Blue, cloudless skies always had a foreboding air, in Arthur's opinion.
There he sat, at Williams Café, surrounded by his friends and fellow team mates. Gwaine was digging into his sundae which was more gummy worms than ice cream, Percival was politely enjoying a blueberry sherbet, and Leon was spooning down something call Elk's Crossing. Lance was the last to join them, having returned from a phone call with his wife, and sat down happily with a strawberry and mango blend.
And Arthur?
Arthur was watching his vanilla ice cream melt in the August sun.
"You're going to end up finishing that through a straw if you don't hurry it up." Gwaine waved his pink plastic spoon in the air. He shovelled a worm into his mouth and slurped noisily. Percival wrinkled his nose at the incivility and Lance nodded in agreement.
"You have been a little off today," Lance remarked. His brow was furrowed the way it was when he was worried but hesitant to say anything. Finally, he put down his cup and spoon. "What is it?"
Arthur chewed the inside of his bottom lip.
"You're going to end up like that snake demon we found in the sewer yesterday if you don't stop that," Leon said.
Arthur opted to bounce his leg instead.
"Okay, now I'm really annoyed. Out with it already. You're ruining ice cream day for all of us!" Gwaine made his point by abandoning his own cup of frozen goodness. Something he rarely did if he could help it.
Arthur felt a little guilty.
Only a little.
"Arthur." Arthur's eyes shot up at Percival's rumbling voice. "Bottled frustrations make for terrible shrapnel."
The Captain blinked.
Damn Percival and his stupid logical wisdom.
Arthur released a long sigh and spoke up. "I have a bad feeling about today."
The four men groaned. A few neighbouring café patrons turned to watch them warily. William, the shop's owner, shot them dirty looks as he cleared empty tables. Lance held up a hand, signaling everything was okay. Gwaine offered his signature dazzling smile for good measure.
"You always have a bad feeling." Gwaine leaned in when the strangers went back to their own conversations. He pushed Arthur's ice cream cup closer to him. "Just eat some ice cream. You'll feel better in no time."
"I don't want ice cream." Arthur was aware that he was acting childish, pouting at his melting ice cream with crossed arms and raised shoulders. But he couldn't help it. It wasn't his fault.
Danger lurked around every corner in their city. Blue skies turned gray in seconds. Warm summer winds turn to hurricanes on the turn of a dime. Monsters bubbled up from the sewers in sudden bursts of smelly rage. Sometimes right in the middle of the street when Arthur was enjoying a nice leisurely stroll after work, contemplating which take-out place he'd be going to that night.
And when things were actually quiet? When sirens weren't wailing and citizens weren't running for their lives from a stampede of gorilla-rams charging down Main Street? That just made it worse, because Arthur was pulled into a false sense of security and naively thought he could actually enjoy a day off or get some paperwork done in peace. When shit hit the fan and he was caught off guard and some tiny squishy human in a bassinet was almost crushed to death because Arthur thought he could finish his giant pretzel in peace? He hated that the most.
No, Arthur may have damned himself to a life of eternal brooding, but he'd be damned if he let himself relax and risk someone's life because he was too busy enjoying himself to pay attention to his surroundings when all hell broke loose.
"C'mon." Gwaine nudged the cup a little further and Arthur reached out to stop it from falling into his lap.
"Gwaine," he warned.
"Just try a bite. It's just the way you like it. Plain, boring vanilla ice cream. Your favourite."
"I think he's more upset because a certain someone couldn't make it out." Lance folded his hands behind his head, wagging his eyebrows and causing a round of snickers through the group.
Arthur suppressed a groan and closed his eyes. He opened them a moment later when he realized cutting off his sense of sight was a one way ticket to death city. He looked around for good measure, and returned a glare to his supposed friend.
He had invited Merlin out to ice cream with them, but after someone released an army of spider demons loose in the park earlier that morning, the young sorcerer had opted for a day in to nap and recharge. Arthur still remember the way Mordred had snarked at him over the phone when he'd called Arthur to break the news.
"Mr. E won't be coming out anymore. He's taking a personal day." Mordred's smirk was clear as day despite Arthur not have any visual of the man's face
"And he couldn't have told me this himself?" Arthur forced himself to stay neutral.
"Mr. E doesn't have to explain himself to anyone. Least of all you."
"Where is he?" Arthur demanded. "I want to speak with him."
"Mr. E doesn't have to concern himself with the likes of you, Pendragon. And I am under no obligation to divulge his whereabouts." The receptionist ended their conversation with an effervescent, "Have a Cracker Jack of a day!"
Arthur couldn't shake the sheer joy expressed by the receptionist in that short call. It seemed that the only time he broke out if his usual bored demeanor was when he was being a complete and utter twat to Arthur and his men.
