No Prince Charming
Title: No Prince Charming
Word count: 453
Description: Left alone with his thoughts for far too long, Arthur seizes on a last-ditch idea to help Morgana. The result is completely fluffy. Or, as fluffy as I get, anyway. Set during "A Remedy to Cure All Ills". Comments and feedback are always welcome and appreciated.
A breeze stirred Morgana's bed curtains, sending the shadow of embroidered vines twining into the dark tendrils of her hair, shifting across her face. White hands were folded on her ribcage, perfectly ladylike, perfectly still. The bed creaked as Arthur leaned over her, his flattened palms sinking into the lush blankets.
"I want you to know I regard this as a last resort."
Morgana's moth-wing eyelashes remained shut against her too-pale skin. Arthur resisted the silly impulse to run his hand over the soft curve of her cheek.
"I've tried shaking you, I've tried yelling in your ear, I've even tried just talking to you. And I have to tell you--," he stopped to swallow against his constricting throat, "I have to tell you that this isn't interesting. It's just irritating."
Just over two days she'd lain like this, victim of some ailment that had defied the healing properties of every concoction Gaius poured between her unresisting lips. They were all taking turns, watching her, sitting with her. Just in case, Uther had said, and the once-hopeful words now wormed through Arthur's thoughts, cracking the shell of his confidence.
What if Gaius had no idea what was truly wrong? What if Gaius couldn't cure her?
What if Morgana's affliction was something beyond the reach of science and medicine?
This dangerous possibility slithered around the edges of his mind, tracing out a treacherous path every time he looked at her lying there, just lying there, like this empty, soulless thing. If some enchantment need be broken to restore her, his--their lively, contrary, willful Morgana, then perhaps. . . .
He leaned closer. On the wild chance she would open her eyes he paused, half expecting her to smirk and call him an idiot. His blood pounded as he watched the fluttering pulse moving beneath the skin on her neck. He wet his lips.
"This," he announced into the stifling quiet, "is ridiculous."
Before his nerve left him--and it took a surprising amount of nerve--he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. In sleep her mouth was slack. After three days, her breath was honestly terrible but still he held the kiss, hoping, waiting, for something to change.
He wasn't quite prepared for how disappointed he was when nothing did.
When he pulled back, head bowed, he was deeply and absolutely grateful no one had chosen that moment to return to her bedside. Finally, he reached out to run his fingers over her soft, dark hair, the skin of his lips still prickling where it had touched hers.
"So much," he muttered, "for fairy tales."
Silence was her only rejoinder; silence and the steady rise and fall of her breast.
Word count: 453
Description: Left alone with his thoughts for far too long, Arthur seizes on a last-ditch idea to help Morgana. The result is completely fluffy. Or, as fluffy as I get, anyway. Set during "A Remedy to Cure All Ills". Comments and feedback are always welcome and appreciated.
A breeze stirred Morgana's bed curtains, sending the shadow of embroidered vines twining into the dark tendrils of her hair, shifting across her face. White hands were folded on her ribcage, perfectly ladylike, perfectly still. The bed creaked as Arthur leaned over her, his flattened palms sinking into the lush blankets.
"I want you to know I regard this as a last resort."
Morgana's moth-wing eyelashes remained shut against her too-pale skin. Arthur resisted the silly impulse to run his hand over the soft curve of her cheek.
"I've tried shaking you, I've tried yelling in your ear, I've even tried just talking to you. And I have to tell you--," he stopped to swallow against his constricting throat, "I have to tell you that this isn't interesting. It's just irritating."
Just over two days she'd lain like this, victim of some ailment that had defied the healing properties of every concoction Gaius poured between her unresisting lips. They were all taking turns, watching her, sitting with her. Just in case, Uther had said, and the once-hopeful words now wormed through Arthur's thoughts, cracking the shell of his confidence.
What if Gaius had no idea what was truly wrong? What if Gaius couldn't cure her?
What if Morgana's affliction was something beyond the reach of science and medicine?
This dangerous possibility slithered around the edges of his mind, tracing out a treacherous path every time he looked at her lying there, just lying there, like this empty, soulless thing. If some enchantment need be broken to restore her, his--their lively, contrary, willful Morgana, then perhaps. . . .
He leaned closer. On the wild chance she would open her eyes he paused, half expecting her to smirk and call him an idiot. His blood pounded as he watched the fluttering pulse moving beneath the skin on her neck. He wet his lips.
"This," he announced into the stifling quiet, "is ridiculous."
Before his nerve left him--and it took a surprising amount of nerve--he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. In sleep her mouth was slack. After three days, her breath was honestly terrible but still he held the kiss, hoping, waiting, for something to change.
He wasn't quite prepared for how disappointed he was when nothing did.
When he pulled back, head bowed, he was deeply and absolutely grateful no one had chosen that moment to return to her bedside. Finally, he reached out to run his fingers over her soft, dark hair, the skin of his lips still prickling where it had touched hers.
"So much," he muttered, "for fairy tales."
Silence was her only rejoinder; silence and the steady rise and fall of her breast.