King Uther looked like he'd aged about fifty years.

I guess finding out the brother you had killed during a duel decades ago was not only not dead, but an insanely powerful cultivator in charge of the Saxon population of the British Isles will do that to you.

To be fair, Queen Igraine didn't look much better, but I think that had more to do with her worry about her husband. Considering the generally antagonistic nature of their relationship - at least as far as I had witnessed it - it was really disconcerting to see the depth of the concern on her face when she looked at him.

"And you're sure it was Aurelius?" Uther asked me for the hundredth time.

"Your majesty, I can only tell you what Merlin said. To me, he was just this big, powerful wizard who looked spookily like you."

Although I reflected, not so much at the moment. Even coming out from under a Drynwyn special, Aurelius still had a bit more about him than the Pendragon. Uther looked awful . . . "However, the Big M had no doubt. The dude with the scary Dark Tower was Aurelius Ambrosius.”

Uther shook his head and gazed down at his hands. Which he was wringing. Like a bearded Lady Macbeth without access to some really decent Lush consumables. "To think he was alive all this time! The years that he has been lost to me.”

I exchanged a furtive glance with Bors, who had the same look of deep disconcertion on his face as I presumably did.

I was definitely missing good old kill-them-all-and-burn-their-corpses Uther. This sad sack with the worried eyes was not inspiring me with confidence that we would come out swinging at the Saxons. I decided to try some of my legendary wit and charm charm. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don't really think the issue here is him being lost to you. There's not a tearful sibling reunion coming in your near future. The guy's Dr. Doorn, mixed with the Emperor, with extra sprinklings of Sauron on top. Merlin is pretty sure he would have been able to tank the explosion we left behind, so we really do need to, you know, start suiting up before he kicks off Round Three.”

"Perhaps," the King sighed, "but we must not give up hope.”

Fuck me.

The last thing I expected from him was to deflate this badly. We had a serious issue here. Apparently, the Prince of the Britons was feeling the same concern.

Arthur, standing at the back of the chamber, cleared his throat. "Hope, father? Have you entirely taken leave of your senses? We have a Saxon warband camped on the banks of the Camel. Their Bretwalda is a cultivator of which we have no match, and our greatest fortress is no more. I think we are beyond the stage where we 'hope'. You need to call the witan, gather the kingdoms to your banner and put together a plan that puts us on the offensive."

I braced myself for another explosive chorus of 'Go fuck your wife,' but Uther merely nodded and sighed. "Perhaps you are right. I just am not sure whether this would not be too aggressive a move."

Seriously, we were in trouble here.

Arthur must have sensed the same, and he pushed off the wall to stride forward. Obviously, there were more significant problems right now, but I still couldn't help but wonder what Guinevere and Lancelot were up to at this moment. "Father, we cannot just sit here and hope the Saxons will leave us alone. You are the Pendragon. With the combined might of the kingdoms, we can put enough men in the field to push them all the way over the river and some distance back beside. But we must do it soon. I beg you to give me leave to . . .”

“Granted." Uther's voice was soft. "Prince Arthur, you have my complete confidence in this matter." And with that, he gathered up his furs and made his way, tottering much more than I remembered, from the room. Fucking hell, he'd lost a lot of weight since I’d last seen him.

Igraine looked at him, appalled, and then hurried after him, shaking her head toward her son.

That left just the two of us in the throne room. We were silent for a minute, and Arthur turned to face me, scratching his beard thoughtfully. He remained as bald as a coot. “Did that sound to you like I've just been put in charge of leading a counter-offensive?"

“Dude, that sounded like an abdication."

“None of that,” he snapped, his face suddenly grim. "I don't have the support amongst the other kingdoms. Sure, they'll stand for me leading their armies. But won't accept me as the Pendragon. Not yet. That will all change if I can throw the Saxons back onto their own territories.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Arthur was talking a good game, but I couldn't shake the image of Uther stumbling from the throne room, a broken version of the imposing figure I had met with before the wholly disastrous "Quest for Guinevere." I mean, I had gone through some spectacular shit in the last month or so - including the fact that the month had lasted centuries. And I'd spent most of that time being tortured - and of the two of us, I was the one in the better shape. It kind of looked to me that Uther might be done.

I decided Arthur needed a bit of tough love. "Look, mate, I don't want to piss on anyone's chips, but you're going to need to get those other kings on board pretty quickly with you being the way forward. Your dad looks like he is one disappointing pudding away from a full-blown breakdown. We're talking King Theoden at the start of the Two Towers here. And I'm not sure he's pulling out of his funk."

Arthur's hand clanked against my breastplate. "You will speak of my father with respect!"

