Uther Pendragon's Guide to Handling Reincarnation

or

The Unexpected Life of George the Servant

Author's note: I started writing this story back when series 4 was still airing and it will probably not contain many series 5 spoilers or references. Plus, this is a future-fic set in an AU time frame. Just a note: while there will be and has not been any Arthur/Gwen, the story still implies a lot of canon has happened. So Morgana is evil and lurking in the woods somewhere (yes, she will probably play a part in this). At this point, Queen Annis is an ally. Also for people who don't like OCs...I'm afraid there are some of them here, because of the mpreg; but the only OCs with anywhere considerably major roles are the Merthur kids (though they are not in total focus); and possibly original legend characters that I'll borrow in the future (so they're not wholly OCs, are they?).

Pairings: Arthur/Merlin; some background pairings including Lancelot/Gwen.

Warnings: some language, slash, mpreg, some violence, crack!ish (at least partly but there's some more serious stuff as well).

Rating: T (for now)

Summary: One moment, Uther Pendragon is very sure that – yes, he's dead, and the next – well, then he's not that very dead anymore. Camelot is a slightly different place than what he's remembered. Take the sorcerers roaming the city for one. Not to mention the dragons ... And what's all this talk about babies?!

Or: Uther Pendragon is reincarnated rather abruptly in the early years of Arthur's reign and, once he's got over the shock, he realizes there's yet some work to be done. That is if the stupid dragon (which should be dead since … what? Six, seven years now?) stops bothering him.

1.

How to Handle the Arrival (When You Logically, Technically Should be Dead)

Uther Pendragon - son of Constantine II, son of Constantine the Great, who in turn was the son of some Man of Greater Importance way way back in the 4th century - a man titled with many things due to the many things he'd accomplished in his life but mainly King of Camelot (or at least, previously King of Camelot, though it still is a great merit in its own right) is rather certain that he is dead.

Yes, he can clearly recall his son's cries and the knife and the assassin and the wonder of Where the hell are the guards!? Why were they always playing dice on duty?

And then: the silence and the blinding light followed by painless nothingness. There was no heartbeat, no breath in his body. In fact, his body ceased to exist and time stopped altogether to matter. Finally he could have some peace and quiet, away from the craziness that was the daily life in Camelot.

Quite logically, he should be dead. And should have been dead for quite a while now. Yes, quite logically, he is dead. As in: not alive. Uther Pendragon knows that he died and was buried (he's certain it was a pompous funeral, with spectacular fireworks and ringing trumpets; after all, he is King of Camelot. It's the least the people can do after all he's done for them!) and so on, and he knows that dead people don't rise again – unless they're resurrected by crazy sorceresses craving revenge of course, but there's no crazy sorceress in sight. In fact there's no sorceress of any kind in sight. (What a relief!)

Thus he should not, logically, be trapped in a mortal body once again.

But then why in the name of the heavens is he suddenly – with both breath and heartbeat in his body - standing in a (very familiar) busy corridor somewhere in a large, white (very incredibly familiar) castle with a (not so familiar) basket full of stinking, dirty laundry in his (absolutely not familiar) hands?

It is absolutely not logical or sane or normal - or anything along those terms - for a dead King to be standing in a corridor like this, carrying laundry!

No.

No.

This simply cannot be.

"George, are you all right?" a soft, feminine voice intones from his left and Uther doesn't react, because his name certainly isn't George and if this is Heaven or even Hell, it just doesn't seem right. No, and he does not like it at all.

Someone lays a hand on his arm. A woman's hand. A servant's hand, sticking out of a rough white and red dress; a livery, a servant's livery.

Wait. He recognizes that livery. It's the livery of the servants of Camelot. And looking down at himself he realizes, eyes wide, that he too is wearing similar clothes, uncomfortable and itchy and there's still an overloaded, stinking basket of dirty laundry in his hands – pale hands roughened by labour that Uther does not recall ever doing – and oh, oh god.

Oh god no!

Uther's mind reels with horror and he opens his mouth to shout. After all, it is an entirely normal reaction.

"WHAT SORCERY IS THIS!?"

The woman jerks away and stares at him. Another servant stops by, and says (in an entirely too casual tone to be normal): "He must have hit his head again."

"Oh," the woman says, eyes widening. "That makes sense."

"WHERE IN THE BLAZES AM I?!"

"Err, you're … you're in Camelot, George," the maidservant says slowly as if talking to a simpleton or child or maybe even a simpleton child, and Uther feels his face flush.

"I AM NOT 'GEORGE'! DO NOT ADDRESS ME AS SUCH! IT IS UNCOUTH! I AM UTH—"

"What's this all about?"

The sudden voice is strong, heady. There's authority in it, and Uther recognizes it immediately without a doubt. In mid-sentence he turns on his heel to come face to face with a tall, strong man, finely muscled; he's clad in the finest clothes one might find, yet they seem rather simple and not too extravagant. A red cloak has been easily slung over his shoulders, and on his chest there's the Pendragon emblem, golden and bright in the sun just like the simple crown resting on the blonde head.

"Oh, I apologize, on behalf of all of us, King Arthur," the servant gasps and bows.

