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Prompt: A middle ages history major here! I love your writing so much!!! just an idea for u to marinate on if u want; since morgana was the only daughter with two brothers back then, even if the king was dead or incapable of ruling, she would still have to be married off before a son could regain the throne. So, if Arthur was real, he (and his partner) most likely be responsible for finding someone for his sister to marry. - anon
Arthur sighs, bowing his head for a moment, before looking up. “Morgana.”
Morgana doesn’t turn, sitting up perfectly straight with her court face on, staring straight ahead.
“Morgana, please.”
“As you wish, My King,” she says, her voice perfectly even. Arthur winces.
“‘Gana, I don’t want this.”
“To my recollection,” she says, her voice sharpening with every word, “it does not matter what we want, but what honor and duty demand.”
“’Gana.”
“Well, what do you want me to say?” She looks at him with such ferocity that he thinks he sees her eyes flash gold. “That I’m happy to do this for you? That of course, my loyalty to Camelot is so great that I would shackle myself to a man that does not understand that you and I do not have to marry to rule?”
“No, I don’t want you to say any of that.”
“Because I don’t, Arthur.” Morgana stands in a swirl of skirts and begins to pace angrily up and down the length of the room. “I can be your advisor, the paperwork has already been drawn up, and none of the Council would dare oppose it.”
“But then you couldn’t rule if I weren’t able to!”
Morgana pauses at his shout, turning to look as Arthur stands and braces his hands on the table.
“I want you to rule with me,” he says finally, “you know I do.”
The tiniest of nods.
“But you also know that if I wasn’t able to rule—either because I was killed or put under a curse or struck by some—some—something,” Arthur insists, “you would not be able to rule either. It would go to someone else, either the—“
“The pompous arse who thinks it’s still alright to eat with his mouth open or the sniveling coward who winces every time a strong breeze blows past.”
“…yes.”
Morgana takes a deep breath. She raises her chin. Arthur watches her, waiting, trying to sort through the arguments on the tip of his tongue, to lay things out in a way for them to work through it, for her to still make the ultimate decision, when she sighs again and her shoulders slump.
“…I don’t want this, Arthur.”
Arthur’s chest aches at the sheer defeat in Morgana’s voice, slowly crossing the room to stand next to her. She closes her eyes and rests her head against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, ‘Gana.”
She takes another breath. “If you marry me off to one of them, I will gut you in your sleep.”
He chuckles. “I know.”
They stand there for a moment longer together, breathing in the quiet before the storm.
“So,” Morgana says after a while, “who must I marry for the good of the kingdom?”
“I’m sure there’s a list of eligible noblemen somewhere,” Arthur sighs, pulling away and going to his desk, “we should…probably start there?”
Morgana watches him with idle amusement. “Why is it that you sound more dismayed by this process than I do?”
“Because, ‘Gana, you’re the one who’s actually going to marry the poor sod, and I’m going to be the one who hears about it for the rest of our lives.”
“Nonsense, I’ll have Gwen.”
“Right. Small mercies.”
“…is there seriously a list?”
Arthur gives her a look. “Out of all the things Uther Pendragon left to chance, do you really think your suitor would be one of them?”
“I suppose not.”
Still, when they finally get the list and it’s much, much shorter than they expected, they sigh.
“Do we think he had high expectations or are my prospects really this dismal?”
Arthur squints at the list of names. “All of these people either have…strategic value or their coffers are more than enough to make Camelot very, very comfortable.”
Morgana’s face pinches. He knocks his elbow against hers. “I’m fine, Arthur. I just—I never expected my marriage to be anything other than political.”
“…to be honest?” She looks up at him. “Neither did I.”
And oh, isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard? To have so much power and yet, just as trapped?
“Well, I assume these are not my only options.”
“No, not by a long shot.”
Morgana raises an eyebrow. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
Arthur gives her a look. “I’m not going to explain that to you.”
“Oh, no, please,” Morgana says, folding her arms and grinning as Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, “explain this to me. Why do I have near limitless options, as you’ve so implied?”
“Morgana, you are having the King of Camelot—the King, mind you—“
“Oh, yes, and you’re very kingly.”
“—pick out your husband. I could quite literally name any man your husband.”
“But you won’t,” she says sweetly, “because I would gut you in your sleep.”
“Threatening a king is treason, you know.”
“Threatening my brother is my duty.”
“Oh, according to what?”
“Sorry, that’s a sister-only rule.” She taps her finger. “And that is not the only thing you were going to say.”
He turns to her. “Oh, oh, and you know this how? What else, pray tell, was I going to say?”
“You’re not going to tell me of my beauty?” She lifts a hand to trail through her hair in a mocking version of what all the other court ladies do. “Of how men would ride for days and nights to see me?”
“As if I need to boost your ego more.”
“If you’re going to be the one to write the letters asking for their hand in marriage—“
“I most certainly will not.”
“—then you must speak of my fine qualities as a wife,” she says, batting her eyes and snorting when Arthur fakes a retch. “Oh, please, save that for when I remind you that we were supposed to marry.”
They pause.
One beat.
Two.
“No.”
“No, no, it’d never work.”
“No, thank you, I’ll pass.”
“What a horrible idea.”
“Can’t believe you said that.”
“No, neither can I.”
“I should gut you just for that.”
“Do, it will put us both out of the misery of having to do this.”
“But then the kingdom would fall to—“
“Ah. Yes. Best not, then.”
“Mm.” Morgana takes one last look at the list and sighs. “So, where does that leave us?”
“You could always take one of the knights as a husband,” Arthur suggests, pouring them each a drink from the jug on his desk.
“True.” She accepts it. “But which one?”
“Given your…opinions of the knights, I’m sure you’ve got a few in mind.” He gives her a look. “Or one, in particular.”
