The light of early morning was eerie away from Carneath, away from Zosia. It had been so long since Uther had been anywhere but at her side that to be in a field with Gorlois watching the morning felt heavy in a way that mornings shouldn't feel.

"You're being morbid again," Gorlois said.

Uther forced a smile.

"Wouldn't you lament if you had to leave a beautiful woman behind?" Uther said.

Gorlois snorted. Uther didn't appreciate that his friend saw to the heart of him, recognized that the heaviness and lament were for his inability to make things right with Zosia before he had to leave, but as long as Gorlois didn't say it out loud, he could pretend it wasn't the case.

"You're just upset that she's still mad at you."

Uther imagined smothering Gorlois in his sleep, which did make him feel a bit better. They continued to ride onward and would reach the Isle of the Blessed before midday, but how they would be greeted was a different question. Uther hoped that Marzena would speak on their behalf, and that she would have enough power that the Nine would grant him support.

"We have work to do," Uther said, nudging his horse to go faster, and ignoring Gorlois's laugh as much as he ignored the light off the clouds in a delicate pink that Zosia would love.

He had work to do. He could deal with Zosia later.

/-/

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Gorlois said when they landed on the isle, "but isn't this place supposed to be a bit more…active?"

"You are wrong," a sweet, amused voice said. They turned to see a beautiful woman with dark hair watching them. "You think of the feasts of the Old Religion, which occur at other sacred sites. This is our home of contemplation and study. Do you seek the blessing of the Nine, sirs?"

Uther bowed slightly to the woman and said, "We seek audience, my lady. We are willing to wait as long as is needed."

"Uther?"

He smiled at how familiar Marzena's voice was, like Zosia's but higher and lighter. He raised his head to see her approach, and he realized how right Zosia had been: her sister was a child no longer, but a beautiful woman grown.

"Lady Marzena," he said, kissing the hand that she offered him. "You are lovelier than I recall, and that is saying something."

"And you are taller than I recall," she said, teasing. "Have you brought my sister?"

Uther hesitated, then shook his head and said, "Lady Zosia is overseeing the running of Carneath and was unable to join us. I have a petition for the High Priestesses, if they will hear me."

Marzena's face went serious, and she looked at Gorlois over Uther's shoulder. Uther turned and saw that his friend was staring at the other woman, who was smiling at him pointedly. Gorlois had always had a weakness for pretty women, but Uther didn't think he'd ever seen his friend look at a woman like that before.

"Of course," Marzena said. "We will summon the nine. Vivienne, come, I'll need your help to gather everyone."

The lady named Vivienne smiled at Gorlois, whose lips twitched at the gesture, and she nodded to Uther before following Marzena and going toward the center of the island. Gorlois continued to stare as the women left, and Uther then asked his friend if he was alright.

"I have seen an angel from heaven," Gorlois whispered, "and she bothered to smile at me."

"She's a sorceress," Uther reminded, smiling. "Perhaps she bewitched you."

"I don't particularly care," Gorlois said seriously. "But Uther, be honest, she is beautiful."

"She is," Uther said.

"Then that at least is not magic," Gorlois said brightly. "The rest is irrelevant."

Uther wasn't sure he agreed with his friend, but he clapped his shoulder and they waited together in silence to be fetched to say their piece.

/-/

Vivienne stood silently as Prince Uther petitioned the Nine, laying his case. She knew she was meant to be listening so that she could give her assessment of the case, but she kept looking at the prince's companion, Gorlois, the heir of Tintagel. She had never seen him in person before, but she had seen him. She'd had an increasing number of dreams, dreams so powerful even the bracelet wouldn't stop them, and his face was in all of them. Handsome, strong, noble. She knew those things about him before she met him. And he wouldn't stop staring at her.

Vivienne had never been shy. She'd never felt the need to demure. She touched her bracelet, turning it on her wrist as Nimueh asked a question of Uther, something about the timing of his plan to retake the throne of Camelot. Edlyn's face was totally blank, Vivienne realized. She wasn't sure why, but this fact was disconcerting.

She turned the bracelet again and looked back at Gorlois, who was still watching her. He smiled again, and she couldn't help smiling back. She hoped they stayed a little while, at least until the morning, whatever the decision of the priestesses.

Fleta held up a hand while Uther was in the middle of answering a question, and Uther fell silent, although he had the look of someone galled to be stopped by someone else.

"What you ask is not simple," Fleta said, "nor is it a thing we would bestow without appropriate gestures in return. What are you prepared to offer, Prince Uther, in exchange for our aid?"

