone else suffer, don't you Morgana?" Lance almost spits, face twisted. "Because you live such a wretched existence yourself. The only joy you get is in making everyone else just as miserable!"

This puts Merlin over the edge: "What is wrong with you two? What's going on?" He looks between either of them; both are two busy staring down the other to notice.

"Maybe you should tell him; what you've done to Uther. To Arthur, to Gwen, to everyone. See what he thinks then," Lance says. Morgana clenches her jaw.

"We're leaving," she announces, loud and harsh, and suddenly she's moving towards Merlin, grabbing him by the arm with a digging grip and ignoring Lance's calls—"Get away from her, Merlin! Don't let her ruin your life too!"—as she tows Merlin away.

"Mor-Morgana, Morgana what's the matter—wait—" Merlin wrenches his arm out of hers when she won't stop, and he looks down at her in utter confusion. That confusion only intensifies when he slowly takes in her red-rimmed eyes, the pale wet lines running down her cheeks. How her chin is trembling.

He lets her lead them out without another word after that, all the while wondering what on earth could have happened between her and those two men.

They're almost to her car when he tugs her stiff shoulder to a stop. She stills, not turning around. "What did he mean?" Merlin asks, feeling her shoulder stiffen even more, if it were possible.

Morgana whips her head around, looking at Merlin over her shoulder in an offhand, bored sort of manner. It's off-putting, considering there are still tracks of tears on her face. "Perhaps you hadn't figured it out yet," she says breezily, like this is all a good joke. "But they must have made it quite clear by now, I would hope: I'm a very bad, horrible person."

She smirks and looks forward again, as if that settles the matter—but Merlin isn't finished. "I'm not joking around," he says seriously, stepping in her way, and he catches how her smirk falters ever-so-slightly. "So stop acting like this is so funny. Why do those two—hate you, so much?"

Merlin already knows about her and what she did while employed at Camelot Industries. That isn't his question here—and for some reason, Merlin doesn't think it's the answer, either.

Morgana says one word: "Car," before briskly setting off again, leaving Merlin to catch up. It seems as if Merlin will get answers there, if anywhere, but he watches her face dubiously as they exit the hospital. Her expression betrays nothing. The car park is full enough that it's a trek to where hers is parked, near the back, and by the time she has it unlocked and Merlin moves inside he's wondering whether she will speak at all.

But Morgana doesn't make it inside. She opens her door, gripping the top of the car with one hand to get in—and suddenly sways forward, almost jabbing her face into the window before managing to catch herself. "Sorry," she mutters, ducking her head in, "I just . . ."

Her eyes roll backward, and Merlin barely has time to exclaim out—"Morgana!"—before the very same is falling, like a dizzy, catapulting leaf, to the concrete ground.

A/N: What in Albion is wrong with Morgana! Well, with practically everyone in this chapter, besides Merlin of course. I'm sorry to confuse you any further, my friends, but as aforementioned, "the truth will out!" If you can't tell, the net is slowly closing in. Uther's plan is slowly solidifying to Merlin, and soon all that'll be left is stop it. Pinky promise.
Review, as a Christmas gift to me! Who knows, I might get motivated enough to give one back, in the form of an update, hhmmmmm...we'll see.

Last but not least, "How to Save a (Love) Life" is now complete! I'd love it if you read it, go check it out! Especially if you happen to be in the need for a Mergana fix ;) Okay, shameless self-advertisement over.
Till next time, friends!