Merlin - Pendragon
Title: Pendragon
Genre: AU, Gen
Rating: PG
Length: ~1,000
Spoilers: Series One (AU)
Warnings: Implied Character Death
Synopsis: Morgana remained.
Author’s Notes: For
arobynsung at
camelot_fleet, who requested: “What Morgana's rule would have been like (and I'm talking Morgana S1 characterization, pls)?” Original post here, though this is cleaned up a bit from there.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Uther was gone. Arthur was gone. Morgana remained. The acting regent bit her lip as she gazed out at the courtyard and saw the people rush to and fro and knew they needed her, knew they depended on her to keep them safe. It was a daunting task, but one she knew she needed to be ready for.
Gwen stood behind her, brushing out the knots in her hair and adjusting the laces of her gown to lie just so. She reached for some gaudy mess of metal, but Morgana shook her head. "The pearls," she directed, not yet ready for a crown. The mock coronet wound through her hair and dipped low on her forehead, a single teardrop of blue stone in the centre representing the tears she was not allowed to fall.
That in place, she finally left her sanctuary of a room, inundated with advisors and courtiers the moment her slippered foot touched the stone walkway. A pointed look scared some away, her hand on the gilded blade she wore frightened others, but her loyal knights were needed to clear the final path to the throne room where she would prove herself and hopefully earn her peace.
She sat in Uther's monstrosity of a chair, actually appreciating the high carved back as the morning carried on. She could lean ever so slightly against it, feel the whorls and nearly sharp edges, and sit up all the straighter once more to appear prim and proper and like she cared about someone arguing the single coin cost difference for a barrel of barley. She would much rather pay it herself and move on, but she knew that was not the way things were done, so she listened to the men until their bickering died down and she made her verdict, crisp and clean, and knew all eyes in the room were watching her.
Things went on that way until near noon when a boy she had played with in her father's house tried to use that relationship to convince her of something so clearly wrong. Fed up, she held up her hand and announced, "That is ridiculous and you know it. Play upon our once friendship like this again and I shall have you sent to the dungeons for a fortnight to remind you of the consequences of crossing the throne."
The advisors actually smiled at that, so she supposed she had done something right, passed yet another test thrown her way like the time Gaius had the gall to ask in front of four of them whether or not she would need her nightly tonic. She refused, knowing he would need to heed her word for the first time, and told him that it was unwise for one to rule under the influence of tinctures created by others as there was no way to tell their sway. Gaius had left, red faced and perhaps fuming, but she believed she had made her point and even the stodgiest advisor had let her be for one glorious moment.
Her dreams still came, images of wars and blood and fighting, but dear, sweet Gwen was there for her through it all, offering her a cup of tea or, in one notable instance, something far stronger than tea, and speaking soothing words that left a far better taste in her mouth than any tonic Gaius could provide.
That night was no different. The dreams came, vivid and oh so real. Arthur was there, as was Uther, though they looked so worn down and far from proud. They were running, fleeing, having won yet still being sought after by relentless assassins. They pounded on a heavy oak door, but to no avail, the final blade sinking deep while they were moments away from safety.
She woke up gasping, pushing off Gwen's hands to stumble to her chamber door in nothing but her night dress. She threw the heavy thing open and addressed the guards that awaited her. "The South gate. Send men to the South gate. I will be there shortly."
She closed the door on their questioning looks, but heard the order echo through the castle and knew she would be listened to. She had Gwen dress her in her travelling gear, maille and sword, and strode down to meet the others, knowing they thought her mad though she knew in her heart she was right.
"Men approach," Leon said, sounding only slightly surprised.
She ordered them into position and waited behind the usually locked and forgotten gate for the knock she knew would come. By the third sounding of fist on wood, she had the gate prised open and her blade at the ready. Uther and Arthur and even Merlin too fell forward, wounds decorating what she could see of their bodies, but nothing fatal, not yet. She raised her sword and blocked the blade intended for her king, kicking out and pushing the man away while Leon threw himself at Arthur's attacker and Merlin somehow got the three of them inside.
She ordered the gate closed, knowing her own knights were still out there, but also knowing each and every man who wore Pendragon red would need to be personally vetted by someone she trusted to ensure no other attempts were made on her surrogate family's lives.
She paused then and finally breathed deeply, watching an almost sort of respect form behind the eyes of her men. That was good as she was going to need it. Neither Uther nor Arthur would be in any shape to rule for days, if not longer, and she would need all the help she could gather if she were to keep the castle together.
As Uther was helped away, he offered her one bloodstained hand, the crimson bright against the steel she still wore, and said, "You truly are a Pendragon." She only hoped it was a blessing and not a curse.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
This entry was originally posted at http://cat-77.dreamwidth.org/371717.html. Current comments
Genre: AU, Gen
Rating: PG
Length: ~1,000
Spoilers: Series One (AU)
Warnings: Implied Character Death
Synopsis: Morgana remained.
