55.

Merlin never saw Cara again.

For a while he was glad; she'd taken the horn, the grimoire, and vanished by the time he'd woken. It was in some ways much easier, waking up alone, disoriented in Nimueh's old house days after the incident.

In some ways, Merlin would never forget the gutting despair of waking, only to find his entire soul still ripped from him.

In a manner of speaking, of course. Merlin could move, control his limbs again, press his tongue into words that sounded like harsh nothingness in the empty room. Nimueh technically had retreated back to the afterlife, never to return.

He couldn't be this any longer, though. Though she may no longer control him, Merlin felt an acute absence there as he blinked crusty eyes up at a gray ceiling, as he stumbled out the front door, not once looking back at the little dwelling.

He felt light; hollow, empty. For a few months he made a half-hearted attempt at tracking down Cara, just to . . . see her. To prove to himself that the past year hadn't been a fevered dream.

Then he read about Cathbhadh. And connected how Nimueh had them handfasted so she could inhabit him. After that Merlin quickly put down the practices of the druids, locked away all sight of clairvoyance into the dustiest corner of his brain, and went back to university. He earned a degree in business. He moved on. But even in the days that followed, when Mithian and him tried to work, when he decided to become a working medium after his degree helped him little, when Merlin thought he'd put it all behind him, still the ghosts remained.

And they would till the day he faced them.

ooOOoo

Merlin and Arthur sit across from each other at the table, Arthur resting his chin on steepled fingers as he looks down at what Merlin is already staring at. The horn of Cathbhadh lies innocently on the table between them, gleaming dimly. Rain patters on the window panes distantly, the only sound beside the occasional rustling of a page as Gaius reads from the grimoire at the head of the table, frowning absentmindedly.

Morgana stands behind him, arms crossed and glancing worriedly at all of them in succession. Merlin wishes he could console her, that comforting words could have any effect in present circumstances.

They won't.

Arthur has been rather quiet since Merlin explained his connection to Cara, forehead folded into a heavy, worried wrinkle as he's glanced more and more at the horn in the time that's passed. He hardly seems to be paying attention, showing no reaction when Gaius abruptly stands and slams the book on the table.

Merlin still jumps, too spooked from the idea of doing . . . well, what they plan on doing.

"It's possible," Gaius declares, and Morgana rushes to his side, peering down at the old page the book is still open to. Merlin recognizes it immediately, even at this angle. The diagram is one he used to reference so often in tutelage under Nimueh-and one he's used so often Merlin has literally done it in his sleep on accident.

"A Summoning Circle?" he asks incredulously, leaning back on the old rickety chair. It creaks, almost loud enough to spook him again. "You think we could manage it with a Summoning Circle?"

"Merlin's right, Gaius," Morgana agrees, frowning down at the page.

"He would be usually," Gaius says, looking down at him imperiously. Merlin raises an eyebrow to match.

"What's wrong with-whatever that is," Arthur asks, sounding annoyed that he's out of the loop.

"Its one of the most basic ways to summon a spirit," Merlin explains, "one of the weakest forces against a spirit trying to inhabit the living world. Its primarily for the use of non-malicious or merely troubled spirits. Like what I originally thought your father was, the first three nights."

Arthur stares across the table at him, incredulous. "You mean the circle thing with the wax and flames and my footie shoes?"

"Yes, Arthur, the circle thing," Merlin rolls his eyes, and turns back to Gaius. "That's only worked once. The very first night, in fact, which makes me think Uther simply came to send a message. He wasn't at all forced to be present, he wanted to be. And he easily avoided my call the next two nights after."

Gauis sighs heavily, leaning forward with his hands on the book. "I understand, I do. But this is all I could find. Elementary as it may be, the Summoning Circle is the only ritual I know of that could give Arthur the sight for any long extended period of time. He needs that, if you are too go through with this."

This, as in one of the most catastrophically dangerous nights of my life, if not my last.

The whole estate has been evacuated; Leon himself led it on Arthur's authority, confirming not an hour ago that even the news reporters had to vacate the premises. The only thing that waits for them there, if Arthur and Merlin were to return, is Uther himself.

So of course, that's exactly why they have to go.

"Arthur wouldn't necessarily have to see him though, would he?" Morgana frowns, pursing her lips. "As long as Merlin knew he was there, he could just tell Arthur when to blow the horn-"

"Unfortunately its more specific than that," Gaius shakes his head, and his eyes flicker to Merlin. "The person who called the spirit from the grave must not only be the one to force them back, but they must be connected enough to do so. Its the connection itself that allows for the spirit to be called; Arthur being Uther's bloodson, this Cara girl being Nimueh's blooddaughter. Arthur being able to see Uther is essential-it establishes that he is indeed facing his father, and for Uther that it is his son forcing him back. That knowledge is essential, for the horn to work."

