A Menacing Whisper
Title: A Menacing Whisper
Author: djkiwi2576
Rating: PG
Disclaimer/Spoilers: I don't own BBC's Merlin or any characters from the Arthurian Legend
Summary: Regrets are not the only things that haunt Camelot's king
A/N: A random - fictional idea - that grew into a oneshot when I was really bored.
The ghost haunted the elaborately adorned rooms of Camelot’s castle. In the palm of her hand she held once pleasant but now disturbing memories. Nightly she filled the King’s subconscious mind with her laughter and tears. The kingdom’s ruler awakened - lured from a fitful sleep, his spirit burdened with regrets.
Uther…
Uther…
The whispers of the man’s name the only sound he could discern during that godforsaken hour.
Gaius’ potions proved useless against the entity’s menacing attack. In time Uther welcomed the evening torture like a long lost friend returning from extended travels.
The rhythm of Uther’s heart faltered when he first saw her in the castle’s halls. A basket balanced on her hip and a soul soothing tune on her tongue. She had a presence. It was familiar. It unsettled Camelot’s king. He found his only recourse was to follow the girl. Uther kept to the shadows and threatened the guards to keep their distance. He watched as the maiden darted in and out of the chamber of rooms that belonged to his ward. A gentle smile hovered about her lips. And his face echoed the sentiment.
She was lovely. The blush of youth and happiness blossomed across her cheeks. The soft feminine curves of her body accentuated by the pastels of the dress she wore. A breeze settled around him and he felt the press of smooth lips against the nape of his neck.
Uther…
Uther…
The whispers were no longer relegated to his dreams.
The king nearly collapsed under the weight of a long forgotten memory. He savored the sensation; the feelings that this ghost stirred within him. Uther returned his attention to the girl before him.
The smooth buttery skin tone was that of her father, the town’s blacksmith, but the fine black ringlets that framed her face were undeniably… Maria.
Years had passed since Uther had granted himself the privilege of thinking let alone speaking the woman’s name. Before Igraine the queen he’d lost. In the days prior to Nimueh’s ill fated involvement with his land’s future destiny - there was a girl; young, beautiful, and poised to sit at his right hand.
They were friends.
They were kindred.
The two had met amongst a field of wild flowers. A young and inexperienced king, Uther had nearly trampled Lady Maria as she gathered a bouquet of white, purple, and gold. He’d hopped from his horse, gathered the battered stems and returned them to her basket before he extended his hand in aid to the young maiden. She was no more than fifteen. An olive complexion kissed by the sun. He found comfort in her smile, understanding in her words, and love in the chaste kisses they shared in the weeks that followed.
Uther guarded his emotions when Maria’s father ventured to court with her in tow. His face remained impassive, but his heart soared when one of her simple glances drifted in his direction.
Forever - he wanted to be the object of her affection - until the end of his days.
Uther’s wants did not go unnoticed. Seers, bards, and druids chastised his choice and counseled him in the hopes that an alternative would be chosen.
Idle hands and miserable hearts interfered with the lives of the almost lovers. Life’s trials separated the two, one destined to rule during a time of darkness and despair, and the other a noble man’s daughter whose virtue was wagered in the hope of maintaining a kingdom’s peace. Magic reigned and the old ways ruled, prophecies foretold a purpose entwined with her beauty. Greatness and despair promised from her line. Advisors issued one proclamation to the young king and he had no choice but to obey. It was a servant’s duty.
Long after lust for the alabaster beauty Igraine, begat love, Uther studied Maria with a cautious eye. Her father’s death and debts had destroyed her family’s name. No longer addressed as Lady Maria, the title stripped from the girl in spite of the blue blood that coursed through her veins, was of no consequence. Her head remained high; even when she became a dressmaker and accepted the proposal of a common yet generous man. Yes she bent at the waist and addressed him as, “My Lord.” Still, an air of regality lingered with Maria.
Everyone noticed.
Some thought her an enchantress…others an angel among common men.
To Uther, Maria would always remain his heart’s desire.
News of her demise sent him deeper into depression. The loss of his beloved was still new. Now his heart grieved for the only remaining savior doomed to a similar fate, her life sacrificed, so that her babe could live. He’d envied the craftsman she’d married until the day of her death.
The daughter she’d borne proved to be both an exquisite beauty and a people’s champion. Maria would be proud. He’d forgotten the prophecy until he saw his son’s eyes fall upon the young girl’s face.
Magic no longer held weight with the king. He counted it as biased jealousy. He refused to see his son, destroyed by the words of crazed men and women, drunk off the power of corruption. He restored the girl’s name. It was the least he could do. After the death of a mother and father, maybe she could find solace in the knowledge that she was of noble blood.
Joy filled the castle in the last days of King Uther’s life. The recent announcement of his son’s impending nuptials to the Lady Guinevere warmed his heart and the land with happiness that had not been known since the Crown Prince’s birth.
Uther…
Uther…
Silently he followed the whispered call into the darkness. Behind his tightly shut lids he found himself in the field of flowers. Restored to the days of his youth, fingers entwined with hers.
“Maria.” His voice cracked when he said her name. Excitement danced across the surface of his skin when her free hand came up to cup his face.
“I am here my love.” It had been her call every night. “Thank you.”
The sentiment was delivered with a kiss.
There the king stayed. An end had come to his desperate and lonely days.