AN: A random idea for a one shot that kept bugging me all day until I wrote it. Anyway, it's written about the death of Igraine, Uther's wife and mother to Arthur. I hope that this does the tradgedy justice. By the way, if I write one more thing before I update my other fics, I give you permission to beat me :L.

As always, reviews are more than welcome. Review mine and I'll review yours if you ask or maybe if you don't :L:)

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. I do, however, own the laptop where this fic is saved, as well as a pyscho cat called Scabby. :L

It was a lazy summer. The sun was low in the sky, ready to disappear behind the wide breath of the trees. A gentle breeze blew from the east, the only relief on a warm, humid night. Deep within the walls of Camelot castle, a woman sighed, her blue eyes morose. Beautiful was she, but dark shadows hung underneath her eyes and her skin seemed taut and pallid.

Today was just another day in just another summer.

The room around her seemed to shrink as she glided towards the window, the very effigy of grace. Odd really; normally, she was so clumsy. The city always looked so different at night, so dark, lit only by the faint glow of candles, the flickering light escaping through open windows, yet so alive. Soon the noise would stop and all the world would be peaceful. She'd never liked the quiet despite her love of solitude. Then again, he had always called her contrary.

And there he was, a shadowy figure behind her, arms wrapped round her figure. She embraced the touch, a soft smile playing upon her lips. He, whom she loved more than any. He, the king of Camelot who commanded the city. He, her husband whom she would travel to the very ends of the earth for.

"Dearest Igraine."

He kissed her neck before murmuring sweet-nothings into her ear. Laughing, she turned round to face him, planting a quick kiss on his lips. It didn't last long enough for him, and he clutched to her tightly, unwilling to let go. She slapped his hands playfully, before pulling away. Her eyes were shining though, their deep blue as bottomless as Uther's love was for her. He watched her shuffle off, the grace replaced by something less foreign, something more appealing. She turned her head back over her shoulder and smiled, her cherry lips inviting. He grinned back watching the way the candle light was reflected in her eyes. His grin turned to concern as she stumbled over a rug, hastily clutching at the dark wood of the table to stop herself from falling. Then she laughed again, a peal of bells lighting up the night and Uther fell in love with her all over again. His queen. His love. She really was perfect.

Her blue gown trailed across the floor, the soft silk rustling. Uther remembered buying her that gown when they first started courting. It was a trivial gift compared to what he could have bought, but she'd loved it. It was a wonder that it still fit, what with her ballooning stomach. Uther grinned again as he imagined their child; it would be smart like him, brave and honourable, with the extraordinary beauty and compassion of its mother. There would not be a better child in the kingdom, nor happier parents.

His daydream was interrupted when his wife sighed, a show of annoyance that did nothing to extinguish the sparkle in her eyes. He nodded at her curtly, his eyes drifting towards her stomach. The hour was late and she needed her rest. She scowled at him, battling against the laughter that threatened to engulf her at the sight of his confused expression.

"I am fine," Igraine said softly, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear. "There have been many later nights than this."

"You were not with child on those nights," Uther replied, somewhat tersely. "Now be off with you and leave me to my work." His words were softened by his grin and the obvious adoration in his eyes. "And make sure that that maid of yours has kindled the fire. I don't want you getting cold."

"I will be fine, Uther."

He nodded, just as the clock struck midnight, the large bell in the courtyard chiming loudly against the silent backdrop. He jumped with each ring, his wife chortling before leaving the room, a merry twinkle in her eyes.

Little did they know that she would be anything but.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The minutes pass and there's still no sound. Uther can only hope, desperately waiting for news of his queen. His love. His angel. The minutes tick by and still he must wait.

It was one o'clock when she burst into his study. He would have fired her on the spot had it not been for the way she was shaking, large tears streaming from her puffy eyes.

"Milord," she stammered, her accent thick. "It's your wife."

Uther's heart seemed to stop as he digested the words.

"My wife?" he repeated, his mouth agape.

"Yes, milord. She's very ill. I sent for Nimueh but –" she sobbed again, seemingly fighting to regain control. Uther rose from his chair, shaking her slender frame with vehemence.

"What? What is wrong?"

"They think –" She sniffed loudly before continuing. "They think that –" Another sob and another shake. "They don't know if she'll last the night." The final words escaped her just as a shout of anguish escaped Uther.

He wasn't aware that he was running, only that within minutes, he was outside his wife's door hammering upon it with all the force of a bear.

