Uther watched Zosia review her reports with a kind of wonder. She was so organized, so efficient, so firm, one would think she'd been the Lady of Carneath her whole life, and not merely six short months. He was thinking of how to propose to her now that they were openly courting. As far as he was concerned, they could be married tomorrow. They practically already were, he thought, smiling of the memory of the taste of her skin, and waking her with kisses.

He was startled out of his reverie by the council chamber door bursting open. Zosia swept to her feet, her elegant green gown shifting enticingly with the motion. The rider said, "My lady, there is an approach from the south.

"From the south?" she said. "Why were we not informed that Hengist was marching sooner?"

"It does not appear to be Hengist, my lady," he said. "It is a small party, a handful of men, riding quickly."

Zosia and Uther exchanged a puzzled look, but he waited for her to give the order, not wanting to overstep, especially before their eventual wedding.

"Unless there is a display that appears unfriendly," she said, "then…welcome them."

"Yes, my lady."

Uther waited for the guard to leave before he stood and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Don't tell me I'm too trusting," she said.

"I wasn't—"

"Or naïve," she said, narrowing her eyes.

Uther couldn't help the twitch of his lips. He pulled her close, and she rested her hands on his chest as he kissed her. He did think she was being too trusting, but what he had been about to say was that they should have some guards on order, just in case.

Zosia melted into the kiss, pulling him closer, relaxing, or so he thought, until she firmly bit his lower lip and he startled back from her.

She gave him that horribly self-satisfied smile and said, "Don't try to tell me what to do in my own lands, Uther. You're not prince of Andor. Don't forget it."

"Of course, my lady," he said, both frustrated with her stubbornness and very, very eager to pick up where they'd left off that morning.

But they had things to deal with before he could truly relax.

/-/

Zosia stood in the courtyard with the bearing of a queen, and Uther stood two steps behind her, waiting for the riders, who scouts and guards had assured seemed peaceful, if urgent.

The gate opened, and four riders came and stopped their horses short of Zosia, bearing no colors. Uther felt there was something familiar about them, but he stood still, waiting for Zosia to make the first move.

"Who am I welcoming to Carneath, sirs?" she said.

The foremost of the riders dismounted and removed his helmet, and Uther smiled and Zosia's shoulders relaxed.

"Lord Godwyn," she said, the smile evident in her voice. "I was not expecting you. What news from Gawant?"

"There is a great deal of news, my lady," he said, bowing and kissing her hand. "For yourself and for the prince, if you will grant my friends and I to stay to deliver it and rest."

The other riders removed their helmets one by one, and Uther couldn't help but laugh when he saw their familiar faces: Bors, from one of the most loyal families in Camelot who stayed behind to hold the citadel, his cousin Urien, and the final rider, his dear friend Gorlois of Tintagel.

Zosia hesitated, perhaps wondering what these families could all want with her and Uther. Uther, too, wondered, but he was too thrilled to see them to spend too long questioning motive.

"We would like to discuss urgent matters, in face," Gorlois said, dismounting in a single swift motion. "If you would permit us, my lady."

He also kissed her hand, bowing so low it was almost comical, and Uther could have punched that charming smile of his old friend's face if he thought Zosia wouldn't disapprove.

"Of course," she said, relaxing her shoulders again. "I'm afraid we weren't prepared for visitors, but I will extend all the hospitality I can offer for such guests. Come, you must be tired."

"Such hospitality will be most welcome," Gorlois said, kissing her hand again, and Uther decided he would have to have a private word with his friend. "But rest is not an option. We have to discuss urgent business. Food, perhaps, but rest will have to wait."

/-/

The graciousness of Zosia had its bounds, but she had granted use of her solar for whatever discussion these men wanted to have with Uther, and she made arrangements for them to take food there. While she was away from them, Godwyn asked how she was managing.

"She's a strong woman," Uther said, "but I know how the loss of a father can be. In peacetime, she will be a brilliant leader, but during the strains of war," he hesitated. "She is young and ill-prepared to lead an army, that is certain."

Gorlois dropped into a chair, crossed his legs, and removed his gloves, dropping them on the ground beside him.

"I sincerely doubt that Lady Zosia is ill-prepared for anything," Gorlois said firmly. "You're seeing her through a lover's eyes, I think, Uther. She is not a delicate flower. I would bet my life there's steel in that woman, and if you're lucky, you won't ever have to taste it yourself."

"You met her this morning," Uther said.

Gorlois shrugged.

"That is not the reason we've come," Godwyn said, giving Gorlois a stern look. "I'm sure you've noticed the pattern, as Hengist almost certainly has."

Uther shook his head and said, "Pattern?"

"First the Lord of Carneath, then of Malgrave, now of Tintagel—"

"Surely not," Uther said.

