A/N: Hey there. This is crazy, but I practically finished this darn thing finally. I also have a playlist I've been putting together since FOREVER ago, and I think it's time to release it to my public (that means you). The link, if you take out the Enters, is:
8tracks.
com
/imagineligers
/rivulet
Check it out! Maybe even listen to it as you read this chapter and the epilogue (which will be my last update, GAHHHHHH what's going on?)
:) Happy reading!
61.
Of course he does. Merlin has heard it too many times since accepting this job at the estate.
Of course. But it's never sounded so real, because the spirit of Uther Pendragon never truly revealed himself like this until now.
Until they've forced him to.
Estendo ego.
Its as if the temperature in the room dropped even further in the past ten seconds. A heavy, black blanket smothers him with dread, seeing the two Pendragons meet the other's eyes.
Arthur looks like his father.
It's more Arthur's expression than anything hereditary, the stiff mask that he seems to pull over himself without a thought, a second skin, as he stands and faces his father. The same stony scowl he's worn since the beginning, and now it's ever clearer as to where he's learned it.
"Father," he says, breath puffing in the air. His eyes are tight.
"Your witchboy called me," the spirit replies, and the tone demands an explanation.
"Yes," is all Arthur says, though, and his father's empty sockets seethe white.
"You dare bring another devil-worshipper into this house? A druid?" Uther spits through a skeletal mouth.
Merlin stands as well, feeling now's a good time to jump in. "Excuse me, but I would not worship you if it saved my life," he says frankly, though the spirit doesn't stoop to glance in his direction.
"You've let your sister be corrupted once again," he tells Arthur, who shakes his head.
"No. Father, you need to stop this right now. Leave here, go in peace."
Uther Pendragon laughs, a grating sound that produces a similar effect on Merlin as nails on a chalkboard. "You could not last a day without my guidance. Even now, head of my company, you squander and make decisions, directionless. You cut off ties with other companies I've spent a lifetime developing, all in the name of your self-dignified morals. You marry a useless woman who doesn't even truly love you, replace my board with your brainless friends."
"And so in return you try to murder them all?" Arthur takes a step forward, jaw clenched. "That's your idea of guidance, Father?"
"Arthur, focus, we need to -" Merlin starts.
"You're still a foolish child," Uther cuts him off, stone-faced at Arthur. "No deed can easily be set in black and white. I was saving you from yourself."
"Like the foreign companies you deal with," Arthur smiles grimly, "I suppose you thought very little of their horrendous crimes."
"The only horrendous crime I am concerned with is patricide," Uther spits back, and suddenly he turns to face Merlin, skeletal face grim and foreboding. Merlin stares back, hand frozen where it's gone in his pocket, and he wonders if perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea to reveal he has the horn right now. If he values his life.
The room flashes, almost bright as noon day for just a moment, followed by a thunderous crack that shakes the floor beneath him. Merlin and Arthur stumble to stay on their feet, though Uther doesn't seem to be affected.
Outside a great groan can be heard, followed by a series of smaller cracks, and then one great CRASH.
"Was that . . . ?" Arthur asks, sounding horrified, and Merlin is afraid to answer. He's afraid to be right.
"The car," the spirit replies calmly, confirming Merlin's fear. "Sounds like the tree has flattened it."
Things are getting very bad very quickly. "Arthur!" Merlin shouts to get his attention and then brandishes the horn as if to throw it to him.
He never gets the chance. Uther opens his mouth wide in a freakish roar, and something hard and sharp slams into the back of Merlin's skull. He distantly feels himself go down, knees buckling and spine slamming to wooden floor. White spots dance behind his eyes, and he can't tell if they're open or not.
He strains to make out any sounds over the buzzing in his ears, hearing voices speaking as if he is underwater.
"Don't you dare take another step," he can make out Uther's cold voice, "or I'll finish the job."
"What happened to you?" Arthur's voice is pleading, desperate.
"My son killed me in cold blood," his father answers, and Merlin can finally make out enough to see Uther standing between him and Arthur.
"You were dying," Arthur defends, and Uther laughs a cold, bone-chilling laugh.
"I was. And I still love you. Understand that, Arthur. I'm saving you from yourself."
Just like that he disappears. Merlin blinks hard, wondering if his eyes are still deceiving him, but Arthur looks as shocked as him.
"You've . . . seen him. You know it's your father. That should be . . . enough," Merlin gets out through his dizziness, trying to sit up and hold the horn out to him. Something about the pounding of his head makes him wonder if he hasn't been hit in the same exact spot as last time.
