Chapter Text
All over the graveyard, plants were heavy with raindrops. The stems were bending down in an overwhelming bow as Arthur walked between the cracked wooden plates and engraved marble stones, water sliding down the leaves as he passed. He let his gaze wander over the tombstones, the names and dates written in gold an eternal reminder of the short lives of men.
He sometimes wondered if the dates of birth and death had any meaning for the ones left behind. He wondered if the dead cared. He didn't think he would ever know the answer.
Here and there a bright wreath of flowers stained the all-encompassing green of the neatly trimmed lawn, each petal waving slowly at the whims of a nonexistent wind. The flowers were the saddest part of it all, Arthur thought, hands deep in the pockets of his coat, his fingers smoothing repeatedly over the card his sister had given him. How many people bought them with a sense of obligation ? How many had put thought into which colors to pick, instead of choosing whatever the florist had on sale ?
How many had spent hours agonizing over the flowers, trying to remember which were the dead's favorite ; how many just couldn't let go ?
But maybe, Arthur thought, maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe the flowers were there in remembrance, and simple tribute of mourning from those who had been left behind. Maybe they were a token of peace. Not that Arthur would know : he never had a grave on which he could place flowers for his mother. Even of that, his father had robbed him.
Arthur shook his head as he reached the meeting point, smiling ruefully at his own whirling thoughts. Anything to distract himself from what he was about to do, he supposed.
As he had five minutes to spare, he looked around, frowning briefly at an unmarked grave. The cemetery was eerily silent, with no church around to maintain a pretense of serenity, and the metallic gates were squeaking ominously each time a visitor entered. There was a young woman crying in front of a grave, on which the engraved dates would have made anybody curse all gods above. There was an old man bringing roses to his late wife as if meeting her on a date. There was a family mourning in frustrated silence the loss of an estranged uncle no one had ever spoken to.
Arthur was certain none of them was the necromancer he had agreed to meet, for the sole reason that they didn't so much as glance in his direction before leaving, steps heavy as if they carried an invisible burden on their brittle shoulders. Arthur doubted the necromancer would go so far as to disguise himself as a grieving man anyway, and sure enough a few minutes later he was alone in the empty graveyard.
Aware that a mere sigh would be enough to disturb the fragile peace of the cemetery, Arthur remained silent, but he made a point to glance at his watch, irritated at having to wait for someone who would probably not show up, or show up and end up being a complete fraud anyway. A cat darted between two tombstones, chasing some invisible mice, and birds rustled in the trees. The wind howled, bringing with it the fresh scent of rain.
Behind him, a voice chimed :
"You're early."
Heart in his throat, Arthur turned abruptly, fingers spasming around the wrinkled card in his pocket. Right there, comfortably sat on a high stone, the necromancer was looking down at him, his feet kicking rhythmically the smooth marble, as if he was bored.
"You're late," Arthur countered wearily, pretending not to be shocked by young the necromancer looked - around Arthur's age, and perhaps even younger.
"Ah," the man replied, jumping down, "but who told you I'm the one you were waiting for ?"
Arthur snorted derisively at the man's rebuttal, cocking his head to the side and looking him up and down, appreciative of the black curly hair, sparkling blue eyes, lean wiry frame, neatly shaped muscles, jaw, ears, cheekbones, wrists, hands.
"You are Emrys, are you not ?" he asked perfunctorily, arrogance seeping into his tone. "I remember talking to you on the phone. Yours is not a voice I'd find easy to forget."
The brunet's eyebrows rose playfully, and a slow smirk splayed on his lips. Arthur replayed what he'd just said in his mind, frowning uncomprehendingly, and his cheeks flushed red just as the necromancer replied :
"Got you all hot and bothered, uh ?"
His voice - deep and rich and all kinds of husky - seemed to caress Arthur's spine all the way to his nape. Maybe it was some trail of magic, or maybe it was only the wind, but Arthur shivered nonetheless, trying and failing to hide his discomfort.