"It is true," Bors said softly. "He has fought and defended us bravely, seen your father's people through the great strain of this prolonged siege and given hope to the hopeless, but a recent rebuffed attempt from Hengist has left him bedridden and surely dying."

Uther understood now why they had come.

"Hengist will redouble his efforts," Uther whispered. "He will see this as his opportunity to truly install himself on the throne."

"Will you step up, cousin?" Urien said. "Will you take up your sword, the banner of Pendragon, and drive Hengist from Camelot for good?"

Uther stood, uncertain what to do, what to say. He felt a thousand miles and a hundred years from that beautiful morning, in the blissful peace of Zosia's embrace, the privacy of her bed, the warmth of her arms. He felt suddenly like the shaking boy held on a horse by his dead brother's servant, whisked away in the night.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I must."

He heard a small gasp, and he turned to see Zosia standing there, already trying to recover her composure as the other men turned to look at her.

"Your meal is arriving shortly," she said, forcing a smile. "But given the seriousness of the conversation, perhaps we'd rather have it somewhere more formal?"

"Comfort is more important than formality, wouldn't you say, my lady?" Gorlois said. "Especially in times like this."

Uther couldn't stand to look at her, knowing she would be disappointed. But she couldn't possibly understand. He was doing this for his father, yes, for his people, but also for her. He had promised Inthorn that he would take care of her, provide for her, and how could he possibly do that as an exiled prince whose throne was lost entirely? As nothing and no one, he would never be the man she needed. There was no alternative, even if she did not realize.

/-/

Marcial sat in his father's bedchamber in Malgrave staring at the wall. Helping his mother bury his father had been a strange thing but burying her had been stranger. To watch her waste away to nothing over a man she had, by all accounts, come to resent, made no sense at all to Marcial. Yet here he sat, lord of the castle, all alone for the first time in his life, and all he could feel or think about was the low, persistent ache in his chest.

Gorlois would call him when he needed him, Marcial knew. From the whispers he was hearing out of the city, Marcial hoped he would be called sooner than later. But this place that had been his home felt like a stranger, and the people in it hardly recognized him from the boy who had left.

He stared at the wall, glad there was no mirror. He didn't have his father's face, he knew, and to see his own face looking in his father's mirror would be wrong, uncomfortable.

He inhaled deeply the lightly musty scent of the room, and he decided he would have a servant take away the sheets. If no one was using the room, there was no need to keep making up the bed, in this room or his mother's, or his sister's room. His mother had kept them all made up religiously, including his, which was both touching and horrific to him. He had thought she'd given up on him when he left, and a servant tried to say it was a sign that she was waiting for him to return, but Marcial knew better.

She was treating his room like the others, like he'd already joined the land of the dead.

He would not participate in her pessimistic rituals. Malgrave would be a castle for the living again, no matter what it took him to revive these walls.

/-/

Uther couldn't tell if the tone of the conversation was tense for his benefit, or for Zosia's. They each gave what information they had of the situation from every angle, inside and outside the citadel walls, and how best to approach removing the threat and regaining the throne.

"We'll need assistance," Uther said. "Even with us five, we cannot amass enough men and power to overtake Hengist's entrenched troops."

"Whom would you call?" Zosia said, not looking at him. She hadn't looked at him since food arrived, hadn't even taken his hand when he reached out for her.

"My first call would be to Marcial," Gorlois said. "He's just become Lord of Malgrave, and his family's troops are small in number, but mighty to be sure. His family commands a great deal of respect in Powys, and I believe he can convince the other families to follow suit."

Powys was powerful, but there were too many ifs, and even if they all fell into place, it was not enough.

"Hengist's boldness is not merely a threat to Camelot," Godwyn said softly. "Neighboring kingdoms would do well to help put him back in his place. Bayard has just been crowned and may be willing to assist, even if his father would have been reluctant. Caerleon might help, with the right promises."

"But what promises?" Uther said. "And Bayard would not stick out his neck for Camelot—"

"He would," Zosia whispered. "He would do it for me."

Uther cleared his throat, frustrated. He wasn't sure if she was saying it to be helpful or to stick a knife in, reminding him that there were plenty of other men who were dying to court her, Bayard the first of these. This also made Bayard one of the last people Uther wanted to ask for help over anything.

"There's the du Bois family," Urien said softly, sensing Uther's frustration. "From the south. They've amassed a great deal of power while you've been away, in the absence of a strong central hand. If we could convince them, they would be a formidable ally."

"And how would we convince them?" Uther said, frustrated. "They've grown in stature due to the lack of a Pendragon on the throne. What incentive would they have to put one back there?"

"Offer them something they want," Gorlois said. "Offer them increased standing. Offer Caerleon and Bayard peace terms they can't ignore. Offer Marcial a knighthood. I'm sure my lady has troops of her own she would be willing to loan you, if you've learned how to ask nicely in all these years."

Zosia snorted, and then she said, "You're all thinking conventionally. You're forgetting one of the most powerful allies you could ask for."

