"We're A Storm In Somebody Else's Teacup" {8a/8}, Merlin, Merlin/Arthur
Title: We’re A Storm In Somebody Else’s Teacup {8/8}
Fandom: Merlin {Modern!AU}
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 16,160
Genre: Slash
Summary: In which Merlin isn’t dead (but isn’t quite alive either), Arthur is given a loophole and makes a difficult decision, and unexpected help lives on the Metropolitan Line.
Author’s Notes: Guys, really, I can’t thank you enough for sticking with me through the last 87,410 words (as an aside: it was seriously never meant to get this long! *screams*). Seriously, if you think you’ve been surprised about the route this story took; imagine my surprise as this plotline appeared in front of my eyes. This was not what I was planning at all. Still, really, thank you so much for your wonderful reviews and faith, and I hope I can keep everyone happy with what happens in this last part.
{Part One} | {Part Two} | {Part Three} | {Part Four} | {Part Five a} | {Part Five b} | {Part Six a} | {Part Six b} | {Part Seven a} | {Part Seven b}
Haven’t had a dream in a long time
See, the life I’ve had
Can make a good man bad
So, for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time.
- The Smiths
When he was seven, Lance’s parents were mugged and stabbed in front of him.
It’s not something he talks about much, and it took Arthur four years to worm all the details out of him, but in any case he hasn’t set foot in a hospital since that night. On the rare occasions he’s got ill or hurt himself, Gaius has diagnosed and treated him in his giant, cluttered house.
He looks sick, sitting hunched on a bed in casualty, staring down at his hands knotted in his lap. Arthur is sitting on the bed opposite him, staled adrenalin leaving him weak and quiet. Half an hour ago, he was shouting, swearing, name-dropping, threatening the company lawyers, everything he could think of. It didn’t work; he and Lance are down here waiting for stitches and bandages, and Morgana and Merlin are upstairs in intensive care. Gwen went with them, and Arthur knows he would have found out by now if either of them had died, but anxiety and fear are making him nauseous.
Arthur slides off his bed and goes to sit next to Lance. It’s been a shitty enough day without Lance having to deal with his fear of hospitals on top of everything else, and if Arthur isn’t going to get upstairs until Gaius arrives and sorts all this out, he might as well try to help his friend.
“I think I’m currently suing about twelve different people,” he offers gently.
“That’s because you’re an obnoxious twat,” Lance responds, not looking up. He sighs, and finally turns to Arthur. “The nurse fancies you. And the doctor.”
The nurse is female, but the doctor isn’t. Arthur can’t stop a smirk flitting across his mouth.
“Even with my broken nose? You must be losing your touch, Lance, you’re the one that men, women and household objects usually lust after.”
Lance finally cracks a smile. “I hope your nose mends crooked,” he replies, reaching to smooth the end of the deeply unattractive bandage thing that has been stuck over the bridge of Arthur’s nose with his thumb.
“You’re not supposed to be moving your arm until you get the stitches,” Arthur points out, pushing his hand away. He grimaces. “Does it hurt?”
“Like hell,” Lance replies. “Still, at least I can cross being gored by a potentially imaginary unicorn off my list of Fucking Weird Life Experiences.”
“I stabbed a man to death with a sword,” Arthur responds, “That was… pretty fucking weird too, actually.”
Lance reaches with his good arm to catch one of Arthur’s hands. “You ok?” he asks softly.
It’s patently a ridiculous thing to ask, since they’re in hospital with various injuries and there’s no guarantee that either Morgana or Merlin will live out the night, and if it were anyone else Arthur would point this out as offensively as possible, but he knows what Lance means.
“Yeah,” he sighs.
Lance lifts one of Arthur’s hands; his palm is stained brown with his blood and Valiant’s, and the back isn’t much better either.
“You’d think they’d bring you a wet wipe or something,” Lance observes, “Between your face and your hands, you look like an extra in a shitty zombie movie.”
“Well, you’re not looking exactly dashing yourself,” Arthur mutters.
Before it can descend into desperate bickering as they search for any sort of distraction, the curtain moves and the doctor comes in to give Lance his stitches. Lance stays gripping Arthur’s dirty hand as the doctor efficiently sews up the gash the unicorn gave him. The doctor doesn’t say anything but his eyes keep flickering towards Arthur and apparently Lance is right, and it’s very nearly funny but Arthur can barely keep his eyes open. The doctor finally seems to notice their joined hands and his mouth tightens, but Arthur honestly can’t be bothered to correct his assumption. Can’t bring himself to say that the man he loves is upstairs somewhere with his body hooked up to a machine.
Lance squeezes and Arthur squeezes back and forces himself to keep breathing.
Just as Lance’s arm has been bandaged to protect the sutures, the curtain is pulled aside.
“If you could excuse us, Owain?” It’s Gaius, looking calm and formidable and tired. Arthur’s stomach clenches.
“Of course.” Apparently-Owain dumps his gloves in a biohazard bin and hurries away.
“You’d both better come with me,” Gaius says, and he’s wearing his lab coat and looking sombre, just like he did when Arthur was twelve and got appendicitis (Morgana foresaw it and had him in hospital before he’d even started vomiting, but he can’t remember that right now).
“Are they…” Arthur can’t finish, the words shrivelling in his mouth.
“They’re both still alive,” Gaius says crisply, but doesn’t sound happy. “I’ve bent some rules for you; you’ll both be allowed to stay.”
They ride in the lift in a shocked sort of silence; forced to stay in casualty, Arthur and Lance had managed to make this sort of bubble, but it’s popped now and the world has once again got too big and too broken.
Gwen is sitting on the floor in the corridor, looking exhausted and miserable, but she stands up as they walk towards her.
“They won’t let me in, Gaius,” she says, voice cracking.
“That won’t be a problem now, Guinevere,” he replies, wrapping his arm safe around her shoulders and leading the three of them into a room.
It’s like walking into Arthur’s worst nightmare. There are two beds, two sets of heart monitors and two rhythms of artificial breathing. He doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to see, and he can’t choose which one he’s more afraid of; Merlin, looking tiny and insubstantial and covered in tubes, or Morgana, pale and gaunt, utterly still but for her eyes, which are roving frantically behind their lids.
Gwen lets loose a soft, moaning sound, tears dripping down her cheeks, and moves across to Merlin’s bed. She reaches out, and then curls her hand back. Arthur finally notices that Merlin’s hands have been thickly bandaged; he remembers Edwin’s fire, and wonders how bad the burns are.
“It’s all right,” Gaius says gently, “You can’t hurt him.”
Gwen reaches out, fingers shaking, and gently strokes them down Merlin’s pale cheek. Arthur looks away, not wanting to see something so intensely private, but can barely stand to look at Morgana. Her eyes won’t stop moving, seeing something invisible to the rest of them, trapped in a dream of the future that’s killing her.
“Arthur,” Gaius says, breaking Arthur out of his thoughts, “I need you to come with me.” He smiles at Lance and Gwen. “You can both stay here; no one will ask you to leave.”
Arthur numbly follows Gaius out of the room and down the hall to an office identified as Gaius’. Gaius invites him to take a seat and he obediently does so, knotting his bloody hands in his lap. Gaius sits down opposite him, fixing Arthur with a piercing gaze.
“I know you’re tired, Arthur,” he says, “And I know you’re scared, but I have a lot to say and not much time to say it in, so please try and stay with me.”
He swallows, grits his teeth, and nods. “I’m listening, Gaius.”
Gaius hesitates, and then plunges in. “People’s abilities - they don’t come from their DNA,” he tells Arthur. “Morgana’s brain isn’t wired to see the future, Merlin doesn’t have something in his genetic code that allows him to levitate objects.” His lips curl slightly. “This isn’t a case of science, but of magic.”
Arthur wants to be sceptical, but knows that this isn’t the time. Gaius knows what’s going on here far better than he does, and all he needs to do right now is follow.
“Magic is seen as a myth,” Gaius continues, “But it exists within the world. It creates coincidences, miracles, things that are seen as acts of God. The magic in the world is loose and uncontrollable; but over time people have evolved to cope with it. So, from time to time, people are born with the ability to access magic and control it. A genetic mutation that allows them to utilise magic; and this is where their gifts come from. Do you understand?”
Gaius is generating more questions than answers at this point in time, but Arthur knows better than to ask any of them right now. He just nods.
“The ways people access their magic differ,” Gaius says. “Some find they need the aid of an object - such as Nimueh and her wineglasses - or they need to speak or, like Morgana, they access magic subconsciously. People like Merlin, who can access their powers with merely a thought, are extremely rare. But I’m getting away from the point,” he adds.
Arthur curls his nails into his palms in an attempt to keep focused; he’s too worn out to do this.
“Right,” he murmurs.
“I worked with Edwin Muirden,” Gaius tells him calmly. “And I will give you all the details when you want them in the future, but the important thing right now is that you know we worked together around twenty years ago.”
Arthur can’t process this; can’t make this fit into his head. “You helped-”
“I didn’t help him create the chemical he attacked Morgana with,” Gaius cuts him off. “I swear to you, Arthur. But when I was testing it, I discovered its properties. Edwin has created a drug that affects the DNA that controls magic use; Morgana’s body is accessing too much magic now. She is seeing the future and isn’t able to wake up from the visions the way she normally can. She’ll stay unconscious and keep seeing the future, and all its possibilities; until she’s seen her entire life.”
“Can’t you… sedate her?” Arthur asks desperately.
Gaius shakes his head. “The depth of coma we’d need to put Morgana in would cause too much damage,” he says. “In a matter of hours, Morgana will have seen her whole life; things that might happen, things that will happen. She’ll see herself die and she’ll see what the world looks like after her death.”
“But she can’t,” Arthur says urgently. “I mean… she says she sort of knows how she’s going to die, but it’s not something she has specifics for.”