"You would need more than a voice for that," he replied, streaking a self-conscious hand through blond locks at his nape, curled by the remnants of fallen rain.
The other man tilted his head, almost considering, as he leveled Arthur with a heated gaze. Then, he raised a hand and trailed it through his own hair and down his neck, caressing the expense of smooth pale skin, smiling victoriously as Arthur's eyes widened.
"Oh, I like my chances," he said, all playful confidence and seduction.
Slightly bewildered by the necromancer's obvious interest and yet more amused than put off by it, Arthur shook his head, scoffing :
"I hardly think we're in a position to get it on," he offered, pointedly looking around.
"Oh, they won't mind," the brunet snorted, waving a dismissive hand. "They're used to people getting it on, as you said. Besides, they're hardly chaste themselves."
Arthur's eyes widened in shock and a blush rose on his cheeks, and the other man grinned, as if proud to have finally thrown Arthur off-kilter. Without giving Arthur the time to recover, he jumped down the marble stone, oddly graceful for his gangly limbs, and Arthur closed his mouth with an audible click, least he appeared too mesmerized by the display. Watching, perplexed, as the brunet gently patted the stone, he vainly tried to quiet the pounding of his traitorous heart.
"Hello," the other man said then. "I'm Merlin. I'd rather you call me that - Emrys is just a nickname people find more believable."
"Believable ?" Arthur repeated, raising an eyebrow in obvious disbelief.
"Hey," the necromancer - Merlin - replied, his indignation shattering the seductive act from before, "do you think people would actually believe me if I told them my real name ?"
"Merlin's your real name ?" Arthur snipped back.
Merlin paused for a second or two, eyes blinking rapidly, until a smile spread on his lips, and a hearty laugh tumbled from his mouth :
"Shocking, I know," he confirmed, mouth split in a wide grin. "Sometimes I believe my mother hated me as a child."
Arthur didn't even have time to utter a choked off protest that Merlin was adding :
"My mother loves me very much, don't you worry," he winked, his relaxed demeanor puzzling Arthur once again. "Now, it's my understanding that we have an appointment ?"
The change of subject nearly gave Arthur a whiplash, the reminder anything but pleasant.
"We do," he replied, hiding his renewed anxiety behind bluster. "Now why you would want to meet your clients in a graveyard is beyond me."
Merlin shook his head as if it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard :
"I'm a necromancer," he replied matter-of-factly, eyes widening a little to drive the point home. "I have a reputation to maintain. And besides, work's easier that way. It's the proper place to raise the dead, don't you think ?"
He stretched a bit, almost cat-like in his moves, and Arthur stared, fascinated, until Merlin cleared his throat :
"Right, let's get down to business," he started, voice suddenly cool and collected, as opposed to the easy banter from earlier. "I feel like I should lay some rules first."
He fixed his gaze on Arthur, making sure he was listening properly, and raised his fingers as he spoke :
"One, I never call back the bodies along with the spirits. I don't do resurrection : it's messy work, sloppy at best, people usually rot within a few days, clients get mad, brains get eaten, dead people get deader."
He raised an eyebrow at Arthur, not looking the least bit as if he was joking, and Arthur nodded, swallowing uneasily.
"Good. Second, I don't know what you've heard, but I don't rip the veil between the world or whatever ridiculous thing we necromancers get accused of. I only tug at it a little, so the spirits can come through. But them staying would force a scar on this world, and I don't want that. As a result, they only get to stay a limited amount of time, depending on how long my magic's willing to work."
Arthur leveled him with a cautious glance, noting his whitened knuckles and the determined glint in his eyes :
"And I suppose that depends on how long you're willing to let your magic work ?" he said.
Merlin narrowed his eyes at him in surprise, before shrugging with an approving smile on his lips :
"You're learning fast," he commented. "Last rule : I only bring back the dead once. They deserve their rest, and I don't like to disturb them more than necessary."