All the men looked around, frowning at each other, and Uther couldn't follow what she meant. She raised her eyebrows, touched a bracelet she never took off, one from her mother he'd been told, and she said, "All the power you could ask to have on your side is on the Isle of the Blessed, if you're willing to bend the knee to the old religion."

Gorlois seemed amused and intrigued by this, but what Uther was hearing was the same all around. Bend the knee, give concessions, offer positions of power and prestige. This was not how a man led from a position of power. He dropped his fork, frustrated, and left the room for some air.

/-/

Zosia stood on the battlement, watching the sun fade. She didn't appreciate sunsets in the way of sunrises, but they had their own beauty.

"One of your servants suggested that I might find you here, my lady," said the light and half-teasing voice of Gorlois. "She didn't say I'd find you brooding."

"Your education is lacking," Zosia said. "I assure you, this does not constitute brooding. This constitutes contemplation."

"Contemplation?" Gorlois said, sitting on the edge of the wall. "The two are incredibly close. I can see how I made the mistake."

Gorlois had one of those infectious smiles, exactly as Uther had described him. She could see what Uther appreciated about him, how they complemented each other. At the same time, she recalled how easily Uther had become jealous of Bayard, and how easily it could happen again without Gorlois even realizing what he'd done.

"He's upset," Gorlois said, "because the solutions require him to request help, and you must know that Uther doesn't like to ask for help."

"He's also upset that I'm upset," Zosia said, "but he wouldn't say that in front of anyone else."

"And why are you upset, my lady?"

Zosia turned to him and shared a smile with him. Gorlois was a man who saw people, that was clear.

"Because he knows I am not interested in being a queen," she whispered, "and because it's increasingly clear that he wants to be king."

"He needs to be, Lady Zosia," Gorlois whispered, suddenly quite serious. "For his people and for himself, that is his destiny."

She shivered lightly, and Gorlois removed his outer jacket and placed it around her shoulders. She quirked an eyebrow and said, "He'll kill you if he thinks you're—"

"I'm not foolish enough to attempt to court the woman Prince Uther Pendragon loves," Gorlois said, laughing. "As beautiful as you are, my lady, I like the shape my skin is in."

Zosia wasn't sure what he meant, but she did know he was right. The throne of Camelot did seem to be Uther's destiny, but if that was the case, where did that leave her?

/-/

Uther let himself into Zosia's room and found her brushing her hair.

"Have you decided it's time to talk?" she said, not looking up at him.

Gods, she was beautiful. How was it only that morning that he was in a blissful haven of closeness with her, and now she seemed a million miles away in the same room?

"I've decided we need to start with your suggestion," he said. "You're right, that if we do not gain the support of the High Priestesses we open ourselves to fighting against them. We have the benefit of Marzena's goodwill."

Zosia stood and began to remove her dress. Uther tried not to be distracted, but she was very, very good at distraction.

"She's not the child you remember anymore, Uther," she said, turning away from him. "She's not a little girl, she'll be a woman, a new person. I cannot promise you that she'll support you, and she's only one woman on that isle."

"I know."

Tomorrow he would have to deal with consequences of this choice, he would have to make arrangements for travel, he would have to plan how to proceed once he had an answer from the priestesses. But for now, in these walls, all he could think was how desperately he wanted to touch Zosia, to hold her, to show her how much he still loved her and how nothing material had changed.

He touched her back and she paused lowering her gown. Her skin was so warm, and she smelled so bright.

"You're the most beautiful thing," he whispered against her neck. She stood still as he kissed a line down the back of her neck, as he'd done to the front that morning.

He was a little surprised when she took a step away from him as the dress fell. He thought perhaps she wanted him to look at her as she turned, and he certainly did, drinking in all the beauty of the curves of her form.

"Why are you here, Uther?" she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

She got onto the bed and climbed under the covers. Uther stood, puzzled. Normally she would help him undress or hold the duvet up to invite him to join her. Instead, she folded it back over her body, covering all but her arms and shoulders.

"From what I can see," she whispered, "you have a lot of work to do, plans to make, things to arrange to take your throne back. I don't really see that there's a place in your life to spend time in my bed right now, is there?"

"Zo," he said, shaking his head, "the title is nothing. I still love you, I still need you, I still want to spend the rest of my life waking up beside you."

She closed her eyes and shook her head, sighing.

"I'm tired, Uther. Please, let's just not deal with this right now."

He didn't understand what she was saying, but he bowed his head lightly and retreated, feeling that for all the hope he'd gained, he may have lost something just as essential to his being.

A/N:

Good afternoon!

So, Uther is back in motion, Marcial is waiting for a cause, and Zosia is struggling with her own feelings. We're going to the Isle of the Blessed next time, and we've got some ladies there we haven't seen in some time.

Let me know your thoughts!

-C