Arthur nods slowly, reaching to take it. The toe of his shoe nudges an object lying next to Merlin, who recognizes the dagger even in the nonexistent light. "He hit me with the handle end," Merlin realizes aloud. "He really can't truly kill anyone, in spirit form."
"Well, that's a relief," Arthur nods, clapping Merlin on the shoulder before standing and raising the horn. "Let's hope this works," he adds before putting it to his mouth. Merlin watches in anticipation as the other man sucks in a breath to release.
Except he never does. The air seems to be trapped in his lungs, as if the horn has a stopper in it, except even as Arthur lowers it puts a hand to his chest he still can't manage to breathe.
"Arthur!" Merlin cries in alarm, trying to get past the rolling of his stomach in order to reach the man, who is now crouching on the floor.
But suddenly Arthur coughs out a breath, inhaling deeply as he sits up. Merlin sighs a breath of relief, watching as Arthur puts the horn on the floor and slowly stands.
But it's then that Merlin notices Arthur's foot rising, directly above the horn, as if to smash it.
"NO!" He shouts, and barrels into the man, who immediately begins wrestling against him with a feral, almost inhuman look in his eye as he throws a fist. Except that Merlin recognizes it.
Uther has possessed Arthur.
With that realization and the stunning pain of the blow on his jaw, Merlin fears their only hope now is for him to run with the horn, hide it somewhere safe before trying to exorcise the ghost from his friend - how, he has no idea, save his own experience fighting for control from Nimueh - and in the meantime not pass out from the coupled beating and blinding pain in his skull.
That plan hits the backburner when he manages to toss Arthur off for a second and grab the horn, only for the possessed man to come at him again, this time brandishing the dagger.
New plan: try not to die.
62.
Although it's been proven many a time over that a ghost can't actually kill, there's no set theory once they've possessed someone alive. And I'm not too keen on finding out.
"Arthur, stop, take control, stop," Merlin says slowly, eyes boring into Arthur's as he backs away with the horn. But he sees no sign of change in the other man's expression, just a continuously more murderous glare.
"Give me the horn, and I'll let you go," he answers back, in a cold, imperious tone that Merlin recognizes as Uther's.
Merlin shakes his head, begins to move around the man slowly where he stands. The door, thanks to his blasted luck, is behind Arthur.
A cruel smirk twists on Arthur's face. "You're not leaving this room," he tells Merlin, pointing toward him with the dagger in his hand. "You're not leaving this estate at all, not without a vehicle. So give it to me, and maybe then I won't kill you."
Merlin makes a run for the door, narrowly swerving to miss Arthur's swinging arms trying to grab him, and almost has his hand on the knob when the other man catches up to him. He dodges the first stab, which lodges into the wood of the door instead. Arthur pulls it out with surprising agility, and Merlin hardly has time to deflect his next stab that aims at Merlin's heart.
The blade ends up in his side.
It's more of a slash than a true stab, though that's something Merlin can't appreciate right now. He staggers back, barely feeling the door hit his spine, wondering if his eyes are playing tricks on him again when he thinks there's a hint of remorse in Arthur's eyes.
Their connection. It will break. The words from Morgana's trembling lips echo in his head again, and sluggishly Merlin's mind begins to take a different meaning from those words.
He has a hand instinctively pressed against the wound, though blood is already trickling through, and Merlin has to summon every last fibre of his spirit to make himself twist and grab for the doorknob with the other hand. But then he has, and he staggers into a run out the door, eyes swimming murky and useless in this pitch black. He collides with the stairs more than finds them, and by then he can hear footsteps behind him, slow and steady but drawing nearer. As if Uther knows he won't have to run after Merlin-because any second now he won't have the strength to keep going.
He has the banister in a steel grip as he stumbles down the stairs, down floor upon floor, wondering if leaving the house would do more bad than good. Upon finally reaching the front hall, Merlin decides against it. Instead he runs down the hall past where Arthur and him first sat together, for a second surprised to see Ygraine standing in the middle of the room staring at him.
"I will try to distract him as long as I can," she tells him as he limps past, and he manages a shaky nod back. "Run!"
Merlin has no time to dwell on their quick exchange, just keeps going. He makes it past the lounge, where he'd once pressed Gwen for the Pendragon secrets, past the kitchens, where he's spent much time with Morgana and Mordred. Finally he comes to a stop at the large, double doors of Arthur's office, that he'd only entered once before. Suprisingly they open at his weak shove, as if not properly closed. Merlin can only think it a blessing.