Arthur nodded. That made sense, after all ; he supposed that he wouldn't want to be called back constantly either, if he were dead. There was one small flawed in his reasoning, however : if Merlin only called back the dead once, how did he deal with several family members making the same request ? Did he work on a first come, first served basis ? He doubted Merlin was the kind to make exceptions, but what then ? Did he turn away the unlucky ones, the ones that showed up too late, the ones that weren't aware of the rules and only wanted to see their loved ones one last time ?
If he deemed some worthy of his services, why not the others ?
"If you're not willing to do it," he thought out loud, "why bother doing this job at all ?"
If looks could kill, Arthur would probably be six feet under by now. From composed, Merlin's features turned murderous, and Arthur idly wondered if Merlin would have the decency to carve a stone for him. Arthur Pendragon. Smart man. Cause of death : pissing off the most powerful necromancer the world has ever known.
"Because then I get to help people," Merlin hissed, jaw clenching against his anger, as if he wanted to swallow it back. "I get to let a five year-old say goodbye to his parents. I get to let a grandma reassure her children that she did love them, even if she never told them so. I get to let a man propose to what would have been the love of his life. I get to give people some closure."
By the end of his rant, he was pale and shaking a little, but instead of turning on his heels and leaving Arthur alone, there, in the graveyard, he shook his head and bit his lips :
"Besides," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, "I'm a college student. Do you have any idea how expensive that is ?"
"Not really," Arthur shrugged, snorting a little. "My father's rich. I've been working for him since I graduated."
"Lucky you," Merlin sighed.
He looked away, embarrassed, and Arthur hesitantly took a step forward :
"I'm sorry if I upset you," he said gently. "That wasn't my intention. I was merely thinking of the people who, for whatever reason, couldn't be there when you called their loved one back. Why wouldn't they get to say goodbye, too ?"
Merlin's features softened at his words, and his fists unclenched slowly. He spread his fingers a little, working out the tension gathered there, and sighed :
"That's the only time I make exceptions," he replied. "I ask permission from the spirit first, but generally they don't mind. What I meant was, I don't call back the spirit several times for the same person. The dead too have to move on."
He shook his head, getting rid of the lingering awkwardness, and grinned broadly :
"Now, back to business," he declared. "Who would you like me to call ? Beloved pet ? Second beloved pet ? Dead girlfriend ? Spirits can't sustain physical form for long, you know, I doubt you'd get more than a handjob from her. Except if you're a fast one."
He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and snorted when Arthur blushed to the root of his hair, mortified :
"Merlin !" he exclaimed, scandalized, and Merlin cackled. "I wouldn't do that !"
"Why not ?" Merlin asked, grin unwavering.
"I'm gay, alright ?"
That wasn't quite the rejoinder Arthur had thought off, but his mouth had run away from his brain and decided to advertise his attraction to the man he was definitely not attracted to. That seemed to give Merlin pause, at least, but he recovered his confidence soon enough, smile stretching lazily :
"Or dead boyfriend, I don't discriminate. I must say, though, lube's not included in the deal."
"Jesus, Merlin," Arthur articulated, appalled, "what the hell have your previous clients asked for ?"
"So many things," Merlin replied with a shark-like smile. "So many things."
His answer got lost in a gust of wind, and a cat ran between Merlin's legs, tail raised. Merlin frowned and cocked his head to the side, as if listening to a voice murmuring deady secrets in his ear, before turning back to Arthur, suddenly serious :
"So, Arthur," he asked softly. "Who would you like me to call ?"
Arthur opened his mouth to answer, detached, but suddenly found that his throat refused to work. The words were stuck, trapped under his tongue, and his heart missed a beat, angry at his lungs for refusing to allow him the blissful rush of oxygen. He had thought it would be easy, to voice his request like hundreds must have done before him, to ask the necromancer to give his hope a tangible existence, hope that until a few days earlier had seemed unattainable.
