The Prince and the Oak
The market in Camelot was always a cause for celebration. It was the beginnings of dreams, a flicker of red and gold, a festival in every right. Stalls lined the streets which wound around the capital, its flag-stoned stream worn down by children's feet. The stalls themselves were the pride of the merchant, boasting everything from the finest of silk gowns to wooden spinning tops and the elitist of fruits. People came from all over to see Camelot's market, to awe at the magicians' card tricks and the finely dressed nobles who were released amongst the peasants. Peasant or otherwise, they were still Camelot peasants and therefore finest treated in the land.
It was from an oak you could gain the best look over the town. You could part the extravagant branches and watch the crowds bustling below, the swirls of colour, the sliver of coins exchanged. However, by doing so would also reveal your position to the castle guards, which was why this boy wasn't shifting from his niche in the tree.
Prince Uther was hiding from his tutor. Or at least, should he be confronted by the knights that was his excuse. The truth is not something he likes to admit, but he was nonetheless hidden in the tree for a very good reason. He was young, an odd twelve years of age. His hair was the colour of the bark and his slim form was not yet shaped by battle. He fitted oddly into the arms of the tree, but wiggles with suppressed energy. It must have been five minutes or an hour since he last looked.
Finally, he gives into temptation. The wind has changed and brought the fragrance of toffee apples and spices to his attention. Gritting his teeth, he leans on a branch and parts the shade. Then, lustfully, he allows his eyes to roam the streets. They rest for a moment on a sorcerer performing an elaborate trick to some appreciative youths. They laughed as the shimmering sparkles surround them. The Prince looked on naively, forgetting himself as the stars exploded into bubbles before his eyes. Then, his face shifted, and the glimpse of a young child vanishes just like the bubbles, replaced by his former scowl. His eyes quickly return to trailing the fringe of the city.
She'll never come, he thinks, but the hope is evident in his face.
"Sire! Prince Uther!" He heard a guard's cry. Cursing under his breath he lets the leaves snap back into place and he resumed his previous position. The cry comes again "Prince Uther! The king requires your presence!" it is closer, and the heir slims against the trunk, barely daring to breath.
The footsteps dimmed away, and he breaths again. A grin can't help but flash across his face. He was safe.
"UTHER!" The Prince toppled backwards out of the tree, yanked off by his foot. He fell unceremoniously to the floor, crumpled at Gaius' feet. He let out a long groan.
Gaius is about 8 years older than the prince, but their friendship is obvious. The taller, lankier boy helps Uther to his feet.
"And what were you doing?" Gaius' thin face lights up, as the prince shifts under his gaze.
"Nothing!" Uther barked, not looking at the older boy's face.
Gaius just laughed. "I hope you weren't thinking of missing the welcoming ceremony. Who'd thought you'd choose a tree over a princess?"
Uther flushed heavily, glaring at Gaius. "Shut up."
To which Gaius laughed, folding over in his inability to stay controlled any longer.
The prince glared, trying to regain some composure. "I'm not missing the welcoming ceremony."
"Oh, well - " Gaius struggles back into a straight face. "- what were you doing then?"
Uther doesn't respond, his ears tuned to a different frequency. Guards are calling back and forth. Some distance away he can hear a panicked babble of staff. She had arrived.
There was a pause. A breeze skipped through the Palace gardens and down in the streets the people parted. A small group of nobles split the market in two. Uther watched now, ignoring Gaius in his desperation to catch even a glimpse. Gaius follows his gaze and lets out a short "oh."
She was frail, delicately so, by far the smallest figure in the crowd surrounding her. Long, blonde hair cascaded down her back and it curled softly at the tips. She looked up towards the castle, and for a moment it is as if her eyes sought the prince's. He gasps, chest shaking with something unexplainable to him.
Then she is moving again, gaining pace towards the castle, an elder – her father, he supposes, is keen to arrive. He can hear the peasants celebrating in the streets. He could hear them welcoming her as his future wife. He could hear them welcoming her as Queen Igraine.
Gaius looked fondly down at the awestruck boy. This, he decided, was the beginning of something.
"Come on," he said, carefully tugging at the princes' elbow. "They'll arrive soon, you are supposed to meet her at the gate." Finally, Uther obliged.
Though his father was furious, Igraine represses laughter at the twigs in his hair and the mud on his clothes. And after seeing her flush prettily, Uther found he really couldn't care what his father thought.
I'm sorry if Uther seemed a little OCC, but I tried to capture him before he hated magic so much and felt so righteous.
There are very little Uther fics out of there and I really don't know where this came from!
Either way, i hope you enjoyed it and would really appriciate your feedback!
Or, you can stick around for the Arthur version I plan to write. ;)
EDIT// *crickets chirp* okay, never mind :/ i can't seem to form any kind of Arthur version and this doesn't seem to be doing much for anyone anyway. I've just ironed out a few issues, but ahh well.