She hides her face behind the rim of the goblet as she takes a sip. “Hush.”
“No, really, I think that you’ve got one in mind,” Arthur smirks. “It’s not like you’ve ever said anything about it, nor have you insisted that there was a better candidate to train with you.”
“Arthur.”
“Really, I can’t imagine you having more than one knight in mind, though I’m sure I could guess.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure Gwaine will be thrilled.”
“I don’t—Gwaine?” Morgana looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “It’s not Gwaine, what on earth are you talking about?”
Arthur bursts out laughing as she realizes she’s taken the bait. She slumps back into the chair and takes another drink.
“…well done,” she admits with grudging respect.
“Well,” he manages once he’s got control of himself, “I did learn from you.”
He waits a moment before continuing.
“I’m sure Leon would be honored,” he says, kinder now, “if you were to be wed.”
Morgana sighs, idly swirling the goblet. “I know. And he…he would be a good husband.”
“He would.”
She sighs again. “But he wouldn’t be happy.”
“No?” Arthur leans against the table. “Why not?”
“Because he would be obligated to leave his position to fulfill his sacred duties as a husband.” Morgana looks up at him. “And nothing in the world has given him as much purpose, contentment, or honor, as being the knight he is for the kingdom.”
Arthur raises his eyebrows. “And how do you know that?”
Morgana levels a glare at him. “Because unlike everyone else in this godforsaken kingdom, when I want to know something from someone, I talk to them.”
“Your tone is very pointed right now.”
“Wonder why that could be.”
“Morgana…”
“Oh, come off it!” She throws herself out of the chair with such ferocity that Arthur stumbles back. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’ve been dancing around it the whole time!”
“Morgana, I—“ Arthur holds his hands out— “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Who are you going to wed, Arthur?”
Arthur stops. He blinks. “What?”
“You, Arthur, who are you going to wed?” Morgana stares daggers at him. “We both know that our marriages would be political. If I am being wed, then the things not covered by my marriage should be covered by yours. And if neither of us is clear on that, then—then—“
She throws her hands up.
“Then we may as well not have this discussion.”
Arthur watches her, his mouth hanging open. She glares at him and he shuts it with a click, before swallowing.
“…Morgana, I…the reason I wanted to do this was to make sure you could rule.”
“But I can’t unless I have a child.”
“Then I want you to have a child with someone who could help you raise them the way you want them raised,” Arthur says without missing a beat, “but I don’t—I—I don’t know how to do that.”
“Because you’re not thinking.”
“I’m trying, ‘Gana.”
“Not hard enough, apparently.”
“‘Gana—“
“Arthur,” she interrupts, “your marriage is going to be looked at even more than mine. What will it say that I get married before you do?”
“I don’t know, what will it say?”
“It will say the King does not understand the value of political marriages, as he has wed his sister off so quickly,” Morgana says, staring at him, “it will say that the King’s sister, in her marriage, has potentially ruined future alliances by being wed. It will say that—“
“Okay, okay,” Arthur sighs, “I get the point, we should marry at the same time.”
“Or at least similar ones.”
“But that doesn’t…that doesn’t explain why you said it like that.”
Morgana sighs. “Just because my marriage has to be political doesn’t mean that yours has to be.”
Arthur’s breath catches in his throat. She…is she…
“You’re the King,” she murmurs, “and if anyone should have the power to marry for love, then…then it should be you.”
“…’Gana…”
The weight of what she’s saying, what she’s offering, hits him square in the chest as if a horse had just run him over. He struggles for words, for breath, for anything, and can’t find it.
“Gwen, I assume,” Morgana’s voice comes after a moment, “she…I see the way you two look at each other and talk about each other.”
But Arthur’s shaking his head before she finishes. “No, that…that would also be a political marriage.”
Morgana frowns. “With Gwen?”
“Yes. I…” He swallows. “She would make an excellent Queen. An incredible Queen. But…”
“But what, you don’t…love her?”
Arthur swallows. “And I don’t think she loves me. Not like a husband should love his wife, not like a wife should love her husband.”
“But all of that, before, when you—“
“It was the worst thing I could do in Uther’s eyes,” Arthur says wearily, “and she was…she was the first friend I had in…ages.”
He looks up at her as he collapses into a chair.
“I don’t think she cares for me like that either, and I think you know that.”
Morgana sighs. “Well, there goes that.”
“Besides,” Arthur says, shifting, “her loyalty wouldn’t be mine first and foremost anyway.”
“No?”
“She’d be loyal to Camelot and me by proxy, yes, but…” Arthur looks up. “I think we both know who really has her loyalty, don’t we?”
A faint blush touches the tops of Morgana’s cheeks. “Yes, well, the same could be said of Merlin.”
“Merlin?”
“Oh, come on, like he isn’t the first friend you’ve ever had,” Morgana teases, “and he’d walk to hell and back for you.”
“So? What does that have to do with…” Arthur trails off. “Oh.”
“Now he gets it.”
“Oh.”
“Come on, I should get at least some thanks for making you get this far, I mean, you wouldn’t have done it on your own.”
“Oh, no.”
“Everything alright in there?” She reaches out to gingerly poke his forehead. “Does everything still work?”
He swats her hand away. “Shut up.”
“Come on,” she says again, a little softer this time, “just…just talk to him? Please? If not to spare the rest of the castle your pining?”
“Only if you talk to Gwen,” he retorts, “you two aren’t much better.”
“What good could come of that?”
“What good could come of me talking to Merlin?”
“Well, it’s not like I can marry Gwen!”
“And it’s not like I can marry Merlin!”
They stop.
They stare at each other.
And when poor Gwen and Merlin come into their chambers later, they barely have a moment to catch their breath before, suddenly, the two rulers of Camelot have become the four rulers of Camelot.