Title: Weathering Different Storms
Rating: PG
Pairing: Arthur/Morgana
Spoilers: Some for 1x03
Summary: Set during episode 3. Arthur can deal with an angry and fierce Morgana, but a truly upset one is a different prospect indeed. Especially when he is already confused enough himself by his disagreements with his father.
Another meeting with Uther beckoned and Arthur was already late as he strode quickly down the corridor. His father wanted to be kept informed hourly about the progress of the search, and even Arthur's unsubtle hints about the need to report slowing him down couldn't dissuade the king from that. Which was understandable Arthur supposed when you considered the burden of responsibility his father carried. He was not the kind of man to stand back and simply watch whilst others tried to defend his kingdom.
Despite his hurry however, Arthur couldn't help but pause when he passed the exit to the dungeon and saw Morgana rushing up the stairs. She tried to quickly duck past him, head bowed, but he stepped in her path, instinct insisting that he did.
"Get out of my way," she demanded, eyes still rooted to the floor.
"Are you crying?" he asked in genuine surprise. Morgana had such a feisty spirit that she would often turn to anger before tears and to see her genuinely upset was a rare sight indeed.
She looked up at him defiantly, swiping the tears on her cheeks angrily away as though ashamed of them.
"Of course I'm crying," she snapped, although he couldn't tell if it was his pointing it out or the situation that made her angry. "Uther plans upon killing my friend, what do you expect me to do?"
"She's your maid servant, that's all," Arthur reasoned with a shake of his head, her attitude making him unduly cold.
Yes, he knew that was not what she wished to hear but it really wasn't good for her to get so involved. Servants came and went and you should never get too attached. He certainly didn't believe the feeling was ever truly reciprocated.
Her eyes flashed with barely concealed fury as he suspected they would, knowing he'd said something that would provoke the fight in her. He wondered briefly why he'd done it, why he couldn't have just been kind to her. Perhaps he simply preferred this to her tears.
"Just because you can't bring yourself to care about anyone you think is lower than you," she spat like a hissing cat, "doesn't mean we're all so callous."
She swept past him like a fury and it was against his better judgement that he strode after her, not wanting to let go an accusation that he considered unfair. And, if he was honest with himself, also feeling a little guilty about upsetting her further.
"I'm sorry," he called out, throwing his arms out in askance, "but what else can I do? She was found with a magic charm, curing her father from a plague caused by magic! You must see how that looks!"
"You didn't have to tell Uther about it!" Morgana snapped back, rounding to face him, not afraid to square up to him even with his advantage in height and build. "You could have used your judgement. You could have thought at all and realised that, even if she did do magic, she was only trying to help!"
Arthur shook his head adamantly, "My father trusts me and I will not lie to him. Besides, what else could I do? I could hardly leave you with a suspected witch, could I?"
Morgana's face screwed up in disgust, "Don't pretend you did this for my benefit. You did it because Uther ordered it and you don't have the mettle to stand up to him."
If she wished to truly anger Arthur, she had succeeded.
"And why should I?" he challenged back, fierce and with utter conviction. "He does what's right for this kingdom and it's my duty to support him in that. He would never do anything unless he believed, in his heart, it was the right thing to do."
"I don't think he has heart," she replied darkly.
Suddenly incensed, he grabbed her by the arm, probably a little harder than he should, and ushered her towards the window. He stood behind her, trapping her as he pointed to the increasing number of sheet covered bodies in the courtyard below.
"You tell me he has no heart," he said tightly into her ear, watching the troubled expression on her face. "I tell you he does everything he can to stop that number growing. To stop more families losing those they love."
She was at last silent.
"People are dying, Morgana," he continued, still angry that she could think so ill of them both, "and I am doing what I can to stop it. What else would you have me do?"
Trusting himself to say no more, he stepped away and strode towards the audience chamber.
"Something," she called out after him, never giving in, "anything. Gwen's innocent. You're his son, he would listen to you."
