Fic: That Old Black Magic (5/9)
Title: That Old Black Magic (5/9)
Rating: PG-13 (at the moment)
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Words: This chap 4000
Genre: Modern AU, romance, action
Disclaimer: Yeah, I still own nothing. A shock to you all, I'm sure.
Prologue / Cha pter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3
Coverart by glaringcandle glaringcandle
Summary: Morgana has always protected her step-brother from magical threats through the strength of her visions, but when her powers begin to fail, it's up to somebody else to save the day. Enter Arthur's new bumbling assistant, Merlin.
***
That Old Black Magic
Chapter Four - Out For The Count
Arthur speeds to the hospital at breakneck speed, flooring the accelerator and revving the engine of his new 599 Ferrari to the max. It was a spend Morgana had originally called ‘flashy and unnecessary,’ but now he feels nothing but grateful for it’s incredible speed, grateful for the rest of the traffic that parts like the red sea as he approaches.
His mind is a flurry of panic, desperation and upset. He barely notices where he’s going, and when he finally arrives at the hospital, he’s unsure of how he got there, the whole ride a complete blur of traffic lights and road works.
He elbows his way to the front of reception, disinterested in the people complaining behind him, and starts hyperventilating as he reaches the desk. But he manages to gasp out “Morgana Le Fay” in a worryingly strained voice, and is directed to a nearby ward, which is lucky, because he’s genuinely worried he’s about to have a stroke due to sheer alarm.
He practically sprints towards the ward, vaguely knowing that he looks like a complete loon, but simply unable to care. The journey is an endless maze of blank corridors and soulless space, and he finds himself shivering with a new sensation - it’s either fear or cold, he isn’t sure.
He arrives in record time and stops to catch his breath, stood outside a plain wooden door with golden lettering shining in the window: Room 101. He brushes off the nurse that attempts to approach him, and wipes off the sweat shining on his forehead, despite the convolutions in his chest and shivers speeding down his spine.
Morgana is being treated in a private room - no doubt Uther’s doing - and he hovers over the threshold, hand shaking as he moves to open the door. He has no idea what to expect, but can safely say that despite the attacks from Sophia, Afanc, and even Morgause, he has never felt so afraid in his life. It’s his sister. What if she really wasn’t alright? What would he do?
After several minutes stood frozen, he finally gathers his courage and enters, heart rocketing straight into his throat, suffocating and uncomfortable, like his airways have given up on him.
Morgana is led on the far side of the rather spacious room, unconscious and strangely peaceful-looking, skin stark white against the warm beige walls. If it wasn’t for the faint rise and fall of her chest Arthur would take her for a corpse, uncharacteristically still and silent; she looks worryingly vulnerable, stripped of her dresses, jewellery and finery, but still beautiful, like a figure carved from wax.
Arthur walks towards her slowly, ashamed to admit that he’s actually tearing up. (It’s something he hadn’t done since he was twelve, when his father had his beloved dog put down, and he cried in big fat baby tears, stomping his feet and wailing with a tantrum that brought the whole house down.)
He reaches out a tentative hand, touches her marble cheek, and then recoils, shocked by its iciness. He honestly can’t believe what he’s seeing. Morgana is strong - his invincible big sister. She looks after him.
“I don’t understand,” he breathes, despite knowing she can’t hear him, sounding worryingly breathless, even to his own ears. His voice echoes slightly around the almost empty room. “You should have seen it coming. Why didn’t you see it coming?”
Morgana doesn’t reply.
But before Arthur can say anything more - or do something completely embarrassing like weep everywhere - the door creaks open. An old white-haired doctor enters, carrying a clipboard, and smiles sadly when he sees him.
“You’re Arthur I take it?” he asks, moving slowly to Morgana’s bedside and assessing the stony stillness of her face with a grim frown. “The brother?”
Arthur can’t do anything but nod, heart lodged painfully in his throat.
“We spoke on the phone,” says the doctor, who’s nametag reads ‘Gauis’. “I’m the doctor taking care of your sister.”
“What happened?” the blond chokes, finally regaining the power of speech. He gestures to Morgana’s prone form with a clumsy hand, shaking his head and fumbling over his words in an action so uncharacteristic he actually winces slightly at the sound of his own voice. “Is she going to be alright?!”
