fic: well, this is awkward
title: well, this is awkward
characters/pairings: uther, arthur; mentions of arthur/morgana
ratings/warnings: pg; themes of (inadvertent) incest. crack? i don't even know.
words: ~600
notes: written for dollsome's shiny happy comment ficathon ♥ original post here; prompt: Arthur/Morgana, Sister? Oh dear.
summary: And this is why the Pendragons do not talk about their feelings.
*
"Father." Arthur walks into the council chambers, maps and papers covering every square inch of the long table, on a morning when he knows that he will find the man alone. "I have something I would like to discuss with you."
He's been putting it off for weeks now but he doesn't think he can put it off any longer. He also doesn't have the nerve to go to Morgana first, telling himself that, this way, at least he will have gotten the more intimidating presence out of the way. He's aware that he might be very wrong about the more intimidating bit (and, as an aside, he thinks he should get them to teach him how to work that look; if the way his manservant talks to him is any indication, Arthur needs to learn it fast.)
When his father looks up, Arthur takes a steady breath, willing away these rotten nerves and continues, "So I realize that I reacted badly to your last attempts to find me a suitor."
"Ah yes," Uther rubs a hand across his brow. "Princess Elena. Do not tell me you want to try that again. I don't think it would be such a--"
"No, not at all," Arthur cuts him off. His hands are clammy but he can't think of that now. "It's actually someone else entirely, and I just...wanted to...inform you of the fact."
"And where have you come across this someone?" Uther puts down the papers but his face remains impassive.
"She is a Lady of the Court of Camelot, Sire."
"And?"
Surely, Arthur thinks, he doesn't need to explain it further. Then again, he suspects that the Pendragon brand of interpersonal intelligence that Merlin often mutters about likely didn't stem from his mother's side. "That is," Arthur says, "I would like to court her."
"Ah," and Arthur swallows as his father leans back on the arms of his chair, trying hard, it seems, to fight something like amusement off his face. Arthur wonders why it is that his affections for every woman elicits this sort of response. Still, it is preferable to murderous rage so he tries not to dwell upon it too much. "Of our court, you say? And who might this lady be, so fortunate to earn my son's affections?"
And really, thinking of it had been one thing but speaking of it is a different matter entirely, especially to his father, especially concerning his ward. Arthur would have much rather preferred to go and ask Gorlois himself but, well, Gorlois being dead and all made that a little problematic.
"The Lady Morgana," says Arthur, and it comes out no louder than a croak given how dry his traitorous throat has suddenly become.
In theory, Arthur had known that this probably wasn't such a great idea to begin with--
(He should have just waited it out like he'd originally planned on doing, ignoring stupid Merlin and his stupid follow-your-heart ideals. One day Morgana would stop being impossibly beautiful, the edge to her words and her blades would dull and his eyes would stop following her in and out of every room. Surely, the day would come. It had to.)
--no, it was not even a moderately good idea, but the way the colour drains out of his father's face at her name makes it seem like a really, bloody horrible idea right about now...
He half-considers adding, not at all shakily, I do not see the problem, Sire. She is of noble birth, but his father is rising from the chair and Arthur decides it is probably better to, well, not.
(Perhaps, the day, that long-awaited day, would come much sooner than he'd expected.)