And yet, now that his answer was a promise, now that the necromancer was here, waiting, he found that the emotion he'd thought he'd kept buried all his life was now flowing freely out of him, given a new life by this strange man, just a boy really, who offered to call back the dead just so that others could let them go.
Arthur startled when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, light, a simple gesture of comfort Arthur hadn't thought he would receive from Merlin, of all people. Not that the necromancer seemed cold, or detached, or any of the characteristic one would attach to someone so close to death itself. It was just that, light banter set aside, Merlin seemed utterly serious, not prone to gestures of solicitude but rather of delicate and tacit silence.
"My mother," he managed to breathe out, heart thudding painfully. "I'd like you to call back my mother."
"Alright," Merlin acquiesced gently, squeezing once before letting go. "That's a reasonable choice."
His grin was unsure, for once, almost tentative, as if he was afraid Arthur would break down in front of him. Arthur smiled despite himself, his lips curling slightly at the corner, as he tried to regain his composure :
"I fear to think of the requests you've been dealing with," he muttered, the comment half a question.
Merlin's grin brightened at his attempt at levity, and he replied with a well practiced shrug :
"The worst are the history buffs. You have no idea how many of them have asked me to resurrect Hitler. Not the smartest choice, you'll agree."
Arthur snorted, shaking his head in mock disbelief, and Merlin's eyes twinkled in answer.
"And then of course there's the gold-thirsty treasure hunters that want to talk to pirates, in the vain hope they'll give up the location of their bounty. Those are hopeless, but the resulting conversations are entertaining, to say the least."
Shoulders shaking in barely contained laughter, Arthur threw an amused glance at Merlin, who seemed incredibly proud of himself. When inevitable silence fell back over the graveyard, though, Merlin's expression turned serious once more :
"So," he started again, "could you tell me a bit about her ? I can't just call her back, I need some information beforehand."
Arthur frowned briefly, but Merlin seemed to read his mind, quieting his worries with a look and a few words of explanation :
"There's thousands of people behind the veil," he said gently, "and all of them have their own story. My magic needs to know how to recognize her. A few words, and impression, a detailed biography...anything you can give me, and the magic will do the rest."
Arthur nodded his understanding, yet his hands were shaking a little when he started :
"Her name was Ygraine Du Bois," he said, the words almost painful in his throat. "She died twenty-four years ago, while..." he looked away, not wanting to meet Merlin's clear gaze. "She died while giving birth to me," he murmured.
He felt Merlin's hand on his arm, a lingering comfort. He didn't acknowledge the gesture, but the words came easier after that :
"My father never talks about her, so what I know comes from old family friends and pictures. She was blond, just like me, and her eyes were also blue. She was an artist - a painter - and her favorite subject was to paint sunflowers. She married my father when she was twenty-two. Her last words were my name...telling me...telling me..."
"That's enough, Arthur," Merlin murmured when his voice was too choked to continue. "That's enough."
Arthur nodded gratefully, taking a shuddering breath. He met Merlin's eyes with a dismissal burning at his lips, but one look at Merlin made the words die in his throat. Merlin looked sad, sympathetic yet not pitying, and his hand was firm on Arthur's arm - like an anchor.
"So," Arthur asked one or two silences later, the tension easing from his shoulders, "what now ?"
Merlin smiled softly, and removed his hand from Arthur's arm, leaving a warm imprint behind, the heat bleeding through Arthur's clothes.
"Now, we wait," Merlin replied, his voice low yet serene. "My magic is already looking for her."
Arthur's balance faltered at the easy answer. Could it really be so simple ? A voiced request, some flirting, and the necromancer would bring back a loved one from the dead ? It sounded too good to be true. Did ghosts even truly exist, or were they the figments of some nutter's imagination ? Had Morgana been in her right mind when she'd sent him to Emrys, or Merlin, or whatever was his real name ? Was Merlin hallucinating, was he on drugs, or was he simply playing Arthur out of his money ?
