Hold Off The Future - Merlin - Morgana/Uther
Title: Hold Off The Future
Pairing: pre-Morgana/Uther
Word Count: 780
Rating: PG
A/N: For Zelda_zee.
Summary: Uther has started watching over Morgana as she sleeps.
He watches Morgana as she sleeps, her dark hair fanned over the white pillows of her bed. She looks like a statue carved from marble, her skin almost too pale to be real. She never tans: a painter's dream. In her sleep, her head tosses from side to side. Sounds of discontent tumble from her slack lips and her slim chest heaves for air that will not come. With fingers covered by strong leather gloves, Uther brushes her black hair from her forehead. "Just a dream, Morgana," he tells her, though deep in sleep he knows that his words cannot reach her.
Just dreams had plagued her mother as well, long before the ban of magic: in the back of his mind, somewhere that he buries it well, Uther knows what it means that the dreams have passed to Morgana as well. The king of Camelot cannot afford to have sentimental attachments, but Uther cannot fight this one. He'll protect her for as long as he can: for as long as any unnatural talents that she has stay hidden. Once they're in the open, though… He knows what magic does. He has seen it corrupt and turn good friends into enemies. As strong as she is, it would happen to her. He knows it.
As he watches, her whimpers subside and her dreams allow her to lapse into peaceful sleep again. Gingerly he lies down beside her on top of the thick bed covers and waits for morning to come, always there to keep watch.
He falls into peaceful sleep without noticing that he's doing it, and by the time he awakes again there is sun streaming in through the windows and Morgana's heat is gone from the bed. He can hear the sound of her talking next door, to her maid. Gwen. He knows that she and his ward are nearly inseparable and it makes his skin crawl uncomfortably: though Gwen was cleared on any charges of sorcery, to have her in the royal household in a risk. For anyone else, it is a risk that he would not take, but Morgana has a way of making him see sense and methods for getting her own way. She's like her father in so many ways, always a voice of reason - but Uther can never forget that she has her own agenda too.
He rubs a hand over his eyes and sits up, hiding a yawn from the empty room by raising his hand over his mouth. His shoulders feel stiff and his clothes are badly crumpled. As he rises from the bed Morgana sweeps into the room, smiling at him. "Good morning," she says pleasantly, too pleasantly.
Sometimes he can hardly remember the last time that either she or Arthur was civil to him, the last conversation that they had that was not tinged with tension and barely restrained anger. "Good morning," he answers.
"I didn't want to wake you," Morgana explains before he can ask what time it is.
As he steps from the bed he thanks her, though he has no doubt that he must have slept through several important meetings and that his courtiers are probably worrying about his disappearance. Let them worry, he thinks as he stretches, wincing a little at the twinge of pain offered by his old battle wound.
"I must admit," Morgana says with the hint of a smile, "that it was something of a surprise to find you there this morning."
"Gaius told me your sleep had been troubled." As king, Uther has no responsibility to explain his actions to anyone - but Morgana has always had a special skill for drawing the truth out of him. "I came to check on you."
"And stayed the night," Morgana observes. "How sweet."
There's something to her tone that is stranded somewhere between a compliment and sarcasm, but he accepts it nonetheless. "I'd best be on my way," he says. "No doubt the court is missing me by now."
"Of course," Morgana says, and he sweeps towards the door. She stops him with a single word. "Uther?"
He pauses, already holding the door handle, and looks over his shoulder at her. "Yes?"
She smiles at him, her features so striking she makes the horizon itself look dull: when he sees her now, Uther knows exactly why she is the finest jewel in his castle. "Can I expect you tonight?" she dares to ask, throwing decorum to the wind.
He hides his smile by turning back to the door. "We'll see," he says before he leaves, giving no promises - but he thinks they both know exactly where he'll be when she needs him tonight.
Pairing: pre-Morgana/Uther
Word Count: 780
Rating: PG
A/N: For Zelda_zee.
Summary: Uther has started watching over Morgana as she sleeps.
He watches Morgana as she sleeps, her dark hair fanned over the white pillows of her bed. She looks like a statue carved from marble, her skin almost too pale to be real. She never tans: a painter's dream. In her sleep, her head tosses from side to side. Sounds of discontent tumble from her slack lips and her slim chest heaves for air that will not come. With fingers covered by strong leather gloves, Uther brushes her black hair from her forehead. "Just a dream, Morgana," he tells her, though deep in sleep he knows that his words cannot reach her.
Just dreams had plagued her mother as well, long before the ban of magic: in the back of his mind, somewhere that he buries it well, Uther knows what it means that the dreams have passed to Morgana as well. The king of Camelot cannot afford to have sentimental attachments, but Uther cannot fight this one. He'll protect her for as long as he can: for as long as any unnatural talents that she has stay hidden. Once they're in the open, though… He knows what magic does. He has seen it corrupt and turn good friends into enemies. As strong as she is, it would happen to her. He knows it.
As he watches, her whimpers subside and her dreams allow her to lapse into peaceful sleep again. Gingerly he lies down beside her on top of the thick bed covers and waits for morning to come, always there to keep watch.
He falls into peaceful sleep without noticing that he's doing it, and by the time he awakes again there is sun streaming in through the windows and Morgana's heat is gone from the bed. He can hear the sound of her talking next door, to her maid. Gwen. He knows that she and his ward are nearly inseparable and it makes his skin crawl uncomfortably: though Gwen was cleared on any charges of sorcery, to have her in the royal household in a risk. For anyone else, it is a risk that he would not take, but Morgana has a way of making him see sense and methods for getting her own way. She's like her father in so many ways, always a voice of reason - but Uther can never forget that she has her own agenda too.
He rubs a hand over his eyes and sits up, hiding a yawn from the empty room by raising his hand over his mouth. His shoulders feel stiff and his clothes are badly crumpled. As he rises from the bed Morgana sweeps into the room, smiling at him. "Good morning," she says pleasantly, too pleasantly.
Sometimes he can hardly remember the last time that either she or Arthur was civil to him, the last conversation that they had that was not tinged with tension and barely restrained anger. "Good morning," he answers.
"I didn't want to wake you," Morgana explains before he can ask what time it is.
As he steps from the bed he thanks her, though he has no doubt that he must have slept through several important meetings and that his courtiers are probably worrying about his disappearance. Let them worry, he thinks as he stretches, wincing a little at the twinge of pain offered by his old battle wound.
"I must admit," Morgana says with the hint of a smile, "that it was something of a surprise to find you there this morning."
"Gaius told me your sleep had been troubled." As king, Uther has no responsibility to explain his actions to anyone - but Morgana has always had a special skill for drawing the truth out of him. "I came to check on you."
"And stayed the night," Morgana observes. "How sweet."
There's something to her tone that is stranded somewhere between a compliment and sarcasm, but he accepts it nonetheless. "I'd best be on my way," he says. "No doubt the court is missing me by now."
"Of course," Morgana says, and he sweeps towards the door. She stops him with a single word. "Uther?"
He pauses, already holding the door handle, and looks over his shoulder at her. "Yes?"
She smiles at him, her features so striking she makes the horizon itself look dull: when he sees her now, Uther knows exactly why she is the finest jewel in his castle. "Can I expect you tonight?" she dares to ask, throwing decorum to the wind.
He hides his smile by turning back to the door. "We'll see," he says before he leaves, giving no promises - but he thinks they both know exactly where he'll be when she needs him tonight.