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Gaius knows this isn't going to end happily.

It's nothing more than a vague feeling somewhere behind his heart as he watches his young king with the girl. She keeps her head high, looks Uther straight in the eye and tells him truths, even if they are hard to take, when even his advisors are scared to tell him. Especially when his advisors are scared to tell him.

Gaius is young, but he's older than Uther and already knows what a threat a king who is quick to anger is. He already knows it's risky to deny something from Uther, something he truly believes belongs to him. And Igraine... isn't his. Never can be. This clumsy courtship can't ever conclude satisfactorily. But Gaius is also old enough to know about desire.

"My lord... She is engaged already," Gaius tells Uther, but it doesn't change anything.

"To some border lord, yes," Uther says and Gaius can hear the dismissal in his voice. This, he fears, is his king's worst flaw. This lord is a faceless, faraway stranger and Igraine's hair is golden in the sunlight.

In the end, it hardly matters. It's like his king is charmed, his fortune always good. Or maybe it's just the good sorceress Nimueh at his side.

Igraine's husband falls in a border skirmish, just weeks after their marriage.

"You can't marry a widow," Gaius tells Uther, but it doesn't change anything.

Uther takes what he sees has been rightfully his all along. But he takes his time, surprises Gaius with his patience. And slowly Igraine changes from the pale, mourning creature haunting the castle hallways into the woman who can silence the king with one arch of her eyebrows. With her, the court also changes. And Gaius thinks that maybe, maybe this is the golden age of Camelot after all. Uther's court, his love, his family and his world shine a light that is hard to turn away from. They glitter like sunlight on the surface of a lake.

Gaius doesn't know when it changes so that Igraine comes to him for advice. But she takes on sitting in his chambers, even helping him in his tasks, both magical and mundane, utterly unconcerned of how it might look to other people. Like a little girl, maybe. Or a confident queen. Or both.

"I love him, I really do," Igraine tells him. "But he can be such a clotpole sometimes."

"A clotpole, milady?" Gaius arches an eyebrow, not completely able to hide his amusement behind disapproval.

"A clotpole," Igraine grins. Not like a confident queen or a little girl; more like a naughty boy. Then she grows serious again. "This situation is difficult for him. He needs an heir." She pauses, looks up at Gaius. "And I want a child."

Gaius hums his wordless reply.

Igraine looks so ordinary there, sitting on the wooden bench, her fingers stained with berry juice.

Gaius works his magic alone, away from the sphere of the golden light around his king, his queen and their sorceress. His magic doesn't dazzle, but it's steady, at least. But still, when he's away from that light, or when Igraine sits in his rooms, silent, the sunlight from the small windows warm on her face, Gaius feels the same old weight behind his heart.

The thing about charmed lives is that when the magic fades, the weight hits them heavier. The sorrow feels bigger and it can swallow whole kingdoms.

In the end, they were all fools.

In the end, Igraine was never Uther's.

But the king was hers forever.