Or was it all true, true and mad, as Merlin's soft smile and faintly glowing eyes seemed to suggest ?
"Would you like to see ?" Merlin asked, as if he could read Arthur's thoughts, and Arthur shuddered at the mere idea that it was possible.
"To see ?" Arthur repeated, frowning a little, puzzled at the offer and at the grin stretching Merlin's lips.
Merlin gestured to the tombstones, something secret and maybe a little mischievous dancing in his eyes.
"To see," he confirmed. "The other ghosts."
In front of Arthur's gobsmacked expression, he laughed briefly, but it was a happy sound, rather than mocking.
"There's plenty here," he explained. "It's partly why I chose this place, they're kind of friendly. Ghosts in-between rarely are."
"Ghosts in-between ?" Arthur repeated.
He knew he must sound like a broken record by then, but Merlin didn't seem offended, not even amused, but instead flattered by Arthur's genuine curiosity.
"You see," he started, his hands raising to emphasize his words, "when people die, they're meant to go to the other side of the veil. It's a moving on type of thing, and everyone has to go through it. But sometimes people remain tied to this world. They can't let go of their living past, because of things left unsaid, or stories untold, or peace unattempted. They're generally bitter, grumpy, and not above a bit of rousing if they so please."
He raised a hand to Arthur's cheek :
"May I ?" he asked.
A shiver went down Arthur's spine, but he nodded nonetheless, utterly trusting. Merlin cupped his cheek, gently, and murmured a single word in a tongue Arthur did not understand. Arthur closed his eyes on instinct, feeling faintly disoriented as a wave of power washed through him.
When he opened them, it was to stare in undeniable shock at the life brimming over the tombstones. The entire graveyard, that he had thought empty once the mourners had left, was full of ghosts. And they weren't the friendly looking kind usually seen in movie, either : they looked fairly human, if a little translucent, and Arthur caught more than one glaring at him before moving away.
"What..."
"Shh," Merlin murmured. "They know we're here, but they like to pretend we're not. They should leave us alone. Don't try talking to them, though, I have no idea how they would react."
"What," Arthur replied, voice a mere whisper, "you think they would decide to haunt me ?"
"Don't tempt them," Merlin hissed warningly, though his cheeks were dimpled in a smile. "They don't look like much, but I promise you, you don't want to see them angry."
Arthur smothered a snort :
"You sound like you've had a run in with them before," he pointed out, a little mocking.
"Not them specifically," Merlin muttered. "But ghosts don't take kindly to living people telling them what to do. I've been to cemeteries that expressly forbid any necromancer from coming in. Not that they could stop me, but still. They can be pretty convincing."
Arthur gave a light chuckle at Merlin's grimace. He didn't reply though, suddenly alert as Merlin tensed, the line of his shoulders going taut. He tried to catch his eyes, worried, but Merlin's gaze ghosted over his face to fall somewhere behind him.
Arthur knew what was happening then, even before Merlin murmured :
"She's here."
Arthur took a deep breath and turned around as Merlin muttered a few words under his breath, his eyes flashing gold. A silhouette of a woman appeared before them, ethereal yet almost tangible in the swipe of a hand, the color of a cheek, the softness of a mother's smile.
Heart hammering inside his chest, Arthur didn't see Merlin take a step back and gesture to the ground, where a joyful fire appeared, crackling between the tombstones, driving the budding night away and throwing dancing shadows on the graveyard. He didn't hear when Merlin called his name, either, and the hand curling around his wrist made him startle.
"The others will leave you alone," Merlin murmured, his tone soft and full of understanding. "Arthur ?"
Voice trapped in his lungs, throat squeezed tight by emotion, Arthur couldn't look away, but Merlin spoke anyway :
"You have until the sun rises."
And then he disappeared.