Chapter Text
The Wraith
By Acid_Rabbit
Chapter One
Salieri and the Swedes
The screaming began just as he had closed his eyes in utter contentment as the notes of Salieri's Emperor's Mass in D-Major, strove higher and higher about him, the notes thrilling and dancing and cascading over him in a gentle rush. Gaius' hand jerked, his perfectly steeped jasmine tea sloshing down his full chin and dribbling over his best argyle jumper.
“Confound it all!” he held the teacup aloft, his other hand swiping with clumsy frustration at the liquid. The screams were coming closer, two distinct hysterical shrieks, urging each other to higher fervor with each inhale.
Gaius set the cup down, remembering at the last moment that is was fragile and so curbed his initial inclination to slam it against the black marble top of the antique stand. He exhaled from the tips of his toes and slumped back in his wingback chair, staring at the ceiling. He knew it. He knew the peace the castle had enjoyed for the last six days was on borrowed time. The hollering was approaching the solar now. He levered himself up from the chair, stalking to the heavy oak door, and threw it open just in time to see the two nice young Swedish ladies streak past, pulling each other along, by arms and hair, skidding around the corner, and racing down the steps. Brilliant. If they fell it would mean a law suit for certain.
“Ladies! Please, come back! You haven't seen the garderobe yet!” George, their most dedicated and subsequently, only tour guide, came skidding down the hallway after them. He paused on seeing Gaius, acknowledged him with a nervous nod, shrugged, and took off after what was certainly not going to be repeat customers.
And he knew exactly who to blame for that.
“ARTHUR!”
A familiar and oft-times irritating tingle clutched the back of his neck, indicating the arrival of said irritant. Gaius turned to see the figure sprawled in his vacated chair, eyebrows raised in innocent expectation, hands folded loosely over his ever-present red tunic.
“You bellowed for me, m’lord?”
The corners of Gaius’ lips were heavy with disapproval.
“You agreed this would stop.”
Arthur tilted his head, his mouth slashed in a bored line, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. “And what, pray tell, would “this” be?”
That arrogant ruffian, if Gaius could physically put his fist through that smug face, he would have done it a hundred times by now. As it was, all he could do was gather his fury and spew it all over the damnable spirit.
“You know damn well what I mean. You and your, your hooligans!”
Arthur’s eyes widened, “My…hooligans. Goodness Gaius, such language.”
“Make fun all you like. But we had a bargain. You and your men would stop scaring away all our paying guests and I would keep the east wing closed for you. You agreed, Arthur.” he stabbed his finger in the spirit’s general direction. He could just make out George’s frantic voice in the courtyard beyond the second floor window, offering the women vouchers for free coasters and nail files if they’d remember to leave a favorable review. Slamming car doors and something that he didn’t want to translate into English was the ladies’ answer.
Arthur rose from the chair, his booted feet silent as he walked with caution towards him, hands held open and placating before himself. Oh he knew this routine. Lull him into a false sense of security and then disappear before Gaius understood that he had once again been made a fool. Not today. Not again, damnit.
“Arthur-”
“My dear Gaius-”
“Don’t you dear Gaius me you-”
“Now, now. You’re being rash. We did have an agreement. Quite a fair one, actually. I can assure you, we have kept to it.” Arthur’s deep blue gaze never wavered and Gaius felt the tightness in his shoulders give a bit. He did look rather earnest. “If someone has been making trouble for your guests, then I would say this. My men and I are not the only spirits here.”
“I know that.” Gaius snapped, doubt warring with surety. Arthur tilted his head again and stopped, his fingers latching onto his belt. Gaius's neck was hot, the same way he'd felt as a lad. The time he'd been gently lectured by the headmaster for telling tales about the monk who kept him up singing bawdy songs at night. It didn't matter that it was true, that no one else could see or hear the cheerful ghost. But it made him doubt all the same. Arthur had that same infuriating, careful tone.
“Then could it not have been one of them? Surely, you didn’t actually see one of mine cause this offense?”
“Well,” he inhaled, a prick of shame crawling up his spine. It was true, Cavalon had many, many specters. Some quiet, some not even aware of themselves or anything around them. Then there were spirits like Arthur and his merry band of mischief makers. Always up to something, from the time Gaius was small, and far back into his grandfather’s time, if the stories were to be believed. Which he did. His grandfather could see the spirits, and Gaius could as well. It was a shared experience that had bonded them against the world and their many mocking relatives. He regarded Arthur’s open expression, the way his dirty blonde hair shone almost golden in the sinking light of the tall window, giving him an earnest, boyish look.
