#lespendragons

A King that would not Feel his Crown Too Heavy for Him, Must Wear it Every Day. But if he Think it too Light, He Knoweth Not of what Metal it is Made. ~ Credit to @lespendragons

Independent & Semi-Selective Arthur Pendragon ~ penned by REX

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Lancelot du Lac RP blog @incredibly-loyal 💚

@lespendragons​ asked: 💍 | if you’re up for it

    Arthur was often seen with a wine glass in his hands at banquets and feasts. More often than not he was usually drinking water instead of wine. A crowned prince should have a clear head, after all. But last nights feast he let himself enjoy a glass or two of wine, more than two if his memory served him correctly. He was going to have to talk to Merlin about making sure he had no more than that. 

    He knew he’d been flirting with Morgana last night. She’d looked stunning in that red dress and he’d hardly been able to keep his eyes off of her. He knew that he wasn’t the only one and he’d been jealous, not that he’d admit it. He must have been bold after that, because this morning he woke up not in his own chambers, but Morgana’s. 

    White sheets covered him and a warm body was curled next to him. His head hurt a bit, but Arthur knew that he could just talk to Gaius about that later. As he tried to remember the night before, he got flashes of kissing and lots of Morgana. Sighing softly, Arthur knew that this would probably end up turning into a bad thing, but he tried not to think on that just yet. At least not until he stretched out his hands and noticed a new ring on his finger. A new ring? But that...it wasn’t possible. 

    How in the world had he and Morgana gotten married last night? Had they snuck off somewhere to do it? Had Geoffrey agreed even though his father hadn’t been there, unless he had and he agreed to the whole thing. Swallowing thickly, Arthur reached out to shake Morgana gently awake. She was sleeping peacefully, at least it looked like she was and he felt a bit guilty for having to wake her. However he knew that he wouldn’t do well to sit there in a panic on his own. 

@lespendragons​ asked: 💋 | from Morgana if you want

Merlin didn’t want to come back to Camelot--he never wanted to come back to Camelot again, if he didn’t absolutely have to, because the tall, black iron gates, the broad, stone steps, the great double doors, the long, wide corridors, the elaborate tapestries, the weapons and ornaments on every wall, none of it meant a thing at all without his king at his side with him.

None of it meant a thing at all without Arthur.

But.

He couldn’t turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to all of this any longer, the murmurs and the whispers in corners, behind bolted doors, down dark and deserted alleyways. And the fear. He could not pretend he didn’t see the fear. And he had to know--as much as he didn’t want to return here, as much as he wanted to shut his eyes and stick his head down in the sand and say he didn’t see, say he didn’t hear--he had to know if it was true.

If Morgana had claimed the crown.

If Merlin had truly let his king down one last time. The shame of it bubbled up and burned like acid in the pit of his stomach. 

The screaming winds of the teleportation had barely died down, and his boots had only just touched down on the stone floor, before the two armored guards rushed for him--the soft rings of a metal blades leaving leather sheaths, the silver flashes of sharp swords in the light of the sun through the high windows, but it had been a very long time since Merlin had feared weapons. It had been a very long time since Merlin had feared much of anything at all.

He flicked out a hand, let the magic burn like fire behind his eyes, crackle like lightning in his veins, scream like a wild creature in his chest. The guards were dead before the bodies ever hit the ground.

They should have known better than to get in his way. 

Merlin kicked the dead men out of his path, and pulled open the enormous doors with another burst of his power--he had no need to yank and wrench any longer, he had no need to hide any longer--and stepped inside.

And, oh, Goddess, he wished he had turned a blind eye and a deaf ear. He wished he had shut his eyes and stuck his head down in the sand and said he didn’t see, said he didn’t hear, because it would be so much better than this. It would be so much better if he never had to see Morgana on Arthur’s throne.

And he would do whatever he had to, to get her off of it again.

He could have killed her then. He should have killed her then, he should have shouted out a spell, and gotten it over with, quick and clean as he could make it, but he had already tried that, hadn’t he? He had already tried quick and clean, back on the banks of Avalon, and the bitch hadn’t had the basic decency to cop it then, had she? 

No. Merlin wouldn’t kill her. Yet. Didn’t she deserve to suffer a bit first for all that she had done? 