He has only a moment to hide the horn, and then it's just a matter of waiting. There's no way his body will let him move another inch. Merlin collapses onto the imperious office chair, groaning at its posh perfection even with his head probably concussed and his side bleeding open.
When Merlin dials Morgana's number, or the police's, the signal shows up as dead. The storm probably knocked down a telephone pole, he reasons, but helpless dread sits heavy in his bones. The only moment Arthur seemed to gain control for even an instant was right after Uther made him stab Merlin.
I don't think I have another beating in me.
When the double doors creep open and a tall, dark figure slides in between the cracks Merlin swallows and faces his impending death.
"Arthur," he starts, almost annoyed to hear how his voice has started trembling, "Arthur you can do it. I know he's blocking you, he's suffocating you. Believe me, I know. But I also know you can find what connects you, and use it against him. Rivulets. Find them, and he'll have to let you in."
Meanwhile Arthur is walking a slow, menacing pace across the room towards him, his mouth curling cruelly at Merlin's words. "What you don't understand, druid, is that my son is nothing like me," he says through Arthur's mouth. Then he stops a moment, lifts the dagger with one hand and runs a finger down it with the other. Merlin almost gags when he realizes the man is wiping at his own blood.
"He has not one redeemable quality of mine, nor any of my values," he continues, absentmindedly wiping Merlin's blood on Arthur's shirt, and continues till he's closed the distance and stands on the other side of the desk. "Now give up this ridiculous chase. I will find the horn, regardless of where you've put it. This is my house, not yours."
"Then kill me and be done with it," Merlin grits out, assessing the other man's face.
He's relieved to see just a flicker of doubt. "Well, why not?" He shrugs though, recovering, and that flash of Arthur is gone. Uther rounds the desk and stands in front of the chair, flicking the dagger down to point against Merlin's neck. "You won't fight back."
"You won't kill me," Merlin shakes his head, ignoring the buzzing in his head and the pain continually ripping through his side. He sits up a little straighter. "Arthur won't let you."
The man laughs, high and cold, and raises the dagger back as if to plunge it into Merlin's esophagus. He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting.
The blade never comes. Merlin opens his eyes to see Arthur's red and strained with effort, the internal battle showing externally. The hand that held the blade shakes so hard the weapon suddenly falls from his fingers. Arthur shouts a cry of rage, then suddenly his expression shifts smoother, stonier, and the hand instead grabs at Merlin's neck.
"Arthur, find the connection between you-" Merlin chokes out before the other hand joins the first, and the blood in his face pounds at the pressure. Black spots dance in front of his eyes, and then more, till there is little left but black, and Merlin wonders if this is his end.
Then the pressure releases so quickly he almost faints. When his eyes manage to blink back into reality he can make out Arthur in the darkness - and Uther, whose eye sockets are glowing a seething, raging white.
"Hurry, Arthur . . ." Merlin coughs, and Arthur turns back to him with something akin to shock and joy. "Hurry, the horn, its . . ."
"I have it, Merlin," Arthur says, and raises it in his hands.
"STOP THIS! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DO? DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU CONDEMN ME TO?" Uther screams, mouth open so wide around his words he resembles a wraith.
"Yes, dear Father. To hell," Arthur replies. And then puts the horn to his lips, letting out a long, clear blow.
Uther dissolves as all spirits must; disintegrating into nothing, like ash, like the dust their bodies have already begun turning to. Eventually there is nothing left but air, leftover space to fill up the room.
"You . . . you did it," Merlin manages to say, though it's more breath than voice. Arthur immediately rushes to his side, hoisting him up from the chair.
"No, you did it. Already, that is, and guided me. Else I would have stood no chance," Arthur replies, and in wounded-comrade fashion begins to help him walk.
"Where're we going?" Merlin mumbles, his head head spinning so badly he feels upside down.
"To hospital, of course," he dimly hears Arthur reply. "You're not dying on me after all this."
"Prat," Merlin answers with, and loses consciousness soon after.
A/N: Oh my, I just realized I wished you all happy reading, but this chapter was not a happy one! Whoops! A triumphant one though, you have to admit. I'd really, really love some feedback for this chapter, as its the climax of my story. If you all could spare some for me, do you know how much I'd appreciate you? I'd give you a sneak peek of the epilogue! That's right (Members only unfortunately)! See you all later, my friends.
REVIEW. DO IT. JUST DOOOO IT. (It will take five minutes tops out of your life and produce five hours minimum of my joy)