Title: Tie Up My Hands

Genre: Television

Series: Merlin

Characters: Morgana, Uther Pendragon

Rating: R

Spoilers: 1x07 "The Gates of Avalon"

Summary: Her dreams have a nasty habit of always coming true...but what if the dream itself isn't so bad?

"I wanna hold you but my hands are tied
I wanna stay here but I've been denied
I wanna lie here 'til we've killed this bitter doubt."

-Starsailor, Tie Up My Hands

The dream started as it always did.

She was wearing white, the cloth of the dress sliding against her skin almost sinuously. Her mind instantly recalled the delicious naughtiness she always felt when her dress was cut just a touch too scandalously, but no one would dare tell the King's ward so. She knew it, knew it well even if Uther's scolding lectures had not made it clear.

In the dream, though, the dress wasn't revealing too much skin, nor was it cut to tightly. It was a plain sheath, long in length, loose in fit, but worn to softness by years of use, much like a nightgown.

Even as Morgana thought it she knew that that was exactly what it was, a nightgown. It wasn't even a woman's nightgown, but instead had at one point been King Uther's. However scandalizing some at the court might find that, it had not been such a taboo in the beginning. When Morgana had first arrived in Camelot, her grief fresh from her parents' deaths and her trust in her aloof Warden questionable, she'd found the gown on her bed.

She'd been so young then, only fourteen and a stranger in this large place, with only the King and his son as familiar faces and even they hadn't been truly known. Her father and the King had fought together years ago and though close at the time of her birth, they'd drifted in recent years, mostly due to distance between their homes. Morgana loved and trusted her father even in death, and she came to this place so that the man he'd chosen to watch over his only child could do so.

Morgana had stood beside that large canopied bed, her trunks sitting battered from the journey at the foot, and ran shaking fingers down the soft cotton of the gown. A deep earthy scent rose from it and for a few seconds she almost felt safe. Her father had always smelled of the earth, he'd enjoyed nothing better than joining his men in the courtyard of their castle for daily sparring sessions and though he often returned from them bruised, he never returned with anything other than a smile.

A small knock at the door and she turned quickly, not bothering to hide the tracks of tears that slipped past her thick lashes and swept down her cheeks. The pain and grief in her eyes was mirrored in Uther's as he stepped through the low doorway, his eyes moving purposely from hers to study the room. Pleasantries spilled from his lips but Morgana couldn't hear them past the roaring in her ears and the drumming in her head.

"Whose gown is it?" She asked suddenly, startling Uther with the huskiness of her voice as she always startled those older than she. They didn't expect such a mature voice from one so young and innocent looking. Though out of place before, given the sudden cessation of childhood that her parents' deaths had caused, the outward manifestation of her inner maturity now seemed very appropriate indeed.

"It's mine. You've arrived too late for any of your own trunks to be unpacked and I thought you'd like something to rest in. I've arranged for a girl from the village to come in the morning. She'll serve as your lady in waiting," Uther explained slowly, his dark eyes studying her face for some hint of what she was thinking. It'd been along time since he'd had to deal with the emotions of a female, and never had he had to deal with the emotions of a young female.

Morgana gained some satisfaction from how resolved and calm she found herself in the strange situation, and she even regained some of her old spark and fire as she turned almost teasing eyes to her new 'father'. "Did the girl you arranged to babysit me not have a gown I could borrow?"

Uther cocked an eyebrow at her question, and replied slowly, "Perhaps, but none worthy of the King's ward."

"An acceptable point, my lord," Morgana stated immediately, feeling properly chastened though Uther had neither raised his voice nor given sound to his disapproval.

Uther sighed and fought the urge to run his hands through his hair, a habit that had more than once knocked his crown askew. "Do not call my 'my lord', Morgana. Makes me feel...old."

Despite the circumstances, the terrible grief of her loss still weighing on her and her very being unsettled by her sudden uprooted life, Morgana could feel the corner of her lips quirking. "How would you have my address you, my lor-" she paused before correcting herself, "my king?"

"You may call me Uther," he replied stoically, surprised by the nature of his new ward. He didn't know what he'd expected when he'd walked in this room to greet his old friend's orphaned child, but Morgana knew that she was not it. Perhaps a petulant screaming child, asking for things that he could not give? Clearly the self-possessed young woman that she was striving so very hard to be was surprising him.

