Fic: brother and sister together we'll make it through [Arthur/Morgana 1/?]
Title: brother and sister together we'll make it through
Author: kalichan
Rating: G (this part... but see warnings...)
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Arthur/Morgana
Word Count: 917 (this part)
Summary: Every story has a beginning... and this is theirs.
Warning(s): Incest, eventually! Nothing for this part though.
Notes: This story is a WIP and I thought I'd release it into the world, because I haven't posted any fic in FOREVER and that seems wrong somehow.
It was nearly midwinter, and Arthur's knights were lined up in the chilly courtyard for inspection. Not quite satisfied, he wandered up and down the line, looking for flaws. There were many, he had to admit; Sir Pellinore's beard was far too scraggly, and Sir Ector's nose was far too... orange. And there was, despite his best efforts, a distinct tendency for their armour to sink into their shoulders, crumpling them under the weight.
He shook his head. “Soft, the lot of you,” he told them firmly. “We'll have to toughen you up, if you're to serve Camelot.”
They stood stoically silent as he rebuked them, and he sighed.
Just as he was about to start work on Sir Pellinore's beard (more straw, he thought, might do the trick), he heard a noise like thunder at the gates, and iron-shod hooves were clattering on the flagstones. The horses pulled up sharp at the edge of the line made by his knights, his father's stallion plunging and rearing and Sir Ector went down with a single blow from a hoof.
“Arthur!” his father shouted, as he and his men - a much smaller troop than had set out a fortnight ago - swung down from their horses, their armour bloodstained and their faces tense and grim. Arthur watched sadly as his father's boot crushed Sir Ector's nose into orange pulp. He did not sound pleased. “Come here at once.”
Arthur gulped, ran towards him, and then bowed as well as he could. “Yes, father.”
“What are you playing at?” the king said coldly, and gestured to the fallen Sir Ector and his companions. “What is all this nonsense?”
“They're my knights,” he said as bravely as he could. “I made them...”
“You have a whole castle full of toys to play with, studies to be done, arms to practice and you choose to waste your time with this foolishness? In full view of the town and the approach? One would think you were a child of four, not nine. And is that a carrot?” he asked, pointing to the orange mess.
“Yes, father.”
“You stole it from the kitchens? In the winter? That carrot could be the difference for someone between a day with food and a day without.”
Arthur looked down at his feet.
“I expected better from you. When we are finished here, you'll collect all these pots and pans, polish them, and return them to the cook. No supper tonight. And if anything has rusted or is ruined beyond repair, you'll report to the castellan for a beating.”
“Yes, sire,” he mumbled.
“Are you a coward? Look at me when you speak, boy.”
Arthur set his teeth, and looked his father full in the face. “Yes. Sire,” he repeated, as clearly as possible. Only then did he notice that still seated on the pommel of his father's saddle was a girl, perhaps a year or two older than him, her face pinched with fatigue and cold. His father reached up, and swung her down off the horse; as she tried to stand on her own, she stumbled, almost unable to carry her own weight. Arthur's ears burned as he realized she'd heard the whole, shameful scolding.
“Arthur, this is the Lady Morgana, Duchess of Cornwall.” For some reason, the girl flinched as he spoke, and his father reached out automatically to steady her.
Arthur glared.
“Where are your manners?” the king said to him icily. “Make your bow and greet the lady.”
“Welcome to Camelot, my lady,” he bit out, and bowed.
Instead of answering, she fainted. The king swung her up into his arms, and shouted for Gaius, the court physician. Chaos broke loose in the courtyard as servants spilled out of the castle and the stables and swarmed around the king and his knights.
Arthur thought seriously about using the confusion to run away, into the castle or even the town since no one was paying attention to him anyway, but instead he glumly began collecting the pots and pans he'd been using for knights' armour. He could see a long night of polishing ahead of him. Also he was beginning to be very hungry.
The king did not stay long at court; before three days had passed, he was gone again to the border with Mercia, leaving the stupid, annoying girl behind with Arthur, in Arthur's castle. While there was a certain amount of pleasure to be found in the idea of putting frogs or something equally pleasant in her bed to show exactly how very welcome she was not, there were a few problems with this plan: firstly, it was winter, so there was a distinct lack of suitably slimy wildlife to choose from, and secondly, he was pretty sure that she would tell Uther as soon as he returned and then his life would not be worth living. Girls, he was sure he'd heard somewhere, were all tattletales who had no sense of honour at all.
Arthur decided that it would be best to pretend that she was simply not there, and that the whole embarrassing incident in the courtyard had never happened. Hopefully she would just stay in her room sewing something or other, until the king returned and sent her away, after which everything would be as it was before.
