The Legacy of Uther Pendragon (Gwen/Morgana, Arthur/Merlin)
Title: The Legacy of Uther Pendragon
Fandom: Merlin
Characters & Pairings: Uther, Gwen/Morgana, Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,500
Summary: A character study of Uther, his relationship with his troublesome children and how he intends to secure his legacy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
Notes: This has been sitting on my laptop for quite a while now and though I'm still not happy with it, I thought I should finally post it.
There was a time, not so long ago, when Uther could not call to mind the names of any of the servants working in his castle. For it was his castle. He was King; he had no time for such trivialities. His time was occupied by treaties and the staving off of war, by the ever troublesome economy and the many disputes of his people. There were tournaments to organise and feasts that must be thrown in just the right way so as to simultaneously show Camelot for the jewel she was whilst not offending any of her allies. Politics was eternal, the help, thankfully, were not.
Servants were to be neither seen nor heard. They did not have names within the bounds of the castle, they had duties, just as he had to his people.
Recently however, things had changed and change was not a word beloved of kings. Change meant instability and instability could cost you your power. His views on servants, it was becoming apparent, were not upheld by his children. The Prince Arthur and the Lady Morgana knew more than the names of their servants, they knew their hopes, their dreams. And what was worse, they cared about them as people, as friends.
Morgana had always been a rebellious child. She had taken every opportunity presented to her in her short life to fight with him on politics, the economy, even his choice of banquet dishes. Only once though had she gone so far as to force him to incarcerate her until she calmed her hysterics and relearned her station. It was, it seemed, over a blacksmith that she had crossed that line, but sharp attention to her words told him different. It was not over a blacksmith but over a woman, a servant. Guinevere.
Arthur on the other hand had always been good at doing what he was told. When he protested it was always under Morgana’s wiles. Things had changed. Now there was another who could cause the Prince to disobey. A servant. One he had risked his life for one too many times. Merlin.
Due to these two commoners - these two servants - the King had found himself with a need to gain knowledge he did not wish to possess of those under his employ.
He wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the difference in class or the similitude of... other aspects. It struck him as odd that both of his children - and they were both his children, even though they did not know it - would suffer from the same malady. On several occasions he had considered consulting Gaius, the court physician, on the possibility of something being in the blood. Though that was a conversation he did not have the proclivity to have, and not just because of the inevitable uncomfortable questions that would be raised towards his own character.
From the window of his chambers he watched Arthur push at Merlin fondly, infected with laughter. Arthur was supposed to be training for the upcoming tournament, not playing the fool with a sickly looking boy. The honour of the Pendragon family rested on the young Prince’s shoulders and all he could see was the foolish attentions of a serving boy who had been allowed to forget his place. Perhaps it was his own fault for being a too gentle master to the serving staff; maybe Arthur had gathered the wrong idea.
Just as he was turning from the window, a flash of purple in the square below caught his eye, Morgana. She walked with a secret smile on her face, dipping her head to whisper things to Guinevere as their hands brushed together between them. They were heading out of the castle and not in as Uther would have expected, there was a feast to celebrate the start of the tournament that night and Morgana had told him explicitly that she would need all day to prepare. He saw now that this was just an excuse to free her of the daily court activities. The maid was carrying a bag no doubt full of a romantic picnic, just like he had indulged in with Igraine, with Vivien. He found himself transfixed as Morgana took the bag from a struggling Guinevere, she was smiling impishly.
The King wondered if the unknowing brother and sister talked about their shared... interests. Did they think that it was a workable life? That once Arthur was King he could do as he liked and afford Morgana the same luxury? Had they already concocted some public facade that the four would hide behind? The very idea of it was treason.
What would become of his beloved Camelot if his son would not produce an heir? If he were to die in battle, would it be Morgana who would take the thrown? She couldn’t, not without knowledge of her true self. Or maybe she would be queen by the will of the people? He couldn’t help but think of what a good and gracious queen Morgana would make, guided by her unyielding morals. Under her and Arthur the kingdom would swell to a greatness he knew he himself could never realise. He was old, the future was not as clear to him as it had once been, but for the next generation, he knew this would not be a problem. The kingdom would bear no resemblance to the one he had built though, and he could not let that happen.