Arthur pinched the bridge if his nose. He really wanted to hit something -or someone- right now.
"Arthur."
Arthur looked up to see Percival regarding him with the same sage-like gaze as before. When he spoke, it was with the ominous tone of a man who knew far more than he let on. "Do not cut the mulberry tree when the locust tree is to blame."
Arthur blinked.
Goddamn Percival.
Around the table, the other men were nodding along. Even Gwaine, who probably had no understanding of his friend's bottomless bag of proverbs, was bobbing his head in solemn earnest.
The Captain felt his lower lid twitch, but relented. He picked up his cup of near-melted ice cream and reluctantly consumed the sugary goop. By the end of round two, Arthur had relaxed his shoulders enough to appear as though he actually had a neck.
"That's better." Gwaine slung an arm around his shoulders. He and Lance had traded spots after round too, much to Arthur's chagrin. Lance was a lot less touchy feely than Gwaine, and Arthur much preferred that over Gwaine's careless familiarity that was often accompanied with a heavy stench of ale or left one covered in some time of stickiness caused by whatever candy the man had consumed earlier that day. "Don't you feel better now, princess?"
Arthur released a sigh. He had to admit this day was turning out to be a lot better than he was originally expecting it to be.
"I suppose." He allowed, not wanting to raise Gwaine's hopes too high. He'd never let him live it down.
They finished round three and took round four to go. Arthur was sucking his spoon of the remnants of his mango sherbet when his phone rang. He raised it to his ear without checking the ID.
"Go for Pendragon."
"Are you aware of how much you sound like a Power Ranger when you answer the phone like that? How am I supposed to take you seriously as Camelot's protector when you answer the phone like a 90s brat?"
"Morgana!" Arthur spat out his spoon and choked on air. He righted himself after a few parts on the back from Lance and Leon. Gwaine, unhelpfully continued slapping his shoulder until Percival lifted him away by the collar of his shirt.
"It's Madam Mayor, to you, oh brother of mine."
"Spare me the semantics. What do you want? It's my day off."
Someone snorted. Arthur never used 'his day off' as an excuse to skimp out on his duty. Everyone who knew him knew his heart belonged to the people of Camelot and nothing short of his own death would stop him from doing his duty. From the sound of her scoff, he knew Morgana didn't believe his words any more than his men.
"I need you to come to my office."
Arthur waited for some sort of elaboration but with Morgana he was unsure how long he'd be waiting for. It could be a few seconds, or it could stretch out to all of eternity. Finally, he asked. "Why?"
"Does a sister need an excuse to see her brother? Just get over here!"
The line when silent, signalling the end of the phone call. Arthur held his phone in front of him, staring at the screen until the lock screen kicked in. He sighed and shoved the device into his back pocket.
"Well?"
Four pairs of eyes met his expectantly and Arthur prayed the world had enough oxygen to fuel the multitude of sighs coming out of him today.
"Anyone fancy a trip to the Mayor's quarters?"
The four men smiled.
As much as Morgana boasted about being a woman of the people, the fact that she resided in a towering needle overseeing the city was a bit much.
Arthur and company stepped out of the elevator and onto marble flooring so sleek and polished Arthur's reflection stared back at him wherever he turned.
Morgana's executive assistant, and head of PR, was much more humble. Guinevere Dulac greeted them immediately, pausing only when Lance leaned in to give his wife a peck on the cheek, and led them towards the Mayor's office.
Arthur caught a giddy Lance bouncing on her heels, looking back to give his mates a small shrug before whispering, "That's my wife."
Arthur spared a few seconds to appreciate just how bloody cute Lance was, instantly shedding his mask of "trained killer" to surrender to a puppy-like form wanting nothing more than to bark and prance around his lover's legs with hearts in his eyes. The warm and fuzzies faded instantly when they stepped through the threshold of Morgana's office.
"You're late!" She spat out.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "We literally had no scheduled appointment to be here until you called."
"Gwen!"
Gwen appeared at Arthur's side, showing him her tablet. On the screen was the Mayor's schedule, blocking off the day in fifteen minute chunks. Upon closer inspection, Arthur could make out the next hour filled in with the words "Arthur and Co." Although how Morgana knew Arthur would be arriving with company was beyond him, even though the logical side of his brain knew it was due to her abilities as a Seer.
Gwen backed off with an apologetic look, and went to close the door.
When Arthur turned around, it was to see his sister stomping towards him.
"Late!" She accused again. She kissed him on both cheeks and walked away.
Arthur took a deep breath in and was just about to release a sigh of epic proportions before he caught Percival shooting him a look. Without needing to hear it, Arthur knew instant what Percival was going to say.
The fisherman who does not loom over his line emerges with the biggest catch.
Arthur wrinkled his nose.
"I'm sorry, Morgana." He looked to Percival, who nodded approvingly, and continued. "How can we help?"
