“How have you gotten yourself stuck down there?” Ygraine’s voice was light and full of laughter she was barely repressing. She was watching him with her bright eyes shimmering and even from the distance now between them he could see her mirth. He could not resent it, he did say he was happiest when she was happy, but he did wish she would not quite so enjoy his embarrassment and frustration. He glared at her with mostly feigned irritation and padded in a small circle, looking for a way out of the ditch he had slid down into.

“Find me a branch or something to hold on to, dearest,” the King called up, his tone thin and constrained by his effort not to be annoyed with her. He had to remind himself once more that he did, in fact, like it when she was happy. It was good that she was enjoying herself. At his expense. Where other lions might even see her. And him. In a hole. Being laughed at by his mate. Because he could not get himself out of the hole.

It was fine.

The King looked up to see her no longer at the rim of the ditch, and took a breath. He let out a low, grumpy growl and tried to lunge up the small slope, but gravity did not agree with his plan. The large lion could find no solid footing and was sent sliding back down the hole on his belly, until he came to rest in a patch of thorny bushes. This was damnably annoying and he knew he was going to be pulling brambles from his fur for ages. Or perhaps his servants were: that was their duty, after all. Whatever he needed them to do.

A thin branch appeared over the mouth of the ditch and a voice muffled by the other end of it came down to him.

“Grab on!”

“I do not think that is strong enough to hold me, dearest,” Uther called up impatiently, seeing the size of what he considered a spindly branch. Ygraine nearly dropped it in her surprise, though she caught it again before he protest made it drop down into the hole with him. It would be no good losing his only means of escape into the hole with him, where it would be useless to all of them.

“It is the biggest I could find!” she called, her words unclear behind the stick in her mouth.

“We are surrounded by trees,” he reminded her, though his voice was soft. “I will try it. Pull as hard as you can as soon as you feel me grab it.”

He leaped at it after a moment, bumping the stick with his nose before he could get his jaws on it. That bump confused Ygraine, who could not see the King from her position, and tugged on the stick as hard as she could. This sent both royals skidding away in opposite directions. Uther slid right back down the hole, his jaws snapping shut over nothing and the force of it making his ears ring. He remained on his stomach at the bottom for a long moment, not caring too much about the new brambles added to his ever growing collection.

Ygraine tumbled into a patch of flowers, but was no worse the wear for it. She got to her feet, leaving the stick for a moment, and hurried over to the edge of the hole to look down and see if Uther was alright. She had flowers and pedals sticking to her fur.

“Darling!” she called, with honest worry, and he looked up at her sharply with a scowl. Seeing her, the yellow and blue flowers in her fur, instantly removed his frown and he sighed, shaking his head. He was not harmed, and he got to his feet again.

“We will try it again,” he said airily, as if trying to keep himself from yelling a bit too hard, “and this time we will be sure I am attached to the stick before you pull it away.”

“I thought you… ah… yes dear,” she realized that pushing him and arguing him would just make his temper worse, and he was doing everything in his power to keep his attitude in line for her. But even he had his limits: his love for her was not all powerful, and certainly could not combat it if he was full out angry. He never let himself be cross with her, but she could only imagine what would happen to the next commoner they ran into. It would be terrible if he was still angry and they bumped into a druid. She wanted to calm him, and the first step to that was to get him out of the ditch.

No longer focused on how funny it was, she put the stick back over the edge of the hole and leaned herself as far down as she could. She could see now, from this new position, and waited for Uther to latch on to it before she began to pull. He used his arms and legs to climb up the slope again. With some straining and difficulty they managed to free the King from the ditch and they both stumbled away from it with heavy breaths and a stick between them.

Uther looked at Ygraine, who looked at him. She was covered in flowers, he in brambles. It was oddly fitting and almost poetic, but Uther had never been much for scholarly endeavors. He grunted and shook his head, huffing against the earth as he gathered his breath. She came over to him and began to help him clear the brambles from his fur. He did not protest, sighing again and letting her go about the fairly demeaning task. After all his pride had suffered that day so far, it was hardly the worst thing. He could bear it well enough.

“I will get you cleaned up,” Ygraine said sweetly, in that tone he recognized well. She was doting on him, and it always worked. He felt his anger fading, “and then we will go and find a nice place to bathe. I am sorry you fell down that hole, Uther.”

“What hole?” he asked, turning to look at her pointedly, in case she missed his goal here. She looked at him in wonder, then started to laugh.

“Oh Uther. What hole indeed. I must be thinking of something else.”

(Word Count: 1,083 in Word)