“The physical effects of overusing her power are already becoming clear,” Gaius tells him, ignoring his hysterical exclamation. “Her body can’t cope; her brain could haemorrhage.”
Arthur swallows hard, gritting his teeth.
“I ran an MRI the moment I arrived,” Gaius says. “Morgana’s mind is completely lit up; she’s using areas of the brain that aren’t normally used. If she’s left in this state much longer…”
“Tell me what we’re looking at here,” Arthur snaps, needing Gaius to get to the point because he can’t let himself give way to panic. “Just tell me what could happen to Morgana.”
Gaius clears his throat, and suddenly loses the ability to look Arthur in the eye. “She could die. Either her brain will haemorrhage from the strain, or her brain will forget to tell her body to function because it’s so distracted.” He pauses for a moment, and then continues: “Morgana may not die. But her mind could be so damaged that she could end up either in a deep coma or a vegetative state.” He grimaces. “Or she sees her own death and the shape of the world without her, and she goes insane.”
Arthur tastes bile. “So you’re telling me the best possible scenario, the one I should be bloody hoping for, is that my sister goes insane?”
Gaius can barely look at him, and he looks worn and exhausted. “At least then you can hope for periods of lucidity,” he suggests. He sighs, long and low and heavy. “Brief periods of lucidity.”
There’s silence in the office and Arthur can hear his jagged breathing, too loud in his ears. He can’t believe he’s hearing this; Gaius’ calm grave voice giving this harsh ultimatum.
“No,” he says aloud, “No, there must be something you can do.”
“Arthur-” Gaius begins, but Arthur doesn’t listen.
“You worked with Edwin, you must have picked something up,” Arthur snarls, and part of him feels betrayed but he won’t deal with that until his sister isn’t dying. “You must be able to do something.”
Gaius sighs, and looks older than ever. “I’ve never tested it on anyone,” he says slowly, reluctantly. “It could kill her.”
“Because her options right now are so fucking safe,” Arthur snaps. “Tell me.”
“It’s a virus,” Gaius tells him, “And not one I’ve ever tested on anyone because I can’t. But it would bind to the DNA that allows Morgana to access her powers, and it would prevent her from using magic. Without her visions, she would not go mad and she should survive.” He finally meets Arthur’s eyes. “But she would lose her precognitive ability forever.”
Arthur is about to snap that this is a perfectly suitable exchange, if it could be made to work, but then thinks of Morgana; of his stepsister who has never known anything different. He remembers how disconcerted and afraid she was when she couldn’t see the future involving Merlin. He recalls the summer she got malaria and couldn’t see the future any more; she told Arthur that it was like losing a limb, losing an integral part of herself.
“Will she be able to cope with losing her ability?” Gaius asks.
Arthur wants to say yes; wants to say that she could adapt. And then wonders if Morgana would see it like that, if she’ll ever forgive him for this.
“And you say the virus could kill her?” he says, ignoring Gaius’ question because he can’t answer it right now.
“It’s unpredictable and untested,” Gaius tells him. “I can’t promise that it wouldn’t harm her.”
He doesn’t want this decision to be in his hands. He doesn’t want this to be up to him; he doesn’t want to be responsible for Morgana’s future. What does she want? He remembers Morgana in the rain; I trust you when the time comes to do the right thing.
“She knew this was going to happen,” he says aloud. “She fucking knew. She even told me.”
Gaius frowns. “What does she want you to do?”
The right thing. But what is the right thing? What does Morgana want; does she value her powers over her life, or can she learn to live in the present like everyone else?
Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he sighs. “I don’t know.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Gaius, how long to I have to make this decision?”
“Around an hour,” Gaius replies promptly. “After that time, she may be too far gone for anything I give her.” He fixes Arthur with his firm stare. “But every minute we save will count in her favour.”
He doesn’t want this decision to be solely his; but he can’t ask Lance or Gwen, because they won’t know, and Merlin is dying himself and can’t tell Arthur one way or another.
I trust you when the time comes to do the right thing.
“Take it,” he says, words falling from his mouth before he’s even thought them through. “Take her powers, try and save her.”
Gaius nods. “I’ll have her moved to a separate room.” When Arthur frowns, he adds: “The virus could prove to be infectious, and Merlin will need his abilities to try and save himself.”
“Can’t you do anything for him?” Arthur asks, stomach plunging at the memory of Merlin lying small and lost in the hospital bed.
“Merlin isn’t dead,” Gaius tells him, getting up. “Not any more, since the paramedics have restarted his heart. But he’s not alive either; Nimueh intended to kill him, but he must have killed her before she could concentrate on his death.” When Arthur gives him a quizzical look, he adds: “In order to tip the balance between life and death, Nimueh had to concentrate completely on a person. Merlin is somewhere between life and death, and we must hope that he can pull his way back before he is lost.”
“Right,” Arthur murmurs, as they walk back towards Merlin and Morgana’s room. Something isn’t adding up in his head, and he’s too tired and anxious to think straight, so he tests his theory out loud. “You know about Nimueh’s powers,” he says slowly. “You know more than what we’ve told you. You worked with Edwin.” He stares at Gaius, realisation slowly dawning. “You knew these people, Gaius, and you knew what they were capable of, and you didn’t raise a damn finger to stop them.”
“I didn’t know what they were planning,” Gaius insists.
“But you knew what they could do and you didn’t care,” Arthur snaps.
“What would you have had me do?” Gaius demands. “Inject them with my virus, see if it killed them or not?”
“Yes!” Arthur replies, and he’s too angry and he’s not thinking entirely logically but Gaius has always been there in his life and even if none of this is his fault Arthur is desperately looking for someone to blame. “They were willing to murder hundreds, if not thousands of people, and you didn’t try and stop them in any way.”
“Arthur,” Gaius says urgently.
Arthur shakes his head. “No. You will treat Morgana and you will do what you can for Merlin and then you will not come near me, my family, or those I care about ever again, do you understand me?”
“You’re overreacting,” Gaius tells him, and Arthur knows, and he doesn’t fucking care right now.
“Do you understand?”
Gaius sighs, but nods. “I do.”
“Then do what you have to,” Arthur says, waving towards the door and at Morgana, lying twitching in her bed. He doesn’t add: and God help you if she dies.
^
Morgana’s eyes have finally stopped moving, though this isn’t necessarily a good sign. She still isn’t breathing on her own and she’s lying so completely still that Arthur keeps thinking that she really is dead and they’re fighting a lost cause. As he watches his sister’s face, looking desperately for any signs of improvement, he keeps picturing her waking up, eyes wild, and asking him what the hell he thinks he’s done. Maybe he’s being selfish, maybe she doesn’t want to come back from this. Maybe she won’t be able to adjust to losing her precognition. Maybe-
The door slides open, and Lance comes in, precariously holding two paper cups and a packet of antiseptic wipes.
“Gwen’s with Merlin,” he says. “No change there; he’s not getting better but he isn’t getting worse.”
“I suppose that’s something,” Arthur remarks dully. “No change here either, except she isn’t dreaming any more.”
Lance sets the cups down on a table and walks across to Arthur, ripping the wipes open. “You need to be cleaned up,” he announces, “Because you look awful and it’s scary and worrying.”
Arthur takes a wipe from Lance and obediently begins scrubbing the crusted blood off his hands until they’re clean again. Lance sits down beside him and washes the blood from Arthur’s face; he flinches, partly from the pain in his nose, and partly from the memory of Merlin doing this only a few days ago. Finally, he must look better, because Lance wads up the used wipes and puts them in a bin, before passing Arthur a cup of tea and sitting down with him to wait.
“You made the right choice,” he promises softly. “I know she’ll see it that way.”
Arthur sips his tea; it’s too hot and burns his tongue. “Thanks, Lance,” he says, “But could you not?”
Lance smiles wanly, and they sit in silence for a while longer. Eventually, Lance’s watch beeps on his wrist.
“Midnight,” he observes. He turns to face Arthur, a strange little crooked grin on his face. “Happy twenty-fourth birthday.”
“Oh bloody hell,” Arthur says, and helpless laughter bubbles from his mouth. “I can’t believe I forgot my own birthday.”
“You’ve been a little preoccupied,” Lance tells him.
“I have,” Arthur agrees. He offers Lance a hint of a smile. “My present had better be fucking awesome.”
“It will be,” Lance promises, and then sighs, looking away. “I called your father,” he says.
“What the hell?” Arthur demands.
“I called your father,” Lance repeats. “He’s on his way.”
“Why would you do that?” Arthur asks. “He won’t-”
“Morgana could die, Arthur,” Lance points out calmly, “I wish that wasn’t the case but it is and you know he’d want to be here.”
He has a point; he has a damn good point.
“Hunith is on her way too,” Lance adds. “Things… things are bigger than us now, Arthur.”
Arthur nods. “Right.”
Lance offers him a feeble smile. “Still, at least you look a little less like you’ve been eating brains in your spare time.”
“Good to know,” Arthur says, attempting a smile back.
They finish their tea in silence, watching Morgana’s heart monitor avidly, and Arthur tries not to feel guilty because she might live because of him. Eventually, they hear a knock at the door, and Arthur turns to find his father standing there.
Uther Pendragon looks more worn and anxious than Arthur has ever seen him, and he scarcely recognises his father. His stomach clenches, and beside him Lance gets to his feet, awkwardly clearing his throat.
“Hi, Mr Pendragon,” he says. He turns to Arthur. “I’m going back to Merlin and Gwen.” His fingers ghost on Arthur’s shoulder and then he hurries out.
Uther has turned his attention to Morgana, lying as though dead in the bed. He looks sickened, distraught, mouth moving though no words come out.
“Gaius is treating her,” Arthur says, voice quivering, “She… she might be all right.”