"So Arthur has to see his father," Merlin realizes slowly, "so he accepts it. Or at least, see him in a certain sense-technically Cara saw my body, not Nimueh's."

"This is ridiculous," Arthur deadpans. "Are the druids' only pleasure in life inventing rules to complicate everyone else's lives?"

"They don't make the rules," Morgana sighs, in a tone that clearly insinuates how much an idiot she thinks Arthur is. "Now let's move on. Point is you two have to use the Summoning Circle, whether its worked in the past or not. The real question we should worry about is how we ensure it does work this time."

"What time was it when you first succeeded summoning Uther?" Gaius looks between Merlin and Arthur, who shrugs.

Merlin scratches his head, biting his lip. "Nine at night? I think?"

"Did the flame alight easily?"

"For the most part."

"What about the circle itself-was Arthur connected effectively to the grounds?"

That stops Merlin short. "Well . . . "

"No?"

"I don't know. I mean, we used his footie shoes!" Merlin admits, exasperated. "That's all he could come up with."

"Your stinking eight year old ones from university?" Morgana scrunches her nose, looking amused. "That's the most personally significant object you own?"

Arthur Pendragon actually blushes.

"Oi! It wasn't eight years ago," he splutters, "why does everyone think I'm so old?"

"Because you dress like it," Merlin shrugs, and before Arthur can open his mouth to argue continues, "maybe we just need to try something else. That would be a simple solution. And if it's strong enough of a connection-he'll be able to see Uther himself? Just like that?"

"There is one part of the ritual that must be added upon, actually," Gaius says, and squints down at the text of the page. "Evoco lemures. Larvae manes. Ostendo ego."

"Ostendo ego," Merlin mutters, understanding. Reveal thyself.

"But to answer your question, yes, if we can think of a powerful enough object for Arthur to use instead, you'd have a chance." Gaius purses his lips then, staring at Arthur pointedly. Merlin and Morgana follow in suit.

"What?" he asks defensively, leaning back from their stares in annoyance. "I can't think of anything off the top of my head. I've said it before, there's nothing material I really care about."

"Well we can't very well put Gwen in the circle," Morgana scoffs.

"What about something you don't care about necessarily, but still carries important memories?" Gaius suggests, and Arthur locks his jaw, brow furrowing as he looks down again.

For a good length of a minute.

56.

Its silent until Morgana breaks it, declaring, "Enough of this. Arthur might as well think on the drive there. You're running out of time as it is." Merlin agrees, nodding as he stands and Arthur follows suit with the horn in his hand.

She quickly hugs Arthur, and then Merlin, before pulling back and planting one straight on his lips.

Merlin smiles, not thinking too much of it until a loud clank jars him.

"Morgana!" Arthur half-shouts, looking scandalized. "You did not just-"

"Do this?" she replies innocently, before grabbing Merlin by the neck and pulling him into another kiss.

Well, that's one way to break the news to him.

At least Merlin was in the least incriminating circumstance he could be, Morgana taking most of the blame in this instance. I'll likely still be dead meat before the end of tonight, regardless of which Pendragon kills me first.

Taking strange comfort in that he gently pries Morgana's face from his, trying to school his features before meeting Arthur's face. He looks . . . well, not completely murderous.

"You ordered him to stay away from me, not tell me a thing," Morgana turns brazenly back to Arthur as well, raising an eyebrow as she crosses her arms. "See how that worked out. Treating me like a child, shutting me away from everything just like Uther did."

Arthur's pale complexion turned a light shade of green. He swallowed before saying, "I never meant to . . . cage you again, Morgana. You live with us of your own free will. But with Merlin, I just . . ."

"Just what?" she prompts, voice still angry.

Arthur's eyes flicker to Merlin's arm before responding, "I've known how you've been getting your nightmares again."

"You-who told you that?" Morgana stutters, wrong-footed.

"I did," Gaius steps forward, hands clasped in front of him. "Arthur always has cared for you, and I knew he would look out for you."

"And being around . . . well, no offense, Merlin-but admittedly disturbed people like him, I thought it'd make it worse." Arthur's eyes are sincere as he adds, "I wanted to protect you."

"Get over yourself, you noble ass," Morgana rolls her eyes, but a twitch of her lips betray her. Arthur's mouth curls at the corners as well, and slowly yet somehow quickly all four of them are grinning widely at each other.

But Merlin just can't help himself. "Disturbed people like me, you say?" he repeats, mock offended, and Arthur's grin twists into a smirk.

"Yes, well, apparently I'm not the only one whose clothing betrays them," Arthur gestures up and down at him. Merlin looks down at his clothes, frowning.

"What's wrong with them?" he asks, just before his brain slowly picks up on the fact he's the only one in the room in a full assemblage of black.

"Black is slimming, Arthur," Morgana puts in, and Merlin could kiss her. He actually could.

"As if Merlin needs to lose some weight," Arthur laughs, shaking his head.