So yes, there were other spirits who certainly weren’t happy with breathing bodies traipsing about their abode. Though Arthur’s brood had been the most vocal, they certainly weren’t alone here. And he had agreed. That meant something. Usually. Gaius blew out a breath, his lips twisting in defeat.
“I suppose you’re right.”
Arthur clapped his hands together, though no noise issued forth, “Splendid!” he grinned, coming forward to grasp Gaius by the shoulder. He felt the hand, no heat, just a mild pressure. The first time he'd felt that had been when he was four, sobbing his little heart out in the garden, holding the lifeless body of his toad that the kitchen cat had killed. Arthur had knelt before him and placed his arms around him. He hadn't known they could do that. Even now, he didn't take the comfort for granted. It took concentration. More so for Arthur and his lot than some of the others. But then, they were rarely trying to push someone down the stairs in a tantrum. Strong emotion allowed for the breaking of the barrier between Spirit and the physical world. So when comfort was given, it was not to be taken lightly or without appreciation. Sometimes it was simply age that helped. Though Arthur nor his men could give him a date for their demise, they had memories of centuries gone by. Was it any wonder they were always up to some trouble or another?
But no. Not this time. Arthur was right. There were plenty of others who were more than capable of-
A moan carried down the hall to them, floating along on dust motes. Gaius frowned, his attention drawn to the open doorway. That moan...
“Um, as I was saying,” Arthur's hand gave a tug to his shoulder, though it was weak at best. “let’s just close this door and get you back to your relaxing evening. I’ll just turn your music up and-”
Gaius flung his hand up, shrugging off the hold, his index finger jammed under the ghost’s nose. Arthur’s eyes crossed. Gaius stepped closer to the door, head tilted to catch any sound. Arthur dodged in front of him, his lips spread too wide over crooked teeth.
“As I was saying, Gaius, it couldn’t have been my lot, now if you’ll excuse me-”
“Don’t you dare move a muscle.”
“Well, technically…”
Gaius turned sharply, his bushy eyebrow raised. Arthur may be of the dead, but Gaius knew he was far more frightening.
A deep groan began to swell through the stones of the hallway, vibrating closer and closer. The sound of something being drug over stone slid under the current of sound.
He knew that particular groan. Gaius drew himself up and stepped into the threshold.
Black and grey smoky tendrils snaked and wisped into view. Out of that terrible mist, the groaning fell heavy and devastating. A dark figure moved within. The smoke fell away, revealing a man in a bloody and torn grey tunic, dark leather vest, and brown breeches, his face blotched grey and purple. His lank brown hair, was matted with blood that pulsed sluggishly from the gore of the wound at his temple. In his left hand, he clutched the haft of a halberd, a long spear with an axe shaped blade attached to the side of the spear head. A blade that was currently embedded in the chest of the man that he was dragging along the hall. The victim was dark of skin, his eyes wide and milky white, mouth hanging, gaping open. The body jostled and swayed with each dragging step of the upright man. But most horrifying sight of all was the moaning man’s midsection where his guts were spilling out, swinging with obscene abandon with each step.
Gauis sucked in the sides of his cheeks. He damn well knew it. Bugger all. He drew in a deep breath. And another. With deliberate and controlled movements, Gaius turned and glared daggers at the blonde man.
Arthur’s head was bowed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwed shut, “God’s teeth, Gwaine.” he muttered.
“Indeed.”
Arthur had the grace to look up and hold his hands out in a helpless gesture.
The day he believed Arthur helpless was the day he did a backflip on Britain's Got Talent.
Gaius continued to glare until Arthur folded his arms over his chest, looked away, and began to shift his feet like a recalcitrant schoolboy. The moaning was drowning out the evening songbirds now and set a grinding of his molars.
“Gwaine!” the specter jumped, the halberd jerking his 'victim' up and thumping his head about the floor, to which the murdered man let out a curse and flicked the back of Gwaine's leg.
The moaning spirit, Gwaine, turned towards Gaius, ignoring his companion and smiled cheerily.
“Oh, hullo there Boots! Princess, fine day innit?”
“It was.” Gaius bit out. Dear God, he was surrounded by children. He speared the man on the floor with an angry scowl, “Elyan. Really. This old trick?”
The white swirled and bled from Elyan's eyes, returning them to their honeyed brown. “Sorry Gaius, but um, it really isn't what you think.” he waved his hand over the metal protruding from his chest.
“Truly. Of course not. It never is, is it?”