It was opened cautiously and the slender frame of Nimueh slipped out, her blue eyes moist. From within the chamber, Uther could hear a great deal of sobbing and the occasional scream. He made to pass the servant but a surprisingly strong hand stopped him.

"You must not enter."

"Move, wench, or I shall fire you on the spot."

"You must not enter," she repeated in the same, calm, cold tone.

"Please," he pleaded, wide eyed. "I must see my wife!"

"You cannot help her," Nimueh replied, "and neither can I if you do not let me do my work." Uther nodded slowly, noticing the beads of sweat upon her brow.

"What is wrong with her?"

"It appears that she is in labour prematurely," replied the woman, a slight frown upon her face.

"How long has she been like this?"

"An hour or so. Now, I must go!"

"What can I do?" Uther called after her, his bottom lip trembling.

"Wait here. I shall send one of the maids out in an hour." She paused and her expression softened. "Do not lose faith. Pray for her and feel appeased."

When the door closed, Uther knelt down to the ground and prayed to the heavens.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The minutes pass and there's still no sound. Uther can only hope, desperately waiting for news of his queen. His love. His angel. The minutes tick by and still he must wait.

The time passed slowly, every minute increasingly the strain on Uther's heart. He awaited the hourly updates from the maid with baited breath, each time dying a little when he was told that there was no improvement. Two o'clock, three o'clock, four o'clock, five... The hours passed and the clock chimed but Uther could do no more than wait, a lonely figure in a lonely corridor. At six o'clock, Gaius came, though Nimueh turned him away after a whispered conversation. Gaius could not help, she said. Gaius would not help.

The physician turned towards the king, pity etched around his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he said, his wizened eyes tired.

"You could not have known," Uther said stiffly, though his gaze never once left the door. "It is in Nimueh that we must place our hope."

She'll be fine," Gaius lied, knowing that his words were false. He made to sit but the king shook his head before burying it in his hands.

"Leave me," he said through muffled sobs.

"Your majesty, I –"

"I said, leave me!" There was a dangerous note to the king's voice, and Gaius scuttled away fearfully. Too often had he been on the receiving end of the king's anger recently.

Uther didn't look up for several minutes, only raising his head when the clock chimed eight. The door opened and he leapt to his feet, hopeful that this time, the news would be good. The maid shook her head sadly before closing the door again. Uther slumped against the wall, his legs falling out from underneath him as he let out a howl of anguish. Around him, Camelot began to stir.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The minutes pass and there's still no sound. Uther can only hope, desperately waiting for news of his queen. His love. His angel. The minutes tick by and still he must wait.

It was nine o'clock when his advisors arrived, all sombre faces and insincere displays of grief. They'd never liked the queen, never trusted the power and sway she had held over her husband. They did not understand the true power of love, the bliss that came with being wedded to the one he wanted. They watched him closely, huddled together in a small group, whispering and lamenting. Uther felt a surge of rage rise up in him.

"She is not dead yet!" he rages, eyes red and bloodshot. "Though you will be if you do not leave me!" The advisors cowered beneath his stormy glare, hastily departing en masse. Uther grimaces, his mouth stretched in a hard, tight line.

This was never meant to happen, not to his love! They were meant to rule together, to raise their child together, to grow old together... No. He was being a defeatist by giving up now, even when only a shadow of hope still remained. She needed him to be strong.

He sunk down to his knees and prayed again.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The minutes pass and there's still no sound. Uther can only hope, desperately waiting for news of his queen. His love. His angel. The minutes tick by and still he must wait.

Ten o'clock and the castle walls were bustling with life. Uther heard them all, the courtiers and the servants, each one going about their normal everyday lives, oblivious of the events deep within the castle's walls. He paced over to window and leant out, numb to the feeling of the breeze on his face. Those that saw him recoiled, his desperate appearance stirring up nothing other than repulsion in their hearts. They did not understand that with every passing minute, their queen took one step closer to death.

She loved the breeze. He remembered the first time he had met her, an arrogant prince learning how to fire a bow. He had believed it to be easy, not understanding the skill and agility involved. He had missed wildly of course, much to the amusement of a scrawny girl with long, flowing hair and the most entrancing eyes he had ever seen. She had smiled at him, asked him his name before telling him that his arm wasn't rigid enough. He had scowled at her, mortified to be given advice by a girl, no doubt one younger than him! His father had appeared then and she had scarpered, but Uther had never forgotten her face nor her advice. As fate would have it, they'd met several years later at a feast. She had blossomed since their first meeting into a great beauty, one of the finest in the kingdom, and had been recently widowed after her husband died in battle. Uther had asked for her hand there and then and within months, they were married.

