Uther dismounted and looked up at Caerleon's castle feeling an ache in his chest. He had not come to Gwynedd since he was a child, shortly after the death of his mother, for his father and Caerleon to sign a treaty.

"Uther," the king said, clapping Uther's shoulder. "Ah, and Gorlois, I see. You were always inseparable as boys as well."

"And are you well, sire?" Gorlois said, bowing to King Caerleon.

Gorlois and Caerleon had a great deal to do with each other, sharing land and sea borders with the great seas of Meredoc, and Prince Caerleon and Gorlois had sometimes played together as children.

"Better than the Pendragons," Caerleon said, gesturing for them to follow him. "I'm having a feast in your honor, Uther, but I think we'd best discuss business before then, hadn't we?"

Uther looked up the staircase to where Prince Caerleon stood, frowning at them. While the king had a reputation for being fair, even-handed, reasonable, all Uther's experience suggested that the son was the opposite, or at least not of a kind.

"Yes," Uther said. "Best not to wait."

The two princes kept eye contact until they passed each other on the stairs, and Uther had a distinct impression that whatever his father decided, the son would be inclined to refuse to help Camelot.

/-/

Uther sat with King Caerleon in his chambers, and Gorlois stood by the door, not so much as a guard but as to give them appropriate distance.

"Tell me honestly, Uther, am I your first stop in the quest for aid?" Caerleon said, pouring them each a goblet of wine. "I expected you would turn first to Mercia, or perhaps Gawant."

"Gawant came to me," Uther said, careful to be honest. "And Gorlois and I have visited the Isle of the Blessed, soliciting the help of the priestesses."

"On my doorstep, then," Caerleon said, amused. "I'll get straight to the point, Uther. I am not a young man. Seeing my generation die off one after another has reminded me of that. Depending on how good of a fight Hengist gives and how many allies you gather, this plan of yours may take months, or it may take years. My men will have to be recalled from the Western Isle, which isn't ideal, but it would be feasible and not too troublesome. But if it is a prolonged campaign, Uther, it will be finished by my son, and I will not undertake an alliance without his agreement and approval."

"And I'm guessing the prince is ill-disposed to help us," Gorlois said, crossing his arms. "Judging from his chilly greeting."

The king laughed and raised his glass to Gorlois before taking a long, deep drink, which Uther matched. Caerleon had a reputation for being a prodigious drinker, and from what Uther recalled as a child, he expected his guests to keep up with him.

"My son is a stubborn man, as you know, Gorlois, and he is of the mind that Gwynedd needs no alliances."

"Then he is as much a fool as ever," Gorlois said with a snort.

Caerleon hummed, but he didn't verbally agree or disagree.

"What is it that will earn the prince's approval?" Uther said carefully.

"While it's not the prettiest word," Caerleon said slowly, "I believe that concessions may be the best way to get him involved."

Uther felt his jaw tighten, and he hoped the king didn't notice. This was the very thing he had feared, and the firelight reflecting on the king's face didn't aid Uther in determining if this was just to appease the prince, or if denying would insult both father and son.

"Do these concessions need to be land," Gorlois said, "or would your house accept agreements in trade and movement of persons?"

Uther took a long drink of his wine, waiting to see what Caerleon did or said before making any offers.

"I think it's worth discussing," Caerleon said, refilling Uther's glass when he set it down.

Uther wasn't sure, but he felt he might have played into the old king's hand. Still, better to play into a gentle hand than lose the game altogether.

/-/

Uther toasted to the king's good health with the rest of the feasters, but he was already feeling his head go light with all the wine he'd gone through during his negotiations, and there were no guarantees that the king would be able to get his son to agree to the concessions offered. If they had to go to the table for another negotiation, Uther felt he might lose consciousness before they made it through the base pleasantries.

"One thing to be said of Gwynedd," Gorlois said, leaning in and grinning, "there are many, many pretty women."

"You say that everywhere you go," Uther said.

Gorlois laughed, winking as he took his goblet and walked to a group of women who were whispering while looking at him. Sometimes, Uther thought Gorlois might be too pretty for his own good.