Vivienne held her breath, and she could see that Marzena, too, was anxiously waiting. She thought Marzena was inclined to help Uther because he was an old friend, whatever his request. That was not an trait expected of the Nine, whom she was on the cusp of joining, but one that Vivienne could understand. She was inclined to help them because of how drawn she felt to Uther's pretty friend, and that was an even less noble interest for one of the Nine, who were vowed to celibacy.

"I confess that there is very little I can offer that you would need or value," Uther said. "And if I am not successful, I will have no power to repay your efforts. However, at the suggestion of Lady Zosia of Andor, I believe the best offer I have for you is a seat on the council, and permanent friendship of Camelot. It may be a humble offering, but unless you have a suggestion, it is the best I have to lay before you."

Vivienne wondered whether those words tasted as bitter on his tongue as they surely had felt in his chest while he prepared them. He was clearly not a man who wanted to air his deficiencies and weaknesses in the light of day. If he must make a speech like that one everywhere he went for help, he might combust from the repeated mortal injuries to his pride.

Edlyn leaned in and whispered something in Fleta's ear. Fleta nodded, and Vivienne felt that nervous sensation in her chest again, that squirming tightness.

"We shall consider your request, Prince Uther," Fleta said. "We will give you an answer in the morning. You are our guests in the meantime. We have no beds of comfort to offer—"

"We need only a bit of ground for our bed rolls, my lady," Gorlois said. "We thank you gratefully for your hospitality."

He spoke as pretty as he looked, Vivienne, thought, unable to fight the curling of a smile at her lips. She wondered if he tasted as pretty. A dangerous thought, but a deliciously tantalizing one.

/-/

Curled up by the fire in the study, Zosia breathed in deep the smoky scent she associated with her father reading to her as a child. She'd been so furious with Uther when he left that she was pleased he was leaving for a while, but even by the end of the first day, she'd felt his absence so keenly, she almost regretted letting him leave.

She was surprised when someone sat beside her, and her surprised softened when she realized it was Lord Godwyn, his legs curled to the side as he stared at the fireplace.

"It's alright to miss him," he said softly, "even if you're upset."

She hummed, turning her attention back to the glow of the fire.

"I am not going to tell you that you are being unreasonable," he whispered, "because you have every right to feel and want the things that matter to you, whatever those are. But if you love him, Zosia, surely you want him to be happy and fulfilled as well."

"Are you suggesting I don't?"

Godwyn was smiling when she looked at him, but a sad, distant sort of smile.

"Just as Bayard would not give up his claim to the throne of Mercia for how much he wanted to marry you—and he did desperately want to marry you, my lady, whatever he said to you—it would be unfair to ask him to abandon his destiny because he loves you."

Zosia picked at a loose string in the embroidery on her gown and she said, "You're suggesting that I let Uther go, despite what either of us want, because he has some greater destiny, and how I feel doesn't matter."

"How you feel absolutely matters," Godwyn said, frowning. "The trouble is that there is no possibility where both of you will have everything you want. Either he gives up the throne to be with you and feels that loss every day, or you give up your own wishes to be with him and, forgive me, you remind him of that every day, or perhaps one or both of you gives up the other, and every day you remember that loss in order to have the lives you each want." He took Zosia's hand and pulled it gently off the loose thread. "I wish there were a way for each of you to have everything, but your desires are at odds, Zosia."

"I know," she whispered.

"Then what is your struggle?"

"It's that he doesn't seem to know," she said. "He doesn't seem to see the…the…chasm opening between us."

"He will see," Godwyn said with a weak smile. "He will. But if I know Uther at all, it might already be too late by then."

That was what Zosia was afraid of. She wished Godwyn was wrong, but he was the wisest man she'd met, apart from her father. There was no good solution, but what was the solution that would hurt them all the least?

/-/

Vivienne walked toward the lake in the morning, removing her slippers to dip her toes into the water. It was chilly, but there was a pleasant comfort to that sensation.

"My lady," the sweet voice of Gorlois said behind her. "Is the water as cold as it looks?"

"Colder, I expect," she said, smiling to herself as she turned. "I thought you might be sleeping. You and Prince Uther rode a long way."

He stared at her in silence, smiling a little, his lips twitching as he seemed to hover on the edge of saying something to her. She wanted him to say something romantic, because she felt in the energy of him that he wanted to express her beauty, but something was holding him back.

"It is my understanding," she said softly, "that knights are expected to profess the beauty and worthiness of the women they admire, or do you not admire me?"

He laughed nervously and said, "I certainly do, my lady, however I am not yet a knight."

"And I am not yet a priestess," she said, taking a few short steps toward him. "That means my vows are not in place. You're allowed to say what's on your mind."

Again, he hesitated, but he let out an audible, shaky breath. She couldn't have produced better results had she bewitched him, so much obvious ache was visible in his posture.