He watched as his sister approached the large windows overlooking to city. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back and stood tall. Without turning, she spoke. "We have a situation."
The words may have meant to sound more ominous than they had, but Arthur had heard the phrase one time too many to have any sort of reaction resembling shock. Instead, he decided to wait, taking a seat by the fireplace and kicked off his shoes for good measure. If Morgana was going to be a cryptic ass than so could he. Arthur leaned back, pointedly ignoring Percival's disapproving glare.
The situation, as it turned out, was a haunting.
"A ghost?" Gwaine asked. He had somehow located the Mayor's secret stash of candy and was currently taking care of as many as he could before they left. Leon showed a bit more class, pocketing a few of Gwaine's rejects before slinking away to snack in private.
Morgana stepped over to slap a tootsie pop from Gwaine's hand and kick the snack drawer shut. She shot a warning glance to the two men before turning back to Arthur. With her back turned and her focus on Arthur, Gwaine dropped to the floor behind the table and wiggled closer to the stash of goodies. Leon lurked close by.
"It started the night after we started renovations on the seventh floor. Apparently some of the crew found a strange symbol painted under the carpets when they were tearing the place down and failed to mention anything about it. They came back the next day, worked all of two hours before calling it quits. Said the work conditions were unsafe. Never saw them again. We put down a good deposit on them, too. Now that's money down the drain and a whole level we can't step foot onto."
The staff were in agreement, and were all able to recount instances of suspicious activity over the past few weeks: Objects disappearing and reappearing in odd spots. Lights flickering on and off of their own accord. The thermostats wavering between ridiculous temperature extremes.
At first, it was localized just to the neighbouring floors, the sixth and eighth, but slowly spread throughout the entire building. Morgana walked onto the ground floor lobby one morning to find it splattered with blood. Offices throughout had been pristine one moment, only to be flipped, sometimes literally, upside down when someone left to get themselves a cup of coffee. Echoed howls could be heard by the night crew, and sudden gusts of air turned hallways into wind tunnels and random parts of the day. Even poor Gwen had reported the sensation of being followed from the top floor down to the parking garage, chased by chorus of cruel laughter.
Lance had shot up from his seat at the mention of his wife in danger, red lights and sirens clear in his eyes. "This thing went after Gwen?" The soldier darted a glance to his wife who was currently taking a phone call outside the office, laughing at whatever was being said on the other line. "My wife?"
They lost him for the next twenty minutes when Lance launched himself out of the room, falling into his beloved's lap in fret. Gwen, knowing very well what was being discussed in the room behind her, patted her husband on the back in a soothing gesture and continued her work.
"It's really not as bad as it sounds," Gwen said. She came to join them after her phone call when it became apparent that no real work would be accomplished with Lance hovering over her shoulder. Her husband backed into the room, eyeing the empty lobby as if he'd somehow be able to spot an inbound ghost. "I heard a voice call to me from behind a pillar, but when I went to check it out nothing was there."
Lance squawked and turn to his Captain.
Across the room, Morgana crossed her arms. "I seem to remember you saying that something blue leapt out at you."
"Yes, but nothing actually touched me." Gwen shrugged, nonchalant.
"Arthur!" Lance was in his face again, and Arthur pushed him away to ask his questions.
"Has the extent of these incidences remained the same or has there been any escalation? Has anyone been hurt?"
"Some of the staff had trash cans and other objects thrown at them. Nothing more."
"Oh, but no one can access the seventh floor, which is a bit inconvenient." Gwen trailed off. The two woman exchanged looks. "That's where everything seemed to be the most concentrated."
Morgana nodded. "Anyone who tries to access the floor by elevator gets instantly thrown back in. Those who enter through the staircase can get in, but can't get anywhere near this supposed symbol that started all this nonsense. Maybe if we had an idea of what the symbol was we'd know what we're dealing with, but every time we try and get close we're tossed away."
Arthur tried to ignore the way Morgana said 'we' and hoped she was using it in a loose sense. He hated to think that his sister, and the city's leader, was intentionally putting herself in danger. On that note, how come she'd waited this long to mention anything to him? Was she really that stubborn to think she could handling something like this on her own?
Arthur listened in silence as Morgana told him all the tactics her guards had already tried, taking in what maneuvers had been most successful and what moves weren't even worth considering.
"Lance, sweetheart, you're hovering." Gwen placed a gentle hand on her husband's face and pushed him to the side. She shot a pleading glance to Percival and the man promptly dragged his friend away in a time out. Now with enough space to breathe, the assistant continued. "Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to mind a more gentle approach. A more careful extraction might be the best way to go. Anyone who's tried attacking it head on were thrown back immediately."
"Smaller groups too. When my men tried to get through, they almost got blown out the window, but when I went in alone-"
"You, what?" It was Arthur's turn to shoot up. "You went in alone? Are you insane?"
