juxtaposie: (camelot)
[personal profile] juxtaposie
Title: Wishes
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: K
Characters/Pairings: Uther, Morgana
Summary: Uther wishes.
Author's Notes: [livejournal.com profile] erised_wings wanted happy Uther/Lil!Morgana fic. This is... not quite happy, but I think it'll do. Short and unashamedly un-beta'd.

Morgana is seven and Gorlois is away. Vivienne has been dead some four years, but the girl looks more and more like her every day. When in her Gorlois’ company she is loud and happy, with an out-spoken naiveté that Uther can’t quite attribute to her young age; otherwise she is quiet, almost somber, and serious beyond her years. She’s been more and more of the latter, the past few days. Even little Arthur, whom she seems to have more than a passing fondness for, has been unable to make her smile.

Uther lets the door fall closed behind him and stands for a moment in the half-darkness broken only by the moon outside, listening to the muffled sobs that the stone walls seem to absorb. If he hadn’t been listening, he doubts he would have heard.

She’s curled up behind the throne, tear stains on the sleeves of her pale green nightdress, hands fisted so tightly her knuckles are white with the effort. She doesn’t cower when he crouches down beside her, or rush to her feet to curtsy like Uther knows she’s been taught – only curls more tightly around herself and buries her head in her arms.

“Why are you crying, child?” Uther asks as gently as he can, laying his hand over her dark hair. Morgana turns her head to the side and wipes her nose on her sleeve, tears still rolling down her face. Uther wants to ask more – why she’s here when she knows she shouldn’t be – but he can guess the answer because it’s the same one he would give: “Here I can be alone.”

She mumbles something, and the only word he catches is “dream” but it’s enough. Nightmares have plagued her since she was old enough to walk, and they’re always worse when Gorlois is gone.

He laughs in spite of himself, and in spite of her. Such an innocent thing, to be afraid of dreams, but Uther knows how they can sting. His heart aches for her. “Everything will be all right,” he says, believing it as firmly as he ever has before. “It was only a dream.”

She shakes her head and mumbles unintelligibly, struggling weakly even as Uther pulls her into his arms, picks her up off the cold ground and cradles her. He shushes her protests and strokes the hair back off her forehead. When her arms encircle his neck and her sobs quiet to hiccups he allows himself a moment of weakness and holds her tighter, wishing she were really and truly his.

By the time they reach her rooms, she’s asleep.
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