“It’s hard to tell at this point,” Gauis replies, which is exactly what Arthur doesn't want to hear. “She was in a very severe accident. The fire burnt down the whole building in minutes - it’s amazing she survived at all.” He sounds musing, a little bit awed, and his voice is so soft he seems to be talking to himself more than Arthur. “Most extraordinary.”
The blond glances down at his sister, wired to machines, and takes in every line and curve of her smooth white face, something uneasy settling in his gut. He watches her for a long moment, and notes mildly, somewhat detached, “She doesn’t look like she’s been in a fire.”
And she doesn’t. She’s smooth, and flawless, and completely still. There are no burn marks - no sign of a fire at all, and Arthur frowns, his heart skittering anxiously, like a deep subconscious warning.
Something isn’t right.
Gauis nods and smiles, although it’s strained and tinted, eyes revolving with something like agitation. “Strange, isn’t it?” he says, giving his shoulders a helpless shrug. “No burn marks. None at all. By and rights she should have been burnt alive.”
Arthur doesn’t find the comment very reassuring, but makes no comment, unable to tear his gaze away from his sister, the cogs in his mind springing suddenly back to life. It makes no sense - how did she survive?
In his bewilderment his thoughts immediately jump to magic, but from the little he understands about Morgana’s ‘gifts’, he knows that her active powers are weak. Her strength lies predominately in her foresight, which is usually indisputably reliable, so why didn’t she just see the fire coming and leave? Why had she still been in the building, and how did she remain unharmed? She did possess weak telekinesis, but would that really have been enough to save her?
“So,” Arthur breathes, clutching at his spinning head, “if she’s not burnt, why is she unconscious? What’s wrong with her?”
“Smoke inhalation,” the doctor explains. “Although the fire apparently didn’t touch her, she still inhaled an awful lot of smoke. Which is sometimes far more dangerous than the fire itself. It might be a long while before she wakes up.”
Arthur clutches at Morgana’s sheets with white-knuckled hands, but before he can say anything more, the door bangs off its hinges, revealing a ghostly white Uther Pendragon, breathing fire in the threshold.
It’s quite a scary image, even for Arthur.
“Father,” the blond chokes, for once in his life actually quite happy to see him. Uther would sort everything out, Arthur just knew it - his father was nothing if not effective.
“What’s happening?!” the man cries, marching forward. He looks almost as pale as Morgana, lips pursed and face lined, but he still holds his usual air of power and authority, which is so comforting and familiar, that Arthur actually aches in relief. “Why was I not connected immediately?!”
Gauis blinks a bit, but collects himself quickly, looking every bit the devoted doctor. “Your son was listed as her emergency contact,” he replies, taking note of Morgana’s pulse and blood pressure with a collected air, although his hand in clenching around his pen in a way that doesn’t look entirely natural. “We had to get in touch with him first.”
Uther turns to glare at Arthur, as though it’s all his fault, which he knows in some ways it is, before turning back to Gauis. “Preposterous! I’m her father! I should be alerted immediately!”
“Father…” Arthur sighs, suddenly feeling very tired indeed. “Just…don’t.”
Uther pauses for a moment, posture still poised as though ready for a fight, but stops at the look on his son’s face. Something in Arthur’s despondent expression, tired and defeated, makes the man deflate, and Arthur feels more grateful for that than anything. He doesn’t want to fight.
Uther turns back to Gauis, his expression suddenly questioning, like he’s waiting for some queue, like without his bluster, and his anger, he has no idea how to react. It’s a look of almost hopelessness that’s so uncharacteristic it leaves Arthur reeling in surprise, almost angry, because his father is Uther Pendragon, and he should be able to do something.
Seemingly sensing the unspoken tension, Gauis turns to the older man and rescues them from their silence. “Mr Pendragon, would you like to talk in my office?” the doctor offers, soft and convincing, like a man who’s had plenty of experience dealing with difficult relatives. “I can explain things more clearly.”
Arthur is dimly aware of Uther nodding somewhat reluctantly, eyes still fixed to Morgana’s face, and suddenly feels very, very weak. His vision is almost blurred - probably from unshed tears, he isn’t sure - and he feels almost suffocated by guilt, something in the back of his head whispering, continual and insistent, that it is all his fault. Morgana is hurt, and badly, and it’s all because of him.