"Shut up, I'm talking! Anyways," Morgana ran a finger through her hair and rolled her eyes. "I was able to walk around a bit before the ghost chased me away. I think it may have stolen my shoes because I weren't able to find them after."
Arthur threw his hands in the air and twirled a little on the spot, overwhelm by the knowledge that his sister had faced a ghost head on not once, but twice without his knowledge. She may be a powerful witch, but facing an unknown entity with out any backup was insanity.
After clarifying a few more details, they were ready for equipment. Morgana lent them a company car so they could make a quick stop at their armoury before returning to the Mayor's tower. The four men returned with a handful of gadgets and strapped with as many weapons against the supernatural as Lance could find.
Later on, reports of a screaming lunatic would make its way around the office, shouts of "My wife" echoing through the armoury halls when the armourer guarding the weapons bay gave them hell for commandeering so much of their supply on such short notice without any official letter of business.
They took the elevator to the sixth floor and continued up the stairs. Arthur and Lance in the lead, followed by Gwaine and Percival, and Leon watching their backs.
Apparently Lance had ignored all instructions of not barging in head first and was the first to be sent flying before he even touched the handle of the seventh floor.
Leon peeled the man off the concrete and rested Lance's head on his lap. After a quick once-over, he signalled the all clear. Gwaine leaned down to wake Lance with a few slaps. The man groaned and rubbed his face, muttering something that Arthur pointedly ignored. There was no way they were calling for magical reinforcements before the even knew what they were dealing with.
Their second attempt was mildly more successful. They entered together and split up, lasting all of thirty seconds before Leon and Gwaine were thrown through the hole in the wall left by the construction crew.
Thank the Angels for grappling hooks.
Arthur and Percival had just finished hauling the men to safety when Lance alerted them to eerie blue lights dotting the air. The team managed to duck through the maze of wooden planks, buckets, and plastic sheeting before diving through the doors to the stairs. They'd just cleared the threshold when the lights exploded.
"I know you don't want me to say it." Leon grunted as Arthur lifted him to his feet.
"Then don't."
"But you know what I'm going to say."
Arthur rolled his eyes.
Their third attempt ended with the floor giving way to a sinkhole of tar. Glowing green tendrils shot out from the blackness and nearly succeeded in feeding them into a central orb that shrieked deafeningly with the cry of a thousand birds.
Arthur wasn't sure what saved them. Maybe it was the rain of candy that seemed to startle the orb as it sucked in the sugar. Maybe it was Lance's wife-inspired warrior chant. Maybe it was the ding of the elevator door and the act of some poor boy walking out with a stack of papers so high he couldn't see where he was going until it was too late and inadvertently sacrificed himself for the safety of Arthur and the rest.
The Captain bowed his head. They were safe in the staircase once more, but were running out of ideas. Their weapons were useless. The gadget non-responsive due to paranormal interference. When Arthur raised his head, Percival didn't have to say a word.
"I know. It's time."
And that's how they ended up taking a brief recess to the other end of town.
Arthur looked around at the tan walls and brown carpeting then reluctantly to the grey-speckled reception table blocking an unimposing plain door.
A door in which Lance was trying and failing to yank open.
"You know." Mordred paused to sip his tea, throwing a confused look that may have held a glimmer of concern to the man practically perpendicular with the locked door. "I've been thinking about redoing the office space with all the extra income we've been having."
Arthur scowled when Mordred took another sip, noting how the receptionist did nothing to hide his smirk.
There had been a recent surge in supernatural activity lately, all of which involved a level 3 threat or higher. This meant bringing in Merlin on more than one occasion including on the man's day off, which everyone knew was to be treated as sacred as the Angels themselves.
Arthur had been on the receiving end of exactly three fireballs, two tidal waves, and eight personal rainclouds -and yes, it was exactly how it sounded. He had one long torturous week with donkey ears, and had been victim of one full-on stuffed animal uprising that chase him and his team clear across town. Around the time of his fourth dumpster dive to once again hide from the young sorcerers sleep-deprived rage attacks, Arthur was beginning to contemplate moving far from Camelot and living out the rest of his life as a hermit on some deserted island. But his love of his city triumphed over all, and so he found himself enduring further onslaughts from the sorcerer who seemed to care more about sleep than protecting a city from complete devastation.
There was one time where Arthur was almost certain the end was nigh. Mordred had locked the door on them, initiating a security sequence that not only locked them out of the building, but brought down iron bars and electric fencing across every possible wall, window, and vent. The team was at their wits end when a dark smoky cloud appeared behind them.
The creature nearly took them out, slicing clear through the office building and apparently straight into Merlin's warded bedroom. Arthur and his men were thrown from the blast and some knocked unconscious.