His father fixes him with a penetrating look, the one that’s always made Arthur feel like his soul is being given marks and somehow he’s not quite up to scratch.
“Is this to do with her being able to see the future?” he asks quietly.
“She… she can’t see the future any more,” Arthur replies, and his voice breaks in the middle. Guilt and anxiety and terror are still thick within him and he pushes himself to his feet. “I can’t… father, I can’t…” And then, because this isn’t a normal situation and it’s his fucking birthday and he’s so scared he can’t think straight, he finally says: “Dad.”
He’s never called his father anything other than father before, and Uther strides across the room and pulls his son into a hug, the kind of hug Arthur would have given everything he owned to get when he was about eight and, if he’s honest with himself, he’s still unbearably grateful. He wraps his arms around Uther’s back, and just about manages not to cry.
When they pull apart, his father scrutinises his face. “Your nose is broken,” he says, sounding bemused.
Arthur summons up a feeble smile. “You should see the other guy.”
Uther smiles back. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“…No,” Arthur sighs at last. “No. It doesn’t matter any more. But Morgana is very ill, and she might die, and the treatment is experimental at best.”
Uther considers this, and nods at last. “So we’ll wait for her,” he says firmly. “We’ll wait for her to wake.”
His father has a business empire to run, and he won’t be able to stay long; perhaps not long enough, but Arthur knows what the gesture means and is relieved not to be alone any more.
They sit in silence for the next few hours, while Morgana doesn’t dream and her heart rate stays even, and it’s almost enough.
When she starts choking, Arthur panics, but a doctor comes in and removes the tube from her throat and apparently she’s breathing on her own. Arthur knows that although this is a good sign it doesn’t mean anything in the long run, and yet he can’t help the flood of relief rushing through him. Lance comes up every hour on the hour to check on Morgana and to relay the fact that Merlin hasn’t changed at all, and that Hunith has arrived and is resolutely not having hysterics all over Gaius.
Just after six a.m Uther gets a call; apparently shares in the Kanen Agency are dropping in value and there’s some kind of financial crisis he has to go and deal with.
“You will call me the moment anything changes,” he says; an order, and wishes Arthur a brusque happy birthday before leaving the room. Arthur goes over to the window and opens up the blinds so the first hints of light can fill the room. It’s still raining outside; a little less heavily than yesterday, but it shows no sign of letting up. Maybe now Nimueh’s dead it’ll rain forever, though he hopes not.
He walks back over to the bed and sits on it, reaching for Morgana’s cold hand.
“Please, Morgana,” he says softly, “Please, give me something.”
It takes another ten minutes, but her fingers twitch against his. Arthur thinks he should probably go and get a doctor at this point - he should almost definitely go and find Gaius, his personal feelings aside - but he doesn’t want to. This moment is for him and Morgana, and just for them.
“Come on,” he murmurs, reaching to smooth her messy hair away from her face. “Come on, Morgana, you can do this.”
She frowns a little, and slowly, groggily, begins to ease her way into consciousness. Arthur is holding his breath, aware that just because Morgana is waking up doesn’t mean that she isn’t brain-damaged or insane or still half-lost to the future. Her eyelids flicker, and finally her lips curl into a smile that’s almost bitter.
“It’s gone, isn’t it,” she says flatly.
Arthur feels all the air rush out of his chest. “Yes,” he tells her.
“I can feel it,” she murmurs, still not opening her eyes. “I can feel where the future used to be. There’s just… empty space.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Arthur tells her. “You told me to do the right thing; do you have any idea how unhelpful that was?”
Her smile widens a little. “I do.”
It takes both of them to sit her upright, her eyes still shut, and Arthur pulls her into his arms, clinging tightly to her because for a few hours there he really thought he’d lost her.
“Oh God,” he murmurs into her hair.
Morgana relaxes into his arms, and then she shifts and stiffens. “Arthur,” she says urgently, “I can’t see.”
“I told you,” Arthur says, “Your powers had to be removed-”
“No,” Morgana corrects him tightly, “I mean, I can’t see.”
^
An hour, three scans, and a lot of prodding later, and Gaius finally tells Morgana that she’s brain-damaged. His voice is soft and apologetic and she can picture the look on his face though she can’t see it. Parts of her brain have burnt out and now… now she’s blind.
It’s very nearly ironic, though she can’t really see the funny side.
She’s taken to a different room, apparently - they could be taking her anywhere, for all she knows - one that she can share with Merlin. Merlin who is not quite dead but certainly nowhere near alive, and the memory of seeing him fall is still fresh in her mind.
“How does he look?” she asks.
“Corpse-like,” Gwen responds flatly, voice telling the story of her exhaustion.
The room sounds crowded; Arthur and Lance and Hunith and Gwen, and Morgana swallows down the desperate urge to cry because her visions and her vision seem like a tiny price to pay to be alive and sane to enjoy being alive, but it still stings.
Arthur hasn’t let go of her hand in a very long time. It’s his birthday and Morgana reflects that it’s kind of a shitty way to spend it; stuck in hospital with his dying not-boyfriend and his newly-blind sister. Still, the world as they know it is still more or less intact, so it could be worse, she supposes.
The space where her visions lived gapes widely. Morgana isn’t sure how to describe it; but it does feel like losing a limb, something that was part of her body and is now completely gone. She sits still and exhausted and listens to the machines keeping Merlin alive, and tries to remember all the things she saw after falling in the rain. They slip away from her hands; she hopes she’ll remember when it matters. When it’s important.
Mid-morning, Lance leaves and takes Gwen with him, so they can both change their clothes and grab a few hours of sleep. Gaius has told them that what’s wrong with Merlin won’t be fixed quickly and might not be fixed at all, but they’ll have prior warning whatever happens. Morgana can sense tension between her stepbrother and Gaius, but knows better than to ask; it’s not the time. Hunith, voice flat with misery, says she’s going to go and find some food, and Morgana tries to fumble for something comforting to say. She’s relieved to be alive, but most words of optimism vanished when she opened her eyes to find everything was still dark.
When they’re alone, Morgana disentangles her hand from Arthur’s.
“Go and sit with him,” she says softly.
“What?” Arthur is perched on the end of her bed, his warm comforting presence possibly the only thing keeping her from panicking.
“Go and sit with him,” she repeats. “I know you need to.”
She gives him a little push, and listens to him slipping from her bed and walking across the room to what is presumably Merlin’s. Left alone, Morgana reaches up and kneads at her now useless eyes, sighing at just how completely fucked up this is; she loses the ability to see the future and to see at the same time. She can adapt, she knows; but it’s still strange. Still frustrating.
Morgana twines a lock of her tangled hair around her fingers.
“How bad does your broken nose look?” she asks. “If it heals wonky and your looks are marred I’ll be devastated that I can’t see.”
“My looks are not marred,” Arthur snaps, but she can hear amusement in his voice. “Maybe I’ll have a small scar. It’ll make me look rakish.”
“Oh dear lord,” Morgana murmurs. Louder, she says: “Really, Arthur, how does Merlin look?”
“Dead,” Arthur replies. The word breaks in his mouth. “He looks dead, Morgana.”
She drops her head back against the pillow, keeping her hands pressed to her face. It’s nice to pretend the darkness is artificial and not her life now.
“I told him,” she murmurs. “I told him he was going to die.”
“When?” Arthur asks sharply. And: “What?”
“After he woke up,” Morgana says. She has to admit it; she felt terrible, though she knows she’d do it again in a heartbeat. “I told him that Nimueh was going to kill him.”
Arthur sighs. “You were only seventy percent right,” he points out. There’s a pause. “That explains it,” he says, half to himself.
Morgana frowns. “You didn’t pity fuck him again, did you?” she demands.
“No,” Arthur snaps.
Morgana smiles. “Well, you’re certainly growing as a person,” she remarks.
“Just how low is your opinion of me?” Arthur asks incredulously.
“It’s far too high,” Morgana responds softly. “Considering you’re an obnoxious twat and everything.”
She hears him laugh; hesitant and helpless. “Thanks, Morgana; that means a lot.”
They sit in silence for a moment; Arthur with Merlin, Morgana trying to get used to the darkness slotted in front of her eyes.
“Thank you,” she murmurs at last.
“Don’t,” Arthur mutters.
Morgana smiles weakly, and wonders if she’ll ever be able to stop Arthur from feeling guilty. She doesn’t repeat the words, but promises herself she’ll find some way to ease his remorse.
^
When Morgana has fallen asleep in a way that doesn’t fill Arthur with fear - he honestly doesn’t know what they’re going to do about her new blindness, but he knows they’ll find a way to cope with it, they’re strong - and Lance and Gwen have returned to stay with Hunith and Merlin, Arthur goes to find Gaius.
“I think we need to talk,” he says.
Gaius smiles at him; reassuring and warm and Arthur almost forgets that he’s angry. “We do,” he agrees.
They go back to Gaius’ office; Arthur is half dead on his feet and knows that sooner or later he’s going to collapse from exhaustion. Still, this is a conversation that he needs to have.
“You worked with Edwin,” he says accusingly, folded onto a squashy sofa in the corner.
“I did,” Gaius agrees. He sighs, looking down at his hands, and then back at Arthur. “I was at school with Hunith’s father,” he tells him. “We studied medicine together; he asked me to keep an eye on his daughter on his deathbed. I did what I could for Hunith, though I could never replace her father after his untimely death.” Gaius smiles almost ruefully. “She met the man who would become Merlin’s father when she was very young; barely twenty. He had a magical ability; plants grew when he touched them, flowers blossomed because he blew on them. Hunith was enchanted; I was intrigued. I’d read few medical papers on people with superhuman powers, and I wanted to know more. Merlin’s father was reluctant to answer my questions, but I resolved to do more research into people who could control magic. I wanted to know if science and magic could be combined to make medicine more efficient.” He sighs. “I was naïve. But Hunith married him, and I found people who were willing to talk to me. I learned all I could about magic, about how it manifested itself; I even wrote a book.”
