20. The male touch

"Gods almighty, I'll skin her alive!"

Brutally torn out of deepest slumber, Uther darted upwards until he stood perpendicularly in his bed. His face bare of even the tiniest bit of understanding he stared at the King of Cymbria who had just burst into his room, roaring like a madman in a most violent fit of manic depression.

If the head of the Pendragon dynasty had had any idea of how he looked in that moment, his face dull, his jaw hanging, hair tousled and nightshirt crumbled, with his hand searching uselessly for a sword that wasn't there – he'd jumped out of the bed and behind the nearest folding-screen at top speed.

Not that Uther was anything but a very attractive man. He had charm, aplomb, he was witty – at least in the rare moments in which he was not mad at someone or something – and his manners were impeccable. Well, most of the time.

But Camelot had provided him with a very good Chef and as her King she had kept him busy with all kinds of state affairs while his good-for-nothing son Arthur got all the exercise and the excitement…..

In his regal adornments and on his throne, Uther still looked utterly adorable. Unfortunately both supports were unavailable right now and so…. His Majesty of Camelot looked like what he was, a human being who had been through a lot lately, whose very first youth was gone and who in too tight, too short and – as it sported a shade of apricot that could only be called aggressive - cruelly miscoloured a nightgown stood no chance of being a royal sight.

Thinking that he was expected to say something, Uther finally found it in him to stammer a few words: "What the hell….?"

Cendred looked his counterpart over and shook his head. Not for the first time his better self asked him if marrying his sister off to a man whose son was roughly of the same age as Morgyan was really such a splendid idea.

Which reminded him.

And on he yelled at an ear-crunching volume. "Your daughter-in-law! The bitch's abducted my sister!"

"I do beg your pardon?" In vain Uther's brain tried to process the idiotic image of the former handmaiden breaking from her prison single handed, subduing the fierce warrior woman, dragging her away through all the rows and ranks of Cendred's soldiers unhindered. What weapons would Guinivere have used, with one arm round Morgyan's neck and his baby grandson in the other?

Which reminded him for a change. "Agneta, is that you?" he asked little Thomas' former wet-nurse.

Only now Cendred remembered that he had the wretched Druid woman still in tow. He jerked her forward and pushed her into Uther's arms.

"I'm sorry, Sire" Marwon's wife said sadly. "I had no other choice."

With a quick move she shoved the faintly vile smelling bundle she had been holding into Uther's hands, who was about to let the detestable thing fall to the ground when an upset wailing stopped him.

Pendragon stared at the suddenly wriggling bundle of cloth and a pair of sky blue eyes, furious and a bit red from crying, stared back at him.

He knew these eyes, he knew this accusing expression and it didn't matter at all that he knew them both from another, much fairer face.

In sudden recognition, the shock of what he had been about to do twisting his heart, Uther grabbed his grandson tightly and, as if a kind of strength and reassurance radiated from the little boy, he finally found his wits back. "Cendred, what the hell is this?"

The Cymbrian King snapped his mouth shut for a split second, taken aback by the fact that he wasn't the only one with a strong and healthy voice around here. "This woman" he continued a bit more subdued, pointing at Agneta "this woman came to my guards, telling them the most outrageous story about my sister and this Guinivere coming to her village. After pushing the baby on the Druids, Morgyan, your precious servant harlot and the Druid chief I had in custody went on some wild goose chase, apparently to find your Arthur and this nitwit, young Llanfair! Who are, by the way, Alined's prisoners, together with someone called Emrys."

Obviously the Cymbrian thought that this explained it all, as he stared at Uther with triumph in his face, leaving it to the other royal to make some head or tail of this crazy narrative.

Pendragon didn't like the last sentence, that much he knew, but for the rest of it – a blank page. Helplessly he stared at Agneta.