He would never forget the image of Merlin, levitating in a whirlwind of fire, eyes blazing of white gold and hair whipping around from a tornado conjured of dust and stone. Arthur wasn't sure if it was real or a side effect of his concussion, but he could have sworn that he heard Carl Orff's 'O Fortuna' rain across the skies before Arthur passed out.
Now, with their previous office restored to it's original unimpressive state, Arthur found himself wondering why Mordred hadn't redone the whole building from the funds Morgana gave them for saving the city from a fate straight out of Stephen King's The Mist. Arthur later found out that a large portion of that funding went into replacing a great deal of Merlin's stuffed animals, some of which had been limited edition and collector's sets.
Arthur never had the nerve to ask if Mordred was serious about that or not. He knew that if the decision were up to Mordred, the consulting firm would be a palace with motion activated lasers and robotic bees programmed to identify and destroy Arthur upon visual confirmation. Mordred had mentioned it enough times for Arthur to have the image burned into his mind. When the nightmare demon plagued the city, it was all Arthur could dream of for days. He still woke up occasionally in a cold sweat with the vision if him being chased by the swarm, with Mordred cackling over a pot of expensive tea and Merlin too tired to wake up and save him from a buzzing death.
"Let us in, Mordred," Arthur said tiredly.
"Mmm...No." The receptionist spun in his chair.
Arthur sighed. "I'll buy you all the special teas you want."
"Oh, Arthur." Mordred ceased his spinning and leaned over the desk. "You're even dumber than you look if you think I'd ever accept a bribe from you. Beside, you'd never be able to afford me."
Arthurs jaw dropped at the insult. He knew Mordred hated him, but to turn down tea? Specialty tea?
Gwaine was at Arthur's side during the exchange. He was smiling along at the expense of his friend, but wisely refraining from dishing out any insults of his own. He propped an elbow on the desk and raised a hand in a gesture of camaraderie. "Listen, friend-"
"Never in a million years." Mordred pushed back in his chair as if the mere thought of friendship with any of them was an unbearable fate. Gwaine was unshaken.
"-we're here on special assignment. It's our day off too, but we wouldn't be here unless it was really important." He leaned in and whispered secretly, "Like protect-the-Mayor important."
The receptionist raised a brow in intrigue. Arthur shot a look at Gwaine.
"Besides," Gwaine continued. "Lance would move heaven and earth to protect his wife. He's already torn through the armoury today. He's on a rampage that one."
They all looked over to the man who was still yanking at the locked door, screaming bouts of, "My wife!" into the air on loop as if he'd lost all other means of communication.
Mordred raised a dubious brow, looking mildly concerned, and Arthur was inclined to agree. There was no way that door was going to give. If anything, Lance was going to pass out from exertion before he even got the chance to vanquish the supernatural plaguing the woman he came to protect.
Arthur said as much, and it really was a miracle that Lance returned upright. The sullen husband looked down at his red and raw hands, clenching and unclenching his fingers as he whined a defeated, "My wife..."
And then Lance turn their gaze on them, unleashing a puppy-dog pout in full strength.
Arthur felt his heart shatter instantly. Gwaine released a heartfelt whimper. Percival blinked back tears. And Mordred...
Mordred buzzed them in.
They took exactly two steps into Merlin's bedroom before stopping dead in their tracks. This was not how Arthur last remembered it.
The bedroom had transformed into a large deep cavern, with jagged terrain and sharp stalactites that stretched down from the shadows. Arthur wiped something from his cheek when a droplet fell down from one hanging overhead.
Percival caught Lance by the collar before he got too far and fell off the ledge and into the sunken valley, complete with a winding river of lava. Every now and then, a stuffed animal would float by, perfectly safe from harm. But when Gwaine took his hand from his pocket to wipe his brow from the rising heat, a gumball rolled out over the edge, burning to ash before it even touched the river.
Gwaine whistled. "I guess that answers that question."
"Are you surprised? Last week he made us wade through a jungle of vines. I almost got eaten alive by that swamp thing!" Leon shuddered at the memory, as did Arthur.
"Yes, but when it actually went to take a bite nothing happened. At least we know that the lava is real and not an illusion."
"Felt real enough," the friend muttered.
In some strange ways, the bedroom was still a bedroom. Merlin's blackout curtains were still present, just slung uselessly over a rock -there weren't even any windows to be blacked out as all outside light was immediately consumed by shadows. There was still a neat, tidy looking bed in the corner with a plain black dresser to match, but all bedroom furniture now sat on wavering slabs of stone that rocked back and forth as the flow of lava poured down from a hole in the wall.
Arthur gulped as a brown stingray floated by. There was no doubt that Merlin had heard them (read: Lance) clamouring at the doorway, fighting to gain access and pull the sorcerer from yet another day off.
