The Beginner Winner

[Arthur Pendragon]

Tag: Uther Pendragon
Note: Better layout coming soon!

for the love

OF CAMELOT

There had truly been no feeling like it ever before. This was the first tournament that Arthur had been old enough to enter and . . . not only did he enter, but he had won! That feeling of victory flowed through him, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He had looked at his father applauding and never had Arthur felt more happy. He hoped only to make his father proud and he surely he had done just that, by proving his worth! Proving his capabilities. Proving . . . that he had what it took, to one day be king! When Arthur finally left the arena, he went to his room, unable to stop smiling.

There would be a feast tonight to honour the champion. And, that was him! Arthur had attended so many feasts where others were honoured but not this time! This time, it was him. He was the honoured one! He was the champion! As he set his sword down on the table of his chambers, still beaming, he turned to the door upon hearing it open. When he saw who entered -- his father -- Arthur straightened himself up a little. "Father," he greeted, the smile still unwavering. "I won!" He blurted out, knowing that was obvious but still too excited to contain himself. After all those years of intense training, all those lessons, all that hard work . . . he had won his first tournament! His first tournament, EVER!

[Uther Pendragon]

This was necessary.



Uther knew that; he understood it. He took his place in the stands, his position prominent among the cheering and jeering crowds, and looked out over the tilt yard. This was necessary, he told himself again. Arthur was not a child anymore, he was a young man with everything to prove and he was surrounded by the very people he needed to prove it all to. And that was why this was necessary. Outwardly, Uther’s expression remained stony, unreadable. Implacably expressionless. But behind this carefully constructed façade of indifference, his nerves twitched and his heartbeat hammered in his throat.



Arthur was his son. His only son, the last living, breathing embodiment of his beloved Ygraine. He was the future of Camelot, in whose inexperienced hands the fate of a kingdom precariously lay. And tournaments were dangerous. He’d lost count of the brave young knights who’d lost their lives in the tilts, he’d seen them choking on their own blood with lances cutting through tender flesh like swords. When he thought of them now, their faces all looked like Arthur’s and his gut squirmed with nerves.



Outwardly, not a flicker of emotion played across his face. He had to let this happen. To intervene and pull Arthur out of the tournament would be a weakness, a sign of defeat. Pride alone would never permit such a disgrace, and Arthur would never forgive the overbearing humiliation.



Alas, his fears were all in vain.



Uther’s carefully concealed fears evaporated as Arthur rode to victory in round after round. Before long, he was on his feet with the rest of the spectators, applauding as his son rapidly and consistently proved his worth. So much so, he almost felt foolish for having been so nervous before the tournament began. Arthur was winning. Of course Arthur was winning!



Once it was over, and his son left the field, Uther was quick to follow.
He shouldered his way through the crowds of people who didn't see him coming, and largely ignored the bows of those who did. Once at his son's chambers, he knocked but let himself inside immediately. For a moment, he didn't know what to do. His son, a child no more, was probably too big for a bearhug. 

"Arthur," he said, breathless from the dash across the grounds and up the stairs. "I know, I couldn't be more proud of you."

He settled for the next best thing to a hug and brought his hands to his son's face, holding him gently. "If your mother was here, she would be too."

He could think of no higher praise than that.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Tag: Uther Pendragon
Note: Better layout coming soon!

for the love

OF CAMELOT

As if Arthur hadn't been beaming before, he knew the expression grew tenfold when he heard his father speak those words. Words, of being proud of him. That was all Arthur ever wanted! To make his father proud. To be the son that his father always wanted. He wanted to be as strong as him; a great king. And hearing his father speak such things, made Arthur's heart feel as if it was going to explode from his chest. This time, the heavy beating was not due to the adrenaline of victory. It was from the emotional reaction to his father's praise. And, just when he thought it could get no better . . . he spoke of his mother. A topic that was seldom broached, was not offered and Arthur had to bite back any tears in his eyes over the mention of his mother.

His mother, whom he had never met. His mother, who his father now told him would be proud of him. Both parents were proud of him! Arthur just grinned, a wide smile, as the surprise of his father's words subsided. "I am honoured," he told him, voice thick with sincerity. "To make you and . . . mother proud." He almost stumbled over the word, but he said it. And it felt incredible. "It's all I ever want; to be a man you'd be proud to call son." And his father said that! That he was proud. Arthur suddenly longed for nothing than to hug his father, but . . . he tried to remember words of not letting ones emotions control them. To be more composed. How did his father do it all the time?! Suppress such strong emotions?! Arthur felt as if he was going to fail at it!