Chapter Text
The last dragon lord was a thin man with long dark hair and mirthful eyes. He cracked sarcastic jokes, made rabbit snares with nimble fingers, and ate with his hands.
He reminded Arthur, intensely, of Merlin. In the half day they’d all spent traveling together, Arthur had started a short list of similarities between the two. The sun and the fire at night had begun to torment him as it flickered like the breath of a dragon. Like the light Arthur imagined behind Balinor’s and Merlin’s eyes.
When dusk inevitably came, he ignored Merlin’s concerned glances. Rather than stew in the anxious turn of his stomach, he set on flaying and cooking the rabbit that Balinor’s snare had caught in the hour or two they had waited. He found a flutter of relief when the sight of blood and fur made Merlin turn away and return to the horses.
Balinor sat opposite of him, placing the small cooking pot over the fire to heat. He gave a small grin to Arthur before settling in on opening small pods which he’d had in his pocket and extracting their seeds with his fingernails. The small snaps gave him something to focus on other than the fact that Balinor and Merlin had the same long nose.
“What are you doing?” he eventually asked. He attempted to sound curious, rather than distrusting and offensive. But Balinor simply smiled a little more. Crooked, just as Merlin’s again, like when Arthur asked a rather plain question.
The twinkling eyes of the man returned to his work as he opened his mouth, “It is cold. I thought some spice might help warm us up.” As if to prove his point, a strong wind blew through the clearing they had camped in, making all three of them look up at the swaying branches above their heads. He startled when Balinor let the seeds fall from his palm into the water. He spun the rabbit and kept his words in his chest.
Merlin whistled as he adjusted the saddles on the horses, moving on muscle memory and petting them like they were fragile puppies and not soldiers in their own rights. Balinor chuckled, and Arthur started once more after finding that it was directed towards him.
He frowned, “What is it?”
“You stare much more than any king I’ve ever known.” The man’s mustache wriggled as he schooled his face back to neutrality.
Arthur felt his eyelids narrow even as he felt begrudgingly flattered, “I’m not the king.”
One of Balinor’s bushy eyebrows lifted, “Really?” It was spoken more closely to a statement than a question, but he nodded in kind anyway. Balinor hummed, “I just assumed. As much as Merlin teases you, he treats you with more honor than I’ve seen most militaries bestow their leadership.”
If Arthur were a weaker man, he would have preened. Rather than make a fool of himself further, he stoked the fire under the simmering pot.
“Merlin is a very loyal person, I am only so fortunate to have someone as trusting as him by my side.” He kept his trained eye on the swaying blades of grass by his boot, useless as a much wiser pair took in his anxious state. He mourned for the sleep that would have helped prepare him for this.
“Not many leaders, kings or not,” he added, “Would admit something so humble.” He couldn’t help but laugh, loud enough to cause Merlin to look over bewildered.
“Most of my comrades would disagree with you associating me and that word.”
Balinor chuckled, the sound comforting and delightful, “Do not confuse confidence with ego,” he warned lightheartedly.
Merlin’s feet broke apart dry leaves as he joined them in the middle of the four rocks around the fire, sitting on Arthur’s right. He regarded them with quizzical brows. Arthur wondered if they realized how alike they were. Like father and….
“Don’t flatter him so much, his head will sooner reach the stars than he’d admit he’s wrong.”
Balinor laughed once more, and Arthur felt a desire to point and yell when Merlin joined him and sounded the exact same. Their teeth showed, their head tilted forward just slightly, and their eyes nearly closed as they spared no expense of breath on behalf of Arthur’s pride.
The water began to boil, and they each had a steaming cup in their hands the next moment. Balinor sipped his greedily, urging them to do the same as the heat didn’t grow any warmer with the setting sun. Merlin didn’t seem to think anything of it, and Arthur had half a mind to ask him if he’d recognized the spice Balinor had foraged. Then, thought it silly to question either man’s expertise in something he knew nothing about. Nothing past the leaves that made him unbelievably itchy and produce an awful rash.
The first sip made him shiver and cough, the spice burning the back of his throat. Balinor chuckled, rising and making his way to the old stallion huffing by Merlin and Arthur’s mares. He rubbed the horse’s snout, whispering to him in delicate whispers that not even the wind could carry over to Arthur’s trained ears.
Merlin’s worried stare found him again.