If anyone ever lectured Arthur about how sweet and loving and happy-go-lucky Merlin was, he would tell them this story.
"Lance!"
Arthur snapped his eyes open, aborting a closed-eye-sigh-in-the-making. Lance had taken a leap of faith, hurling himself towards the river and landing on a pink flamingo raft. The soldiers released a collective sigh when the raft stayed afloat. Unsurprisingly, Gwaine was the next to go.
"I've always wanted to try tubing." He took a running jump onto a fat blue frog. The force of impact sent a splash of fire into the air, but Gwaine patted himself off with a smile and waved to them. "C'mon boys, the water's fine."
Arthur looked to his left at Leon, then to Percival on his right. The latter shrugged and gingerly grabbed onto the neck of a passing stuffed giraffe before pushing off to follow the others. Leon frowned.
"Does our insurance cover death by lava? Or would this fall under a supernatural subsection?" He sighed and scratched at his beard. He looked down at his feet. "I knew I shouldn't have worn my nice shoes today."
"There's got to be some rule against intentionally endangering law enforcement." The Captain grit his teeth. He wondered if he could convince Mordred to give them a discount on this visit.
As if sensing a threat to his bank account, the receptionist peered out from the bedroom entrance.
"Any and all supplier, person, and entities known or unknown to natural or supernatural planes entering into a contract with Emrys and Associates knowingly waive all rights to press charges or hold contempt for any incidental, special, punitive, consequential, or indirect damage arising from the contractual agreement found on page thirty-two, subsection seventeen heading B: Dormancy Disturbances."
The two man stared blankly at as the receptionist slinked away. Arthur scowled at the now-empty doorway.
Ass.
Accepting his fate, Arthur took a breath and leapt onto a passing stuffie. The giant red bear took him down the burning river towards the castle of plushies. He glanced behind him and saw Leon behind him on something that may have been a large rolling cat head.
As they approached the castle walls, the structure seemed to breathe and expand. The lava around them thickened. Overhead, a purple pterosaur with black button eyes announced their presence with a screech.
A figure emerged above the castle gates and Arthur looked up to meet the hard blue gaze of the world's most powerful sorcerer. He gulped and held the gaze for three more seconds before ducking his head.
He stepped to the side.
Lance shuffled forward, hat in hand, and peered heavenward in tearful despair. "My wife?" He gasped.
With a sudden gust, the magma cooled to igneous rock and sunlight found its way to them once again. Arthur blinked and stared as the room morphed back to normal and all signs of the underworld disappeared.
Mordred's head appeared at the doorway again, but remained outside the threshold with a scowl. He seem disappointed at the lack of chaos and fire.
Arthur turned back to see Merlin and Lance hand in hand.
"Your wife?" The young sorcerer asked.
"My wife!" Lance wailed fervently.
"Your wife?" Merlin leaned in. His eyes widened in shock, and somehow seemed to understand all that was left unsaid in the eyes of a man who's only desire was to keep the love of his life protected from harm. Lance was emitting a code, a code unique to an exclusive club in which Arthur and the others knew nothing of.
Lance shuddered and roared into the air. "My wife!"
"Guinevere!" Merlin echoed the sentiment.
"MY WIFE!"
The fire returned in a blaze of glory as Lance's overprotective-husband mode revved into full gear, this time backed up by Merlin's battle cry and desire to protect his closest and dearest friend. A pillar of fire consumed the two men.
Arthur sighed. If all it took was Lance's puppy-dog eyes and Gwen in danger to get Merlin out from under his stuffed-animal mountain and out of his bedroom without Arthur having to prying each of his fingers from the doorframe was, Arthur couldn't saved himself from countless injuries and insults -Mordred still had a donkey-eared Arthur as his desktop background. He filed this instance in the back of him mind for next time; however, he wasn't sure how kindly Lance would take to his wife being used as bait. And once Merlin got wise to Arthur's tricks, it would only make things that much harder for following visits.
The Captain was vaguely aware of himself being dragged along by Percival, no doubt following the blazing tower of fire and the ashy trail left by the sorcerer and overprotective husband. Arthur paid no mind, however, and allowed himself to be dragged along. He continued pinching the bridge of his nose, praying an end to this tiresome day.
While Lance's enthusiasm remained as steady as a beating drum, the same could not be said about Merlin. Out of the comfort of his castle and wedged in the back of the transport vehicle, the sorcerer was quick to doze off again.
Arthur tapped the wheel impatiently as he waited for the light to turn green, and if he pressed a little too hard on the gas when the lights shifted, no one said a word. They weaved through the afternoon traffic with relative ease and avoided the main streets as much as they could.
Arthur's eyes fell on the rear-view when Merlin released a stuttering snore. Instead of finding relief at the sight of his sorcerer resting peacefully in the back seat, he only found aggravation.