Elyan's chin tried to become one with his shoulders. Gaius turned his accusing gaze to Gwaine, “I would ask you what the hell you were thinking but it's obvious you don't have a brain to think with,”
“Oi-”
“And you-” he spun back around, pushing his bulk into Arthur's space, forcing the other man to take several steps back lest he go through Gaius, literally. Arthur had once explained the sensation as undignified, utterly uncomfortable, and to be avoided at all costs. Smug satisfaction leapt in Gaius' chest at the chagrined expression on Arthur's face. The warrior hated to give ground. Well too bad. That's all Gaius ever seemed to do these days. “Of everyone here, I thought you were the one I could count on. You gave me your word, Arthur.” that was hitting the mark. Arthur's eyes narrowed, his cheeks sucked in. Arthur could withstand many storms, but a sting to his honor was not one of them.
Arthur's expression darkened, his spine stiffened. The lights in the room flickered. Gauis' heart fluttered in its first stirrings of apprehension.
“My word, yes.” The specter stepped closer and Gauis forced himself to hold his ground, his own spine straightening in response. As a young man, such actions would be called posturing and more hollow than anything. He didn't believe for a second Arthur had ever postured without intent to follow through. “Yes, Gauis, I gave you my word. As I gave it to your grandfather, and his father, and countless generations before you. It is not me or mine that have repeatedly broken it.”
A treacherous heat climbed up Gauis' neck and embraced his jowls. Venom curled in his gut and shame pulled him into the pit it had opened. And yet, hadn't he answered for the betrayal of his ancestors enough? Hadn't he played penance enough for his own actions?
“I'm done, Arthur. I mean it. I've done what I can. I've kept you and your lot as happy and at peace as possible. And yes, at one time, I deserved your ire. But I can't afford your anger. Not anymore. Do you have any idea how close we are to losing Cavalon? Do you?”
Arthur flung out his arms, his face twisted in disgust and annoyance. “We're always on the verge of losing the castle! What about the fortunes we've found for you? Where is the money from that? How hard is it to keep a few rooms livable?”
“How- how hard? You bloody well know how hard it is. As for the relics you've brought, yes they've kept the lights on, but they don't pay the taxes indefinitely. Or the heat. Or the electric. Or the staff. Or the groundskeeper.”
“That's your problem, not mine.”
Gauis' world narrowed and ballooned, his thoughts scattered like burnt newspaper, little embers flitting about his brain. Was Arthur truly so obtuse? Could he not see?
“Arthur,” Gauis rasped, “Arthur we are weeks, weeks, from losing the utilities. The staff. We've already lost half our revenue when the village was abandoned. I won't have the money to keep the foundation from crumbling. Maybe you can't see how badly the castle needs repair, but I can. If I can't keep us afloat, then I'll have no choice but to turn it over to the National Trust.”
“It won't come to that.” Arthur muttered. But he was looking away, his hand on the back of his neck.
“Yes, it will. You can't keep scaring off the only paying guests we have.”
“And I won't have half naked women and ridiculous men gallivanting around my citadel without leave to do so.” he snapped.
“Well that's exactly what you'll have if the National Trust takes over. They'll bring in the tourists by the droves. They'll turn the lists into a gift shop!” To which Arthur looked appropriately horrified.
Encouraged, Gauis struck harder, “or worse yet, what better venue for weddings than a castle?”
“They wouldn't dare.” Arthur breathed.
“They would and they have. The people I bring in are the price for Cavalon to remain private. It's time you grew up and moved into the twenty first century.”
Arthur's brow pinched and his lips thinned, “Grow up?” Gauis' knew by the venom in Arthur's voice that he'd misstepped, badly. “Grow up!” Arthur spat, “We are trapped here, Gauis. We would love to do nothing more than to, “grow up” and move on. To have lives not tied to the stone around us. This is our home. We are bound to it. There is no peace. So if you want to continue parading tourists through these halls, then we are the risk you take.” he stepped back, arms crossed, chin held high.
Gauis' brow pinched. Fine. If that's how Arthur wanted to go about this.
“Very well. If you insist on your foolish games. Then by all means. I will happily indulge you.” he walked past the ghost, a quick stab of satisfaction thrilling through him at Arthur's puzzled look. “Now, if you'll kindly get out,”
“Gauis...”
Gauis raised his eyebrow and stared until Arthur huffed and stalked out of the room.
“The door, if you-”
The heavy door slammed shut with a jarring thud.
Gauis sat at his large black writing desk and began rummaging through his old mail. If that blasted ghost wanted to haunt the living, then who the hell was he to stand in his way?