Byssinge
Who: Uther and Morgana
What: It's the first night in a strange land. Uther broods. Morgana makes him sleep, for goodness' sake.
When: The night Uther and Morgana arrive in Aternaville, rather the worse for wear.
Where: Patient room in the clinic.
Rating: B for bafflement.
Status: Private and in progress.
To Uther Pendragon, it seemed as though the past year had been nothing but one long buildup towards calamity--crisis after crisis, trouble upon trouble. Arthur's disappearance and the desperate search that had led to their current situation seemed but a culmination of the difficulties that had beset his kingdom and his family. It was as though they had reached the end days, and the entire world had split asunder.
If so, was this unfathomable place some manner of Perdition? Had Uther unwittingly led Morgana astray from Paradise?
He could not bear the thought.
He lay, as he had been instructed, upon a warm, clean, and comfortable bed. His wounds, he was told, had been healed, and indeed he felt much better. To all appearances, he and Morgana were safe. Yet Uther could hardly give credence to it, for he had no assurances, no ability to judge the trustworthiness of those in whose hands he had out of necessity placed his life and that of his ward. He could not protect her. He had little physical strength. He had only his wits and his steel (for he had quickly reclaimed his sword), and he knew from innumerable lessons that wits and steel were not enough.
He lay upon the bed, but he lay awake. Uther reviewed the skirmish with Nimueh over and over in his mind. But no matter how he examined his memory, he could not think of what had happened, or be certain where the sorceress had sent them. And he could not but think that he had failed them all, failed Morgana, failed Arthur, and most importantly, failed Camelot.
What: It's the first night in a strange land. Uther broods. Morgana makes him sleep, for goodness' sake.
When: The night Uther and Morgana arrive in Aternaville, rather the worse for wear.
Where: Patient room in the clinic.
Rating: B for bafflement.
Status: Private and in progress.
To Uther Pendragon, it seemed as though the past year had been nothing but one long buildup towards calamity--crisis after crisis, trouble upon trouble. Arthur's disappearance and the desperate search that had led to their current situation seemed but a culmination of the difficulties that had beset his kingdom and his family. It was as though they had reached the end days, and the entire world had split asunder.
If so, was this unfathomable place some manner of Perdition? Had Uther unwittingly led Morgana astray from Paradise?
He could not bear the thought.
He lay, as he had been instructed, upon a warm, clean, and comfortable bed. His wounds, he was told, had been healed, and indeed he felt much better. To all appearances, he and Morgana were safe. Yet Uther could hardly give credence to it, for he had no assurances, no ability to judge the trustworthiness of those in whose hands he had out of necessity placed his life and that of his ward. He could not protect her. He had little physical strength. He had only his wits and his steel (for he had quickly reclaimed his sword), and he knew from innumerable lessons that wits and steel were not enough.
He lay upon the bed, but he lay awake. Uther reviewed the skirmish with Nimueh over and over in his mind. But no matter how he examined his memory, he could not think of what had happened, or be certain where the sorceress had sent them. And he could not but think that he had failed them all, failed Morgana, failed Arthur, and most importantly, failed Camelot.