"Forgive me, Sire" she said despairingly. "The Lady Guinivere entrusted the child to me …" the Druid swallowed hard but then she lifted her chin and her voice became stronger, defiant. "The affairs of royalty or states are no concern of the Druids. I want Mirella and her Leon to be safe, even if my husband thought the search for the Rashnijaan is much more important. Mirella is with child too and Leon is one of us now. I can't abandon them like Marwon did, I won't."

Whereas this declaration sounded sufficiently impressive, it left the two Kings where they had been before – completely in the dark.

Cautiously Uther put little Thomas on the bed before he straightened his nightshirt with a determined pull. "Agneta" he began firmly but patiently. "Let's go back to the point where my son comes into things. What is this about Alined…"

That was as far as he came, for Cendred cared much more about other issues. "I'll have this servant wretch drawn and quartered for kidnapping my sister…"

"Cendred, for the Gods' sake, your sister is where Guinivere is and they both are after Arthur so SHUT YOUR DARN MOUTH BEFORE I FORGET MYSELF!

The Cymbrian guards stuck their heads into the room, wondering if their King might be in any need of assistance. Impatiently Cendred signalled them to stay where they were. This would better be good or he would call those guards in and then he would have some answers!

"Prince Arthur went after the Rashnijaan…" Agneta tried again to explain herself.

"The Rutchni what?" But while Uther spoke a memory came to him, took form and suddenly his throat constricted. His mind raced back to the day more than a year ago when Merlin had tried to contact his Prince telepathically, only to collapse, screaming with pain. Arenboarth's awkward question. "Uther, what do you remember of a ritual I once talked to you about, a ritual called the Di'inshara?"

"The Book of Demons" he said breathlessly. "Arthur went to recover the Book of Demons? My son? And Arenboarth allowed this madness?"

"I don't know if he allowed it or if he died before he could prevent it." Actually Agneta did know parts of it, for Gaius had not kept the secret behind his earlier relapse to himself, but what good would this information do right now?

At long last, with many interruptions, questions, repetitions and explanations Agneta could finish her tale and both Kings had the impression that they knew what this was about.

Thankfully Cendred turned his wrath away from Guinivere and to the Count of Llanfair. "I cut him to pieces" he shouted. "Before he has my sister, I'll have his hide!"

"Seems to me that your sister is going to have him, not the other way round" Uther said, his mind elsewhere already. "Listen Cendred, this is serious. Arenboarth…."

"Who's that?" Cendred asked snappily.

"He was the leader of the Druid tribe you attacked in order to get me. He also was the Lord Druid of the Blessed Isle once and he told me a few things about this Book of Demons. No details, only that the thing holds incredible magic power, but at a devastating price. The Rashnijaan made Anwar both mad and powerful. Powerful enough for even you to fear him like hell … don't pout; we both know it's true."

Cendred shrugged angrily. Yes, it was true but that didn't mean he liked to be reminded of it.

Uther ignored the stubborn frown in his counterpart's face. "If Alined is trying to fill old Llanfair's boots….. Cendred, in your own best interest, we must join forces and find your sister and my son before it is too late!"

The Cymbrian pondered that for a moment. His eyes narrowed to slits as he scrutinized Uther carefully. "You're a sly old dog Uther Pendragon, but this won't wash" he finally rumbled good-naturedly. "I'll send my men after my sister and if they've to drag her back by her hair, I wouldn't mind. They'll also recover your misbegotten offspring and his bed-mate and we can finally attend to the family business that is really the issue here, in case you've forgotten."

"That is not the issue at hand…"

"It is to me. And you're my guest of honour, remember? Not vice versa."

"Cendred, listen to me…."

"I've more important things to fill my time than listening to some creepy dark fairy tales, Uther. And so have you." Cendred grinned and pointed at young Thomas Pendragon who had freed his legs from the sheets and pedalled happily in the air. "There's a little one without his parents. And as long as this valuable little jewel is lodging with me, you better curb your temper, Pendragon!"

Uther bit his lip. This was enough to drive anyone mad but there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do.

