Pray for Me.
By Zed-sama
Prompt: Arthur's reaction upon reading the book closest to you.
Arthur Pendragon closed his second-hand copy of The Godfather thoughtfully. He'd picked it up on a whim in an op shop, mostly because he was bored and needed something to read while waiting for the limo, and everyone knew The Godfather movies were really good. Apparently. So they said. Arthur had never bothered to find out for himself.
And if the movies were really good, that meant the book had to be even better, right? Because everyone knew movies-based-on-books were basically condensed and liberally interpreted versions of the books for those who couldn't be bothered with reading.
Besides, it was either The Godfather, or one of those penny-dreadful romances that passed for porn among middle-aged housewives. Or Pride & Prejudice.
There wasn't a choice, really.
The blonde leaned back and let his head rest against the top of the leather chaise, gazing at the ceiling, knowing his father's office was on the other side of it. There was no question in his mind that Uther Pendragon WAS Don Corleon. Everyone came to him to solve their problems, and he did. And was never denied the favour he asked in return. Power like Uther Pendragon had was hard to resist.
He wondered which of the Corleon sons he was. Hot-headed "Sonny" Santorini? The worshipful but incapable Fredo? Or the velvet sledgehammer that was Michael, driven by necessity to supersede his older brothers and take the Don's place, to pull off the greatest coup in the history of the New York gangster families?
Arthur was an only child. He held no illusions about his future. His father had made it abundantly clear that he would take over the family business if, and when, he earned it. And he would, because that was what Uther Pendragon expected.
The blonde smiled fleetingly. No question of succession in the Pendragon family. He could only hope it didn't involve years of exile, as it had for Michael Corleon. Well, the youngest Corleon had brought that upon himself, really. But Arthur understood - oh yes, he understood Michael's reasons very well. He'd probably have done the same, given the circumstances. Anyone with balls enough to shoot his old man and botch the job deserved a bullet to the brain.
Muffled footsteps overhead indicated that his father had risen from his seat - a great black chair Arthur could not picture himself ever filling - and crossing the thick carpet woven by ancient Turkish hands. Arthur waited patiently, soon heard his father's tread upon the staircase, and then Uther Pendragon's shadow stole across the room.
"What are you doing up at this hour?"
Arthur turned his head to study the older Pendragon's features, so unlike his own, so stern and grey and mapped with a thousand lines of indomitable will and ruthless ambition, where he was fair and golden and full of promising youth. The servants whispered that Arthur was the spitting image of his mother, but Uther had kept no pictures of his wife for his son to compare.
"Reading, Father." He smiled. "And you?"
"Reviewing the Grimswell report," Uther Pendragon grunted. "Thorough work."
Arthur's work. 12 months of brain-splitting labour and exhaustive research across four continents and several dozen companies, all of them secret subsidiaries of his father's empire.
And his father had called it 'thorough'.
Arthur inclined his head. "Thankyou, sir. I trust it will serve its purpose."
If Arthur's information proved correct, the Pendragon Empire stood to make billions.
"The Board will convene on Friday." And judge its value, your value.
"Yes, Father."
Uther Pendragon gave a curt nod. "Goodnight."
As he turned to leave, Arthur was seized by a sudden impulse. "Hey, Dad?"
Uther turned back in surprise. He hadn't heard that name in many years. "Yes?"
The heir smiled coldly. "I'd kill anyone who tried to put a bullet in you."
The old man's grey eyes actually widened before they narrowed into hard slits. "What have you heard?"
"Nothing," Arthur assured him. "I just want you to know, I'd do whatever was necessary."
Uther Pendragon considered his son slowly, calculatingly. Then he nodded. "Good."
He left.
Arthur watched him go, then settled back into the couch and took out his phone. His fingers found the numbers before his eyes did, but it rang for a long time before his lover's disgruntled voice answered.
"Do you have any FUCKING idea what time it is, you motherless prat?"
Arthur laughed softly. "Time for you to start praying, Merlin."
~*~*~ fin ~*~*~*
A/N: This ending will probably only make sense for those of you who have read The Godfather by Mario Puzo.
For those who haven't, either stop reading this and go and find a copy, or read on for an explanation.
WARNING: MILD SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE GODFATHER.
PROCEED AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!
The last few pages of The Godfather describe how Michael Corleon's wife, Kathy, becomes Catholic in the Italian tradition and goes to church to pray for her husband's soul, as she has realised what a hardcore and violent gangster he has become. Earlier in the book, Kathy had asked Michael's mother, the wife of Don Corleon, if she believes the Don will go to Heaven. To which Michael's mother responds that she goes to church everyday to pray for the Don's soul, so that he does not go to Hell.
So, apply that to Arthur's statement as you will, kids ^_~ That's all you get!