"And. lest we forget, you absolutely do not put your fucking hands on me."

To his credit, he apologised immediately. Of course, that might have had something to do with Drynwyn growling softly at my side, but I'm going to choose to believe he simply remembered his manners.

Nevertheless, it was a good reminder that our relationship wasn't as stable as we might have hoped, especially given what was probably coming our way.

Arthur moved to sit on Uther's throne. I'd seen him do this countless times before - the action didn't seem to have any metaphorical importance to the Britons - but it still made me realise how close we were to Camelot becoming a thing.

And how far away we were from how it all felt in the Lore.

"Does Merlin have any words of advice?" Arthur asked.

Oh, boy, did he. Most of what the Big M seemed to want to do next involved me brewing up some sort of epic-tier poison and then dumping it in every water source in Saxon-held lands. I'd tried to explain the concepts of collateral damage, war crimes and unacceptable civilian losses, but these seemed quite alien to him. In fact, he appeared to have priced them into his great strategic plan.

Eventually, though, he did have a couple of suggestions that didn’t promote genocide.

"He says you need some big victories. It would be best if you won and were seen to win. Nothing builds on alliance faster than a big swinging cock to get behind."

"Merlin said that?"

"I extrapolated from, you know, the general gist."

There was a pause, and then, "What do you think of Lancelot?"

What did I think of him? No way was I walking into that bear trap. "What do you think of him, my lord?"

Arthur's face lit up like a child who'd been told not only was school closed for a snow day, but most of her teachers had been trapped inside and would likely freeze to death in the coming days.

My word, that was a dark simile. I really need to find a way to chill out.

"I like him. I think he'll be a massive boon for our chances of turning the tide. Did you see the man fight?"

"I imagine he is quite the swordsman. Experienced. Thorough. Probably gets the job done and more."

My dear . . . Merlin said warningly

"Yes, he is very impressive, isn't he! He's already defeated everyone in the castle. I can just about beat him with a spear or a quarterstaff, but with a sword in his hand, there is simply no one to touch him."

The sheer joy on the man's face when he said this nearly made me weep.

The eventual betrayal will not define their relationship. Arthur and Lancelot are destined to be the closest friends before that turns to dust. Even then, at the very end, there will be forgiveness.

Somehow, that didn't quite settle the issue for me. I wondered how much strife I could help avoid now if I said the right words.

And how many years of laughter and joy would you forestall, too? Life is not about the avoidance of all pain. I would have thought you, of everyone, would understand that.

Hmmm. The rare valid point. While wondering how best to demolish that line of argument, I realised Arthur had spoken again. "Sorry, my Lord. Irritating wizard buzzing in my ear."

Arthur looked both slightly put out and also somewhat cowed. "You can hear him now?"

"Mate, he never shuts up."

"Okay." I thought he wanted to say something else but stopped himself. "Have you seen much of Guinevere?"

I hadn't. Like me, she'd had to deal with the after-effects of an overdose of Elixirs of Wellness and had been confined to her rooms.

“Not much. How is she since her injury?"

"She's well, thank you. Down to you, of course. I never really had the chance to thank you for everything you've done for us."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he pressed on. "Seeing my father... like that has brought home the precarious nature of the situation. I need to grow up, don't I?"

"No arguments from me on that score, mate.”

My dear, he's trying to build bridges with you. Have a care. You don't need to burn them all down on the principal.

If Arther had noted my tone, he didn't say anything. "I've asked her if we can try to start over. To put our recent past behind us."

"You mean all the epic fuckwittery?"

Arthur winced. "Yes. Although I did not put it like that, of course. I have promised to close that chapter of my life."

I was not able to restrain myself from shrugging. "What do you want, a round of applause?"

My dear . . .

Arthur slipped from the throne to stand directly in front of me. "I would like to try to make the same offer to you. There have been . . . incidents in our history that I regret. It had seemed to me that you were a poor version of someone I had cared a great deal for. But I now recognise that it is not your fault, and I should have treated you more respectfully. Can we wipe the slate clean and start again?

He held out his hand for me to shake.

Stability.

That seemed more important right now than holding on to grudges. He'd said all the right words, and if I wanted Camelot to actually become a thing, I needed to give peace a chance.

I took his hand - but squeezed it a little harder than I needed to. "I can get on board with that, my prince. But it needs to be all of it, you understand me. No fucking around on Guinevere, and you need to lean into the whole Once and Future King thing.”

His nose screwed up at that. "You know. I fucking hate that title."

"Hey, I was voted 'Most Likely to be an Easy Lay' at secondary school. You got off easy."