Damn the feeling that holding this baby gave him. Damn the vulnerability this feeling caused.

Pendragon forgot about the early days after Igraine had died, forgot about the doubts he'd had, how often he'd asked himself whether the tiny boy in the cradle had really been worth his mother's life.

He only remembered the consolation holding this tiny boy had finally given him, twenty four years ago. In all these years, in spite of all that had gone awry between him and his son, nothing had changed.

King Uther's one weakness. Name it Arthur or Thomas, it didn't matter.

Cendred saw it, grinned, turned and shoved Agneta towards the door. "Come on, young Lady. Bringing the child to me was a splendid idea. It deserves a reward. Time to take your bloody in-laws out of my sight."

With a will Uther suppressed the sudden urge to wrench the Druid woman's neck, slowly and painfully. "Agneta, please, would you tell Leon I want him to go back to Camelot, to tell my people that Arthur and I are involved in secret negotiations with King Cendred. Under no circumstances we are to be disturbed!"

"What's that" Cendred interrupted suspiciously. "Some secret code to tell your men that you're in danger or what?"

"On the contrary. The last thing we both need is a third party messing around with the situation; it's twisted enough as it is."

The Cymbrian King hesitated. "What do you want now, Uther, eh? What's going on in that shrewd head of yours, I wonder."

Pendragon returned the distrustful stare evenly. "My son and his family must come out of this unharmed. My priorities have never changed. Have yours, now that your sister refuses to be your marionette?"

Cendred blushed; actually his whole head reddened. He searched for a fitting repartee but found none. "Your knight'll get the message; let's hope he's not too dumb to understand it" he finally pressed out.

"I thank you, Cendred!" Uther added a polite little bow of the head to his friendly words and had the pleasure of having the last word. The King of Cymbria could have dealt with another tantrum, an attack or another round of verbal abuse, but not with politeness and gratitude.

A polite Uther was definitely too much for him; Uther being polite when he had every reason to be murderous was enough to rob the other royal of his sleep, and, as a result, Cendred and Agneta made a hasty escape.

Feeling strangely hilarious and triumphant, Uther turned round, the planned bragging words already on his lips when he suddenly noticed that this was his grandchild, not his son.

At the tender age of a few weeks, little Thomas would hardly appreciate some lengthy deliberations on negotiating tactics. Especially not while the smell told a desperate tale of how very much his diapers had perished some time along the way.

For a very long moment the still aggravated sky blue eyes met the pair of steel-grey ones. "This is your fault" was the sky blue message. "If you hadn't aggravated my father as you did, he'd never left Camelot, and if we were there, my mother wouldn't have left, and Merlin wouldn't have left, and we wouldn't be in that awful situation, and I would be fed regularly, and I would be pampered as I should be, for, you know, I'm supposed to be a Prince?"

"You're right, lad" Uther murmured. "I'm sorry. I know, sometimes I'm an idiot. It comes with the job I reckon. As a King you must be right, always, especially if you're wrong. But I know that's no excuse. So please, I beg you, would you forgive me?"

The little boy's face was still stern and punitive. "Why didn't you say that to my father when he needed to hear it? Nothing of this would've happened!"

"I don't know. I've made so many mistakes and he knows them all. I feared if I ever yielded I could never stop."

"You're a lousy father, you know that?"

"Yes. I know. But he was just like you once and somehow I thought he'd always be like that. When he became a man, I started to feel old and superfluous and I couldn't stand it. He chose his own friends and his own believes and I felt left out."

"Nothing of this was his fault. Or mine. Shouldn't you've taken care of us instead of throwing us from one peril into another?"

"I thought I did the right thing."

"No you didn't. You knew sending my father to Llanfair and Blackrock was wrong. But you wanted to bring you foot down! There's a difference between being right and being cantankerous, you know."

Uther started a bit. How the hell could little Thomas suddenly sound so very much like a certain insolent young warlock?

"He was the one who was right all the time" Thomas continued his silent accusatorial speech. "You should've listened to Merlin more often."

