Title: The Visitor (mpreg 16/?)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Arthur/Merlin
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: Uther is on his way to see Arthur. He is reminded of his wife and preparing for worst.
Warnings: mpreg, illness, angst, and well… Uther.
Word Count: ~980
Prompt:#138 Anticipation
Author's Notes: I'm sorry, this doesn't flow too well. But I worry I am coming down with something so I'd rather just post than risk missing another week.
One:But I don't know any lullabies
Two:Moving on without you 1/2
Three:Moving on without you 2/2
Four:The Albion
Five:While you slept
Six:Priority one
Seven:Wish granted
Eight: Illusions
Nine: Restless sleeper
Ten:Bad dreams
Eleven: Nearly normal
Tweleve: All that haunts us
Thirteen: Bucket, oh bucket
Fourteen:Hello little one
Fifteen:Tell him
It was an understatement to say that Uther Pendragon had mixed feelings about all this. He had been taken through back doors and parking garages guided by the weird kid with the phone obsession and a burly looking man from hotel security. Sneaking around like a thief in order to see his own son. It was degrading. They should have let him enter when he first arrived, then none of this would have been necessary.
He had not minded when Arthur found his own apartment. It was good to learn to be independent. He was a bit skeptical when Merlin moved in. But it was also good to learn how to share your space with another individual. While other young boys were sent away on boarding school, Arthur had stayed at home and gone to the local schools. Ygraine would have never sent her son away and Uther could better oversee his son’s education this way.
Merlin had grown up with his mother and seemed to be Arthur’s opposite in every way. The fact that he was a magic user was disconcerting. There was no crime in having magic, Arthur had argued. Any person alive had the potential of doing great thing and horrendous things.
He had had many arguments with Arthur about this. Yet the man had seemed to be a good influence and Arthur had learned to see thing from a different perspective. He even proved to be caring and understanding when Merlin’s mother passed away. Uther was rather proud of the man his son had become and knew he would be a good corporate leader if he kept his focus.
Still he had underestimated Merlin. Gaius could talk until he was blue in the face, Uther did not believe that this had been an unplanned pregnancy. He only had to figure out what Merlin had hoped to achieve by this. Maybe the glory alone was enough. Perhaps all he wished was to conquer life and death and be celebrated as the one who succeeded where others had failed. It had to have been a plan set in motion years ago.
It had taken a lot of preparations and powerful magic for Ygraine to conceive a child and the consequences had been dire. The NIMUEH project had claimed to have nothing but good intentions. But they were using poorly tested methods and showing little interest in the welfare of mother and child. They made life grow where years of fertility treatments had failed, in a body nature never intended to bear a child. His beloved Ygraine was reduced to an experiment. While she could still speak she would sing to her growing baby, but in the end she was barely more than an incubator. Now he may have failed them both once more.
The burly man left them by the staff elevator. Mordred put his phone away, pushed the button and turned towards Uther with his arms folded across the chest, glaring at Uther’s rigid posture.
-It’s not a funeral.
Uther turns slowly, eyeing him with deep distrust while trying to acknowledge him as little as possible.
-Excuse me?
-I said ‘it’s not a funeral’. He’s expecting and he is not well, but he is not dead. You could have brought a bear or something.
Uther looks at him.
-A bear?
Mordred rolls his eyes and nearly laughs.
-Yeah. A toy, a gift, balloons, flowers. Like normal people do.
Uther huffs and looks away. As if this kid had any right to lecture him about what was normal.
Mordred rolls his eyes and strikes out his arm in exasperation.
-Fine, be that way. But there’s one thing you need to see.
He digs out his phone – again – and trusts it into Uther’s hands.
Uther seethes when he sees the man on the video, there is a limit to what a man can bare to be exposed to.
-I have no interests in seeing this! I know fully well this criminal is teaching…
-We all know that, Mordred interrupts and Uther has to remind himself that the kid could easily toss him around like a rag doll and this may all be a ploy to make him break the written agreement and to keep him away from Arthur.
-It’s the Q and A which is interesting, Mordred continues.
And yes it is in fact rather interesting.
The elevator stops and Mordred keeps the doors open until Uther has finished viewing the video. He returns the phone to him without a word. They walk down a corridor which has that very distinct hospital air. The very building reeks of loss and stolen trust.
Mordred knocks a series of beats on the door. When there is no immediate reply, Mordred leans against the wall. They wait in silence. Mordred stretches out his hand and knocks again, not taking his eyes of Uther. The lack of trust is mutual. This time the door opens a little bit and then fully.
Merlin looks more like a wary intern rather than a victorious warlock, not quite what Uther had anticipated. He holds the door open to let them in. Mordred strolls in and flops down on the sofa. No respect. Uther pitied the kid’s parents.
Arthur is a shadow of his former self. He appears hollow and drained, yet there is a slight pink taint in his cheeks. There’s a familiar sent of ginger. It’s been many years but it takes him back. The rooms itself looks fairly nice, there was clearly an effort made to make it appear more homely. There is nothing he can immediately identify as “witchy” or suspicious. Arthur croaks a “Hello father” and looks like he is expecting a reprimand. His eyes dart towards Merlin, not in fear or concern, but rather seeking support it seems. Interesting.
-So, mr Emrys, Uther says with pointed neutrality.
-I hear you are studying medicine.
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