Disclaimer: For random yet relatively essential prattle about whether I own these characters or not, see previous chapters.

Gah. I wish time slowed down in December, rather than sped up! Would make writing and all that jazz so much easier to fit in… I've had Christmas, my Birthday, and New Year to cope with! But I'm gonna finish this piece. I'm not letting it beat me that easily! =L

Chapter Three:

Blessed.

Uther looks around. Surveying his surroundings for a second time in the past three minutes, he notices things that he has not even registered before. The small covering of frost decorating the trees that encircle him glints in the brilliant midday sunlight, beaming back brightly into his line of vision. He shades his eyes, although the sharp sensation never vanishes. He is alone, in the silence. The ground around him is sheltered from the sun by the heavy tree canopy, although the king seems to have the light focussed upon him.

He turns slowly from the in-depth study of the forest that surrounds him, almost in awe of the location he has just discovered within his own kingdom, to stand with his back to the trees. Uther's eyes scan the surface of the cold, dark lake with a distinct scrutiny, looking straight down, into its murky depths. The water of the silent lagoon is dense, and entirely lifeless – Or so it seems. The man shudders involuntarily as his thoughts drift to what might lurk beneath his feet… But he dismisses his unease as nothing more than an insignificant trouble that he shall not pay any heed to, returning to the more conscious matters at hand.

Uther forces his eyes upwards, to the surface of the lake, eventually picking out the far-off silhouette of grey stone that casts its dominating shadow over the water, directly ahead of the king. He has to get there. That is where salvation chances upon the wanderer. Although there is more to this place than meets the eye, and the eye takes in merely the smallest details. The antiquity of the place is only outward, as the real power is decidedly concealed. The very ground that the stones stand upon seems to be crumbling away as it stands, although the vestiges of the building remain, unyielding to the elements.

He blinks rapidly, his vision blurring from prolonged exposure to the wind, which seems to be striking directly at him. A short sigh crosses his lips, and many thoughts cross his mind.

This is where his trek comes to a dramatic halt, he thinks, glancing towards the rotting wooden pier, jutting into the water at an angle from the shore. There seems no form of transport across the black lake whatsoever. Nothing to assist the king in the quest that he knows he must complete, or the entirety of Camelot - Everything that he has known in the past twenty years - Will be brought crashing down around his hunched and burdened shoulders.

The king searches, scanning the horizon, everywhere from the very end of the jetty, protruding into the freezing water beyond, to the base of the grey stone ruins, on the brink of his sightline. Nothing.

Uther turns, presently devoid of all point and purpose, and attempting to block the thought that he cannot prevent the inevitable from occurring. He sighs, and there is a distinctly clear sense of a heartfelt disappointment in the single, elongated breath. Suddenly, a small, light sound drags him back to harsh reality.

Facing the forest, he hears it again. A slow and inquisitive half turn is all that is needed to restore the original momentous loyalty and parental vigour to Uther's broken spirit.

There it is. A small vessel, nothing more than a few partially worn planks fastened together, although it is hope, for the broken king. Small ripples of dark water break against the bow of the boat, as it ceases movement, landing at the edge of the jetty, seemingly waiting for him.

Uther boards with cautious step. He reasons that the boat is nothing more than a mirage, and is prepared for this, although his belief is astoundingly rooted when his booted feet meet wooden planks, not cold water. He staggers slightly, finding his footing – Although the years have been kind to the king, he is no longer the young man he once was – Before he lowers himself to the wooden bench crossing the boat.

Uther glances around, scanning the vessel for oars. And there are none. The boat is there for no reason other than to taunt him.

He pauses; sighs. Then the catalyst behind Uther's current situation suddenly dawns upon the man himself.

Magic.

When his voice rings through the surroundings, echoing, he sounds hesitant. One of the few times in his reign.

"The-- The Isle of the Blessed."