Mordred was sitting in the middle seat at the back bench, staring out the front window and looking immensely uncomfortable at being in a car with the men he detested.
"Why are you even here?" Arthur had shouted incredulously when they climbed into the car. Mordred was shoving Gwaine out of the way as he took the spot next to Merlin, leaving Gwaine in a fit of annoyance at having to sit within reach of Leon. The Captain looked over his shoulder and saw Leon shaking out his hand after yet another failed attempt to fish candy from Gwaine's pocket without notice.
"If you don't even know what you're facing, how can I properly bill you for it?" Had been the reply.
Through the lobby and up the stairs and they were right back where they started. Percival lowered Merlin to his feet and Lance gave him a gentle shake to wake him up. Merlin yawned and stretched his arms in the air. He scratched his belly and smacked his lips. He looked from Lance to Percival to all others around him, to the door to the seventh floor...
And promptly fell back asleep.
"Um."
Gwaine squatted down and poked at Merlin. Merlin, butt firmly planted on the concrete floor, softly slumped onto the railings along the staircase. Gwaine looked back a them. "He's either really tired...or passed out..." He gave a few more pokes to be sure.
"He's asleep because this is a level one, maybe one and a half at best and not worth his time." Behind them all, and closest to the seventh floor door, Mordred gave a half-growl half-sigh.
The five soldiers shared looks of confusion. They all knew the about five-tiered classification system used to label supernatural threats: from the lowest level threats that possessed little to no supernatural powers and often relied upon a magical object or relics to sustain and control their powers, to the high level five that required one or multiple sorcerer interventions to intercept, capture, subdue, or outright eliminate the threat.
In addition to the standard system, there was a subsection of unclassifiable supernaturals that fell outside the spectrum of identification, whose strength and abilities were far beyond anything Arthur and his forces could ever hope to comprehend. Merlin was a prime example of one such unclassifiables.
When all he received was silence and blank looks, the receptionist rolled his eyes. "What you have here is a cluster of dtrows."
"A cluster of what?"
"Is it contagious?"
"What on earth is a," Arthur rolled his hand in the air at the unfamiliar word. "What is it?"
"Dtrows, you uneducated roach-mouse." Mordred sounded as though it caused him great pains to explain the situation to them. Knowing Mordred, it probably did. "Malignant creatures of the spirit realm. These aren't usually found in this part of the world and they're incredibly shy. Their auras have reflective properties, which makes them invisible to the human eye and their magical signature near undetectable."
Leon frowned, and Arthur nodded in agreement.
"Morgana said they were ghosts," Gwaine said.
"Oh, well, if Morgana says so it must be true."
"Watch your tone, Mordred, that's our Mayor you're insulting! My sister."
Mordred blew raspberries at them in reply. "Really, Arthur. You're supposed to be Camelot's finest. How do even manage to get dressed in the morning with your level of incompetency?"
Leon scowled. "Jesus, man. Do you ever let up?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. Having suffered through years of insults, this one barely made the top ten. "Are you going to stand there insulting us all day or are you actually going to help -you know what? Nevermind." Arthur turned to Gwaine, who was still sitting beside Merlin, and jutted his chin at the sorcerer. "Wake him up."
"Don't bother."
"Excuse me?" Arthur turned around. His hands closed into tight fists, squeezing until each knuckle popped. He was reaching the end of his generosity where Mordred was concerned and had had just about enough of the man's endless harassment. Throw all the insults you wanted at Arthur, but stand between him and the people he loved, or the city he was sworn to protect? That was a firm line never to be crossed.
All the fight drained out of him when Mordred followed up with a near inaudible, "I'll handle it."
Arthur's expression of pure shock was mirrored in his men. Leon's brows disappeared under his blond curls. Gwaine's whole body went limp and his jaw slack. Percival blinked. Lance, who was just about as ready as Arthur to spring into fight-mode, stilled.
"You'll what?" Arthur barely got the words out.
Mordred surprised them all when he turn from them. When he spoke, his voice was softer than any of them had ever heard. It was with a tone that opened a window and gave them a peak at the unwavering devotion the man held for his friend. A fleeting glimpse behind a locked door holding memories that Arthur and his men would never be able to touch.
"Master Emrys is tired. He needs his rest. It is my duty to make sure he conserves his strength wherever possible so that he may save himself for matters of higher importance."
Without another word, the receptionist disappeared through the seventh floor doorway, letting it close behind him with a silent hush.
The soldiers stared at the empty space left by the man, leaning in to listen with rapt attention to any sounds of struggle; any exploding blue lights, roaring gusts of wind, howls of laughter. But nothing came.
Twelve minutes later, six men filed out of the elevator and into the top floor of the Mayor's tower. They walked passed Gwen to Morgana's office and line up in front of the large mahogany desk.