Arthur frowns. “Morgana’s never read it; and she’s read everything she could find about people with abnormal abilities.”
“It’s never been published,” Gaius replies. “But I think I can safely say I’ve collected more data than any other person on earth.” He pauses for a long moment, and then continues: “A few years after Hunith got married, she gave birth to Merlin. By then, her marriage was in trouble and I never pressed to find out what he’d done; by the time Merlin was eight months old the divorce papers were signed and Hunith was left with a handsome amount of money and that rather lovely house of hers.” Gaius smiles in an almost reminiscent way. “Merlin was levitating objects before he could walk, before he could talk.”
“So you conducted experiments on him?” Arthur suggests, hearing suspicious bitterness in his voice.
Gaius shakes his head vehemently. “No! I only ever performed tests on people who were fully aware what they were getting into and who wanted to aid in my research. I’ve never investigated Merlin and what he can and can’t do, in the same way I never did it to Morgana.”
It’s too late for Morgana now, Arthur remembers with a sickening kick in his stomach. She’s…normal now. It doesn’t fit in his head, and he knows it will take a long time to get used to it.
“I met Edwin at a conference,” Gaius continues after a moment, when Arthur says nothing, “He was also doing research into combining magic and science.” He looks intently at Arthur. “I know you won’t believe me, but he was a different man then. It was the days before he was burnt, and he was so bright and enthusiastic.” His smile is bitter. “Merlin reminds me of him, a little. Edwin was charming and excited about things once too.”
Arthur finds this difficult to believe, but doesn’t say it aloud.
“We worked together for a few years. Edwin was a prodigy; he was unbelievably talented. I honestly think that there was nothing he couldn’t have achieved if he didn’t put his mind to it. But there was an accident one night; an experiment exploded and I don’t know if he was using his power but he was horribly burnt and a few weeks after being discharged from hospital he… disappeared. Just packed up and left his home one night, and no one ever heard from him again.” Gaius grimaces. “I half-thought he might have killed himself; that’s why I was so surprised when it turned out he wasn’t dead, but was actually poisoning Morgana.”
“You knew the others,” Arthur says, voice still more accusing than he means it to be. “You must have met Nimueh.”
“I did.” Gaius inclines his head.
“Five minutes with her would’ve been all you’d need to see she was fucking insane,” Arthur points out, “That she was willing to use her power to murder people. And all you did was take notes and send her on her way?”
“I made a mistake,” Gaius agrees solemnly.
“A mistake that could get your godson killed!” Arthur points out, fury breaking through.
“I continued my experiments without Edwin,” Gaius says, ignoring him. “I managed to find a virus capable of damaging the DNA responsible for magic access, but I thought it could be used as a vaccine to remove a person’s powers if they were becoming a danger to themselves.” He sighs, looking down at his hands. “I would never have willingly used it as a weapon against someone.”
Arthur desperately wants to blame Gaius for all this, wants him to be responsible, but he knows that just because Gaius turned the other cheek a few times it doesn’t mean that he in any way helped Nimueh and the others, and he should probably stop hating him for it.
“I discovered another useful chemical,” Gaius says lightly, carefully. “I saved your life with it.”
“I don’t understand,” Arthur tells him.
“Morgana and I put it in your tea,” Gaius explains. “Another virus. It didn’t harm you, but it did make you impervious to magic that was used against you.”
Arthur is about to tell Gaius that he’s not a fucking experiment when he remembers Valiant’s magical sword that should have cut through Arthur’s arm and didn’t; the unicorns that were as ghosts to him, that passed through him like mist instead of impaling him.
“Oh,” he says, as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place, “Oh, that was you.”
“I’m sorry I did it without your permission,” Gaius responds, “Morgana asked that I not tell you.”
“And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, drug Merlin up with it?” Arthur asks sharply.
“It wouldn’t work on someone who uses magic,” Gaius says. “It would have hurt Morgana or Merlin if I’d given it to them, and Morgana assured me that Gwen and Lance wouldn’t need it.”
“Lance got his arm cut open by a unicorn,” Arthur points out. “I mean, all right, I know the scar will make him even more sexy and mysterious than he already is, but if that could’ve been prevented-”
“I can’t see the future,” Gaius reminds him patiently, “I did only as your sister asked.”
“Right.” Arthur is too tired for this, and now things make sense he feels less betrayed than he did, but he knows he needs to get some rest. “I suppose I owe you an apology.”
“You don’t,” Gaius tells him.
“All right then.” Arthur offers him a feeble smile. “Well, thank you, I suppose.”
Gaius nods, and waves a hand at the sofa Arthur is sat on. “You can rest in here,” he says.
Arthur uncurls himself and lies down on the couch, asleep almost as soon as he’s horizontal. As he drifts off he reflects that Gaius still hasn’t given away the identity of Merlin’s father; he wonders if it’s significant or if he just doesn’t want Merlin to try and seek him out.
^
Morgana wakes up, panicking. It’s disconcerting for a moment, awaking to find that it’s still absolutely dark, and then her memories catch up with her.
“God,” she breathes, still tense and frightened.
“What’s the matter, Morgana?”
Lance, standing close to her; one of his big, warm hands clutches hers.
“There were… there were people, and they were standing in a room and they kept saying it was mine, but it wasn’t, and I was wearing this really ugly raincoat, and then there were unicorns, and-”
She hears Lance laugh; a gentle sound, and her mattress dips as he sits beside her.
“Morgana,” he says softly, “It’s all right.” His fingers curl in her hair, soothing. “You’ve never had a dream before, have you?”
“I’ve had thousands of dreams,” Morgana responds, and then realises what he’s getting at. “…I’ve never had one that didn’t come true,” she admits.
“You are going to have so much fun,” he tells her, amusement in his tone. “Really, Morgana, so much fun.” He tucks a lock of hair tenderly behind her ear. “Well, once you get used to it, anyway.”
Morgana isn’t sure she can ever get used to it; she doesn’t know how people do it. Oh, she knows in principle how dreams work, but the idea of her subconscious shuffling through all its reference points and then throwing them together to make a tangled, uncontrollable vision seems horrific.
She reaches up her hand and manages to grasp Lance’s hand after a moment.
“Where’s Arthur?” she asks as his fingers entwine with hers.
“Getting some rest,” Lance replies. “He had to sleep before he actually fell down.”
Morgana pictures Arthur being stubborn and pale and bloody and smiles slightly. “About time,” she murmurs. She takes a breath. “And Merlin?” she asks in a whisper.
“No change,” Lance tells her. “His hand twitched about half an hour ago, but there hasn’t been a repeat performance and his brain activity hasn’t increased any.” He sighs, shuffling a little closer to her. “All tests show he’s in a deep coma,” Lance tells her, “But Gaius says that it’s not quite true. He’s just… not really there.”
Morgana isn’t reassured by this; she hates the fact that she could never see Merlin in her visions, because she wants to know how this all turns out. She wants to be able to reassure everyone, or at least prepare them for the worst. Anything more than this waiting.
But this is what she has now, and she’ll have to learn to live with it.
“I take it Gaius doesn’t have any bright ideas?” she asks.
Lance sighs heavily. “Not just yet.” He squeezes Morgana’s hand, and he appears to be taking up kind of a lot of her bed. “I’ll stay with you until Arthur gets back.”
“I don’t need to be babysat,” Morgana tells him sharply.
“You don’t,” Lance agrees. In his tone she can hear, unsaid, relief and affection, the I thought you were dead for a while there, and understands that this is as much for Lance as it is for her.
She listens to Merlin’s heart monitor for a while; after a moment she can hear Gwen and Hunith, shuffling around quietly, occasionally exchanging a word or two.
“Are we all going to be arrested?” Lance asks her conversationally.
I don’t see the future any more, Morgana wants to say. “Well,” she murmurs, “Not unless you’ve been doing something I don’t know about.” She forces a smile. “Are you secretly breaking the law, Lance?”
“You mean, apart from the crack den in my basement?”
Morgana’s smile finally feels real. “Apart from that,” she agrees.
“It’s just… I ditched the gun but shouldn’t people be coming to ask us about the conspicuous dead bodies?”
Morgana shakes her head. “There’s no evidence,” she points out. When Lance remains silent, she explains: “Edwin was burnt; nothing left of him. Nimueh dissolved back into her rain. Anhora walked away.”
“Valiant was leaving bloody big trails of… well, blood,” Lance reminds her. “He was fairly conspicuous.”
“Didn’t Anhora tell you?” Morgana asks.
“Tell us what?” Lance sounds suspicious.
“He got rid of Valiant’s body for you,” Morgana tells him; it was one of the last things she saw, and one that has stuck firmly in her mind. “He summons the unicorns from… another dimension or something. I’m not entirely certain of the specifics, but anyway, he sent Valiant’s body there too. No murders, no murder weapons; just a few vandalised statues and some suspicious scorch marks.”
“So… Valiant’s corpse is in another dimension?”
Morgana nods. “I imagine the unicorns will eat him,” she says lightly.
Lance laughs. “Oh, wait ‘til I tell Arthur,” he replies. “That’s… really cool. And horrible.”
“Gaius should keep the hospital staff from asking too many questions,” Morgana adds. “I think we’ll get away with it.”
She feels Lance’s hand brush across her cheek, thumb resting close to her eye. “If you can call this getting away with it,” he murmurs, sounding more pessimistic than she’s heard in a long time.
“I’m alive,” she reminds him, “After that, all other concerns become secondary.”
Lance doesn’t seem to be able to say anything; his mouth presses against her temple. Morgana smiles, squeezing her friend’s hand. It’s a lot to get used to; she’s going to have to learn to adapt, but she is surrounded by people who love her and she has more money than God, so she’s sure she’ll survive one way or another.