"What can I do to make amends, little one, eh? Tell me." Furtively Uther tickled the baby's chin. If he remembered correctly, Arthur had loved being tickled at that age. Not that his father had ever dared doing it. Someone might have seen His Majesty behaving like an ordinary father and where would've his authority gone if he'd ever allowed himself to be ordinary?

But Gaius had tickled and fondled the little Arthur, and the nurses had, actually everybody had; at least until the King had put a stop to this ridiculous behaviour that would only make the future Crown Prince weak and emotionally dependant.

Thomas wasn't so easily bribed. He frowned and it made his little face even more forbidding. "You could change my diapers, for a start. I stink!"

Some 40 minutes later the child was clean, in fresh – apricot coloured! - diapers and Uther was finally dressed in his own clothes.

Pendragon was disgustingly pleased with himself, as he had achieved this all by himself and at low costs. Just a torn nightshirt (thank heaven for that), a broken washbowl and water jug together with a thoroughly soaked King. The latter didn't matter much, though. At the first opportunity young Thomas belched violently and the surplus milk he had had inside him came back up to adorn Pendragon's attire.

Another fifteen minutes later, grandfather and grandson sat on the bed, cleaned up again, and looked contentedly at the horrific mess they had created on the bedroom floor. Someone would come and clean it up eventually. If you're a Pendragon, someone always does.

Therefore Uther had all the leisure in the world to resume his mostly silent exchange with his grandson. "What kind of a grandpa am I, what say you?"

"Not quite as complete a failure as you are as a father" the eloquent eyes told him.

"Thank you ever so much!"

"Would you please stop talking? I need to sleep!"

"But it's still broad daylight! We could go on talking."

"No. Sleep first." Thomas' eyes were already closing; he yawned just once and Uther thought he did it just because he knew how very cute that looked.

"You're right, you need to rest. You were a great sparring partner. A true Pendragon."

Thomas wriggled faintly and visibly began to doze off. "You know" were the last words Uther's weird introspection read from the little boy's face "If my father doesn't come back, I'll be the last of the Pendragons."

Cautiously, as if the baby were an immensely precious piece of fragile glass, Uther laid him down.

Thomas was right, he thought.

All Uther could still fervently hope for was a second chance, a chance to finally tell his son what he had just told his grandchild.

Like hell he'd ever care again about what people might think!

He was the King of Camelot, the man who had once taken a Kingdom with his sword and recklessness alone; he could conquer everything, defeat anyone; he could do whatever he wanted – except one thing.

Not even Uther Pendragon could start anew a life that had been lived.

Cendred or no, Morgyan or any other woman - Igraine had been his wife and Arthur was his son.

And there was an end to it.

How very much it was like this son he'd raised to go after a thing like the Book of Demons on his own, without telling anyone.

Brave.

Valiant.

Selfless.

In other words, plain barmy!

"There's no other word for it" Uther thought. "My son's a prat! Merlin y'hear me? You always were right and I should have listened to you more often but nothing of this will save your backside if you come back without him!"

Not that the warlock ever would. He'd come back with his Prince in tow (or rather, letting himself being dragged along by Arthur for appearances' sake) or he'd not come back at all.

What brought Gaius back to mind and the fact that Uther hadn't heard from him.

If the old healer was dead – it didn't bear contemplating. If he was alive and the boys didn't come back – the Court Physician and his King still might become two old, useless scarecrows for ever mourning what could've but had not been.

Better not think about it.

And one day a certain King of Camelot would be hard put to explain to his grandson why he was an orphan.

Better not think about that either.

Gods almighty, let them come back. And while you're at it, there's still a little boy who hasn't been consulted before he was born a Pendragon and who's in dire need to have his mother back, too.

I know I'm a preposterous idiot, a pompous asshole, a constant sinner, undeserving of your mercy but whatever I've done in my lifetime, I still deserve to die before my child.