Author’s Notes: For
arobynsung at
camelot_fleet, who requested: “What Morgana's rule would have been like (and I'm talking Morgana S1 characterization, pls)?” Original post here, though this is cleaned up a bit from there.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Uther was gone. Arthur was gone. Morgana remained. The acting regent bit her lip as she gazed out at the courtyard and saw the people rush to and fro and knew they needed her, knew they depended on her to keep them safe. It was a daunting task, but one she knew she needed to be ready for.
Gwen stood behind her, brushing out the knots in her hair and adjusting the laces of her gown to lie just so. She reached for some gaudy mess of metal, but Morgana shook her head. "The pearls," she directed, not yet ready for a crown. The mock coronet wound through her hair and dipped low on her forehead, a single teardrop of blue stone in the centre representing the tears she was not allowed to fall.
That in place, she finally left her sanctuary of a room, inundated with advisors and courtiers the moment her slippered foot touched the stone walkway. A pointed look scared some away, her hand on the gilded blade she wore frightened others, but her loyal knights were needed to clear the final path to the throne room where she would prove herself and hopefully earn her peace.
She sat in Uther's monstrosity of a chair, actually appreciating the high carved back as the morning carried on. She could lean ever so slightly against it, feel the whorls and nearly sharp edges, and sit up all the straighter once more to appear prim and proper and like she cared about someone arguing the single coin cost difference for a barrel of barley. She would much rather pay it herself and move on, but she knew that was not the way things were done, so she listened to the men until their bickering died down and she made her verdict, crisp and clean, and knew all eyes in the room were watching her.
Things went on that way until near noon when a boy she had played with in her father's house tried to use that relationship to convince her of something so clearly wrong. Fed up, she held up her hand and announced, "That is ridiculous and you know it. Play upon our once friendship like this again and I shall have you sent to the dungeons for a fortnight to remind you of the consequences of crossing the throne."
The advisors actually smiled at that, so she supposed she had done something right, passed yet another test thrown her way like the time Gaius had the gall to ask in front of four of them whether or not she would need her nightly tonic. She refused, knowing he would need to heed her word for the first time, and told him that it was unwise for one to rule under the influence of tinctures created by others as there was no way to tell their sway. Gaius had left, red faced and perhaps fuming, but she believed she had made her point and even the stodgiest advisor had let her be for one glorious moment.
Her dreams still came, images of wars and blood and fighting, but dear, sweet Gwen was there for her through it all, offering her a cup of tea or, in one notable instance, something far stronger than tea, and speaking soothing words that left a far better taste in her mouth than any tonic Gaius could provide.
That night was no different. The dreams came, vivid and oh so real. Arthur was there, as was Uther, though they looked so worn down and far from proud. They were running, fleeing, having won yet still being sought after by relentless assassins. They pounded on a heavy oak door, but to no avail, the final blade sinking deep while they were moments away from safety.
She woke up gasping, pushing off Gwen's hands to stumble to her chamber door in nothing but her night dress. She threw the heavy thing open and addressed the guards that awaited her. "The South gate. Send men to the South gate. I will be there shortly."
She closed the door on their questioning looks, but heard the order echo through the castle and knew she would be listened to. She had Gwen dress her in her travelling gear, maille and sword, and strode down to meet the others, knowing they thought her mad though she knew in her heart she was right.
"Men approach," Leon said, sounding only slightly surprised.
She ordered them into position and waited behind the usually locked and forgotten gate for the knock she knew would come. By the third sounding of fist on wood, she had the gate prised open and her blade at the ready. Uther and Arthur and even Merlin too fell forward, wounds decorating what she could see of their bodies, but nothing fatal, not yet. She raised her sword and blocked the blade intended for her king, kicking out and pushing the man away while Leon threw himself at Arthur's attacker and Merlin somehow got the three of them inside.
She ordered the gate closed, knowing her own knights were still out there, but also knowing each and every man who wore Pendragon red would need to be personally vetted by someone she trusted to ensure no other attempts were made on her surrogate family's lives.
She paused then and finally breathed deeply, watching an almost sort of respect form behind the eyes of her men. That was good as she was going to need it. Neither Uther nor Arthur would be in any shape to rule for days, if not longer, and she would need all the help she could gather if she were to keep the castle together.
As Uther was helped away, he offered her one bloodstained hand, the crimson bright against the steel she still wore, and said, "You truly are a Pendragon." She only hoped it was a blessing and not a curse.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
This entry was originally posted at http://cat-77.dreamwidth.org/371717.html. Current comments