“I’m fine, Merlin,” he took another sip, handling the shock of the slightly sweet spice better a second time. He quite enjoyed it, the way the warmth it produced traveled through his face and throat. “I do think he’s onto us.”
Merlin took another sip of his own, slightly less bothered by Arthur’s behavior, “He isn’t how I had assumed he’d be. He’s personable. Humorous.” Arthur turned the rabbit once more, poking it to check its doneness. “I don’t think he’d abandon us if we told him who you are.”
Arthur nodded along slowly. He couldn’t help but agree, their companion hadn’t said or done anything to make them uneasy. He had greeted them distrustfully when they had coincidentally stumbled into the man’s cave, but he had followed them towards Camelot either way. He helped them with supper, he made snares without having to hear a request, and he made warm beverages to prepare them for a cold night.
“Should we tell him?” He rested his hands on his knees as Merlin took the rabbit off of the fire to rest it on his own seat. He shrugged as he worked to remove the stick that had held it above the flames.
“If he does already know you are, then he may be waiting for you or I to approve his assumptions. If that is true, then he may be using the opportunity as a test of trust. Which could backfire on us if we don’t tell him.” Arthur bit at his thumb nail, staring at Merlin’s carefully relaxed expression. “Or he was only speaking freely, and telling him will leave us with no hope and a dragon to deal with by ourselves.”
“That was very helpful, Merlin,” he said sarcastically, and deflated.
Merlin looked up, a ghost of a smirk in his lips as he tilted his head, “I suppose you’re just fortunate enough to have me.”
Arthur blamed the burning of his ears on the drink in his hand.
*
The rain kept them behind schedule. Merlin was so soaked by the time they stopped again, a little after midday, that Arthur feared it had reached his bones and he’d catch a fever.
They found the driest spot they could under a small cliff in a mountain, squeezing together by a fire beside the only tent they could fit. Merlin shivered uncontrollably, even with Arthur’s dirty red cape wrapped twice around his body. Balinor had made more of the boiled spice water, but that too proved barely effective.
“Go into bed, Merls,” he poked the bundle of fabric that had begun to lean towards the jumping flames. Merlin jumped slightly, a head of dark spikes of hair poking out. He squinted at Arthur like a small dog just waking up from a nap. He then yawned before he could say anything foolish enough to make Arthur lose his endearment towards him. “Bed,” he stood and pulled the man towards the tents flaps. “Go on.”
He heaved a sigh at the telltale thump of a body hitting the ground. And just hoped it was from the blankets and not the cold grass.
Balinor eyed him similarly to the way he had the day before. Amusement and wonder behind his dark eyes.
“I am not usually much of a romantic,” he began. Arthur felt a heavy sense of dread. “But, you two remind me of my wife and I. When we had first met.” The dread was quickly replaced with aghast shock.
“You have a wife?” he asked, failing to mask his surprise with exhaustion pulling at the back of his mind. Balinor nodded, a melancholy sadness pulling each feature of his face downwards.
“I have not seen her in over twenty years,” he confessed to the fire. Like the light meant something significant. “I left her and my child behind after it became too dangerous for us to be together.” Arthur scowled, face immediately slackening when Balinor nodded like he agreed full heartedly. “I know.” He nodded, breathing shallow in the same way one did before breaking out into tears. “I wish I could say I regretted it,” he began to shake his head, “But, I know they’d be dead if I hadn’t done what I did.”
“How are you so sure?” Arthur tracked the way a worker popped out of the ground to go towards the wet ground a few feet away. “What happened?” Balinor didn’t answer right away. Arthur felt eyes on the side of his head.
“My wife didn’t deserve to choose between a few months as a family until death caught up to us, or a lifetime apart.” He picked up a stick that had come from Merlin’s collected supply of firewood. “I wanted them to live. They didn’t deserve to be imprisoned in a world that involved staying invisible and unknown.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to leave without a word like that,” Arthur confessed. He hadn’t meant to sound condescending, but he couldn’t tell either way just by Balinor’s steady nod of understanding.
“My wife was strong. She was resilient and beautiful. I had no doubts in her capabilities to keep herself and our son safe.” He told everything to Arthur with strong certainty, but it was clear that his heart had never mended from the agony of such a decision.
“And the child?” Arthur asked, dread long since returned tenfold.