It’s Merlin that she’s worried about now.
Continued Here
Fandom: Merlin {Modern!AU}
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 16,160
Genre: Slash
Summary: In which Merlin isn’t dead (but isn’t quite alive either), Arthur is given a loophole and makes a difficult decision, and unexpected help lives on the Metropolitan Line.
Author’s Notes: Guys, really, I can’t thank you enough for sticking with me through the last 87,410 words (as an aside: it was seriously never meant to get this long! *screams*). Seriously, if you think you’ve been surprised about the route this story took; imagine my surprise as this plotline appeared in front of my eyes. This was not what I was planning at all. Still, really, thank you so much for your wonderful reviews and faith, and I hope I can keep everyone happy with what happens in this last part.
{Part One} | {Part Two} | {Part Three} | {Part Four} | {Part Five a} | {Part Five b} | {Part Six a} | {Part Six b} | {Part Seven a} | {Part Seven b}
Haven’t had a dream in a long time
See, the life I’ve had
Can make a good man bad
So, for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time.
- The Smiths
When he was seven, Lance’s parents were mugged and stabbed in front of him.
It’s not something he talks about much, and it took Arthur four years to worm all the details out of him, but in any case he hasn’t set foot in a hospital since that night. On the rare occasions he’s got ill or hurt himself, Gaius has diagnosed and treated him in his giant, cluttered house.
He looks sick, sitting hunched on a bed in casualty, staring down at his hands knotted in his lap. Arthur is sitting on the bed opposite him, staled adrenalin leaving him weak and quiet. Half an hour ago, he was shouting, swearing, name-dropping, threatening the company lawyers, everything he could think of. It didn’t work; he and Lance are down here waiting for stitches and bandages, and Morgana and Merlin are upstairs in intensive care. Gwen went with them, and Arthur knows he would have found out by now if either of them had died, but anxiety and fear are making him nauseous.
Arthur slides off his bed and goes to sit next to Lance. It’s been a shitty enough day without Lance having to deal with his fear of hospitals on top of everything else, and if Arthur isn’t going to get upstairs until Gaius arrives and sorts all this out, he might as well try to help his friend.
“I think I’m currently suing about twelve different people,” he offers gently.
“That’s because you’re an obnoxious twat,” Lance responds, not looking up. He sighs, and finally turns to Arthur. “The nurse fancies you. And the doctor.”
The nurse is female, but the doctor isn’t. Arthur can’t stop a smirk flitting across his mouth.
“Even with my broken nose? You must be losing your touch, Lance, you’re the one that men, women and household objects usually lust after.”
Lance finally cracks a smile. “I hope your nose mends crooked,” he replies, reaching to smooth the end of the deeply unattractive bandage thing that has been stuck over the bridge of Arthur’s nose with his thumb.
“You’re not supposed to be moving your arm until you get the stitches,” Arthur points out, pushing his hand away. He grimaces. “Does it hurt?”
“Like hell,” Lance replies. “Still, at least I can cross being gored by a potentially imaginary unicorn off my list of Fucking Weird Life Experiences.”
“I stabbed a man to death with a sword,” Arthur responds, “That was… pretty fucking weird too, actually.”
Lance reaches with his good arm to catch one of Arthur’s hands. “You ok?” he asks softly.
It’s patently a ridiculous thing to ask, since they’re in hospital with various injuries and there’s no guarantee that either Morgana or Merlin will live out the night, and if it were anyone else Arthur would point this out as offensively as possible, but he knows what Lance means.
“Yeah,” he sighs.
Lance lifts one of Arthur’s hands; his palm is stained brown with his blood and Valiant’s, and the back isn’t much better either.
“You’d think they’d bring you a wet wipe or something,” Lance observes, “Between your face and your hands, you look like an extra in a shitty zombie movie.”
“Well, you’re not looking exactly dashing yourself,” Arthur mutters.
Before it can descend into desperate bickering as they search for any sort of distraction, the curtain moves and the doctor comes in to give Lance his stitches. Lance stays gripping Arthur’s dirty hand as the doctor efficiently sews up the gash the unicorn gave him. The doctor doesn’t say anything but his eyes keep flickering towards Arthur and apparently Lance is right, and it’s very nearly funny but Arthur can barely keep his eyes open. The doctor finally seems to notice their joined hands and his mouth tightens, but Arthur honestly can’t be bothered to correct his assumption. Can’t bring himself to say that the man he loves is upstairs somewhere with his body hooked up to a machine.
Lance squeezes and Arthur squeezes back and forces himself to keep breathing.
Just as Lance’s arm has been bandaged to protect the sutures, the curtain is pulled aside.
“If you could excuse us, Owain?” It’s Gaius, looking calm and formidable and tired. Arthur’s stomach clenches.
“Of course.” Apparently-Owain dumps his gloves in a biohazard bin and hurries away.
“You’d both better come with me,” Gaius says, and he’s wearing his lab coat and looking sombre, just like he did when Arthur was twelve and got appendicitis (Morgana foresaw it and had him in hospital before he’d even started vomiting, but he can’t remember that right now).
“Are they…” Arthur can’t finish, the words shrivelling in his mouth.
“They’re both still alive,” Gaius says crisply, but doesn’t sound happy. “I’ve bent some rules for you; you’ll both be allowed to stay.”
They ride in the lift in a shocked sort of silence; forced to stay in casualty, Arthur and Lance had managed to make this sort of bubble, but it’s popped now and the world has once again got too big and too broken.
Gwen is sitting on the floor in the corridor, looking exhausted and miserable, but she stands up as they walk towards her.
“They won’t let me in, Gaius,” she says, voice cracking.
“That won’t be a problem now, Guinevere,” he replies, wrapping his arm safe around her shoulders and leading the three of them into a room.
It’s like walking into Arthur’s worst nightmare. There are two beds, two sets of heart monitors and two rhythms of artificial breathing. He doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to see, and he can’t choose which one he’s more afraid of; Merlin, looking tiny and insubstantial and covered in tubes, or Morgana, pale and gaunt, utterly still but for her eyes, which are roving frantically behind their lids.
Gwen lets loose a soft, moaning sound, tears dripping down her cheeks, and moves across to Merlin’s bed. She reaches out, and then curls her hand back. Arthur finally notices that Merlin’s hands have been thickly bandaged; he remembers Edwin’s fire, and wonders how bad the burns are.
“It’s all right,” Gaius says gently, “You can’t hurt him.”
Gwen reaches out, fingers shaking, and gently strokes them down Merlin’s pale cheek. Arthur looks away, not wanting to see something so intensely private, but can barely stand to look at Morgana. Her eyes won’t stop moving, seeing something invisible to the rest of them, trapped in a dream of the future that’s killing her.
“Arthur,” Gaius says, breaking Arthur out of his thoughts, “I need you to come with me.” He smiles at Lance and Gwen. “You can both stay here; no one will ask you to leave.”
Arthur numbly follows Gaius out of the room and down the hall to an office identified as Gaius’. Gaius invites him to take a seat and he obediently does so, knotting his bloody hands in his lap. Gaius sits down opposite him, fixing Arthur with a piercing gaze.
“I know you’re tired, Arthur,” he says, “And I know you’re scared, but I have a lot to say and not much time to say it in, so please try and stay with me.”
He swallows, grits his teeth, and nods. “I’m listening, Gaius.”
Gaius hesitates, and then plunges in. “People’s abilities - they don’t come from their DNA,” he tells Arthur. “Morgana’s brain isn’t wired to see the future, Merlin doesn’t have something in his genetic code that allows him to levitate objects.” His lips curl slightly. “This isn’t a case of science, but of magic.”
Arthur wants to be sceptical, but knows that this isn’t the time. Gaius knows what’s going on here far better than he does, and all he needs to do right now is follow.
“Magic is seen as a myth,” Gaius continues, “But it exists within the world. It creates coincidences, miracles, things that are seen as acts of God. The magic in the world is loose and uncontrollable; but over time people have evolved to cope with it. So, from time to time, people are born with the ability to access magic and control it. A genetic mutation that allows them to utilise magic; and this is where their gifts come from. Do you understand?”
Gaius is generating more questions than answers at this point in time, but Arthur knows better than to ask any of them right now. He just nods.
“The ways people access their magic differ,” Gaius says. “Some find they need the aid of an object - such as Nimueh and her wineglasses - or they need to speak or, like Morgana, they access magic subconsciously. People like Merlin, who can access their powers with merely a thought, are extremely rare. But I’m getting away from the point,” he adds.
Arthur curls his nails into his palms in an attempt to keep focused; he’s too worn out to do this.
“Right,” he murmurs.
“I worked with Edwin Muirden,” Gaius tells him calmly. “And I will give you all the details when you want them in the future, but the important thing right now is that you know we worked together around twenty years ago.”
Arthur can’t process this; can’t make this fit into his head. “You helped-”
“I didn’t help him create the chemical he attacked Morgana with,” Gaius cuts him off. “I swear to you, Arthur. But when I was testing it, I discovered its properties. Edwin has created a drug that affects the DNA that controls magic use; Morgana’s body is accessing too much magic now. She is seeing the future and isn’t able to wake up from the visions the way she normally can. She’ll stay unconscious and keep seeing the future, and all its possibilities; until she’s seen her entire life.”
“Can’t you… sedate her?” Arthur asks desperately.
Gaius shakes his head. “The depth of coma we’d need to put Morgana in would cause too much damage,” he says. “In a matter of hours, Morgana will have seen her whole life; things that might happen, things that will happen. She’ll see herself die and she’ll see what the world looks like after her death.”
“But she can’t,” Arthur says urgently. “I mean… she says she sort of knows how she’s going to die, but it’s not something she has specifics for.”