Morgana shot up from her seat, her fingertips spread wide to support herself as she leaned forward across her desk with wide, worried eyes.
"Well?"
Merlin snored softly in Percival's arms.
Arthur spoke. "It's done."
Morgana sank into her chair. Gwen, who had followed them in, leaned back against the glass partition and released a sigh of relief. Lance went over to embrace his wife.
Arthur took advantage of the calm silence to close his eyes and tilt his head back. Mordred hadn't told them what he did to remove the spirits, only stating that the matter had been taken care of and the symbol removed. When Morgana gave them a questioning look, needing to see the proof with her own eyes, they took a field trip back down to the seventh floor and went for a walk.
The took the elevator this time, and walked out without any blow back. When they made their way to the east wing and Morgana felt the floor next to a pile of ripped out carpeting and gave an approving nod, the team knew their job was done.
Off to the side, Gwaine and Leon were coming down from their sugar high. They sat back to back on the floor next to some planks of wood and plastic sheeting, snoring away. Percival was rocking a still-sleeping Merlin, who had somehow procured a tiny macramé chicken about the size of a grapefruit. Gwen and Lance were speaking softly on the balcony outside. Arthur watched as Lance pulled his wife close to his chest, wrapping her in his arms and squeezing her tight. Gwen, who was pushing him away at first, finally collapsed with silent sobs. Despite her earlier assurances, Gwen was the last to step out into the open. Arthur wondered how long it would take for Gwen to recover from the spirit attack.
"Arthur."
Arthur turned to see Morgana and Mordred looking at him. Morgana was shooting him a look of disbelief, twisted with undertones of rage and a smidge of fear. Mordred, back to his usual self, was smirking with the satisfaction of a cat having cornered his prey.
His sister marched over to him and grabbed his arm. "It was Merlin who took care of this, wasn't it?"
"Um?"
"Wasn't it?" Morgana pressed. Arthur winced as her manicured nails dug into his skin. Any attempt to shake out of her grasp only resulted in a tightening of her grip.
"It was Mordred. Mordred." Arthur cried out in defeat. Morgana released him a moment after, bringing her hands up to rub circles around her temples. Arthur hissed and inspected his wound, seeing droplets of blood bloom up from under his skin.
"No. No. No." His sister repeated with a string of groans and Arthur looked between the two in confusion, feeling he'd missed something but not able to identify what.
"Why? What's wrong?"
"This is bad. Very bad."
"Morgana. What's wrong? Why are you acting like the time you lost a bet against Gwaine and ended up following him around for a day dressed in a bunny onesie?"
A snort from Mordred caught his ear and Arthur narrowed his eyes. Mordred returned a smirk. "Because unlike you, Pendragon, Morgana actually read through our contract before signing on the dotted line."
"What?" Arthur shook his head, confused. He looked to his sister in search for an answer.
"For every case that Mordred takes on Merlin's behalf, he is paid tenfold for his time and services." Morgana looked to the heavens. "Angels, have mercy."
Arthur's jaw dropped. "What?"
As Morgana bowed her head, cursing the angels and debating if ridding her building of the cluster of dtrows was truly worth it, Arthur turn to the sorcerer's assistant. Merlin may have been the crown jewel and star of the consulting firm for the weird and supernatural, but Arthur was beginning to think there was more to the receptionist than he initially thought. Mordred handled the company's books, had a varying number of contracts fit for all types of clients and situations, and was the only one trusted to guard Merlin's bedroom and by natural extension, protect his naptime schedule -in all the years Arthur had visited the business, there was never a day that Mordred was absent from his post.
It was obvious to anyone that Merlin didn't care about money. If it were up to him, the consulting firm would be paid in stuffed animals and plush toys and would quickly go out of business when the landlord came knocking asking for rent. Then again, any landlord of the sorcerer would probably be blown into oblivion after inevitably disturbing Merlin during a visit to dreamland.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. Perhaps Mordred was more than just a receptionist. Maybe he was the mastermind of the whole operation. The secret weapon of Emrys and Associates. The unknown champion the city didn't know it had. Or maybe Mordred was the devil in disguise. Another look at Mordred and Morgana confirmed it. Mordred was currently reciting off some long, convoluted list of legal terms and contractual agreements as Morgana stared on with stiffly crossed arms. Her check book was crumpled in her closed fist and Arthur wondered how long it would be until the pen in her other hand followed suit.
No, Arthur thought. Mordred wasn't the devil. Mordred made the devil look like a helpless three-legged puppy. The kind featured in all those TV commercials for animal shelters with that stupid Sarah McLachlan song making viewers ripe with guilt. Mordred could make the devil cry and retreat with his pointy red tail tucked between his legs while the receptionist sat back in his comfy leather chair cackling over his goddamn pot of tea.