“A son,” Balinor smiled, pride leaking through in his wistful tone. “I’ve never met him, I’m not even sure what she had named him.” Arthur kept his eyes far away from the tent, but he could not dare himself to look up in the case that Balinor was already looking back.
“Was there nowhere for you to go? You couldn’t have moved?” he asked. He felt ridiculous saying the words. Pathetic in a guilty way as he watched resilient amusement cross Balinor’s pale face.
“I’m afraid most of world has turned their backs on those of us with magic.” He paused, but continued upon catching the interest Arthur expressed. “I am surprised that you and Merlin have trusted me thus far. Many, especially from Camelot, would have shackled my wrists and dragged me along by foot.”
Arthur stumbled over his words, making embarrassing noises of weightless offense.
“That would be cruel!” he shook his head, “I am not heartless.” A long silence drew out as Balinor looked away, knowingly humming. And Arthur knew that the downcast look wasn’t really directed at him, but the guilt ate at him in store like moths in a locked wardrobe. He glanced up, his own hair falling in his eyes as he caught Balinor admiring the sky. “I am the prince,” he confessed.
“I know,” Balinor smirked just slightly, not looking back down. Arthur was grateful for the lack of attention, taking a moment to heave a quiet sigh of relief. “Who is Merlin to you?” He did look Arthur in the eye at that. “I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. Some moments he’s almost like a servant, and the next you two are bantering like old friends. And the next you are sending him to bed like you can’t stand to watch him even mildly unwell.”
Arthur rolled his eyes, “I sincerely question what you think mildly means. He’s going to get sick!”
Balinor’s eyes twinkled again, “And that bothers you incredibly.” Then, he added something that should have shut Arthur up for the rest of the evening. “As if you were lovers.”
Arthur squinted, “Merlin is a man. An idiot one, but still a man.” He knew his face was bright pink, and he knew the light from the fire only made it look worse than it was. Balinor did not laugh at him.
The man merely shrugged, “Love can be as beautiful as it can be punishing. It cares very little about who the other person is.”
Arthur knew he was thinking of his wife. A mother, a lonely wife, and an impenetrable woman alone in a village he may never see again. The one person he’d ever loved, and yet it did not matter. Not while the threat of death still stood just behind him. It made Arthur feel ill.
“You won’t tell him, will you?” he asked. Desperate in a quiet way he wouldn’t usually submit to. But Balinor regarded him with kindness and respect, bowing his head.
“You can keep your secrets, but remember that Merlin keeps his own.” He took their empty bowls and stood to walk towards the rain. He held his hands out to rinse the dishes clean. “Wouldn’t it be something? If you shared a feeling without recognizing it in one another?”
Arthur swallowed down the lump in his throat, “It’s out of the question.” Balinor lifted a hand in surrender, giving the impression of sympathy. Arthur scratched his thumbnail along the wooden bowl’s rim. “What sort of magic did you do?”
“Pardon?” Balinor lifted a brow.
“I mean, it mustn’t have been obvious that you were a dragon lord,” he replied. He knew for a fact that Merlin would have thrown a wet sock or something at him for asking such things. But, the need to know was much greater than Merlin’s intelligence on the matter. “What did you do to become a criminal?” Balinor frowned, and Arthur wished he would have thought longer before dismissing Merlin’s warnings in his head. But, his companion answered either way.
“I was proud of my family,” he looked away from Arthur, “It just happened to be a magical one.” He looked into the fire, and Arthur began to wonder if the man found the flames comforting. “We were well known for being able to make dragons leave without a fight. Well regarded even. But, after your mother dies, things began to change.” He reached out and hovered a hand over the heat, “I was damned either way, but I wasn’t ready to die.”
Arthur’s head swam in guilty sorrow for ghosts he’d never know. He watched in defeated silence as Balinor acted as normal, gathering the objects littered around them like he hadn’t destroyed the cracked pedestal that Uther Pendragon had carved into Arthur’s mind his whole life.
The bowls returned to the saddle bag on Merlin’s horse. The mare nudged Balinor’s shoulder in a tired greeting, huffing graciously when he rubbed along her neck. It made Arthur gawk, eyes bulging out of his head in disbelief.
“She hates strangers,” he commented when the man gave him a curious look.
“Oh,” he waved Arthur’s surprise away. “We’ve been traveling together for some times, perhaps she has just grown accustomed to my presence.”
Arthur shook his head, “She doesn’t even like me, and I’m the one who gave her to Merlin.”