“The physical effects of overusing her power are already becoming clear,” Gaius tells him, ignoring his hysterical exclamation. “Her body can’t cope; her brain could haemorrhage.”
Arthur swallows hard, gritting his teeth.
“I ran an MRI the moment I arrived,” Gaius says. “Morgana’s mind is completely lit up; she’s using areas of the brain that aren’t normally used. If she’s left in this state much longer…”
“Tell me what we’re looking at here,” Arthur snaps, needing Gaius to get to the point because he can’t let himself give way to panic. “Just tell me what could happen to Morgana.”
Gaius clears his throat, and suddenly loses the ability to look Arthur in the eye. “She could die. Either her brain will haemorrhage from the strain, or her brain will forget to tell her body to function because it’s so distracted.” He pauses for a moment, and then continues: “Morgana may not die. But her mind could be so damaged that she could end up either in a deep coma or a vegetative state.” He grimaces. “Or she sees her own death and the shape of the world without her, and she goes insane.”
Arthur tastes bile. “So you’re telling me the best possible scenario, the one I should be bloody hoping for, is that my sister goes insane?”
Gaius can barely look at him, and he looks worn and exhausted. “At least then you can hope for periods of lucidity,” he suggests. He sighs, long and low and heavy. “Brief periods of lucidity.”
There’s silence in the office and Arthur can hear his jagged breathing, too loud in his ears. He can’t believe he’s hearing this; Gaius’ calm grave voice giving this harsh ultimatum.
“No,” he says aloud, “No, there must be something you can do.”
“Arthur-” Gaius begins, but Arthur doesn’t listen.
“You worked with Edwin, you must have picked something up,” Arthur snarls, and part of him feels betrayed but he won’t deal with that until his sister isn’t dying. “You must be able to do something.”
Gaius sighs, and looks older than ever. “I’ve never tested it on anyone,” he says slowly, reluctantly. “It could kill her.”
“Because her options right now are so fucking safe,” Arthur snaps. “Tell me.”
“It’s a virus,” Gaius tells him, “And not one I’ve ever tested on anyone because I can’t. But it would bind to the DNA that allows Morgana to access her powers, and it would prevent her from using magic. Without her visions, she would not go mad and she should survive.” He finally meets Arthur’s eyes. “But she would lose her precognitive ability forever.”
Arthur is about to snap that this is a perfectly suitable exchange, if it could be made to work, but then thinks of Morgana; of his stepsister who has never known anything different. He remembers how disconcerted and afraid she was when she couldn’t see the future involving Merlin. He recalls the summer she got malaria and couldn’t see the future any more; she told Arthur that it was like losing a limb, losing an integral part of herself.
“Will she be able to cope with losing her ability?” Gaius asks.
Arthur wants to say yes; wants to say that she could adapt. And then wonders if Morgana would see it like that, if she’ll ever forgive him for this.
“And you say the virus could kill her?” he says, ignoring Gaius’ question because he can’t answer it right now.
“It’s unpredictable and untested,” Gaius tells him. “I can’t promise that it wouldn’t harm her.”
He doesn’t want this decision to be in his hands. He doesn’t want this to be up to him; he doesn’t want to be responsible for Morgana’s future. What does she want? He remembers Morgana in the rain; I trust you when the time comes to do the right thing.
“She knew this was going to happen,” he says aloud. “She fucking knew. She even told me.”
Gaius frowns. “What does she want you to do?”
The right thing. But what is the right thing? What does Morgana want; does she value her powers over her life, or can she learn to live in the present like everyone else?
Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he sighs. “I don’t know.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Gaius, how long to I have to make this decision?”
“Around an hour,” Gaius replies promptly. “After that time, she may be too far gone for anything I give her.” He fixes Arthur with his firm stare. “But every minute we save will count in her favour.”
He doesn’t want this decision to be solely his; but he can’t ask Lance or Gwen, because they won’t know, and Merlin is dying himself and can’t tell Arthur one way or another.
I trust you when the time comes to do the right thing.
“Take it,” he says, words falling from his mouth before he’s even thought them through. “Take her powers, try and save her.”
Gaius nods. “I’ll have her moved to a separate room.” When Arthur frowns, he adds: “The virus could prove to be infectious, and Merlin will need his abilities to try and save himself.”
“Can’t you do anything for him?” Arthur asks, stomach plunging at the memory of Merlin lying small and lost in the hospital bed.
“Merlin isn’t dead,” Gaius tells him, getting up. “Not any more, since the paramedics have restarted his heart. But he’s not alive either; Nimueh intended to kill him, but he must have killed her before she could concentrate on his death.” When Arthur gives him a quizzical look, he adds: “In order to tip the balance between life and death, Nimueh had to concentrate completely on a person. Merlin is somewhere between life and death, and we must hope that he can pull his way back before he is lost.”
“Right,” Arthur murmurs, as they walk back towards Merlin and Morgana’s room. Something isn’t adding up in his head, and he’s too tired and anxious to think straight, so he tests his theory out loud. “You know about Nimueh’s powers,” he says slowly. “You know more than what we’ve told you. You worked with Edwin.” He stares at Gaius, realisation slowly dawning. “You knew these people, Gaius, and you knew what they were capable of, and you didn’t raise a damn finger to stop them.”
“I didn’t know what they were planning,” Gaius insists.
“But you knew what they could do and you didn’t care,” Arthur snaps.
“What would you have had me do?” Gaius demands. “Inject them with my virus, see if it killed them or not?”
“Yes!” Arthur replies, and he’s too angry and he’s not thinking entirely logically but Gaius has always been there in his life and even if none of this is his fault Arthur is desperately looking for someone to blame. “They were willing to murder hundreds, if not thousands of people, and you didn’t try and stop them in any way.”
“Arthur,” Gaius says urgently.
Arthur shakes his head. “No. You will treat Morgana and you will do what you can for Merlin and then you will not come near me, my family, or those I care about ever again, do you understand me?”
“You’re overreacting,” Gaius tells him, and Arthur knows, and he doesn’t fucking care right now.
“Do you understand?”
Gaius sighs, but nods. “I do.”
“Then do what you have to,” Arthur says, waving towards the door and at Morgana, lying twitching in her bed. He doesn’t add: and God help you if she dies.
^
Morgana’s eyes have finally stopped moving, though this isn’t necessarily a good sign. She still isn’t breathing on her own and she’s lying so completely still that Arthur keeps thinking that she really is dead and they’re fighting a lost cause. As he watches his sister’s face, looking desperately for any signs of improvement, he keeps picturing her waking up, eyes wild, and asking him what the hell he thinks he’s done. Maybe he’s being selfish, maybe she doesn’t want to come back from this. Maybe she won’t be able to adjust to losing her precognition. Maybe-
The door slides open, and Lance comes in, precariously holding two paper cups and a packet of antiseptic wipes.
“Gwen’s with Merlin,” he says. “No change there; he’s not getting better but he isn’t getting worse.”
“I suppose that’s something,” Arthur remarks dully. “No change here either, except she isn’t dreaming any more.”
Lance sets the cups down on a table and walks across to Arthur, ripping the wipes open. “You need to be cleaned up,” he announces, “Because you look awful and it’s scary and worrying.”
Arthur takes a wipe from Lance and obediently begins scrubbing the crusted blood off his hands until they’re clean again. Lance sits down beside him and washes the blood from Arthur’s face; he flinches, partly from the pain in his nose, and partly from the memory of Merlin doing this only a few days ago. Finally, he must look better, because Lance wads up the used wipes and puts them in a bin, before passing Arthur a cup of tea and sitting down with him to wait.
“You made the right choice,” he promises softly. “I know she’ll see it that way.”
Arthur sips his tea; it’s too hot and burns his tongue. “Thanks, Lance,” he says, “But could you not?”
Lance smiles wanly, and they sit in silence for a while longer. Eventually, Lance’s watch beeps on his wrist.
“Midnight,” he observes. He turns to face Arthur, a strange little crooked grin on his face. “Happy twenty-fourth birthday.”
“Oh bloody hell,” Arthur says, and helpless laughter bubbles from his mouth. “I can’t believe I forgot my own birthday.”
“You’ve been a little preoccupied,” Lance tells him.
“I have,” Arthur agrees. He offers Lance a hint of a smile. “My present had better be fucking awesome.”
“It will be,” Lance promises, and then sighs, looking away. “I called your father,” he says.
“What the hell?” Arthur demands.
“I called your father,” Lance repeats. “He’s on his way.”
“Why would you do that?” Arthur asks. “He won’t-”
“Morgana could die, Arthur,” Lance points out calmly, “I wish that wasn’t the case but it is and you know he’d want to be here.”
He has a point; he has a damn good point.
“Hunith is on her way too,” Lance adds. “Things… things are bigger than us now, Arthur.”
Arthur nods. “Right.”
Lance offers him a feeble smile. “Still, at least you look a little less like you’ve been eating brains in your spare time.”
“Good to know,” Arthur says, attempting a smile back.
They finish their tea in silence, watching Morgana’s heart monitor avidly, and Arthur tries not to feel guilty because she might live because of him. Eventually, they hear a knock at the door, and Arthur turns to find his father standing there.
Uther Pendragon looks more worn and anxious than Arthur has ever seen him, and he scarcely recognises his father. His stomach clenches, and beside him Lance gets to his feet, awkwardly clearing his throat.
“Hi, Mr Pendragon,” he says. He turns to Arthur. “I’m going back to Merlin and Gwen.” His fingers ghost on Arthur’s shoulder and then he hurries out.
Uther has turned his attention to Morgana, lying as though dead in the bed. He looks sickened, distraught, mouth moving though no words come out.
“Gaius is treating her,” Arthur says, voice quivering, “She… she might be all right.”
His father fixes him with a penetrating look, the one that’s always made Arthur feel like his soul is being given marks and somehow he’s not quite up to scratch.