Morgana pursed her lips and formed his name silently before repeating it back to him audibly. "Uther. 'Uther' it is then. If you will excuse me, Uther, it has been a long journey."

He'd left her to rest, wearing his gown that smelled of him and reminded her of her father, and Morgana had grown to love him in a way she'd never dreamt possible. Given the nature of her dreams, that was truly saying something.

Even as her thoughts were given form, her memories conjured up from the depths of obscurity until Morgana almost felt as if she were reliving the scenes from someone else's eyes, the details blurred and her vision fogged over with the serene whiteness she'd come to anticipate at the beginning of her most arduous dreams.

These were not the dreams of the young girl lost to grief, nor of the regal woman that had grown in her place. These were not the dreams of the ward to the King who'd outlawed all magic ceremonies and abilities within his kingdom upon pain of death.

This was the dream of a Seer, and a powerful one at that.

She was still wearing the white nightgown, the one she only drew from deep within her chest drawers when she was feeling especially vulnerable and wanted the comfort it had come to signify to her. Too often it seemed she sought it out after her dreams had proved particularly accurate; a drought from Gaius and Uther's sleeping gown used to be all she needed to get through the night.

Now the dress followed her into the realm of Dream and Morgana knew she'd never be able to seek out its embracing comfort from this particular disturbance again.

As her vision cleared, Morgana found herself in her room, in the gown, with only a few candles lit to make the darkness outside her window more bearable. There were slight differences, a tapestry on her wall that she did not own, a vase that she'd only just asked the potter to make for her was complete and held the wild flowers from outside the castle walls that her mother had harbored a deep love for. Small subtle differences that told Morgana's instincts that she was in the "what-may-come" rather than the "what-was", as her dreams were more wont to dwell in.

A sharp chilled wind slid through her window, causing the flames on the candles to dance and a shiver to race up her spine. Even as she thought that it was too late in the season for her to be retiring to bed in only this, Morgana knew that there were others things that would keep her warm in the night.

In dreams sometimes just thinking of something could conjure it to you, like magic. That was how it was for Morgana, she need only think of it to have it. She need only to think that there was something missing from this vision, something that would make her future self dress so lightly in the colder weather, for it to appear.

Long tapered fingers slid under the weight of her hair and the gentle tugging of a brush began at the ends of the long dark strands. Morgana might have imagined it was merely Gwen, but she knew the brushstrokes of her faithful companion, and these were not it. The hands that so gently separated the weight of her hair, rough fingertips tantalizingly caressing the baby hairs on the nape of her neck, were hands that Morgana had become familiar with over the years, hands that could clench in anger at the slightest provocation, and shake in restraint when he feared that he might lash out at those undeserving. Morgana had always told him that should anyone need to know his mood they need not try to read his face, an impossible task if ever there was one.

Uther Pendragon spoke more with his hands than he ever did with his face. Morgana had made a study of that chink in his armor, becoming an expert of the many moods that came over him, only distinguishable by the slightest gesture that only she, out of his thousands of subjects and handful of friends, had ever been able to read.

Morgana turned, pulling her hair from his hands, and gazed upon a face that had taken years for her to come to love. It appeared that the love she felt for him would continue to grow until it became something unrecognizable. Where was the comforting safety he brought to her in the present? Why had it been replaced with this deep-seated burning within her to touch and be touched by the enigmatic leader?

The dream dazzled her with its clarity and Morgana fought the urge to tear herself from its embrace, from Uther's arms, and struggled to remain calm enough to allow herself to see the truth of the situation for what it was.

She'd been a young girl when she'd arrived here and come into Uther's household. Too old to see him as a father, too young for him to see her as a woman, but somehow, at some point in the future, he would do just that. Morgana was surprised to find that she did not mind the thought.

His face was more lined that she was accustomed to, brackets of worry that eased as his eyes caressed her face. His lips moved and words came out but just as when they'd first met, she couldn't seem to hear anything. The world buzzed in her ears but her focus was entirely on Uther, everything else faded away.

He'd stopped speaking, his lips curving as if amused by her inattention, and casually he bent down to brush a kiss across her lips. It seemed so natural for him to do so, as if he'd done it before and would do it again, but was profound for Morgana. She'd never been kissed before, first because she was too young, and then when she came to Camelot, because she was the ward of the King.