"Alright, alright, fair enough, I leave you alone about your grandpa clothes and you leave me alone about my vampire assemblage. Deal?" Merlin raises an eyebrow.

"Deal," Arthur says breezily. "There's plenty other things for me to complain about you."

"In that case," Gaius interjects, "it might be a good idea to get ready. Merlin, you need to remember the extra part of the chant-ostendo ego. Arthur, you need to think of an object with great meaning to you. And you both need to have your electronical devices as charged as possible so that Morgana may communicate with you."

"They're phones, Gaius," Morgana laughs, unintimidated by his answering glare. She takes a step closer toward Merlin, wrapping a small hand around his arm before murmuring, "You should say goodbye to Mordred, upstairs." Merlin's either an idiot for not knowing if she's trying to insinuate something or an even bigger idiot if she actually isn't.

He nods either way, and in answer to Arthur's protest repeats, "Saying goodbye to Mordred!" before the rest of him is pulled up the stairs.

Morgana quickly shuts the door quietly behind them when they reach a guest room on the second floor, gesturing to the porta crib against the wall silently. He hears soft, breathing noises. Merlin nods in understanding for a second before she's crossed the space between them in the next.

"I should be coming with you," she murmurs, looking down as she traces his collarbone under his shirt with a finger. Merlin barely suppresses a shiver. "I would, if I wasn't so worried Mordred will be led off to a lake the second I'm not looking."

Then her eyes meet his, green and almost glowing in the dim light of a single lamp. "Tonight might be your last night."

"So much faith in me, I see," he half-jests, wondering if she actually fears for his life. Wondering if he should as well.

She shoves him in the shoulder with her other hand, suddenly indignant. "I didn't mean like that, you idiot. I meant . . . here. With us. At Pendragon Estate."

The realization hits him like a slap in the face.

If Merlin and Arthur succeeded tonight, it would over. His employment here at Pendragon Estate would end. He'd have no viable reason to ever see these people again.

Unless.

"Is it?" he raises an eyebrow, unable to suppress a smug grin. "Will you miss me, then?"

Her eyes narrow to slits. "Merlin Emrys," she growls, downright intimidating, "if you dare play the smug arsehole male for another bleeding second-"

Merlin cuts her off by one more step, closing the last of the remaining distance as he buries a hand in her hair. He has just enough time to see Morgana's confusion morph into ill-disguised surprise before his other hand is at her waist and his lips are meeting hers.

He pours everything he can into this action. How worried he is for her and Mordred, why he can't even think of never seeing her again, where he wants to stay rather than having to leave her here. That this isn't goodbye. Its see you later, of course.

When he pulls back it seems she understands; Morgana's eyes are lit by the smallest, most hopeful of smiles. She brings up a hand, tracing a finger slowly from his lips to his chin, and Merlin can't help but suck in a breath. "Stay safe," she whispers, and pulls her hand away only to envelop him in a tight embrace.

Merlin squeezes back, resting his chin on her head as she continues in more of a murmur, "Don't make me have to come in a blaze of glory and save you dudemars from the villain . . ."

She trails off, body going rigid, but Merlin is too busy inwardly dying inside at how she's remembered the term he'd used when they first met, his lame attempts at flirting. How this right here, Merlin and Morgana wrapped in each other's arms, would have been a laughable fantasy then.

Merlin is pulled from his thoughts only when her arms stiffen even further before falling to her sides, breath hitching. He pulls back and puts his hands gently on either arm, looking down at her concerned.

"Morgana?"

Her lips quiver a moment, eyes glassy, unseeing. But Merlin is holding her, he's touching her even, and he sees nothing. "Theconnectionbetweenthemitwillbreak," she spits out, too fast for him to comprehend. Merlin stares wide-eyed down at her, wondering at the shock in her face, and before he can register what is happening her legs crumble beneath her. He barely has enough time to lean her against him as she falls, shaking against him, mumbling intelligible words.

A part of him fears the worst.

Any second she might stiffen, leap at him, try to suffocate him again. Merlin knows this and is even more certain that no matter the chance of it, he can't help but slowly lower her to the ground anyway, gently lean her head against his shoulder. Her neck lolls a bit, eyes rolling to the back of her head, and Merlin holds her tightly as her body shudders.

He should call for help. Even if it would wake Mordred.

". . . connection, break . . ." she mumbles, the shudders subsiding. Her eyes blink open slowly, resting on him in a daze.

"I'm going to get Gaius," he tells her, relieved, but she stops him with a hand tight as a vice around his.

"The connection between them," she says slowly, as if trying to remember. Her eyes briefly lighten when she does. "The connection . . . it will break."

"Between who?" Merlin says, afraid he already knows the answer.

He does. "Arthur and his father," she replies. A hard rock falls in Merlin's stomach, at the thought of this somehow coming true. If so, then their plan is hopeless.

We're walking into our deaths.