It’s always because of him.
He watches Gauis and his father make for the door out of the corner of his eye, feeling like nothing but an inconvenient little kid, when a shadow moves across his vision, blurry and vague, and maybe a product of his distress-addled mind.
He starts, muttering, “Morgana!” before he registers that it isn’t her.
But there is a woman, stood on the other side of the room, hovering near Morgana’s bedside - watching and waiting. She’s pale, dark-haired, and maybe slightly supernatural, but it’s definitely not his sister. Morgana’s still led comatose - unsuspecting - and Arthur makes to call out a warning, but before he can mouth the words, the image vanishes, leaving him staring once again at the blank white walls. He blinks, shakes his head, squints his eyes, and sees nothing.
The woman is gone, if in fact, she was ever there at all.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” says Uther, breaking Arthur from his reverie, apparently oblivious to his son’s growing distress. Could he not see the women too?!
Arthur stares at the spot where the woman had been, heart thumping erratically through his ribcage, and says, before he can stop himself, “Morgana should be placed under security.”
Uther looks surprised for a moment, an expression Arthur isn’t used to seeing on him, but he recovers with unsurprising speed, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Why do you say that?” he questions, almost suspicious, his tone hard like unforgiving steel. He only dispatches his personal security in dire need, and for Arthur to ask it of him puts him visibly on edge, as though he’s expecting a magical assassin to literally jump through the door and dispose of them all. Which considering what Arthur saw just seconds before, wouldn’t be entirely implausible.
The blond shrugs in what he hopes is a casual manner, but his eyes to not stray from the wall. “Just in case.”
Uther looks as though he’s about to question him, eyebrows drawn into a deep-set frown, but merely nods his head, making to follow Gauis out of the room. “Very well,” he concedes, with the air of someone who has thousands of minions beneath his command. “I will see to it.”
And with that he sweeps from the room, taking his reassuring stoniness with him, and leaves Arthur alone with a prone Morgana, shivers sweeping down his spine.
Something isn’t right, and he needs to find out why - once and for all.
***
“God, Merlin, where the hell have you been?” Gwen cries the next day, as soon as he walks through the office doors, munching obliviously on a salad sandwich. He stumbles slightly at the greeting, surprised by the vehemence in his friend’s voice, and attempts not to choke on his sandwich, shaking his head in bewilderment.
“It’s four in the afternoon!” Gwen continues, looking somewhat harassed. She’s wearing her cafeteria uniform, but it’s not regulation, her hair in disarray about her head and sweat beading in the dip of her throat. “This is late, even for you.”
Merlin blinks at her confusedly, wondering why she’s waiting in the office block reception, but gathers himself a second later and shrugs, chewing loudly. “I had a dentist appointment,” he explains, through a mouth full of bread, wincing slightly as it touches his new filling.
Gwen’s eyebrows rocket up her forehead and she crosses his arms, looking distinctly unimpressed. “All day?!”
Merlin shrugs. It’s not often he has legitimate excuses to take the day off, so he was damn well going to make the most of it. “I wasn’t going to come in at all,” he informs her, licking his lips. “But Arthur called and said it was urgent I come in.” He grins slightly at the thought, unable to stop himself. “The place must be falling apart without me.”
“You haven’t heard?” Gwen gasps, raising a hand to her mouth and blinking rapidly, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. She looks as nervous as she did the time she had to inform Merlin that his favourite goldfish (Chippy) had died while he was on holiday, the news of which he had found endlessly devastating. Only now he doesn’t have a goldfish, so he’s not quite sure what could warrant the same expression.
He frowns at the realisation and eyes her warily, panic swooping momentarily in his gut. What had Arthur gone and done now?! He had assumed the prat would be safe in his office, surrounded by people - especially now Sophia had been disposed of - but apparently he was even more trouble-attracting than Merlin had originally given him credit for.
“What’s happened?!” Merlin cries, spraying food everywhere in his alarm.
Gwen makes a distasteful face, but says, “Morgana’s in hospital.”
Merlin starts, blinks, then frowns. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and shakes the foggy confusion from his mind. “Arthur’s sister?”
“Yes, Uther’s top advisor,” his friend says, referring to Morgana’s position within the company, as though it may be something of vital importance. She looks up him uneasily and shakes her head, looking frightened. “Her whole apartment went up in flames.”
