A Perilous Path
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: A Perilous Path
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Uther/Ygraine
Character/s: Uther, Ygraine
Summary: For years, Uther wanted an heir. He deserved one after all, as king of Camelot, as winner of the Melee. As overlord to witches willing to do whatever he would command, no matter the cost.
Word Count: 477
Camelot_drabble Prompt: 491, Athletic
Author's Notes: unbetaed,
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
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As his final enemy fell into the dust of the Melee’s competition, Uther looked up at his lovely queen and grinned. It had been a good day, full of surprises. A sword broken, a mace entangled into his foe’s armour, fending off multiple fools at a time. Riding and swordplay and the raw power of a fist in Sir Renault’s face.
More than one opponent had been carried off into the medical tents. For others, this year’s Melee was an absolute ending, and there would be mourning and gnashing of teeth among their supporters and loved ones.
But that was the way of things. The Melee had no rules and only one could be champion.
And Uther was that one. Again.
As he walked off the field, raising his sword to the roar of the crowd one last time, he thought about the night to come and Ygraine welcoming him back into their bed. Her kisses, the way she groaned as he shoved himself into her, bruises littering that porcelain skin of hers to remind her and everyone that she was his. His to own, his to conquer, his to worship.
For Uther would be victorious in all things, not just a brawl or conquering a kingdom but her surrender, too.
He smiled, knowing that he would win this battle as he had all the others. They had tried for years to have children, but Ygraine proved barren. That was bad enough, but lately, the gossipmongers had spread rumours that it was Uther himself who was the problem, cheap gutter-talk of manhood and getting it up, and laughter began to follow him.
The petty fools learned not to mock him-some of them screaming for mercy before gurgling their last, but Uther knew that he had to do something to prove himself a king to all and sundry before the problem became unmanageable.
Nimueh agreed to his demands for an heir, providing a solution but warning of dire consequences. As if he would listen to a witch. Those of magic were to be used as Uther saw fit, not dictating to him or appealing to his conscience.
He would have a son, he would have a queen sitting next to him, acknowledging his greatness, and someday, Uther would rule all of Albion.
Later that night, as he entered Ygraine, listening to her groans, his lust turning into endless pleasure, he could feel the magic take, feel his seed growing inside her, knowing that he would have a son soon enough. Ignoring Nimueh’s warnings of loss and blood and death.
As if a king would care about someone else’s sacrifice. It was to be expected, it was to be encouraged if it would get Uther what he wanted.
Everything would be his in the end. His conquests, his wife, his son.
His legacy.
And it would be glorious.
Title: A Perilous Path
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Uther/Ygraine
Character/s: Uther, Ygraine
Summary: For years, Uther wanted an heir. He deserved one after all, as king of Camelot, as winner of the Melee. As overlord to witches willing to do whatever he would command, no matter the cost.
Word Count: 477
Camelot_drabble Prompt: 491, Athletic
Author's Notes: unbetaed,
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
------------------------
As his final enemy fell into the dust of the Melee’s competition, Uther looked up at his lovely queen and grinned. It had been a good day, full of surprises. A sword broken, a mace entangled into his foe’s armour, fending off multiple fools at a time. Riding and swordplay and the raw power of a fist in Sir Renault’s face.
More than one opponent had been carried off into the medical tents. For others, this year’s Melee was an absolute ending, and there would be mourning and gnashing of teeth among their supporters and loved ones.
But that was the way of things. The Melee had no rules and only one could be champion.
And Uther was that one. Again.
As he walked off the field, raising his sword to the roar of the crowd one last time, he thought about the night to come and Ygraine welcoming him back into their bed. Her kisses, the way she groaned as he shoved himself into her, bruises littering that porcelain skin of hers to remind her and everyone that she was his. His to own, his to conquer, his to worship.
For Uther would be victorious in all things, not just a brawl or conquering a kingdom but her surrender, too.
He smiled, knowing that he would win this battle as he had all the others. They had tried for years to have children, but Ygraine proved barren. That was bad enough, but lately, the gossipmongers had spread rumours that it was Uther himself who was the problem, cheap gutter-talk of manhood and getting it up, and laughter began to follow him.
The petty fools learned not to mock him-some of them screaming for mercy before gurgling their last, but Uther knew that he had to do something to prove himself a king to all and sundry before the problem became unmanageable.
Nimueh agreed to his demands for an heir, providing a solution but warning of dire consequences. As if he would listen to a witch. Those of magic were to be used as Uther saw fit, not dictating to him or appealing to his conscience.
He would have a son, he would have a queen sitting next to him, acknowledging his greatness, and someday, Uther would rule all of Albion.
Later that night, as he entered Ygraine, listening to her groans, his lust turning into endless pleasure, he could feel the magic take, feel his seed growing inside her, knowing that he would have a son soon enough. Ignoring Nimueh’s warnings of loss and blood and death.
As if a king would care about someone else’s sacrifice. It was to be expected, it was to be encouraged if it would get Uther what he wanted.
Everything would be his in the end. His conquests, his wife, his son.
His legacy.
And it would be glorious.