Forgifennys
Who: Uther and Morgana.
What: They're sorry.
When: Now!
Where: The not-so-great hall.
Rating: H for ham.
Status: Private and incomplete.
Uther had been given to understand that the past week's fantastical occurrences had been the result of a scientific experiment gone awry. That devices had been triggered of whose operation those triggering them had not entirely known ahead of time. And that they had sorted it, and all would be as it had been once again.
But the King wasn't so certain about that last thing. He had chosen to put the transformations themselves behind him; the technologies of this world were so foreign to him as to leave him little ability to separate normal, expected behavior from ones at which he should be alarmed. Yet the experience itself, he could not dislodge from memory. It had sent him back, though it had had no effect on him, to the very time to which it had thrown the children. He could not help now reflecting and reminiscing on those days. Had they been better? Worse? His grief had been fresher then, but it had been more malleable. In later times, it had hardened into a shell that protected and imprisoned him both.
What had Uther Pendragon become in his twilight? And was it, as he had often felt in Camelot, too late to change?
He sat at the end of the long table in the little great hall, picking half-heartedly at yet another of those boar's head hams. He was all too aware of the many poor decisions he had made throughout his reign. Worst, though, were the ones he had made regarding his own family. There had been no one to teach him, to advise. He had been reminded now how Arthur, as a child, had wanted only to participate in his father's life. How Morgana had suddenly and violently become preoccupied with the losses of her past, just as she was embarking upon her journey into womanhood. How Uther had not known how to deal with either, on top of the pain he could not let go.
Uther sipped out of his paper cup. At least Arthur had been happy and easily contented at that age. It didn't seem quite possible, but it felt as though Morgana had glared at him the entire time she had been reduced to childhood.
What: They're sorry.
When: Now!
Where: The not-so-great hall.
Rating: H for ham.
Status: Private and incomplete.
Uther had been given to understand that the past week's fantastical occurrences had been the result of a scientific experiment gone awry. That devices had been triggered of whose operation those triggering them had not entirely known ahead of time. And that they had sorted it, and all would be as it had been once again.
But the King wasn't so certain about that last thing. He had chosen to put the transformations themselves behind him; the technologies of this world were so foreign to him as to leave him little ability to separate normal, expected behavior from ones at which he should be alarmed. Yet the experience itself, he could not dislodge from memory. It had sent him back, though it had had no effect on him, to the very time to which it had thrown the children. He could not help now reflecting and reminiscing on those days. Had they been better? Worse? His grief had been fresher then, but it had been more malleable. In later times, it had hardened into a shell that protected and imprisoned him both.
What had Uther Pendragon become in his twilight? And was it, as he had often felt in Camelot, too late to change?
He sat at the end of the long table in the little great hall, picking half-heartedly at yet another of those boar's head hams. He was all too aware of the many poor decisions he had made throughout his reign. Worst, though, were the ones he had made regarding his own family. There had been no one to teach him, to advise. He had been reminded now how Arthur, as a child, had wanted only to participate in his father's life. How Morgana had suddenly and violently become preoccupied with the losses of her past, just as she was embarking upon her journey into womanhood. How Uther had not known how to deal with either, on top of the pain he could not let go.
Uther sipped out of his paper cup. At least Arthur had been happy and easily contented at that age. It didn't seem quite possible, but it felt as though Morgana had glared at him the entire time she had been reduced to childhood.