“Is this to do with her being able to see the future?” he asks quietly.
“She… she can’t see the future any more,” Arthur replies, and his voice breaks in the middle. Guilt and anxiety and terror are still thick within him and he pushes himself to his feet. “I can’t… father, I can’t…” And then, because this isn’t a normal situation and it’s his fucking birthday and he’s so scared he can’t think straight, he finally says: “Dad.”
He’s never called his father anything other than father before, and Uther strides across the room and pulls his son into a hug, the kind of hug Arthur would have given everything he owned to get when he was about eight and, if he’s honest with himself, he’s still unbearably grateful. He wraps his arms around Uther’s back, and just about manages not to cry.
When they pull apart, his father scrutinises his face. “Your nose is broken,” he says, sounding bemused.
Arthur summons up a feeble smile. “You should see the other guy.”
Uther smiles back. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“…No,” Arthur sighs at last. “No. It doesn’t matter any more. But Morgana is very ill, and she might die, and the treatment is experimental at best.”
Uther considers this, and nods at last. “So we’ll wait for her,” he says firmly. “We’ll wait for her to wake.”
His father has a business empire to run, and he won’t be able to stay long; perhaps not long enough, but Arthur knows what the gesture means and is relieved not to be alone any more.
They sit in silence for the next few hours, while Morgana doesn’t dream and her heart rate stays even, and it’s almost enough.
When she starts choking, Arthur panics, but a doctor comes in and removes the tube from her throat and apparently she’s breathing on her own. Arthur knows that although this is a good sign it doesn’t mean anything in the long run, and yet he can’t help the flood of relief rushing through him. Lance comes up every hour on the hour to check on Morgana and to relay the fact that Merlin hasn’t changed at all, and that Hunith has arrived and is resolutely not having hysterics all over Gaius.
Just after six a.m Uther gets a call; apparently shares in the Kanen Agency are dropping in value and there’s some kind of financial crisis he has to go and deal with.
“You will call me the moment anything changes,” he says; an order, and wishes Arthur a brusque happy birthday before leaving the room. Arthur goes over to the window and opens up the blinds so the first hints of light can fill the room. It’s still raining outside; a little less heavily than yesterday, but it shows no sign of letting up. Maybe now Nimueh’s dead it’ll rain forever, though he hopes not.
He walks back over to the bed and sits on it, reaching for Morgana’s cold hand.
“Please, Morgana,” he says softly, “Please, give me something.”
It takes another ten minutes, but her fingers twitch against his. Arthur thinks he should probably go and get a doctor at this point - he should almost definitely go and find Gaius, his personal feelings aside - but he doesn’t want to. This moment is for him and Morgana, and just for them.
“Come on,” he murmurs, reaching to smooth her messy hair away from her face. “Come on, Morgana, you can do this.”
She frowns a little, and slowly, groggily, begins to ease her way into consciousness. Arthur is holding his breath, aware that just because Morgana is waking up doesn’t mean that she isn’t brain-damaged or insane or still half-lost to the future. Her eyelids flicker, and finally her lips curl into a smile that’s almost bitter.
“It’s gone, isn’t it,” she says flatly.
Arthur feels all the air rush out of his chest. “Yes,” he tells her.
“I can feel it,” she murmurs, still not opening her eyes. “I can feel where the future used to be. There’s just… empty space.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Arthur tells her. “You told me to do the right thing; do you have any idea how unhelpful that was?”
Her smile widens a little. “I do.”
It takes both of them to sit her upright, her eyes still shut, and Arthur pulls her into his arms, clinging tightly to her because for a few hours there he really thought he’d lost her.
“Oh God,” he murmurs into her hair.
Morgana relaxes into his arms, and then she shifts and stiffens. “Arthur,” she says urgently, “I can’t see.”
“I told you,” Arthur says, “Your powers had to be removed-”
“No,” Morgana corrects him tightly, “I mean, I can’t see.”
^
An hour, three scans, and a lot of prodding later, and Gaius finally tells Morgana that she’s brain-damaged. His voice is soft and apologetic and she can picture the look on his face though she can’t see it. Parts of her brain have burnt out and now… now she’s blind.
It’s very nearly ironic, though she can’t really see the funny side.
She’s taken to a different room, apparently - they could be taking her anywhere, for all she knows - one that she can share with Merlin. Merlin who is not quite dead but certainly nowhere near alive, and the memory of seeing him fall is still fresh in her mind.
“How does he look?” she asks.
“Corpse-like,” Gwen responds flatly, voice telling the story of her exhaustion.
The room sounds crowded; Arthur and Lance and Hunith and Gwen, and Morgana swallows down the desperate urge to cry because her visions and her vision seem like a tiny price to pay to be alive and sane to enjoy being alive, but it still stings.
Arthur hasn’t let go of her hand in a very long time. It’s his birthday and Morgana reflects that it’s kind of a shitty way to spend it; stuck in hospital with his dying not-boyfriend and his newly-blind sister. Still, the world as they know it is still more or less intact, so it could be worse, she supposes.
The space where her visions lived gapes widely. Morgana isn’t sure how to describe it; but it does feel like losing a limb, something that was part of her body and is now completely gone. She sits still and exhausted and listens to the machines keeping Merlin alive, and tries to remember all the things she saw after falling in the rain. They slip away from her hands; she hopes she’ll remember when it matters. When it’s important.
Mid-morning, Lance leaves and takes Gwen with him, so they can both change their clothes and grab a few hours of sleep. Gaius has told them that what’s wrong with Merlin won’t be fixed quickly and might not be fixed at all, but they’ll have prior warning whatever happens. Morgana can sense tension between her stepbrother and Gaius, but knows better than to ask; it’s not the time. Hunith, voice flat with misery, says she’s going to go and find some food, and Morgana tries to fumble for something comforting to say. She’s relieved to be alive, but most words of optimism vanished when she opened her eyes to find everything was still dark.
When they’re alone, Morgana disentangles her hand from Arthur’s.
“Go and sit with him,” she says softly.
“What?” Arthur is perched on the end of her bed, his warm comforting presence possibly the only thing keeping her from panicking.
“Go and sit with him,” she repeats. “I know you need to.”
She gives him a little push, and listens to him slipping from her bed and walking across the room to what is presumably Merlin’s. Left alone, Morgana reaches up and kneads at her now useless eyes, sighing at just how completely fucked up this is; she loses the ability to see the future and to see at the same time. She can adapt, she knows; but it’s still strange. Still frustrating.
Morgana twines a lock of her tangled hair around her fingers.
“How bad does your broken nose look?” she asks. “If it heals wonky and your looks are marred I’ll be devastated that I can’t see.”
“My looks are not marred,” Arthur snaps, but she can hear amusement in his voice. “Maybe I’ll have a small scar. It’ll make me look rakish.”
“Oh dear lord,” Morgana murmurs. Louder, she says: “Really, Arthur, how does Merlin look?”
“Dead,” Arthur replies. The word breaks in his mouth. “He looks dead, Morgana.”
She drops her head back against the pillow, keeping her hands pressed to her face. It’s nice to pretend the darkness is artificial and not her life now.
“I told him,” she murmurs. “I told him he was going to die.”
“When?” Arthur asks sharply. And: “What?”
“After he woke up,” Morgana says. She has to admit it; she felt terrible, though she knows she’d do it again in a heartbeat. “I told him that Nimueh was going to kill him.”
Arthur sighs. “You were only seventy percent right,” he points out. There’s a pause. “That explains it,” he says, half to himself.
Morgana frowns. “You didn’t pity fuck him again, did you?” she demands.
“No,” Arthur snaps.
Morgana smiles. “Well, you’re certainly growing as a person,” she remarks.
“Just how low is your opinion of me?” Arthur asks incredulously.
“It’s far too high,” Morgana responds softly. “Considering you’re an obnoxious twat and everything.”
She hears him laugh; hesitant and helpless. “Thanks, Morgana; that means a lot.”
They sit in silence for a moment; Arthur with Merlin, Morgana trying to get used to the darkness slotted in front of her eyes.
“Thank you,” she murmurs at last.
“Don’t,” Arthur mutters.
Morgana smiles weakly, and wonders if she’ll ever be able to stop Arthur from feeling guilty. She doesn’t repeat the words, but promises herself she’ll find some way to ease his remorse.
^
When Morgana has fallen asleep in a way that doesn’t fill Arthur with fear - he honestly doesn’t know what they’re going to do about her new blindness, but he knows they’ll find a way to cope with it, they’re strong - and Lance and Gwen have returned to stay with Hunith and Merlin, Arthur goes to find Gaius.
“I think we need to talk,” he says.
Gaius smiles at him; reassuring and warm and Arthur almost forgets that he’s angry. “We do,” he agrees.
They go back to Gaius’ office; Arthur is half dead on his feet and knows that sooner or later he’s going to collapse from exhaustion. Still, this is a conversation that he needs to have.
“You worked with Edwin,” he says accusingly, folded onto a squashy sofa in the corner.
“I did,” Gaius agrees. He sighs, looking down at his hands, and then back at Arthur. “I was at school with Hunith’s father,” he tells him. “We studied medicine together; he asked me to keep an eye on his daughter on his deathbed. I did what I could for Hunith, though I could never replace her father after his untimely death.” Gaius smiles almost ruefully. “She met the man who would become Merlin’s father when she was very young; barely twenty. He had a magical ability; plants grew when he touched them, flowers blossomed because he blew on them. Hunith was enchanted; I was intrigued. I’d read few medical papers on people with superhuman powers, and I wanted to know more. Merlin’s father was reluctant to answer my questions, but I resolved to do more research into people who could control magic. I wanted to know if science and magic could be combined to make medicine more efficient.” He sighs. “I was naïve. But Hunith married him, and I found people who were willing to talk to me. I learned all I could about magic, about how it manifested itself; I even wrote a book.”