“Does it feel good,” he snarled, and the magic crackled like lightning in his veins, screamed like a wild creature in his chest--his palms itched and tingled and burned with it, “to take what is not yours?” 

@lespendragons​ asked:  “ we’ve been arguing more than what we usually do. ” | from Morgana

    Magic. Arthur had been raised to believe that it was awful and no good ever came from it, but now. Now he was confused more than before and he didn’t know what to do. The other day when a couple of bandits had been trying to attack an older woman, while he lashed out after them, when the second man tried to dodge around him, magic that he hadn’t known he had attacked the man. Attacked him full force into a final blow. 

    The older woman hadn’t really known what was happening, so he knew that he didn’t have to order her silence, but what was done was done. That was two days ago and he’d remained stuck in his room whenever he could ever since. Hands in his already messy hair, Arthur wondered what he was going to do. He couldn’t tell his father. His father would have him sent to the pyre. He couldn’t tell Merlin because he knew Merlin might tell Gaius or worse, then his father. 

    Morgana. Maybe he could tell Morgana. She would tell him that he was just imagining things. Or perhaps even encourage him. He knew she had been sympathetic toward magic users. If anyone would understand him it was her. Taking a deep breath, he raked his fingers through his hair to try to straighten it and looked himself in the mirror before he finally left his chambers and went toward Morgana’s. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a mistake going to her, but he knew that he had to talk to someone about this. 

    The prince raised his hand and knocked on the door, knowing that if she didn’t answer, he would probably turn away and just end up keeping this new knowledge to himself after all. 

The heat of the burning candles reaches his face, causing Arthur to perspire. Morgause watches him intently as magic flows freely through and over them both. He has to find her – it is crucial that the prince himself draws Ygraine out from the spirit world.

Morgause pauses suddenly, alerted by the shifting currents to another being’s potent life force amongst them. The manservant, Merlin, has clearly become an interesting conduit for the powerful forces pouring into the clearing. The High Priestess takes note of the servant’s obviously latent abilities, resolving to tell her sister Morgana of this very interesting discovery as soon as they next spoke. 

Finishing lighting all the candles on the altar, she lifts the taper to her lips, blowing out the single flickering flame.

“The ceremony has begun. The spirit of Ygraine Pendragon will be with us momentarily.”

The sky darkens visibly overhead. The earth almost stills in its endless revolutions. Something moves in the shadows next to a pillar close by. Arthur breathes in... and opens his eyes.

“Mother?”

It’s her. He’s never even seen her before, but he knows, he knows it. Deep in the beating organ of his chest, he can feel the unmistakeable pull of a mother’s love for her child. They run to each other, both overcome with joy, falling into each other’s arms as though they were living and breathing only for this moment. Ygraine’s arms feel as though they belong to an angelic being as they hold him; too pure, too heavenly for this world. Arthur shuts his eyes, feeling his tears spill onto his cheeks. His mother strokes his hair gently, whispering softly in her son’s ear.

“Arthur, my sweet child. When I last held you, you were a tiny baby. I remember your eyes. You were staring up at me. The first few seconds I held you were the most precious of my life.”

He can’t help it: he cries, holding onto her as she leans back, brushing his cheek tenderly. For here and now he is no longer the haughty prince of Camelot, he is simply a little boy again, held tight in the arms of his long lost parent.

"I’m so sorry, Mother. I’m the reason; I’m the one that caused you to die.” 

The unbearable guilt suffocates him, even as he stares into the face of his mother’s ghost. I killed you, I took your life. I’m the monster you never should have given birth to- Ygraine will not let her weeping son think any such thing. Throwing her arms around him again, she pulls Arthur closer to her breast, almost as if she were trying to draw him back into the safety of her womb. 

“Don’t think that my son.” She whispers fiercely. “It is your father who should carry the guilt for what happened.”

The air grows still. In the deadly silence, Arthur witnesses a truth, light as glass, irrevocably shatter, somewhere in the darkness of his own mind.

“My father?” His expression shifts. He draws away from his mother, away from her light. “Why should my father feel guilty?” Arthur’s brows draw together in confusion. 

Hesitating, Ygraine looks away nervously, turning her worried gaze to Morgause.

