Melin ficlet - Light of Gold - PG13 - Uther POV
Still alive. I'm spending most of the week offline, due to various RL commitments, but in the rare moments of the weekend I get five minutes to myself, I've been trying to write Merlin fic. I'm working on a longer Arthur/Merlin snarky h/c piece, but after watching ep 1.09, I had to write a little Uther POV piece.
The title is taken from Lux Aurumque by Eric Whiteacre. The text and translation of the chorale are at the end of the ficlet.
TITLE: Light of Gold
RATING: PG13 gen
CHARACTERS: Uther
SPOILERS: up to 1.09 - Excalibur
NOTES: 600 words. Set pre series. Arthur's birth.
He is King. Lord of all he surveys, ruler of castle and kingdom. His word is absolute law; life and death lie within his gift. And yet here he is powerless; his strength and might count for nothing. The door between them is closed, and cannot be opened by him.
The baby wails, long and lusty, and he waits for the door to open. Waits for the nursemaid to call him in, her face bright with joy, wearing the smile of secret pride women share on these occasions.
The door remains closed. The baby's cries grow louder, and he hears whispers, the soft shush of skirts sweeping the floor. He steps closer, hears the quiet murmur of a hushed lullaby, sees a thin line of warm light seeping under the door.
The baby’s cries ease, and he waits for the door to open. To see him for the first time. His longed for heir, his heart’s desire. All his life he has been denied nothing, wanted for nothing. Until this, the son that heaven would not allow.
This miracle.
She called the baby that, patting her rounded stomach, suddenly, impossibly more beautiful than ever before. It was enough to make him forget his secret treachery; make him believe his own lies. Make him ignore the warnings of a sacrifice, a price to pay.
The door opens, and light floods from the bedchamber, heavy as molten gold. Heat curls thick around his ankles like quicksand, drawing him across the threshold, into the room.
He knows without looking that she is dead. He’s well acquainted with death, has met it in battle, lost friends to it, given enemies over to it. He knows the silence of the living in the presence of death. Only the child seems immune, snuffling contentedly in the nursemaid’s embrace. Innocently unaware of its guilt.
“Such things happen, Sire,” Gaius lies, for the sake of her servants who cower by the warmth of the fireside, away from the shadow of death. Gaius alone shares his secret, warned him of the dangers of invoking dark magic. “Nothing light can come of dark, Sire. There must be a price.”
He had not cared. The promise of a son, an heir to Camelot, a future king of all Albion - she had sworn it would be so. She had tempted him beyond all endurance. He could not resist, could not be expected to do so.
He orders them out. All of them, the weeping women, the trembling servants, even Gaius. His wisest, most trusted servant. He cannot bear to look upon the man, see the quiet sympathy in his eyes. See the lack of accusation in his face.
“Leave the child.”
The terrified nursemaid relinquishes the baby, laying it in the cradle next to her deathbed. The child whimpers at the loss of contact, and the nurse turns back to soothe its cries.
“Get out!”
The woman flees in terror, and he is alone with his wife and son. He cannot bear to have them see this, to know his secret shame. He drops to his knees and prays, god help him, prays with all his soul that the child be taken in sacrifice for his Ygraine.
But his prayers go unanswered, punishment from a jealous god. It’s too late now to turn to angels when he has struck a bargain with darkness.
His son’s cries are loud and indignant; he pauses only to drag breath into his infant lungs. And Uther kneels by his wife’s side, presses his face into her cool hand and warms it with his silent tears.
Text of the chorale:
Lux
Calida gravisque, pura velut aurum,
et canunt angeli molliter
modo natum.
Light,
Warm and heavy as pure gold,
And the angels sing softly
To the newborn babe.
The title is taken from Lux Aurumque by Eric Whiteacre. The text and translation of the chorale are at the end of the ficlet.
TITLE: Light of Gold
RATING: PG13 gen
CHARACTERS: Uther
SPOILERS: up to 1.09 - Excalibur
NOTES: 600 words. Set pre series. Arthur's birth.
He is King. Lord of all he surveys, ruler of castle and kingdom. His word is absolute law; life and death lie within his gift. And yet here he is powerless; his strength and might count for nothing. The door between them is closed, and cannot be opened by him.
The baby wails, long and lusty, and he waits for the door to open. Waits for the nursemaid to call him in, her face bright with joy, wearing the smile of secret pride women share on these occasions.
The door remains closed. The baby's cries grow louder, and he hears whispers, the soft shush of skirts sweeping the floor. He steps closer, hears the quiet murmur of a hushed lullaby, sees a thin line of warm light seeping under the door.
The baby’s cries ease, and he waits for the door to open. To see him for the first time. His longed for heir, his heart’s desire. All his life he has been denied nothing, wanted for nothing. Until this, the son that heaven would not allow.
This miracle.
She called the baby that, patting her rounded stomach, suddenly, impossibly more beautiful than ever before. It was enough to make him forget his secret treachery; make him believe his own lies. Make him ignore the warnings of a sacrifice, a price to pay.
The door opens, and light floods from the bedchamber, heavy as molten gold. Heat curls thick around his ankles like quicksand, drawing him across the threshold, into the room.
He knows without looking that she is dead. He’s well acquainted with death, has met it in battle, lost friends to it, given enemies over to it. He knows the silence of the living in the presence of death. Only the child seems immune, snuffling contentedly in the nursemaid’s embrace. Innocently unaware of its guilt.
“Such things happen, Sire,” Gaius lies, for the sake of her servants who cower by the warmth of the fireside, away from the shadow of death. Gaius alone shares his secret, warned him of the dangers of invoking dark magic. “Nothing light can come of dark, Sire. There must be a price.”
He had not cared. The promise of a son, an heir to Camelot, a future king of all Albion - she had sworn it would be so. She had tempted him beyond all endurance. He could not resist, could not be expected to do so.
He orders them out. All of them, the weeping women, the trembling servants, even Gaius. His wisest, most trusted servant. He cannot bear to look upon the man, see the quiet sympathy in his eyes. See the lack of accusation in his face.
“Leave the child.”
The terrified nursemaid relinquishes the baby, laying it in the cradle next to her deathbed. The child whimpers at the loss of contact, and the nurse turns back to soothe its cries.
“Get out!”
The woman flees in terror, and he is alone with his wife and son. He cannot bear to have them see this, to know his secret shame. He drops to his knees and prays, god help him, prays with all his soul that the child be taken in sacrifice for his Ygraine.
But his prayers go unanswered, punishment from a jealous god. It’s too late now to turn to angels when he has struck a bargain with darkness.
His son’s cries are loud and indignant; he pauses only to drag breath into his infant lungs. And Uther kneels by his wife’s side, presses his face into her cool hand and warms it with his silent tears.
Text of the chorale:
Lux
Calida gravisque, pura velut aurum,
et canunt angeli molliter
modo natum.
Light,
Warm and heavy as pure gold,
And the angels sing softly
To the newborn babe.