Arthur frowns. “Morgana’s never read it; and she’s read everything she could find about people with abnormal abilities.”
“It’s never been published,” Gaius replies. “But I think I can safely say I’ve collected more data than any other person on earth.” He pauses for a long moment, and then continues: “A few years after Hunith got married, she gave birth to Merlin. By then, her marriage was in trouble and I never pressed to find out what he’d done; by the time Merlin was eight months old the divorce papers were signed and Hunith was left with a handsome amount of money and that rather lovely house of hers.” Gaius smiles in an almost reminiscent way. “Merlin was levitating objects before he could walk, before he could talk.”
“So you conducted experiments on him?” Arthur suggests, hearing suspicious bitterness in his voice.
Gaius shakes his head vehemently. “No! I only ever performed tests on people who were fully aware what they were getting into and who wanted to aid in my research. I’ve never investigated Merlin and what he can and can’t do, in the same way I never did it to Morgana.”
It’s too late for Morgana now, Arthur remembers with a sickening kick in his stomach. She’s…normal now. It doesn’t fit in his head, and he knows it will take a long time to get used to it.
“I met Edwin at a conference,” Gaius continues after a moment, when Arthur says nothing, “He was also doing research into combining magic and science.” He looks intently at Arthur. “I know you won’t believe me, but he was a different man then. It was the days before he was burnt, and he was so bright and enthusiastic.” His smile is bitter. “Merlin reminds me of him, a little. Edwin was charming and excited about things once too.”
Arthur finds this difficult to believe, but doesn’t say it aloud.
“We worked together for a few years. Edwin was a prodigy; he was unbelievably talented. I honestly think that there was nothing he couldn’t have achieved if he didn’t put his mind to it. But there was an accident one night; an experiment exploded and I don’t know if he was using his power but he was horribly burnt and a few weeks after being discharged from hospital he… disappeared. Just packed up and left his home one night, and no one ever heard from him again.” Gaius grimaces. “I half-thought he might have killed himself; that’s why I was so surprised when it turned out he wasn’t dead, but was actually poisoning Morgana.”
“You knew the others,” Arthur says, voice still more accusing than he means it to be. “You must have met Nimueh.”
“I did.” Gaius inclines his head.
“Five minutes with her would’ve been all you’d need to see she was fucking insane,” Arthur points out, “That she was willing to use her power to murder people. And all you did was take notes and send her on her way?”
“I made a mistake,” Gaius agrees solemnly.
“A mistake that could get your godson killed!” Arthur points out, fury breaking through.
“I continued my experiments without Edwin,” Gaius says, ignoring him. “I managed to find a virus capable of damaging the DNA responsible for magic access, but I thought it could be used as a vaccine to remove a person’s powers if they were becoming a danger to themselves.” He sighs, looking down at his hands. “I would never have willingly used it as a weapon against someone.”
Arthur desperately wants to blame Gaius for all this, wants him to be responsible, but he knows that just because Gaius turned the other cheek a few times it doesn’t mean that he in any way helped Nimueh and the others, and he should probably stop hating him for it.
“I discovered another useful chemical,” Gaius says lightly, carefully. “I saved your life with it.”
“I don’t understand,” Arthur tells him.
“Morgana and I put it in your tea,” Gaius explains. “Another virus. It didn’t harm you, but it did make you impervious to magic that was used against you.”
Arthur is about to tell Gaius that he’s not a fucking experiment when he remembers Valiant’s magical sword that should have cut through Arthur’s arm and didn’t; the unicorns that were as ghosts to him, that passed through him like mist instead of impaling him.
“Oh,” he says, as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place, “Oh, that was you.”
“I’m sorry I did it without your permission,” Gaius responds, “Morgana asked that I not tell you.”
“And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, drug Merlin up with it?” Arthur asks sharply.
“It wouldn’t work on someone who uses magic,” Gaius says. “It would have hurt Morgana or Merlin if I’d given it to them, and Morgana assured me that Gwen and Lance wouldn’t need it.”
“Lance got his arm cut open by a unicorn,” Arthur points out. “I mean, all right, I know the scar will make him even more sexy and mysterious than he already is, but if that could’ve been prevented-”
“I can’t see the future,” Gaius reminds him patiently, “I did only as your sister asked.”
“Right.” Arthur is too tired for this, and now things make sense he feels less betrayed than he did, but he knows he needs to get some rest. “I suppose I owe you an apology.”
“You don’t,” Gaius tells him.
“All right then.” Arthur offers him a feeble smile. “Well, thank you, I suppose.”
Gaius nods, and waves a hand at the sofa Arthur is sat on. “You can rest in here,” he says.
Arthur uncurls himself and lies down on the couch, asleep almost as soon as he’s horizontal. As he drifts off he reflects that Gaius still hasn’t given away the identity of Merlin’s father; he wonders if it’s significant or if he just doesn’t want Merlin to try and seek him out.
^
Morgana wakes up, panicking. It’s disconcerting for a moment, awaking to find that it’s still absolutely dark, and then her memories catch up with her.
“God,” she breathes, still tense and frightened.
“What’s the matter, Morgana?”
Lance, standing close to her; one of his big, warm hands clutches hers.
“There were… there were people, and they were standing in a room and they kept saying it was mine, but it wasn’t, and I was wearing this really ugly raincoat, and then there were unicorns, and-”
She hears Lance laugh; a gentle sound, and her mattress dips as he sits beside her.
“Morgana,” he says softly, “It’s all right.” His fingers curl in her hair, soothing. “You’ve never had a dream before, have you?”
“I’ve had thousands of dreams,” Morgana responds, and then realises what he’s getting at. “…I’ve never had one that didn’t come true,” she admits.
“You are going to have so much fun,” he tells her, amusement in his tone. “Really, Morgana, so much fun.” He tucks a lock of hair tenderly behind her ear. “Well, once you get used to it, anyway.”
Morgana isn’t sure she can ever get used to it; she doesn’t know how people do it. Oh, she knows in principle how dreams work, but the idea of her subconscious shuffling through all its reference points and then throwing them together to make a tangled, uncontrollable vision seems horrific.
She reaches up her hand and manages to grasp Lance’s hand after a moment.
“Where’s Arthur?” she asks as his fingers entwine with hers.
“Getting some rest,” Lance replies. “He had to sleep before he actually fell down.”
Morgana pictures Arthur being stubborn and pale and bloody and smiles slightly. “About time,” she murmurs. She takes a breath. “And Merlin?” she asks in a whisper.
“No change,” Lance tells her. “His hand twitched about half an hour ago, but there hasn’t been a repeat performance and his brain activity hasn’t increased any.” He sighs, shuffling a little closer to her. “All tests show he’s in a deep coma,” Lance tells her, “But Gaius says that it’s not quite true. He’s just… not really there.”
Morgana isn’t reassured by this; she hates the fact that she could never see Merlin in her visions, because she wants to know how this all turns out. She wants to be able to reassure everyone, or at least prepare them for the worst. Anything more than this waiting.
But this is what she has now, and she’ll have to learn to live with it.
“I take it Gaius doesn’t have any bright ideas?” she asks.
Lance sighs heavily. “Not just yet.” He squeezes Morgana’s hand, and he appears to be taking up kind of a lot of her bed. “I’ll stay with you until Arthur gets back.”
“I don’t need to be babysat,” Morgana tells him sharply.
“You don’t,” Lance agrees. In his tone she can hear, unsaid, relief and affection, the I thought you were dead for a while there, and understands that this is as much for Lance as it is for her.
She listens to Merlin’s heart monitor for a while; after a moment she can hear Gwen and Hunith, shuffling around quietly, occasionally exchanging a word or two.
“Are we all going to be arrested?” Lance asks her conversationally.
I don’t see the future any more, Morgana wants to say. “Well,” she murmurs, “Not unless you’ve been doing something I don’t know about.” She forces a smile. “Are you secretly breaking the law, Lance?”
“You mean, apart from the crack den in my basement?”
Morgana’s smile finally feels real. “Apart from that,” she agrees.
“It’s just… I ditched the gun but shouldn’t people be coming to ask us about the conspicuous dead bodies?”
Morgana shakes her head. “There’s no evidence,” she points out. When Lance remains silent, she explains: “Edwin was burnt; nothing left of him. Nimueh dissolved back into her rain. Anhora walked away.”
“Valiant was leaving bloody big trails of… well, blood,” Lance reminds her. “He was fairly conspicuous.”
“Didn’t Anhora tell you?” Morgana asks.
“Tell us what?” Lance sounds suspicious.
“He got rid of Valiant’s body for you,” Morgana tells him; it was one of the last things she saw, and one that has stuck firmly in her mind. “He summons the unicorns from… another dimension or something. I’m not entirely certain of the specifics, but anyway, he sent Valiant’s body there too. No murders, no murder weapons; just a few vandalised statues and some suspicious scorch marks.”
“So… Valiant’s corpse is in another dimension?”
Morgana nods. “I imagine the unicorns will eat him,” she says lightly.
Lance laughs. “Oh, wait ‘til I tell Arthur,” he replies. “That’s… really cool. And horrible.”
“Gaius should keep the hospital staff from asking too many questions,” Morgana adds. “I think we’ll get away with it.”
She feels Lance’s hand brush across her cheek, thumb resting close to her eye. “If you can call this getting away with it,” he murmurs, sounding more pessimistic than she’s heard in a long time.
“I’m alive,” she reminds him, “After that, all other concerns become secondary.”
Lance doesn’t seem to be able to say anything; his mouth presses against her temple. Morgana smiles, squeezing her friend’s hand. It’s a lot to get used to; she’s going to have to learn to adapt, but she is surrounded by people who love her and she has more money than God, so she’s sure she’ll survive one way or another.
It’s Merlin that she’s worried about now.
Continued Here