Uther, King: chapter the second
Xander was at it again.
“Would you desist?” Giles demanded. “That is a 3,ooo year old statue of a fertility goddess, not a toy.”
Xander stopped caressing the goddess’s ample breasts, but didn’t stop winking at him and doing his ‘sexy dance’ for Buffy. Giles sighed, removing his glasses to wipe the lenses. It was his trademark expression of exasperation. He remembered the time that Willow had accidentally cursed him with blindness, when she had cast the spell that had Buffy and Spike convinced that they were getting married. Giles wished for his blindness back. He really didn’t need to see Xander doing that.
“Awww, Giles. Don’t be so grumpy! I was just working myself some good karma. You know how you rub the Buddha’s tummy for luck? Admit it, we need all the luck we can get.” Xander giggled. “Plus, I mean, they’re boobies, man. Haahaha. Boobies!”
Buffy was now giving Xander the death ray slayer stare. Wisely, Xander cut it out. He may not respect Giles for beans, but he feared his friend, and rightfully so. Giles never did seem to be able to muster the authority a Watcher was supposed to have. Not that any other Watcher had ever had to deal with a slayer’s friends. Slayers weren’t supposed to have friends. And although the council may have deemed him insufficient as Buffy’s guardian, fired or not, he loved her and would always do his best to protect and care for her. He had helped to keep Buffy alive for over fours years now, no mean feat in the long history of the short lives of the chosen ones. Giles attempted to bring the conversation back around again. He had convened a meeting at the Magic Box to discuss Glory, not ‘boobies’.
…
Uther awoke disoriented. He sat up slowly and leaned back against his pillows. Uther often dreamed of this strange place. A place where women wore men's garb and spoke boldly. A place where the speech and customs were unfamiliar and often crude. A place...or was it a time? The dreams always shook him up a bit. Uther was not a man prone to fantasy. He spent all of his waking minutes in the real world. He could not afford to let his mind wander from his duties as King. But at night, he could control the direction of his thoughts no more than he could control the actions of his willful son. To be sure, his strange dream persona often seemed as troubled as he. He loved his spirited wards as fiercely as Uther loved Arthur and Morgana. But Uther would never stand for the insubordination that this Giles couldn’t quite bring himself to squash. If the Xander boy were to ever live in Camelot, he would be a court jester, and most likely dismissed from that on the first day of the job.
The emotional after-effects of the dreams always took the longest to shake off. While he awoke knowing that he was Uther, not the man the youths addressed as Giles, he still felt an overwhelming need to protect these children that he knew he would never actually meet, and often an urgency that Uther recognized from his own life. Whoever this Glory was, she was dangerous. Uther shook his head and stretched, attempting to clear his mind. Glory was not real. Camelot was real. Soon the servants would enter his chambers. He could not afford to be seen as emotional or confused for even a second. All depended on his persona as the confident King.
At least it hadn’t been one of his dreams with the dragon that spewed trite platitudes at him and cackled. Sometimes when he awoke from those dreams, he swore he could still hear laughter coming from the dungeons.
At breakfast, the good King was grumpy. Across the breakfast table, Arthur smirked as he watched Merlin cutting his eggs for him. Arthur tortured Merlin the way that schoolboys teased the pretty girls in class. Soon he would be dipping Merlin's pigtails in ink and pushing him into the sandbox. Uther found his son's antics to be disappointingly transparent. He wasn’t in the mood for this.
Arthur began to flick the burnt bits of his toast into Merlin's hair.
“Would you desist?” Giles demanded. “That is a 3,ooo year old statue of a fertility goddess, not a toy.”
Xander stopped caressing the goddess’s ample breasts, but didn’t stop winking at him and doing his ‘sexy dance’ for Buffy. Giles sighed, removing his glasses to wipe the lenses. It was his trademark expression of exasperation. He remembered the time that Willow had accidentally cursed him with blindness, when she had cast the spell that had Buffy and Spike convinced that they were getting married. Giles wished for his blindness back. He really didn’t need to see Xander doing that.
“Awww, Giles. Don’t be so grumpy! I was just working myself some good karma. You know how you rub the Buddha’s tummy for luck? Admit it, we need all the luck we can get.” Xander giggled. “Plus, I mean, they’re boobies, man. Haahaha. Boobies!”
Buffy was now giving Xander the death ray slayer stare. Wisely, Xander cut it out. He may not respect Giles for beans, but he feared his friend, and rightfully so. Giles never did seem to be able to muster the authority a Watcher was supposed to have. Not that any other Watcher had ever had to deal with a slayer’s friends. Slayers weren’t supposed to have friends. And although the council may have deemed him insufficient as Buffy’s guardian, fired or not, he loved her and would always do his best to protect and care for her. He had helped to keep Buffy alive for over fours years now, no mean feat in the long history of the short lives of the chosen ones. Giles attempted to bring the conversation back around again. He had convened a meeting at the Magic Box to discuss Glory, not ‘boobies’.
…
Uther awoke disoriented. He sat up slowly and leaned back against his pillows. Uther often dreamed of this strange place. A place where women wore men's garb and spoke boldly. A place where the speech and customs were unfamiliar and often crude. A place...or was it a time? The dreams always shook him up a bit. Uther was not a man prone to fantasy. He spent all of his waking minutes in the real world. He could not afford to let his mind wander from his duties as King. But at night, he could control the direction of his thoughts no more than he could control the actions of his willful son. To be sure, his strange dream persona often seemed as troubled as he. He loved his spirited wards as fiercely as Uther loved Arthur and Morgana. But Uther would never stand for the insubordination that this Giles couldn’t quite bring himself to squash. If the Xander boy were to ever live in Camelot, he would be a court jester, and most likely dismissed from that on the first day of the job.
The emotional after-effects of the dreams always took the longest to shake off. While he awoke knowing that he was Uther, not the man the youths addressed as Giles, he still felt an overwhelming need to protect these children that he knew he would never actually meet, and often an urgency that Uther recognized from his own life. Whoever this Glory was, she was dangerous. Uther shook his head and stretched, attempting to clear his mind. Glory was not real. Camelot was real. Soon the servants would enter his chambers. He could not afford to be seen as emotional or confused for even a second. All depended on his persona as the confident King.
At least it hadn’t been one of his dreams with the dragon that spewed trite platitudes at him and cackled. Sometimes when he awoke from those dreams, he swore he could still hear laughter coming from the dungeons.
At breakfast, the good King was grumpy. Across the breakfast table, Arthur smirked as he watched Merlin cutting his eggs for him. Arthur tortured Merlin the way that schoolboys teased the pretty girls in class. Soon he would be dipping Merlin's pigtails in ink and pushing him into the sandbox. Uther found his son's antics to be disappointingly transparent. He wasn’t in the mood for this.
Arthur began to flick the burnt bits of his toast into Merlin's hair.