Balinor grinned, “She loves him very much, no?”
Arthur couldn’t help but to laugh at the understatement, “She only loves Merlin. She likes her fellow horse significantly less compared to how much she loves Merlin.” Balinor hummed, as if he thought Arthur’s factual tone funny.
He was struck again by how she leaned into Balinor’s touch. How Balinor’s fingers scratched and played with her ears just like Merlin would. When the horse had calmed back to sleep, he slipped away and settled against the earth of the terrain with his cloak wrapped snugly around himself.
“It’s healthy to let people know you love them.”
*
Morning brought Arthur’s worst fear. Fever.
Merlin shivered, sniffled, and coughed as he rode between Arthur and Balinor. Arthur relented to the order due to the fact that he didn’t trust Balinor enough to lead, but held enough faith that he wouldn’t try to escape them with their backs turned. Plus, he seemed almost as concerned about Merlin’s state as Arthur was.
“Perhaps we should take a break, Arthur!” The man called over the wind and the horses heavy hooves. Arthur looked up at the high noon sun, biting the inside of his cheek as he considered their options. It was warm, warm enough that he would have lost his cape if it wasn’t already on Merlin. And Merlin was clammy and his teeth were chattering.
He nodded, guiding Llamrei to a small clearing to the left. Shaded enough by trees to be cool, but uncovered enough to allow a fire in the middle when the temperature went down in the evening. He removed the reins from her face, leaving her to graze as he greeted Dia.
The mare kept trying to rotate its head to catch a look at her rider. Her small, worried grunts making him jog over faster.
She nudged into his shoulder as he took Merlin by the waist and eased him down. He carefully navigated Merlin’s arms to lay over his broader shoulders. Dark hair rested against the right side of his jaw, slow breathes hitting his neck. It made him shiver.
“You shouldn’t be so close,” Merlin drowsily pushed himself back onto his own two feet. He lost his balance without the support, and Arthur had to hold him close by the elbows to stop him from falling over.
“You wouldn’t let me fall on my ass while sick, so don’t think I’m going to listen to you, you dolt.”
Merlin only sighed, weakly pinching his side as Arthur brought them under the tree with the softest looking grass beneath it. When he got Merlin to lean against the trunk, he made sure to carefully lay him down so that his head was cushioned under the bedroll he’d carried under his arm. He fought the flailing limbs attempting to push himself away, winning easily in his attempt to yank the cloak back from Merlin’s sweaty face.
After straightening back up, he caught Balinor’s pleased stare, watching the two as he harnessed the horses loosely around a tree.
“He’s rarely sick,” he walked away after Merlin had shut his eyes. He took the water-skin offered, drinking greedily. “And, when he is, it takes poison to make him this bad.” Balinor lifted a brow. Arthur shuddered, “You don’t want to know.”
“Do you suspect magic is involved?”
Arthur gasped, suddenly very aware of his unintended insinuation.
“No!” He waved his hands frantically around as Balinor leaned his back against his stallion, arms crossed. “I just mean that I’m worried. He’s always been the one healing my knights and me. I have no clue what I’m doing, and he’s only getting worse.”
“I haven’t performed anything in your presence for a reason, Arthur. I’m well aware of your prejudices.” He didn’t look offended, nor did he yell or speak with much attitude. Arthur grew very worried, even as the assurance did exactly what Balinor intended it to.
“I don’t think so little of you, Balinor.”
“But you had wondered,” he frowned in such a disappointed way that Arthur felt his face burn with shame. “It kept you up last night. I could tell you were not asleep. You were waiting for me to betray you.”
“No,” Arthur shook his head, heart pounding. Balinor’s resolve didn’t disappear, but he still held a stern look to his eye as he took a single step nearer. Arthur didn’t dare move. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Nightmares?”
Arthur nodded, the taut ropes of his worry just slightly unraveling.
“About what?”
He felt the sudden urge to run away. Like a coward. But, as he saw flashes of Merlin with yellow eyes, he knew cowardice would be a merciful defeat when compared to proving Balinor right. He didn’t respond.
Balinor smiled tightly, but he still patted Arthur kindly on the shoulder as he passed.
*
The morning brought Merlin’s health up like a blossoming flower. And Arthur felt all the discomfort and ache that he’d felt the night before melt away in an instant. He excitedly ruffled Merlin’s sleep disheveled hair and laughing as Merlin flapped his hands and shooed him away with disgruntled grumbles.