This, sadly, did not work out to plan.
Author: kalichan
Rating: G (this part... but see warnings...)
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Arthur/Morgana
Word Count: 917 (this part)
Summary: Every story has a beginning... and this is theirs.
Warning(s): Incest, eventually! Nothing for this part though.
Notes: This story is a WIP and I thought I'd release it into the world, because I haven't posted any fic in FOREVER and that seems wrong somehow.
It was nearly midwinter, and Arthur's knights were lined up in the chilly courtyard for inspection. Not quite satisfied, he wandered up and down the line, looking for flaws. There were many, he had to admit; Sir Pellinore's beard was far too scraggly, and Sir Ector's nose was far too... orange. And there was, despite his best efforts, a distinct tendency for their armour to sink into their shoulders, crumpling them under the weight.
He shook his head. “Soft, the lot of you,” he told them firmly. “We'll have to toughen you up, if you're to serve Camelot.”
They stood stoically silent as he rebuked them, and he sighed.
Just as he was about to start work on Sir Pellinore's beard (more straw, he thought, might do the trick), he heard a noise like thunder at the gates, and iron-shod hooves were clattering on the flagstones. The horses pulled up sharp at the edge of the line made by his knights, his father's stallion plunging and rearing and Sir Ector went down with a single blow from a hoof.
“Arthur!” his father shouted, as he and his men - a much smaller troop than had set out a fortnight ago - swung down from their horses, their armour bloodstained and their faces tense and grim. Arthur watched sadly as his father's boot crushed Sir Ector's nose into orange pulp. He did not sound pleased. “Come here at once.”
Arthur gulped, ran towards him, and then bowed as well as he could. “Yes, father.”
“What are you playing at?” the king said coldly, and gestured to the fallen Sir Ector and his companions. “What is all this nonsense?”
“They're my knights,” he said as bravely as he could. “I made them...”
“You have a whole castle full of toys to play with, studies to be done, arms to practice and you choose to waste your time with this foolishness? In full view of the town and the approach? One would think you were a child of four, not nine. And is that a carrot?” he asked, pointing to the orange mess.
“Yes, father.”
“You stole it from the kitchens? In the winter? That carrot could be the difference for someone between a day with food and a day without.”
Arthur looked down at his feet.
“I expected better from you. When we are finished here, you'll collect all these pots and pans, polish them, and return them to the cook. No supper tonight. And if anything has rusted or is ruined beyond repair, you'll report to the castellan for a beating.”
“Yes, sire,” he mumbled.
“Are you a coward? Look at me when you speak, boy.”
Arthur set his teeth, and looked his father full in the face. “Yes. Sire,” he repeated, as clearly as possible. Only then did he notice that still seated on the pommel of his father's saddle was a girl, perhaps a year or two older than him, her face pinched with fatigue and cold. His father reached up, and swung her down off the horse; as she tried to stand on her own, she stumbled, almost unable to carry her own weight. Arthur's ears burned as he realized she'd heard the whole, shameful scolding.
“Arthur, this is the Lady Morgana, Duchess of Cornwall.” For some reason, the girl flinched as he spoke, and his father reached out automatically to steady her.
Arthur glared.
“Where are your manners?” the king said to him icily. “Make your bow and greet the lady.”
“Welcome to Camelot, my lady,” he bit out, and bowed.
Instead of answering, she fainted. The king swung her up into his arms, and shouted for Gaius, the court physician. Chaos broke loose in the courtyard as servants spilled out of the castle and the stables and swarmed around the king and his knights.
Arthur thought seriously about using the confusion to run away, into the castle or even the town since no one was paying attention to him anyway, but instead he glumly began collecting the pots and pans he'd been using for knights' armour. He could see a long night of polishing ahead of him. Also he was beginning to be very hungry.
The king did not stay long at court; before three days had passed, he was gone again to the border with Mercia, leaving the stupid, annoying girl behind with Arthur, in Arthur's castle. While there was a certain amount of pleasure to be found in the idea of putting frogs or something equally pleasant in her bed to show exactly how very welcome she was not, there were a few problems with this plan: firstly, it was winter, so there was a distinct lack of suitably slimy wildlife to choose from, and secondly, he was pretty sure that she would tell Uther as soon as he returned and then his life would not be worth living. Girls, he was sure he'd heard somewhere, were all tattletales who had no sense of honour at all.
Arthur decided that it would be best to pretend that she was simply not there, and that the whole embarrassing incident in the courtyard had never happened. Hopefully she would just stay in her room sewing something or other, until the king returned and sent her away, after which everything would be as it was before.
This, sadly, did not work out to plan.