Uther instead took his wine over to the brazier where one lone woman sat, watching the world. She looked older than the women Gorlois had approached, and she seemed to be avoiding company, which sounded pretty good to Uther.

"May I sit here, my lady?"

She nodded, her brown hair moving like a curtain with each little motion of her hair. Even over the brazier, he could tell that she smelled nice, like flowers and spices, and not in any combination familiar to him. Looking at her over the firelight, he wasn't sure if she was perhaps five or even ten years his senior.

"Tell me, sire," she finally said, "have you got what you came for?"

"Pardon?" he said.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps it was that he was so tired from the long day, but he found he was watching her mouth move more than he was listening to her words. He was aware that this was rude even as he caught himself doing it, but her face seemed even prettier as her lips moved.

Her hand suddenly pushed out, keeping him from leaning into the brazier. She looked a bit amused, offering a hand and saying something about getting air. He wasn't completely sure he knew what she was offering, but he took her hand and allowed her to lead him into the evening air, which was cool and crisp.

"There," she said, touching his cheek. "Your color is better. Now, have you succeeded in getting our king to come to your aid?"

"I'm not certain," he said, letting her lead him to a wall that he could rest against. Her hand was cool on his face. "Would the people support it?"

"I wouldn't know," she said, "but I would, provided it is a short campaign."

"Oh?"

"It would bring my husband home from the Western Isles," she said, smiling. "He's been gone since my youngest was born, with no guess as to when they'll return otherwise."

"How many children do you have?" Uther said, not sure what else to say. None of his friends had children, so he wasn't sure what parents liked to discuss.

"Three," she said. "A daughter, two sons."

"Two? Your husband must be proud."

"He is, although he's not met Gareth," she said. "He left not a fortnight before the birth. Our daughter cried for three days when he left."

Uther hummed, then said, "Forgive me, my lady, I don't believe I caught your name."

"Anna," she said. "At your service, sire."

/-/

Marcial hesitated as he did his exercises with his sword on the training ground and saw a horse returning barely after the son had risen. He almost raised the alarm when he saw Lady Zosia unhorse, tossing back the rich velvet cloak hood. He caught himself holding his breath, watching the gentle pink of the morning light off her hair.

"Good morning, Marcial," she said brightly.

Gods, she was beautiful.

"My lady," he said, feeling his chest expand slightly, almost aching as she approached.

"Zo," she said, holding her hand out for him to kiss.

"Zo," he repeated, and he brought her fingers to his lips.

Every part of his body felt lighter when he was around her, he'd come to learn, but when they were alone, even out in the open like this, he felt warm as well, like she was the sun touching him with gentle rays.

"Do you find my training grounds suitable?" she said.

"My…Zo?" he said, not realizing he was still holding her hand until she pulled it out of his, amused.

"Typically one trains with a partner," she said.

"I didn't wish to intrude with any of your men," he said, "and I had no desire to wake any of the others in the party."

She hummed, then looked around and said, "Well, I'm awake."

Marcial looked around, puzzled, then realized what hse was offering.

"I really don't believe that's a good idea," he said.

"I think I could hold my own," she said, taking a step back and tossing her hair over her shoulders.

"That isn't what—"

"You think I need to be a man to beat you?"

"That's not what I—"

"I'll have you know," she said in almost a purr, "that I have many methods to hold my own in a fight."

"I suppose you won't relent," he said.

She squared off, retrieving a shortsword from a nearby stand. Marcial hesitated for only a moment, but he did square off against her, knowing she wouldn't be satisfied if he went easy in any way.

He fought in the style that was familiar to him, the one that every boy other than Gorlois had teased him for, but one that the knights had encouraged. An unusual style, they had said, could be the difference between life and death in a close fight.

Zosia had excellent footwork, and she didn't seem remotely put off by his unusual style. In fact, she seemed intrigued, and she blatantly gave him an opening, which he readily exploited, thinking he had her nearly pinned, but she suddenly dashed forward and pressed her lips to his.