He had never been so happy.

All that was set to change now though. Uther was no fool; he knew that whatever the outcome, he risked losing both his wife and his child. Life was not made of miracles. He decided then, in his desperation, to make a pact with God.

"Save my wife," he cried, "and I shall forever be in your debt! I swear to you, if you save them, I shall be the bravest, most noble king to have ever walked upon this earth! I beg of you; save them!"

Life was not made of miracles.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The minutes pass and there's still no sound. Uther can only hope, desperately waiting for news of his queen. His love. His angel. The minutes tick by and still he must wait.

Eleven o'clock and the bells were chiming again. News had travelled and all members of the court were flustered, unsure of what the day might bring. They had not seen Uther all day save for a few, and even they knew little about his state of mind. He seemed to have withdrawn into himself, holding onto the last shreds of hope with a wild fervour unaware that even as they whispered poisoned truths, the threads were unravelling.

It was sometime past eleven when Nimueh emerged from the room, bloodied and defeated, cradling the small, fragile form lying still in her arms. She held it out towards Uther, who could only stare with unfathomable eyes at the bundle.

"Where is my Igraine?" He asked, panic washing over him.

"She has gone to the stars," Nimueh replied, faint traces of tears wet on her cheeks, "but she has left you her babe. She asks only that you raise him well, and that his name should be Arthur. Will you not hold him?"

He shook his head, waving the woman away and ordering her to take the child with her. He couldn't bear to glance upon either of them, not even his own son who his wife had laboured for. The son who had killed his own mother.

No. It could not be his son's fault! Something so pure, so beautiful could not be a murderer at birth. Her son, the last remaining bit of her could not be despoiled at such a tender age! It was Nimueh's fault, it had to be! If she had only tried harder, worked harder, Igraine might still be alive! He might still have a wife and Arthur might still have mother, and there would be none of this darkness in his heart, only joy and rejoicing.

Arthur. The name fell from his lips like rain from the sky as he contemplated in silent horror the events of the day. She would never know him, the beautiful boy whose birth would always be tainted by the death of that he should have loved dearly, the one that Uther had loved dearly! There had been no goodbyes, not final declarations of love. She had been robbed from him just as she had been robbed from the hours had changed everything.

It hurt him to realise that he would never again feel the soft caress of her touch, the gentle touch of her lips upon his. It was worse than any pain that could have been inflicted by the blade, worse even than the thought of losing his throne. She was gone and she wasn't ever coming back.

He longed to go over to her body, to say goodbye and thank her for all the joy she had brought him, but he could not do it. He wanted her last memories of her to be her smiling, her eyes twinkling whilst she laughed, not a cold, emotionless corpse laid dead in her chamber. Igraine had gone and only her body was left.

At midday, her death was announced to the rest of Camelot by Uther's chief advisor, his gravelly voice harsh compared to the normal suaveness of the king. The clock clanged loudly twelve times, and a deathly silence descended upon the city. Uther still did not move.

She was gone, gone to a place where he could not follow, leaving him to bring up their son alone. Their son. A flash of anger engulfed him at the words and he struck out before dissolving into large, desperate sobs. God had failed him, had failed her!

Uther swore then, made an oath to always follow his head to protect his son, to never believe in miracles nor magic. They were wrong, he reasoned, and the wrong had to be exterminated for the greater good. It would start with Nimueh.

He rose to his feet, back aching from sitting on the floor. The time for mourning was over. The coldness in his limbs were spreading, substituting the warmness in his heart for a compassionless, icy clarity. He decided to go in search of Arthur, his son who might one day become a mighty king. With one last glance at the door, he leaves, wiping away all trace of his tears. She was his past and Arthur was his future. Behind him lay Igraine, queen of Camelot and keeper of his heart. Uther would remember her forever.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The minutes pass and there's still no sound. Uther can only cry, heartbroken, because no news of his queen is forthcoming. His love. His angel. The minutes tick by. He will be waiting forever.

AN: Hope you liked it :). I'm not sure if I want to expand this into a series of just keep it as a one shot. Please let me know if you would like more, focused on both the lives of Arthur and Uther as well as a little more from Igraine. :)