“Tell him.” The High Priestess commands sternly. “Let the shame be borne those whom it was always meant to fall upon. Your son has carried his own share of it for long enough.” 

Morgause’s eyes grow hungry under the glow of the flickering flames. “Tell him.” 

And Ygraine does. All of it. Feeding Arthur with the knowledge that he was born of magic - created out of a pact made between Uther and the sorceress Nimueh. For Uther to have his much-desired son and heir, his barren wife had to forfeit her life; surrendering it to the boy child that grew inside her. At the moment of his birth, Arthur’s mother was meant to die.

Uther had betrayed her. He’d made a living sacrifice of the fair Ygraine.

Arthur shakes his head, muttering brokenly under his breath. Ygraine’s heart breaks as she listens to him.

“Do not let this knowledge change you.” Her tearful voice grows faint, even as she watches her son close his eyes, instinctively fighting against the revelations.

"It’s not true. Please, mother. Tell me it’s not true. I can’t live knowing what was done to you. What evils my father has committed against those with magic. He’s nothing but a hypocrite and a liar!"

Morgause feels her lips curve in triumph. Arthur is ready. 

“Enough. You’ve had your time with him, Ygraine.”

Raising a hand, the High Priestess casts her spell. The potent forces that drew her spirit to the altar are released in rippling waves. The ivy wrapped around the broken stone pillars flutters in their dispersal. When Arthur opens his eyes once more, his mother has gone.

He doesn’t make a sound as he gathers his thoughts. Nearby, Merlin watches him anxiously. There is simply no telling what Arthur will do now. Not in this type of mood. At his side Morgause holds her breath; she too is waiting. 

Events were being put in motion, even as Arthur Pendragon crumbled from within. Soon, he would return to Camelot. Soon, she would also return to Camelot. Theirs is a reunion that had been long-awaited.

~

 The castle is strangely silent when Arthur returns to the city. The fury that drove him to his stallion and to ride through the night, that compelled him to take the life of his blasphemous father  - dwindles at the almost somber air that greets him as he passes through the gates of Camelot. 

Where are the people gathered to welcome the safe return of their prince from the wilderness? Where is the horn blowing to announce the arrival of his son to the king? 

Taking the well-trodden stairs up to the council chambers, Arthur pushes open the heavy wooden doors, hearing them creak ponderously open on their hinges. Beyond the threshold lies only darkness. Arthur swallows, eyes narrowing as he peers into the gloom.

“Father?”

The prince takes a step forward, then two, pace quickening as he sees the motionless figure seated on his throne. The still cooling corpse of the king greets his son like a hideous cadaver drawn from the very depths of Hell.

Uther Pendragon is already dead.

Feeling his heart stop, Arthur presses the back of his hand against his father’s slackened mouth. A minute passes for him to confirm it. There is indeed no breath left in Uther’s body. The young Pendragon struggles with shock, falling to his knees at the foot of his father’s throne. 

His face contorts in agony. Pain – of the deep, despairing kind, radiates out of him like a plague. The emotional bond linking him with his lover grows saturated with it, dripping with the venom of his suffering like a poison.

He was supposed to kill Uther. Vengeance for his mother’s murder was his and his alone to deliver. But yet again someone else had taken that decision out of his hands. Yet again, a parent had been stolen prematurely from the prince. Arthur hugs himself pitifully, feeling himself shaking uncontrollably from the onslaught of all his dark and tangled emotions.

Lost and alone, Arthur loses track of time as he falls into ruin. He doesn’t hear her slip silently into the room behind him. He doesn’t see her as she slowly approaches him from behind.

He never did get the opportunity to see her smile again.

When Arthur rises the next morning, tender, relaxed and altogether a little too happy as he luxuriates in his memories of the previous night, it’s not long at all before Merlin arrives to bring him his breakfast and the bad news.

Morgana has gone missing. 

Arthur shakes his head. “Nice try Merlin, but your half-witted pranks really aren’t appreciated this early in the morning.”

“I’m not lying.”

Arthur pauses. Petulant and stubborn, Merlin is many things, but dishonest had never been one of them. Dread begins to take root in the prince’s heart. 