“Have the Lady Morgana and Prince Arthur brought to my rooms, immediately,” he ordered. There was no need to turn around to see if his order had been received, there was always somebody eager to obey him. “The knights will have to ride out to retrieve Morgana. I expect the both of them to be here before the sun is highest in the sky.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
There was more to being King than looking after your people, more than making your kingdom great. The next generation was to be your greatest legacy, whether you wanted it to be or not. When he passed on, he would not be remembered for ridding the kingdom of the scourge of sorcery, but for siring Arthur and possibly Morgana. Their rule would eclipse his own as every successive monarch did. He knew this and he would not allow this legacy to be one of dishonour and shame. It was a problem that he could fix, for his word was absolute.
Within the hour there was a knock at his door, followed by the opening of the doors and two sets of footsteps.
“Father,” Arthur said by way of greeting. “You wished to see us.”
He turned to face his children. His son held his gaze steadily, his face pliant and ready to serve as always. His daughter, however, had her chin raised and a defiant look on her face. She was ready to fight him on anything he had to say. They were so different. Prince and Lady. Royalty and ward. Calm and fierce. Light and dark. Differences like that ought to be united, to neutralise one another.
“Yes,” he smiled, as much in anticipation of what was ahead as in satisfaction of his own brilliance. “I have great news.”
“Then we are eager to hear it,” Arthur said, his smile growing to match his father’s. Morgana remained wary.
“The feast tonight is to celebrate a wondrous occasion, the announcement of a most joyous union.” He beamed, he was going to enjoy this, the looks on their faces.
“Is there finally to be treaty with Cenred’s Kingdom? Is Camelot to acknowledge his reign as legitimate?” Morgana asked, distaste clear in her voice.
“The union I speak of,” he paused to elongate the suspense, “is your upcoming marriage.”
“To whom?” Morgana asked, evidently affronted.
“Why, to each other, of course.”
Fandom: Merlin
Characters & Pairings: Uther, Gwen/Morgana, Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,500
Summary: A character study of Uther, his relationship with his troublesome children and how he intends to secure his legacy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
Notes: This has been sitting on my laptop for quite a while now and though I'm still not happy with it, I thought I should finally post it.
There was a time, not so long ago, when Uther could not call to mind the names of any of the servants working in his castle. For it was his castle. He was King; he had no time for such trivialities. His time was occupied by treaties and the staving off of war, by the ever troublesome economy and the many disputes of his people. There were tournaments to organise and feasts that must be thrown in just the right way so as to simultaneously show Camelot for the jewel she was whilst not offending any of her allies. Politics was eternal, the help, thankfully, were not.
Servants were to be neither seen nor heard. They did not have names within the bounds of the castle, they had duties, just as he had to his people.
Recently however, things had changed and change was not a word beloved of kings. Change meant instability and instability could cost you your power. His views on servants, it was becoming apparent, were not upheld by his children. The Prince Arthur and the Lady Morgana knew more than the names of their servants, they knew their hopes, their dreams. And what was worse, they cared about them as people, as friends.
Morgana had always been a rebellious child. She had taken every opportunity presented to her in her short life to fight with him on politics, the economy, even his choice of banquet dishes. Only once though had she gone so far as to force him to incarcerate her until she calmed her hysterics and relearned her station. It was, it seemed, over a blacksmith that she had crossed that line, but sharp attention to her words told him different. It was not over a blacksmith but over a woman, a servant. Guinevere.
Arthur on the other hand had always been good at doing what he was told. When he protested it was always under Morgana’s wiles. Things had changed. Now there was another who could cause the Prince to disobey. A servant. One he had risked his life for one too many times. Merlin.
Due to these two commoners - these two servants - the King had found himself with a need to gain knowledge he did not wish to possess of those under his employ.
He wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the difference in class or the similitude of... other aspects. It struck him as odd that both of his children - and they were both his children, even though they did not know it - would suffer from the same malady. On several occasions he had considered consulting Gaius, the court physician, on the possibility of something being in the blood. Though that was a conversation he did not have the proclivity to have, and not just because of the inevitable uncomfortable questions that would be raised towards his own character.
From the window of his chambers he watched Arthur push at Merlin fondly, infected with laughter. Arthur was supposed to be training for the upcoming tournament, not playing the fool with a sickly looking boy. The honour of the Pendragon family rested on the young Prince’s shoulders and all he could see was the foolish attentions of a serving boy who had been allowed to forget his place. Perhaps it was his own fault for being a too gentle master to the serving staff; maybe Arthur had gathered the wrong idea.
Just as he was turning from the window, a flash of purple in the square below caught his eye, Morgana. She walked with a secret smile on her face, dipping her head to whisper things to Guinevere as their hands brushed together between them. They were heading out of the castle and not in as Uther would have expected, there was a feast to celebrate the start of the tournament that night and Morgana had told him explicitly that she would need all day to prepare. He saw now that this was just an excuse to free her of the daily court activities. The maid was carrying a bag no doubt full of a romantic picnic, just like he had indulged in with Igraine, with Vivien. He found himself transfixed as Morgana took the bag from a struggling Guinevere, she was smiling impishly.
The King wondered if the unknowing brother and sister talked about their shared... interests. Did they think that it was a workable life? That once Arthur was King he could do as he liked and afford Morgana the same luxury? Had they already concocted some public facade that the four would hide behind? The very idea of it was treason.
What would become of his beloved Camelot if his son would not produce an heir? If he were to die in battle, would it be Morgana who would take the thrown? She couldn’t, not without knowledge of her true self. Or maybe she would be queen by the will of the people? He couldn’t help but think of what a good and gracious queen Morgana would make, guided by her unyielding morals. Under her and Arthur the kingdom would swell to a greatness he knew he himself could never realise. He was old, the future was not as clear to him as it had once been, but for the next generation, he knew this would not be a problem. The kingdom would bear no resemblance to the one he had built though, and he could not let that happen.
“Have the Lady Morgana and Prince Arthur brought to my rooms, immediately,” he ordered. There was no need to turn around to see if his order had been received, there was always somebody eager to obey him. “The knights will have to ride out to retrieve Morgana. I expect the both of them to be here before the sun is highest in the sky.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
There was more to being King than looking after your people, more than making your kingdom great. The next generation was to be your greatest legacy, whether you wanted it to be or not. When he passed on, he would not be remembered for ridding the kingdom of the scourge of sorcery, but for siring Arthur and possibly Morgana. Their rule would eclipse his own as every successive monarch did. He knew this and he would not allow this legacy to be one of dishonour and shame. It was a problem that he could fix, for his word was absolute.
Within the hour there was a knock at his door, followed by the opening of the doors and two sets of footsteps.
“Father,” Arthur said by way of greeting. “You wished to see us.”
He turned to face his children. His son held his gaze steadily, his face pliant and ready to serve as always. His daughter, however, had her chin raised and a defiant look on her face. She was ready to fight him on anything he had to say. They were so different. Prince and Lady. Royalty and ward. Calm and fierce. Light and dark. Differences like that ought to be united, to neutralise one another.
“Yes,” he smiled, as much in anticipation of what was ahead as in satisfaction of his own brilliance. “I have great news.”
“Then we are eager to hear it,” Arthur said, his smile growing to match his father’s. Morgana remained wary.
“The feast tonight is to celebrate a wondrous occasion, the announcement of a most joyous union.” He beamed, he was going to enjoy this, the looks on their faces.
“Is there finally to be treaty with Cenred’s Kingdom? Is Camelot to acknowledge his reign as legitimate?” Morgana asked, distaste clear in her voice.
“The union I speak of,” he paused to elongate the suspense, “is your upcoming marriage.”
“To whom?” Morgana asked, evidently affronted.
“Why, to each other, of course.”