Merlin freezes, heart skipping several beats, as the image of a wall of flames dances mockingly across his vision. “Flames?” he repeats faintly, remembering the message written in fire, not two days before: SHE WILL DIE.
“Yes, exactly.” Gwen nods, obviously understanding his horror. “Morgana was obviously the ‘she’ the message was referring to.”
“She’s dead?!” Merlin cries, feeling as though he’s taken a punch to the gut, unsure of whether he actually wants to know the answer. He’d only met Morgana once - when she interrogated him about the whole Sophia incident - but he knew how much Arthur loved her, and he dreaded to think how the blond would take it if she was actually dead. He’d be absolutely devastated.
“No, she’s not,” Gwen replies, looking quite relieved - which is exactly how Merlin feels. “She’s not in a good condition though. At least that’s what people around the office are saying.”
Merlin frowns, attempting to calm his own thundering heartbeat, so he can actually hear himself think. “Why is Arthur here then?! Shouldn’t he be at the hospital?!”
“I think he has been,” Gwen mutters, shrugging her shoulders softly. “He only came in half an hour ago.” She pauses, bites her lip, and looks up at Merlin from under her lashes nervously. “I think he just came in to talk to you.”
This isn’t what Merlin expected to hear. He opens his mouth soundlessly, attempting to make sense of the chaos that’s quickly unfolding around him. He feels like his missing something vital, and it’s dancing further and further out of reach. “Me?! Why?!”
“I don’t know. Maybe to discuss who the person who did this is. You were the only person there when the warning was written.”
“I suppose,” Merlin replies, feeling uneasy for reasons he can’t quite explain. Arthur came back from the hospital just to talk to him? That couldn’t be good. “I better get going then.”
Gwen nods, looking worryingly bleak, as though she’s waving him off to his own execution - which thinking about Arthur in a bad mood, might not be too far from the truth. “Good luck.”
Merlin climbs into the office lifts and gives her a rather wane smile. “I think I’m going to need it,” he replies.
***
Arthur looks up from his desk, where he’s sat staring at the wood unblinkingly, and sees Merlin hovering in the doorway. He’s looking at his boss in poorly disguised confusion, brow winkled worriedly, and makes Arthur angry.
Everything about Merlin now makes Arthur angry.
“Arthur?” Merlin questions, inching closer, wary, as though sensing the blond is about to bite. It’s probably the first glimpse of actual self-preservation that Arthur has seen from him. “You called?”
Arthur stares at him, as though seeing his bumbling assistant in a whole new light, his eyes bright and beaming. “How was the dentist?” he asks, sounding cold and uninterested. He sets his jaw and breathes heavily, attempting to gain some decorum of control. “Let me guess, your teeth are about to fall out so you need to take the next week off to recover?” He’s heard plenty of Merlin’s ridiculous excuses for taking time off, and although he once thought it cute, now…now he’s not sure what to think.
Merlin blinks at him, looking taken aback - either by his boss’ iciness or the subject they’re discussing, Arthur doesn’t know, nor particularly care. “Actually, no,” he says, shifting uncomfortably - almost suspiciously. “I’m going to be around a lot the next few days. Plenty to do.”
He’s lying. Arthur knows he is. But why? What did Merlin want?
“Like what?” the blond asks, as though making an innocent inquiry, but his firsts are clenched, his knuckles are white, and there’s a muscle twitching dangerously in his temple.
Merlin looks even more flustered, evidently not expecting Arthur to question him, and stumbles slightly as he attempts to explain himself. “Um, all the stuff for Valiant. And your father wants the report on the Afanc deal.”
“You already did all the Valiant stuff, I checked up on you to make sure it was completed,” Arthur contradicts calmly, lacing his fingers together in a gesture that is strangely intimidating. “And I’ve already dealt with my father.” He cocks his head, narrows his eyes, and glares at his assistant unsympathically. “So, why don’t you try and answer that again?”
“I -” Merlin breaks off, unsure of what to say. He’s confused by Arthur’s sudden hostility and wilts under the questioning, heart thumping erratically in his chest. “Are you okay, Arthur?” he asks hesitantly, after a strained pause. He avoids answering his boss’ inquiries and is unsure of whether to bring up the subject of Morgana, suddenly somewhat scared of what Arthur’s reaction will be.