Marcial froze, confused and stunned and elated and horrified, and she smelled very, very good. Her lips were soft, warm, and he was torn between knowing he should back away at once and wanting to press into the kiss.

And then he felt steel at his throat, and he laughed into her mouth. He pulled away, seeing her smile as she pressed her sword to his throat.

"You do indeed have methods," he said, smiling, "although I think you don't require such methods."

"No," she said, "but not every fighter is as generous with openings, and it is crucial for a woman to take her opportunities where she finds them."

"I hope you wouldn't use such a method with Hengist," he said.

"I suppose I could," she said, setting the sword back, "but no, I can win a fight in many ways, or do you not believe me?"

"No, I—"

"Relax, Marcial," she said with a soft laugh. "I do not offend as easily as Uther. I'm teasing you."

That she certainly was, he thought bitterly. He could still feel a ghost of her lips on his mouth.

"I am breaking my fast with Godwyn in my chambers," she said, removing her gloves and giving him a smile that seemed almost…coaxing. "Would you care to join us?"

Every fiber of his being wanted to follow her anywhere, to spend every moment he could near her, but the reminder that Uther was easily offended, that she was courting someone else, that the someone else was a friend to whom he had pledged his sword…

"I think not, my lady," he said, bowing his head. She corrected him again, saying her shortened name, but this time he did not repeat it. He needed to put distance there, if only for his own sake, or he might lose his mind. "I have letters I was instructed to write by Gorlois, and I should see to them soon or I will forget everything I was told to say."

"As you wish," she said loftily, walking away.

Not remotely as he wished, but for the best.

/-/

Uther stretched at the light coming in the window, and he squinted his eyes shut tight, feeling a pounding in his head like none he'd ever experienced.

He relaxed slightly as gentle hands touched his temples, massaging them. He sighed, melting into those hands, smiling a little as the thumbs brushed at his ears teasingly. The pounding in his head was still there, but it dulled to the background, and as one of the hands traced down his face he felt mildly confused.

He wasn't in Carneath. He knew that, although he was trying to piece together where he was and why this situation felt not quite right. His head was still a bit muddled from the drink, and the fingers now tracing down his chest weren't helping the matter. He groaned as the nails caught his skin, and he felt smiling lips press to his neck, then trace up to his ear, the teeth teasing at the lobe. He groaned again, opening his eyes and startling to see Anna, the woman from the brazier the night before.

Married woman, he reminded himself. Married, three children, husband away fighting under King Caerleon, and her hand was going below his waist now.

"My lady," he said, backing away slightly. "I…we…"

"Yes?" she said, eyebrows raising as she waited for him to figure out what to say.

His memory was supplying in fits and starts the events of the night. He wasn't completely clear on how they'd ended up in his room, but he did remember inviting her in. She'd been very commanding, and even just the thought of her tone of voice was turning him on again. Or maybe it was the smile she was giving him now as she saw him recalling.

"We…" he whispered, trying to decide what to make of the memories of her on top of him, guiding him, teaching him, ordering him…

He always enjoyed his time with Zosia, but there was no denying that this woman knew what she was doing more than either he or Zosia ever had. The benefits of marriage, perhaps.

"Did you enjoy last night?" she whispered.

"Yes," he said, without thinking.

"Good," she said, and she squeezed her hand around his cock. He whimpered at the skillfully precise pressure, there and then gone. "After last night, I can't imagine anyone will be expecting you soon. I think you've got more to give, haven't you?"

"Yes," he said again, without thinking.

She directed his mouth to her breast, and he recalled her telling him that she'd been lonely while her husband had been away, and he, like a fool and said that he hoped he could give her what she craved. He had meant, in his drunken state, to suggest bringing her husband back from the Western Isle, but she'd twisted the words, and she'd smelled so good, and he was so befuddled, that it seemed like a good idea to bring her to his bed.

He was less befuddled now, but it still seemed like a good idea as she dug her nails into his nipples and thrust herself onto him in a single, violent motion.