"You are beautiful," he whispered. "Perhaps the loveliest creature…the most graceful, the…." He laughed nervously. "I have met many beautiful women, my lady. Few with the strength and confidence, the charm you so clearly possess."

"Few," she said, smiling. "Not none?"

"I will never lie to you, my lady," he said.

She would never make such a promise, but men could be such foolish creatures. She traced a hand up his chest. She could feel him hold his breath, nervous as she leaned in and tested his lips. They were soft, warm, familiar like in the dreams she'd had. She could imagine kissing him thousands of times and never growing tired of it.

"My lady," he whispered against her lips, his voice somehow smaller than it had been before.

She kissed him again, and this time, his hand moved to her waist, holding her closer, and he kissed her back, leaning eagerly into the kiss.

Yes, she wouldn't tire of this feeling. Had the Nine never felt something like this before? Was that why it was so simple to give it up? And still, even this wasn't everything there was to enjoy, she knew.

"I know there is no place for me here," he whispered, "and I know that I'm needed elsewhere, but if it were possible for me to never leave your side—"

She punctuated his thought with another kiss. She was a bit afraid of what he was suggesting, and how quickly he had come to the same thought she had: she was tied to this man by threads stronger than herself, which was why his face was so strong in her dreams, even with the bracelet. But what did that mean?

/-/

Marcial was poking his sausages around his plate, feeling the absence of Gorlois's presence even more keenly than he had anticipated. He'd spent so long in the company of friends, to be largely on his own at Malgrave was more eerie than he recalled it as a child.

He sat up and set down his fork when the door opened, and his servant led in a winded rider who handed him a letter. Marcial opened it, smoothing it out. He would recognize Gorlois's hand anywhere, but equally did he recognize the meaning of the words scrawled on it.

It is time. Carneath.

Marcial shoved a sausage in his mouth and stood, already headed to the stables. It would be a long ride, but he planned to make it in a single night's ride. The servants would figure out everything else. It was time.

/-/

Uther stood before the High Priestesses, eagerly awaiting their verdict on his request for assistance. He had enjoyed his talk with Marzena at dinner. He had appreciated the rest somewhere safe for the night. But he did not want to go back to Carneath empty-handed. It would be a poor omen for his campaign for the first step to be a stumbling one.

He bowed his head to the woman in the center, who had introduced herself as Fleta. Fleta nodded at him.

"Your request has been considered," Fleta said. "We have decided to aid you, Prince Uther, but keep in mind that promises are easily broken, especially ones that offer a prolonged friendship. If you were ever to break this promise, you would be calling a grave danger down on Camelot, and your own line."

Uther sighed with relief.

"Thank you, my lady," he said. "I do understand that such a bargain is not to be entered lightly. We are grateful for your blessing and will return for it to be bestowed when our generals are gathered."

"We await your return," she said.

Marzena walked Uther and Gorlois back to the boat, and it struck Uther that she even moved like her sister. She held out her hand to be kissed, and Uther kissed it gratefully.

"Whatever influence you had—"

"I have none, Uther," she said with a small smile. "I am not yet installed as a High Priestess. My word is nothing."

"When will you be?" he said.

"Soon, I've been told," she said. "We have some empty seats, as you must have noticed. The Nine are not presently nine in number, but seven, and they may be six shortly. Valora's time may be quite short now."

Uther squeezed her hand gently and said, "Then I wish you all the best of luck in taking your place soon. Perhaps you will be selected as the representative in the court. I would welcome you regardless, but it would be pleasant to see your face more frequently, and not just for myself."

He was about to board the boat when Marzena suddenly grabbed his hand and said, "Uther, wait. Your fears." He turned, startled to see her looking pale. "Your fears are not unfounded, however the houses of Adaire and Pendragon will be joined, and the joining will bring prosperity to all of Albion."

A weight he hadn't realized he was carrying lifted from his shoulders. He tossed protocol to the wind and he kissed her cheek. After all, they were soon to be sisters, just as soon as he could secure his kingdom.

She didn't smile, but she squeezed his hand again, and when he sat in the boat with Gorlois, he began to hum absently to himself. Gorlois, too, looked a bit absent, but Uther didn't even want to ask. Nothing should be allowed to spoil his mood, this grand morning. He would have his help from the High Priestesses, and he would certainly marry Zosia, a joining that bode well for the future of Camelot.

Nothing, he believed, nothing could bring his happiness to a halt, and he was determined to make their journey back to Carneath as quickly as possible so that Zosia could delight in the news with him, and so that he could say whatever he needed to say to have her welcome him back into her bed.

A/N:

For those of you following along in the sixth part of this story, Camelot: Krysia & Gwaine, you may recognize that prophecy from Marzena. Stoked for the next chapter, which brings Marcial and Zosia into the same physical space for the first time.

-C