“I’m fine,” the blond replies curtly. “I’m just wondering why my wayward assistant is suddenly so keen to do all his work. Work that he and I both know is already completed.”
Merlin looks flummoxed as well. “Well, I guess, I just thought you might want some help over the next few days,” he attempts to explain, which is partly true. He does want to help Arthur - but by protecting him, not by filing paperwork. “I heard about your sister.” He licks his lips nervously, resisting the urge to cower under his boss’s impressive glare, and mutters a genuinely sincere, “I’m sorry. I hope she gets well soon.”
“Do you?!” Arthur asks coldly, sounding faintly disbelieving, like he can’t quite believe the nerve of the man stood in front of him.
Merlin opens his mouth, snaps it shut, then frowns. After a moment he tries again, sounding completely incredulous. “Of course!”
“That’s funny,” the blond muses, although it’s not funny at all. He taps his finger against his chin and stares up at his employee, knuckles white in one clenched fist. “Because the last thing my sister told me to do was fire you.”
“What?!” Merlin croaks, eyes widening. He knows that Morgana never liked him - not if their only meeting was anything to go by - but he didn’t know that she had actually wanted him fired. What did he ever do to her?! “Why?!”
“She seemed to think you were dangerous,” Arthur muses, as though they’re merely discussing the weather. He tilts his head, as though mildly interested, before baring his teeth, a muscle jumping erratically in his jaw. His next words echo like a gunshot around the room, sounding as though they are torn deep from the back of his throat: “And now look at her!”
Merlin’s jaw hit’s the floor as realisation strikes, like an ice cold hit to the stomach. “You think I - you think I’m responsible for what happened to her?!”
Arthur looks unmoved. He draws himself up, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them, involuntary and unchecked. “You tell me? Strange, isn’t it, Merlin, how she warns me against you and then ends up in hospital? Strange how you were the only other person in the apartment when the fire was lit. Funny how you were the one what overcame Sophia, despite looking more like a toothpick than she does.”
“I -” Merlin flounders, unsure of what to say or where to begin. How could he even begin to explain? So he just settles on saying, “I didn’t hurt Morgana,” which he knows he can say with complete and utter conviction. It’s the only thing he can say.
Arthur’s reply is simple, but it makes Merlin’s stomach sink through the floor in disappointment. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not lying,” Merlin insists venomously, which is the only thing he can think of to say. His heart is back-flipping in his chest and his face is shining with sweat, panic swooping in his gut. He was supposed to protect Arthur, like the Dragon said, not make an enemy out of him.
“Then, tell me, why did you follow me home that night?” Arthur asks, face actually flushed with anger, “Because I doubt it was as a favour!”
Merlin looks lost, like he can’t quite figure out how to explain himself, and looks at Arthur pleadingly, just willing him to understand. “I - I - I’m just trying to help!”
At this point, Arthur doesn’t care. He gets to his feet, decision made, and leans over the desk, fixing Merlin with an unwavering glare. “I’m done with your help!” he snaps, chest heaving. “You’re fired! And stay the fuck away from me and my family!”
Merlin mouths wordlessly, almost hyperventilating for a reason he doesn’t really want to contemplate, when suddenly he’s hit by something he cannot see - like an invisible wave of darkness that hits him directly in the chest. His mind dimly supplies the explanation of magic, before his vision blacks out, in a way that makes him think he’s about to faint.
But he doesn’t.
He staggers backwards, letting out a cry of surprise, and dimly registers Arthur swearing several feet away as he flails. It’s complete darkness for a long moment that can’t be more than a second, before a light flares behind his eyelids, hot, bright, and burning, just like flames.
He lets out a ragged breath, heart hammering, as the world comes back into focus around him. But the office - which now feels small and claustrophobic - suddenly seems irrelevant, because all he can see, through the long expanse of Arthur’s windows, is the very same flame.
It’s bright in the darkness of the London night, like a beacon, and Arthur swivels round to stare at it as well, his focus glued to the supernatural fire, eyes wide and disbelieving.
Taking in a lungful of air, Merlin suddenly knows that the blond can feel it too.
Like a bright, evil foghorn, it’s calling to them...
To be continued...
***
A/N Please comment and let me know what you think! Hours to write, seconds to review!