But Arthur couldn't forget the flicker of disappointment in Uther's eyes when he'd suggested that the girl might not be the cause. How he'd looked at him then and, for the first time, had clearly wondered if his son was fit to be king after all. Questioning whether he had what it took. It was an expression Arthur never wished to see again and so he walked on, ignoring Morgana's pleas.
The sand coloured stone of the castle was illuminated warmly by the lantern light, giving the place a homely feel. And yet Arthur didn't feel at all at home tonight. The possibility that an innocent girl may have been condemned to a horrible death was weighing heavily on his mind.
He knew that Uther had learnt the hard way the terrible consequences of the misuse of magic but, in Arthur's opinion, that couldn't excuse punishing those who perhaps didn't deserve it.
His conscience was tearing at him. Maybe his father was right. Maybe all magic was evil, no matter what the intentions. Maybe Morgana's maid had been the one to poison the water and had saved her own father when he'd become afflicted. If they burned her, the people would be saved and many innocent lives spared. But the only evidence they had against her was an object meant to save a life, not take one, and surely that was doubt enough to warrant a fair trial, for the girl to give her case and be judged accordingly?
He didn't pretend to know for certain her guilt, but he did know justice and this wasn't it.
No, he didn't always agree with his father but it was rare that Arthur considered him to be truly wrong about something. If she was found guilty then good riddance to her but what if she was innocent? Surely they should take care to find out before condemning her?
Uther was essentially sacrificing one life in hope of saving many. And whilst that made sense in a way, Arthur found it hard to resolve himself to it. But was that just his weakness? Did that simply mean he wouldn't be half the king his father was because he could never make the hard decision when it mattered? Would Camelot even survive under his rule?
Even so, he couldn't shake his increasing concern that his father perhaps wasn't thinking as clearly as he might. Uther was so blinded by his hatred of anything to do with magic that it seemed to adversely affect his judgement. He wasn't, as Morgana suggested, utterly heartless. Arthur in fact found her insolence to be very disrespectful, to question the king so publicly and openly shouldn't be done, especially when he'd been so kind to her. But her complaints had a basis that Arthur found hard to ignore and he was left feeling very uncomfortable. He didn't want to doubt his father's wisdom but, in this matter at least, he found it difficult to agree with.
He didn't really know why he now wandered the dark corridors, not exactly expecting the answers to jump out of the shadows at him, but he was too restless to remain in his room.
Visiting Morgana was probably a mistake; she likely wouldn't be pleased to see him and would only make him feel worse about matters with her accusations of callousness, but he went to her rooms all the same. He should apologise for his conduct earlier at least. Besides, deep down he thought he possibly deserved her derision and, if his punishment for not standing up more strongly against this was to suffer a lashing from her sharp tongue, then so be it. He couldn't exactly avoid her forever.
The guards standing at the bottom of the staircase leading to Morgana's rooms made no reaction as he passed. Servants were free to go as they pleased of course, but any other young noble might have been stopped and questioned about heading to the lady's chambers so late at night. Arthur's conduct was considered beyond reproach however and so he was free to visit her.
Her door was slightly ajar, yet he still knocked before entering not wanting to anger her further by just barging into her rooms. When no answer came he pushed the door open a little, peering inside to see if she was simply ignoring all visitors. In fact she wasn't, but instead was soundly asleep, lying on her chair in front of the fire.
He smiled ruefully to himself, remembering what the huntsmaster had once told him about not waking dangerous sleeping animals, and was about to withdraw again when something caught his eye and he hesitated.
Her sleep appeared peaceful but the expression on her face seemed to suggest it was anything but. She was frowning a little, her head seeming to move fretfully every now and again. Arthur knew she'd suffered from nightmares ever since her father's death and he quickly decided that, whatever she may think of him, he couldn't leave her to the mercy of this one.
She awoke with a small gasp before he'd even reached her, eyes wide and, for first time he'd ever seen, genuinely fearful. She seemed frozen to the spot and so he spoke gently, not wanting to startle her further.
"Morgana? Are you all right?"
She nodded as she sat up, sweeping her hair from her face, seemingly not surprised by his presence.