Uther was no young man, however, and Morgana did not feel the same disdain for his advances that she did for Arthur and his cronies. All she felt for Uther, in this moment, in this time, was a fiery passion that shook her control and made her head light with possibilities.

In the seconds it took for that gentle, oh-so-casual kiss to change Morgana's entire view of the world, Uther had drawn back and gazed now with some concern. "Are you alright, Morgana? You seem...unnaturally quiet this night."

Swallowing the sigh of contentment that threatened to spill from her lips, Morgana cleared her throat and spoke is a husky whisper. "I'm fine, Uther. A little weary is all."

Combat-roughened fingers traced the swell of her cheek and Uther stepped back slightly. "Then you should rest-"

"No!" Morgana exclaimed, grasping his hand and pulling him close once more, both actions that she herself would not have chosen. As the dream pulled her further in, she began to take on more and more of this future self's personage. These were not her words, not her actions, but she found herself a willing participant nonetheless. "I would not sacrifice our time for anything in this world, Uther." He smiled then, a carefree, loving smile that Morgana could not recall having ever seen from him. She smiled back and knew her smile matched his own. "Come to bed, Uther. It has been a long day and I missed you."

"I saw you not even an hour ago at dinner, Morgana. How could you have missed me?" Uther replied as he did as she bid and closed the distance between them once more. His hand casually brushed her hair over her shoulder, and he leaned down to press an affectionate kiss against the soft skin the stretched the bend of her neck and into her shoulder.

Morgana's half-lidded eyes glazed over with need and she turned her head to allow him better access. "Allow me to show you, Uther."

She felt his smile against her skin and the playful air between thickened with anticipation. Though he touched her nowhere else other than his mouth on her neck, she felt her entire body tense as it waited for him to make the next move. The mischief-maker within her wanted her to disband with tradition and move first, but somehow Morgana knew that it satisfied her more to know that he would have to break control first.

Uther did, in fact, break his control and he did so with gusto. His hands slid up her bare arms, caressing the goose-bumped flesh with a barely-there touch that solidified as it passed over her shoulders and made their way back downward, taking the nightshirt with them. Skirting around her curves, he left her naked to his gaze and the air and Morgana was warmed only by the heat in his eyes.

"Would you leave me so vulnerable as you remained clothed, my King?" She asked in a teasing lilt, long graceful fingers dancing around the belt of his tunic. She felt him suck in a deep breath, releasing it on a small groan as his eyes slid down her body, claiming it as his though she knew instinctively that she would never be anyone else's.

Sliding trembling hands into her hair, tilting her head back so that she could do nothing but look into his eyes, Uther brushed another wisp of a kiss across her lips, pausing briefly only to see the flush color across her cheeks before deepening his claim. His lips fused to hers, no air or light to invade the sanctity of the union of mouths as they dueled for control. Mirroring his hold on her own head, Morgana's arms unconsciously slid upward, his fingers grasping the short curls at the back of his head and pulling him tighter to her. He tasted of wine, deep and heady, with just a hint of something that was pure Uther, something that made her think of long nights spent in front of a fire, lust abated but safety and comfort available in heady amounts. He tasted like home, like love, and like the man of her dreams.

Breaking from his hold on her senses, Uther spoke into her mouth, unwilling to move even a hairsbreadth from her mouth. "If you would have me unclothed, woman, then do so yourself."

Though he ordered her to do it, it was both of them that removed his garments. Their fingers mingled as they tugged at ties and buckles, their mouths and breath becoming one as they struggled and the heat between them rose with every brush of bare flesh and soft laugh.

Finally, Uther was as naked as she and they tumbled onto the comforter with the ease of familiarity. He knew just where to touch her to make her moan with pleasure, knew where to kiss to make her breath rush from her lungs without control. Uther knew her body better than she did and Morgana was hard-pressed to think a single coherent thought, let alone wonder when he'd become so familiar with her secret weaknesses.

She knew him, too. Morgana knew that he was ticklish behind the knees, but that a light touch would make him smile with pleasure instead of burst with laughter. She knew that when she licked him in the hollow just beneath his ear that his legs tensed and his hips thrust against her with clear need that never failed to provoke an answering thrust of her own hips. Morgana knew the scars that covered his body and knew the stories of each one. She knew there was a night in her future were she would press a kiss to each scar, dallying lavishly until he'd pull her to his chest and they'd make love fiercely into the night.