“Maybe we should camp for one more night,” he placed the back of his hand on various spots of Merlin’s face, checking for unusual warmth.
“Arthur, I am fine.”
“Which rises questions. How in the world did you heal from fever so quickly?” Arthur grumbled as he continued to straighten the lines in Merlin’s tunic. “I mean one night? Maybe Balinor did something?” he clasped a hand around Merlin’s wrist, glancing over his boney shoulder to peer at said man.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Merlin stood with surprising balance. “Just because he has magic, doesn’t mean he’s automatically a criminal trying to—“ He glared at Arthur suddenly, wrist going taut as he clenched the hand offendedly. “Wait a minute! What would be so wrong if he had healed me?” An angular brow nearly reached Merlin’s hairline. “Would you prefer me dead? Would you have preferred he do nothing of the matter arose?”
“No!” he startled, “I just— I mean—“
But Merlin was yanking his wrist back and storming away from Arthur’s fretting hands to join Balinor in storing away the bedrolls that they had each abandoned in the grass. Arthur’s was nearly folded in half by the way he had jumped up upon seeing Merlin cooking, as though he hadn’t been close to death the day before.
Distantly, he heard laughter over the soft crackles of the dying fire. He turned to see what Merlin had been laughing at. But, it was Balinor who had his head tossed back as he watched Merlin fight a twig out of Llamrei‘s mouth.
He felt his heart stutter with waves of incredulity.
“I had a dog once who did the same,” the elder of the two strode over and carefully guided Arthur’s mare to hold her head still. Merlin eased the stick out from between her teeth, patting her side when she eventually gave up.
They laughed together, and Arthur imagined lines in a map meeting at the same destination. He thought of two different instruments playing the same note. And the sight of either man with a hand upon his own chest as he joked and chuckled made Arthur feel sick.
He stood, pretending that the sudden jerk of movement was to put out the fire, and not his sudden need to cease the mingling sounds between his own ears. He splashed the little bit of water left in the pail over the tiny flames.
“Did you have many pets growing up?” he directed the question to the man tightening the saddle around his stallion.
Balinor grinned, “Plenty of strays, if they count. Many of the farms I worked on growing up would train unclaimed mutts to herd cattle.”
Merlin interrupted Arthur’s vague nodding.
“A farm back home did the same,” Merlin energetically conversed. “My favorite was this big one that I could’ve sworn was a wolf. But he would lick your face if you rubbed behind his ears.” He laughed again, “He would sneak over and wake my mother and I up in the morning. And then I’d have to walk him back home.”
Balinor gave a mildly surprised smile, “How large are the fields in Camelot? It must have been quite the hike every day.”
Merlin waved a limp hand, “Not in Camelot. Ealdor pastures are significantly smaller, especially in the town I was born.”
Something flashed across Balinor’s face, and it didn’t linger long enough for Arthur to catch it. He narrowed his eyes, watching closer as the two continued sharing memories. Merlin had a familiar look on his face. One he often only had around their friends back in Camelot. Camelot, and apparently not home.
“Ealdor has a special place in my heart,” Balinor said, genuine. But he did not specify. He only looked at Arthur, and he turned away with another one of his melancholy smiles.
Merlin gave Arthur a look. A look that told him that his friend had no clue. That he hadn’t connected the same dots as Arthur had picked up along the way. And, rather than risk ruining the short bout of peace they had, he kept his mouth shut.
He convinced himself swiftly, that protecting Merlin meant hiding the truth. As he gathered the leftover berries that they had eaten with breakfast, he decided that he’d never tell Merlin that his father was right in front of them. Because it was better to lie, then face the law that told him the man he cared for the most was meant to die. And if no one else knew, then he would gladly commit treason. He would sin and betray his own court for the chance to see Merlin’s playful grin every day. And that was less haunting than the thought of a pyre.
“What’s the matter?” Merlin’s arm wrapped itself around Arthur’s shoulders, bringing them together tightly.
He scoffed, hiding his twisted nerves behind thick sarcasm, “We have friends relying on us Merlin.” He pulled on a few of the strands sticking out of his head. “Quit slacking.” Merlin scowled and pushed himself back, but Arthur still caught the poorly brushed tufts between his fingers. They paused, staring at one another for a long moment. He grimaced, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he muttered as he awkwardly extracted his fingers.