As though answering a command – Uther's vain attempt – The ripples become more insistent, and the man grips the wooden sides in astonishment, as the vessel begins to move, with no manual propulsion.

Pale shapes in the dark water flash below, as the small rowing boat proceeds heedlessly across the lake. But Uther does not focus his dark, determined gaze upon anything but the grey and dilapidated structure that his journey will take him to.

It has been twenty years since he has last set the stone temple in his sights, and the king had vowed never to approach the island again, although circumstances have changed. However, harsh thoughts continually strike him, their sneering voice echoing through Uther's mind with no remorse, of his last request of an 'act of kindness'…

You killed her, Uther Pendragon. You brought about her death, with or without a 'reason'…

"No, it wasn't like that-!"

Continue your protests for as long as you please, although you know that no one will ever forgive you.

"No one else knew! They thought it was a miracle-"

And just what would your beloved son say, if he knew who had killed his mother?

"Please, it was never my fault… It was her; it was the sorceress! She killed my wife…"

So sweet… Pleading like a child. You seem to have managed to convince yourself, My Lord, but the truth will always be out there…

"If it was the only way that we would ever be able to have a child, then I had to do it! I had to do something for her… She-- She was so heartbroken when Gaius told her. We had always dreamed of a family… I never wanted her to die! She was my love, my life, my everything… And now Arthur is all I have…"

Although Uther's mental protests fall on deaf ears, so to speak. For even his own contemptuous inner thoughts have deserted him, rewarding the king with a mere moment of dead silence, before his vessel slowly draws to a dead halt, much like the rest of his mind. Looking up, a crumbling stone archway becomes the entrance to the centre of the ruins, towering over him.

With unsteady step, Uther once again places both feet upon terra firma, although, the second he has done so, he longs to return to the water. A sense of fear and hatred surrounds him, entirely engulfing him in its presence… And almost succeeds in turning him from his vital destination. The only thing dragging him back from returning to his steed, on the opposite side of the wide lake, is the thought of his son.

Uther forces his eyes upwards from their fixed position, staring at his leather boots, to glance around the courtyard.

The surface of the ground is unkempt with grass, a moss of the same sea green emerging from between the aged stones of the surrounding walls. A gull flies overhead, its mournful cry a symbol of Uther's present situation, although the king pays no heed to its summons.

A granite table, surrounded by standing stones, takes pride of place in the centre of the court, and is now the focus of the king's attention. He takes a step forwards, from the arch, towards the midpoint. Nothing happens. A short sigh of faint relief stutters from Uther's split lips, realising that there is no one else in the man-made clearing. Another step, and another, is all that is needed to cover the distance.

He stands before the alter, as he now knows it is, his concentration drawn to the carvings in the lower stone. Uther can only just see these, below the overhanging lip of the table, that juts out, around his waist height, although this gives another reason for curiosity.

There is no image inscribed into the hard rock, merely a sequence of symbols, seemingly entirely disjointed. He scans over them, only vaguely interested… And stops, stone still, as he recognises a three-line character, the grooves filled with blood-red ink. The mark of Nimueh.

Images flick back through his suddenly wary mind. A young man, fair haired, and bright blue eyed… The picture warps, distorting his hair, lengthening and darkening it. The features become softer, feminine, and the ripple of his crested scarlet cloak through the air is now the torn crimson dress of a young, darker woman. Although the eyes remain identical…

"Uther Pendragon."

He whirls around, his sword, encased in its scabbard, striking his left leg as he does so. There she stands, right before him in the once-deserted surrounding, her azure eyes blazing with loathing. An un-aging sorceress, she looks no different than she did that one fateful night, when the king believed that he had lost everything.

As though waking from a nightmare, Uther blinks, although the figure does not vanish, as he had hoped. Instead, heightening the terrible reality of the situation and accepting her presence, he speaks, a single, faltering word. A reply.

"Nimueh…"

"Yes, Uther. No other. Twenty years, I have waited. Twenty years, to see you fall…"