Sodyer

[pendraeg]

Who: Uther and Morgana.
What: Uther wakes up with some old war wounds.
When: Three days after this.
Where: Uther's chamber.
Rating: O for owwy.
Status: Incomplete and private.

Comments

Poor girl'll get a complex

[notjusta_ward]

Morgana was by no means a heavy sleeper, so when she'd heard Uther cry out, her eyes shot open. She sat up carefully, about to ask him what was wrong when he'd called out, of all the names in the world, for her father.

"No," she replied quietly. "No, Uther. It's Morgana. When did you meet my fa- Gorlois?" The hoarse voice suddenly registered. Perhaps that wasn't exactly what one should sound like upon awakening. "Are you all right?" she asked, worried this time.

[pendraeg]

Uther started, which he would come to regret. But surprise at waking up not in his tent but in a girl's bed overtook him.

Yet as he blinked at the girl he realised that he knew her, that in fact he knew exactly where he was. Sheepish, he clutched at his shoulder, one source of this distracting pain, this pain that had so disoriented him and made him forget his dual life.

He was bleeding.

"Morgana." He managed to croak out her name, to demonstrate that he had recalled the situation. His situation. But he wasn't all right, not really. Not today. "It's you."

I think I've hit the point in the other thread where I cannot do anything. But look. A tag!

[notjusta_ward]

"Yes, it's me," she replied, eyes adjusting and trying to discern what exactly was wrong with him. He sounded as if he'd just finished a battle. Given Uther, it was likely that he had.

"What happened?"

okay. I'll probably go back and try to edit my last tag over there more endingish.

[pendraeg]

"Morgana," he said again.

Uther tried to sit up; he must have shifted his bindings, and now there would be blood all over Morgana's bed, if he didn't do something about it. But the effort was exhausting--more than he could make. Defeated, he lay still and held his hand over the open wound in his shoulder that would not heal, though Gaius treated it with great stinking poultices.

"Let us say I experienced a minor setback at the hands of the enemy," he quipped tiredly. In truth he had almost died, could die still, and the portent of his mortality had left him unnerved, morbid, and he did not want to carry that burden to this place. "But no matter, for they are dead now. And I am here."