"I'm fine," she said, although her tone was distant as though mind remained elsewhere.
She certainly did seem fine as she stood on wavering feet, resting her palms against the fireplace to steady her.
Instinctively Arthur moved closer, concerned she might faint, noticing that her porcelain skin was even paler than usual.
"It wasn't real," he reminded her sensibly, trying to be helpful but not really knowing how. He'd never seen her so disturbed. She was usually a mistress of control.
"It was Gwen," she said softly, as though she hadn't heard him. She stared deeply into the fire below, drawn in by the flickering flames. "She was burning."
Truly concerned now, Arthur stepped even closer. "It was just a dream," he reminded her once more, trying to decide if a supportive hand on her shoulder would be welcome.
She again continued as though she hadn't heard him.
"It seemed so real. She was screaming. I could feel the flames."
She held her hand out over the fire, still seemingly trapped somewhere between the dream and the waking world. Afraid she would burn herself, Arthur grabbed her wrist and snatched her hand away.
"Here," he said, taking her by the shoulders and leading her back to the chair, "sit."
She did so with little resistance, another thing that worried him greatly. He knelt in front of her and took her hands in his, trying to comfort her best he could. Looking down at her fingers, he frowned.
"You're trembling," he pointed out, surprised by it. Morgana always seemed so very strong. It must have been a disturbing nightmare indeed to affect her so much. On pure instinct he brought up a hand and gently caressed her cheek in reassurance, trying to capture her attention and stop her thinking about what she had witnessed in her mind. "It wasn't real."
"But might soon be," she pointed out, looking sickened at the thought.
He had no answer for that so instead he stood, crossing to the table that still held her untouched supper, and poured some wine from the pitcher.
"Drink this," he insisted, handing the goblet to her, "It will settle your nerves."
She took it with uncharacteristic obedience, taking tiny sips.
Arthur stood there awkwardly, looking down at her, not knowing what else he could do. It had only been a creation of her mind and in a way it was silly for her to be so affected by it. Yet it was so close to possible truth that he could understand why she would be upset. Still, he didn't exactly have a great deal of experience in comforting women and he struggled to know what was best to do; should he stay with her until she seemed more settled or was he supposed to leave her be?
Whilst he'd pondered, she'd been thoughtfully staring into her drink and suddenly she looked up at him as though a notion had struck her.
"Did you mean what you said earlier? About the type of Camelot you wished to rule?"
Her expression was hard to read but he could only assume that the question was utterly sincere.
"Yes," he answered with equal sincerity.
She nodded, seemingly pleased, "Then I pray I'm here to see it."
"Of course you will be." His response was automatic, somehow unable to imagine otherwise.
She smiled a little at that and he felt a bit better too.
"You should get some sleep," he insisted kindly and turned to leave, but was instantly stopped by the lightest tug on the sleeve of his tunic. He looked down to see her fingers curled delicately around the material.
"Stay," she asked, and then, when he frowned at her curiously, she clarified, "Just for a while."
He found himself unable to deny such a heartfelt request and nodded, coming to sit next to her, even if it did seem a little awkward. A moment's silence followed before she shuffled closer and slipped her hand into his, apparently unable to look at him or ask for the comfort she obviously needed. Perhaps she was scared of looking weak.
With a slight sigh, he placed his arm around her slender shoulders, taking her hands in one of his and her head instantly rested against him as if it belonged there. He'd never been this close to her before, had never held her like this, and he found the intimacy startling. Almost overwhelming in fact, and he fought the urge to make his excuses and leave, knowing that she needed him.
Instead he swallowed hard, trying to ignore the softness of her breath on his skin and attempting to bring his suddenly rapid heart under control.
She made no sound but he could soon feel tears sliding onto his shoulder, dampening the material there, her fingers gripping is more tightly. On impulse he dropped a kiss into her hair, even though all virtue said that he shouldn't, that it was somehow improper. She didn't seem to mind however and he did it again, whispering words of comfort to her, giving her reassurance that all would be well.
He prayed that Gaius would solve this mystery. He didn't want to see Morgana watch her nightmare come true.