Uther wasn't sure if it was possible to die from pleasure, but Anna kept him on a knife's edge of it, feeling both that it might be alright never to leave the bed and that if he did die here at her hand, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

/-/

Zosia swept into dinner in red and green, and she certainly noticed Marcial standing when she entered, his eyes immediately drawn to her. She had forgotten what it was like to be admired, and more, silently admired by someone restraining himself. She had a feeling that Marcial was restraining himself as much by nature as by the knowledge that she and Uther were courting. He seemed a man who would never assume anything, permission or favor or even that one kiss would suggest another at a different time. And the way he hesitated when she kissed him and been so amusing and sweet at once. She'd been tempted to coax him into a deeper kiss, half to see what it would take to break down his walls and half because she wanted to know what he kissed like.

Dangerous, she knew, and she bowed her head to the gathered knights and lords, sparing him an extra-long glance she shouldn't have before she took her seat at the head of the table. The men sat, and Marcial continued to stare at her, sitting on the edge of his chair. She lifted her goblet, sipped her wine, and the motioned to the servants to bring out the food.

The activity of the dinner took some of the edge off Marcial's stare, which she both was and wasn't grateful for, and she wasn't sure which she would rather be when she saw Godwyn watching her with that knowing look of his.

She felt her neck go warm, like it used to when her father caught her in something as a child, and she hid behind her goblet, feeling a bit sorry that she'd teased Marcial in the first place. It wasn't fair to him, it wasn't fair to Uther, and it would solve nothing. She resolved to be more mature in future, dull as it might be.

/-/

Uther didn't feel triumphant as he mounted his horse, ready to leave Gwynedd and begin the long ride to Carneath. The three nights Lady Anna had spent in bed with him could initially have been excused as loneliness and drunkenness, and while he knew it wasn't anything that resembled love, he couldn't brush off how easily he fell between her thighs each night, almost begging for her to show him more, teach him more. And she had happily obliged, probably to stave off boredom as much as anything else. He wasn't sure if he was regretting leaving her, or if he was just feeling the sting of having to recognize what he'd done.

"So," Gorlois said as they left the walls of the castle, "are you going to tell Lady Zosia, or shall I?"

"Tell her what?" Uther said. "About the concessions? I wouldn't begrudge you your gloat, Gorlois."

"No, about how you spent your nights in Gwynedd in bed with Sir Lot's wife," Gorlois said darkly.

Uther could hear his pulse in his ears as he looked at his friend, who looked just about as serious as Uther thought he'd ever seen him.

"You're always encouraging me to flirt with pretty women," Uther said stiffly.

"There's a far cry," Gorlois whispered, "between exchanging kisses with a pretty girl and repeatedly bedding another man's wife while you're courting someone else. But you know that. That's why you never even kiss the pretty girls. So she must be some woman."

Uther felt a shudder down his spine, thinking of her sitting on his face only that morning, how eagerly he'd lapped at her, knowing she wouldn't give him release until she'd had hers. He'd probably have given her the release without any in return at that point. Seeing her come undone, tasting her, those were rewards in themselves.

"She is," Uther said, "but that doesn't matter. Neither of us will tell Lady Zosia, and the whole matter will never be mentioned again."

Gorlois hesitated.

"Surely you don't want to enter into a marriage with that kind of a secret hanging over you," Gorlois said.

"There is nothing hanging over me," Uther said, wishing it didn't feel like a lie to say. "There is no reason to cause Zosia to doubt me. She is already uncomfortable with becoming a queen. All telling her would do is feed her insecurities on the matter."

Gorlois still seemed uncertain, so Uther asked him to swear to say nothing. Gorlois frowned, clearly frustrated, but he did swear, and they rode the rest of the way to Carneath without a word between them, including when they made camp at night.

A/N: Enjoying the story? Popping over from later parts to see the beginning of Uther's story? Leave a review! Let me know what you think!

Also, if you can guess the significance of Uther's liaison with Lady Anna, you've just unlocked a very big hint for future portions, one which will be more explicitly spelled out in Part 2 of 8. I wonder, has anyone guessed it?

Hope everyone's having a good new year period. Stay safe!

-C