The passion between them was tangible, and the familiarity was comforting. When he sat against the headboard and pulled her atop him, his hands guiding her hips to his own, it was the most natural thing in the world for Morgana to let him. Suckling his earlobe and gripping his shoulders hard enough to leave small red nail marks, Morgana slid down his chest until she felt the tip of his manhood brush against her most sensitive flesh.

His name escaped her lips, husky and broken in passion. "Uther..."

"My lady?"

Slowly, both of them holding their breath because they could not stop themselves, she slid down his length, her inner flesh gripping him hotly as an answering rush of breath burst from her throat. Again, she whispered her name. "Uther."

"Morgana?"

He moved and she almost died, her body taking over where her mind failed and her heart soared. Rising and falling, an answering rhythm to the pounding of her heart, and Morgana could do nothing, could feel nothing, could hear nothing, but the fire that rose within her.

"Morgana."

The dream blurred around her, details fading away as if her only focus need be on the aching between her legs and the slow burn of her leg muscles as she moved faster to his ministrations. Clutching at each other, sweat glistening on their skin only to chill in the cold air almost immediately, the two lovers coiled tighter and tighter until only their hold on each other kept them conscious of the world around them.

"Morgana!"

That coil, that snake within her that stretched through her shaking limbs as pleasure more intense than any she'd ever felt before made her tremble without control, it knotted within her womb and clenched around Uther. He moaned into the air, his head falling back against the wood of the bed frame with a small thunk that made Morgana smile with satisfaction, before losing even that small thought to the primitive passion that he evoked in her.

"Morgana!"

Morgana's world shifted on it's axis as the pleasure almost reached its peak, so close to the edge of the precipice that she could almost taste the shimmering ecstasy that stalked her and Uther both. Uther's hands bit into her thighs where he held her roughly, his hips pistoning roughly and without control. Morgana's head fell back, her hair tickling over his hands where he held her and she bit her lip to hold back the scream that was building in the back of her throat.

She was so close...

"Morgana!"

...so close...

"Morgana!"

Jerking away from the sudden jarring nature of reality, Morgana almost toppled from her bed. Tangled within the sheets it took several seconds for her to comprehend what had happened.

"Are you alright? You were calling out in your sleep and I grew concerned," Guinevere explained as she gazed at her lady expectantly. Morgana could only stare at her incredulously.

"You woke me? 'Cause I was calling out in my sleep?" Morgana slid to the side of the bed, reaching for the cup of water she kept on the table just beside it. "I could have been calling out for any number of reasons, Gwen." She froze mid-drink as the thought that perhaps Gwen had idea of why she'd been calling out in her sleep swept a powerful tide of mortification through her mind and across her cheeks.

"Yes, but you were tossing and turning as well. I thought it must be a nightmare and it best to wake you," Gwen replied, concern changing to worry as if she'd suddenly realized that perhaps she should have let Morgana sleep on.

"Yes, you're right, it was a nightmare," Morgana said quickly, hoping against hope that she had not said or called out anything too terribly embarrassing while she slept. "What was I calling out? I'm afraid it's all slipped from my mind."

Back on comfortable ground, Gwen happily began to tidy the tangled sheets and replied quietly. "Nothing much, you just kept calling out the King's name. Perhaps you should see Gaius again? Maybe there is a stronger draft, something to help you truly rest. You haven't been sleeping well for a while now."

Morgana nodded, her thoughts twisting back to Gaius and what he'd said of her dreams only days ago. What if he was right and she truly was a Seer? As her thoughts tried to reason out the things she'd just seen and experienced, Morgana idly chided Gwen, "And what are you still doing here? I thought you were heading home long ago?"

Gwen blushed and shrugged. "Merlin and Gaius needed some help with something and I wanted to check on you before I left. I was leaving just now."

"Then go," Morgana assured her loyal companion, gesturing for her to go. "I'm fine. I've almost grown used to these dreams, but I will go see Gaius in the morning if it'll reassure you."

Once Gwen was gone, Morgana was left to her thoughts and she found herself in a bit of a conundrum.

Could her dream really come to pass?

Despite what the court of Camelot liked to think, did her future lay with the elder Pendragon, rather than the younger?

Review, please.