"It's all right, please, do not apologize," Arthur – ARTHUR – oh my god he's King now, Uther realizes, my big boy's grown up so much! – replies calmly, collected like a King should. "Perhaps he needs to be taken to Gaius for examination?"

Uther's jaws feel a bit loose on their hinges.

Gaius? He's still around and I'm not!?

And also …

Oh no, oh no, no no no – not Gaius!

Mentally, Uther shivers and starts to get a little, little bit panicked because – Gaius and the old dangerous Eyebrow Glare … No! He will not let himself be exposed to it again!

Almost violently, he draws away, knuckles white about the stinking basket and eyes large and blood-shot.

"N-no! I'm fine! Absolutely fine!" he croaks, weakly. Not that Uther would ever admit to croaking, weakly or in any other manner. "Sire," he adds with a rasp. Even if Arthur's his son, he's also King of Camelot and proper etiquette has been etched to Uther's spine for decades. Still. It's very, very weird to say it because normally it's the other way around and Arthur is looking at him like at simpleton. And addressing him as such too!

"Are you certain?" Arthur inquires. "I am sure Gaius has time to spare to-"

He is not a simpleton!

"I SAID I'M FINE!"

His son gives him a pointed look. A look which no well-brought-up Prince should give his father, King or no. Whatever is he looking at him like that for?!

The servant nudges his side. Nudges! The most insolent of actions -

"You're supposed to call him 'sire', George," murmurs the servant.

- no servant should ever nudge their former King like that, like he's a mere simple commoner, like he's one of them -

"George!"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT YOU STUPID HEDGEWITCH?!"

The woman glares at him. It might be because of the 'hedgewitch'. Which honestly might be a grave thing to call someone but Uther refuses to take pity on her even if the guards grab her and drag her to a pyre now because they think she has magic just because he called her a hedgewitch.

"You never said 'sire'."

By now, everybody has stopped to watch the commotion and Uther wishes he could sink into the ground and disappear (forever in a very permanent way) right now. Couldn't some assassin appear just now so Uther could throw himself in their way? That'd be good. Or a wayward spear. Or a knight stumbling on his sword. Or ... or ... something.

King Arthur studies him for a moment with a frown, and then turns to address the other servants. "Please, do keep an eye on him for time being. We don't want any more incidents like last week."

"INCIDENTS? What incidents?! I certainly wouldn't be in some kind of 'INCIDENTS'!" Uther protests. Soundly. But he is plainly ignored – just like that.

"Of course, sire," the servant says and courtesies prettily. "I'll see to it."

"I'M STANDING RIGHT HERE YOU KNOW!"

"Please, George, lower your voice in the presence of your King," hisses servant shooting him a sharp look, and Arthur raise his eyebrow in a cocky, kingly manner that makes Uther choke and his face go red.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"…Fine. Yes, fine. Absolutely. Fine. Sire."

King Arthur turns his back on him and addresses one of the other servants. And he doesn't talk to her like she's a simpleton, no, no. He's all polite and proper and Uther is fighting the violent urge to tear at his hair quite literarily.

"Oh, and while you're at it, could you please send word to the kitchens? I'm planning an outing later today, after the council meeting. A ride to the forest. We'll need a simple meal."

Every onlooker's eyes lit up in delight. "Right away, milord," the nearest servant says. "For four?"

"Naturally."

Wait – what? What? 'For four'? What is going on here?!

Arthur nods in confirmation in a very regal manner, even if his crown is ridiculously large (Seriously, does he have no sense of style whatsoever? It's too big for him and it has far too few red crystals. It looks completely ludicrous), and then be sweeps off cloak whipping behind him in a Kingly way which fits him excellently. Uther stares after him.

It takes a moment to realize …

… Oh my god, that's my son, my big boy, and he's the King and he thinks I'm some idiot servant who has … accidents!

...

Oh my god!

Before he can delve deeper and really have a panic attack, someone tugs impatiently at his sleeve. "Come on, you heard him, George. Let's head for the kitchens."

The young woman next to him blushes for some reason Uther absolutely cannot comprehend and leans in to whisper into her friend's ear. "They're so sweet!"

Who the hell are 'they'?!

"I know!" the servant boy replies and the pair are abruptly reduced to giggles and red cheeks and Uther is even more confused, and also annoyed because giggling in corridors is completely unbecoming especially when the servants should have better things to do – like working! And also, Uther is still rather certain that he should be dead.

A sudden thought strikes him.

If Nimueh is behind this ... She might be! Oh god, she might have sent him back just to annoy him, as some stupid means of revenge.

Wait. She is dead. He met her Up There just five minutes ago and he declared her banned (not that really had the means to but he's not very comfortable about having her hanging around) and she'd simply laughed and conjured up a fireball at him. So, logically, it cannot be she who has resurrected him so abruptly into this strange unfamiliar servant's body. Which means someone else did it and Uther has not a clue who or why other than whoever did it must be stupid and selfish and very evil indeed.

Oh damn it all!

Someone tugs at his sleeve impatiently. "George, are you coming? A picnic needs to be prepared."