Despite his best intentions, Merlin knew about Morgana’s magic. After the fiasco at the banqueting hall, Arthur could no longer keep it a secret. Merlin had pestered him relentlessly over Uther’s abnormal reactions at the dinner table, even daring to casually suggest sorcery could have been used on the king. And Arthur had panicked. The fear that Morgana’s secret would soon be out among the royal servants, indeed, could even already be doing the rounds right this instance if Merlin’s flapping mouth wasn’t nailed shut, quite literally forced his hand. So, Arthur sat his manservant down and told him everything. Well, not quite everything. The affair was kept a secret. The intimacy he and Morgana shared together was private. Although, if he were to be truly honest with himself, Arthur suspected Merlin had begun to put two and two together – even there.  

Still, his manservant didn’t pester him over his flushed face when he returned late to his chambers some evenings, nor did he poke fun at Arthur’s dreamy sighs as he grew distracted writing reports on others. It almost seemed as though Merlin was happy for him, and that, more than anything, helped the two grow closer in their own special way. 

Arthur stares into space. “Morgana wouldn’t just leave Camelot. Something’s worried her. Something new must have caused her to behave irrationally.” 

The prince struggles with a sudden wave of revulsion. What if was his own amorous behaviour in her bed that had driven Morgana to leave? Could the loss of her virginity really have caused her such shame? Arthur grimaces, unable to stomach the thought. He scowls in self-loathing.

“Come on Merlin, don’t just stand there like a gormless buffoon. Help me get dressed.” 

His tone is sharp, far too cutting. Refusing to be drawn into discussion, Arthur leaves his poor manservant to perform his duties in silence. Leaving his chambers shortly afterwards, the prince quickly learns the news concerning the king’s ward has already spread throughout the palace. The royal household is abuzz with rumours regarding Morgana’s abrupt disappearance. 

An emergency session is called for in the council chambers at noon. By then a select group of royal advisors along with a handful nobles, including Maleagant, have gathered outside the large doors, waiting to descend upon the throne. The topic on everyone’s lips is why and how? The king’s ward could not have simply vanished into thin air. There had to be some foul play at work. A rival to Lord Maleagant must have spirited her away in the night, staking a claim on the bride to be before her wedding day. Or else magic, that unseen deadly predator, was to blame.

Standing beside the throne, Arthur remains silent whilst the nobles shout and argue with each other, pointing fingers and banging fists on the long wooden table dividing the room in two. Rather than add his own voice to the already heated discussion, the prince chooses to blank out much of the debate. A shadow of bitterness hangs over him. The numbing shock of Morgana’s disappearance has already worn off - rationally, Arthur can begin to consider the real reasons why Morgana might have left him. Only the emotionally-driven questions still remain. 

Why? Why didn’t you tell me you were planning on doing this, Morgana? Why didn’t you trust me like you always did before?

Arthur’s hands tighten imperceptibly into clenched fists. It hurts, what Morgana has done. Leaving him alone now is cruel, especially after they’d been so close. Without Morgana, there is no light, no hope, nothing to ease the hollow sense of loss. Bowing his head, Arthur fights to keep in his damning tears as he stands in the shadow of the king. 

“She’s clearly been with someone else, sire, how could she have fled the castle without detection otherwise?”

“It’s magic your honour, the druids will be behind it. They’ve always sought to secure a foothold in your kingdom.”

“She’s nothing more than a filthy whore. How could she have done this to me, when we were only days away from our marriage?” 

“Enough! Lord Maleagant, you will not speak another word of such flagrant disrespect towards my ward again. Not while you remain a guest within my kingdom, is that understood?”

Torn out of his misery, Arthur looks up as Uther asserts his control. The cold authority in his father’s tone strikes an unusual chord. Maleagant, the sneering, thick-bodied brute of a man that he is, backs down almost immediately under Uther’s stern threat. Arthur turns to his patriarch, an unusual amount of respect growing for his actions, though the king would never learn the real reason why.

“It is decided. My son, Arthur, will lead a patrol of knights to search for the missing Lady Morgana.” 

A hand lands heavily on the prince’s shoulder. 

"He will report back to us here, every morning, until she is returned safely to us.”

Arthur can already hear the words before his father utters them in hushed tones, far too conditioned over the years to the weight of Uther’s expectations. I trust you will not let me down. Bring her back to me, Arthur.