The surprise wore off quickly, and Merlin was rolling his eyes playfully all over again, “You’ve spent too long away from home. I think you are the one in need of medical help.” Arthur huffed when Merlin returned to the horses, snickering at the astonishment he’d caused. Then, he crossed his arms, quickly masking his pleased grin with a smirk of mild satisfaction.
“Camelot is home now?”
Merlin titled his head, brow furrowed as he took a moment, “Of course—” His expression flattened suddenly, unimpressed by Arthur’s strange mixture of pleasure and teasing. “Arthur, Camelot will always be my home. It’s where everything I care for belongs.” He regarded the blond with scrutiny, “Why would you ever question that?” And of course, Merlin wouldn’t simply allow Arthur the kindness of enjoying such a victory.
He looked away, attempting something akin to disinterest, “Just something you mentioned earlier.”
Merlin smirked, “Were you jealous, Arthur?”
He scoffed, “As if I’d feel so strongly over someone as useless as you, Merls.” They shared a glance, like a war of sincerity and lies. And Arthur knew he was neither winning or morally sound as he stood strong in his depressing act. Merlin’s amusement did not fall; he bumped his knuckles against Arthur’s bicep and stepped away casually.
“I suppose that explains your behavior?”
Arthur didn’t doom himself further, keeping his lips straight in a firm line and allowing Merlin to return the horses without another dig, watching as his friend laughed to himself in endless lighthearted giggles. His cheeks warmed and he fought a smile of his own.
*
“Have you ever considered settling down?” Merlin broke the pleasant quiet that had been lulling the three of them into daydreams while finishing up their dinner. Arthur wiped his greasy mouth as he tossed a bone off towards a bush. Merlin gave him a disgusted look as Balinor began to answer.
“I had considered it once,” Balinor’s hair fell in his face, and he pushed the strands back slowly. Arthur held his breath. “I had met a woman, and she had made me believe that I could forget about my…abilities.” He didn’t look at Arthur when he paused, but the hesitation made him squirm slightly in his spot on the grass anyway. “She had never asked me to give up magic, or course.” Arthur glanced at Merlin, his own feelings making him have the sudden urge to vomit. He flinched when he found Merlin already looking at him. Balinor continued, paying them no mind as he stared into the fire. “But I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if she’d been killed because I broke the law.”
Merlin’s face pinched with distaste, “Is it breaking the law if you had no say? There are criminals in war who are free from prosecution simply by the fact that they had no say in the matter.”
Balinor looked upon Merlin with a deep understanding that frightened Arthur. He wondered again if the man knew. If he was going to tell Merlin and break the only protection Arthur knew he had left. He leaned forward, prepared to interject and make them continue. Instead, it was Balinor who stood, the grief-stricken cast gone and replaced with an indifferent attempt at lightheartedness.
“Fear changes people, Merlin.” Arthur had the sick feeling fall over him again, like a hot blanket he couldn’t fight off. “It makes the honest people lie, and the kind people merciless.”
Merlin stared down into his cup, face a blank canvas that only seemed to frighten Arthur further. He’d never ventured that Merlin already knew.
“Can you be both?” He looked up at Balinor, so innocently curious with his big eyes that Arthur’s chest ached. Because he was automatically outside of the conversation. He was the enemy that wasn’t allowed to speak, but could sit and listen because they trusted him just enough. Merlin trusted him enough.
Balinor nodded, and Arthur saw him as every bit the father he’d never had the chance to be. Whether he was Merlin’s true patriarch or not, he was gentle and wise as one should be. Arthur believed that Merlin deserved the comfort, and he fought the sudden desire to reach over and grasp his friend’s hand. To kiss it and offer his own version of sympathy to ease the flurry of worry that seemed to eat the younger man whole.
“I don’t mean to speak ill of the world in such a harsh way,” he amended. “I just mean,” he paused briefly to consider his words, “Someone like me holds a lot of power. And that scares people.” Balinor swirled his cup around, looking down at the remaining liquid. “When someone such as Uther Pendragon meets someone who could threaten him, he does not stop and wait to see if I will strike first. He will always strike first.” Arthur felt small under Balinor’s fleeting gaze.
He was shocked to find that he didn’t feel the need to defend his father. Even more so when he realized that he agreed.
Merlin’s tired eyes traveled back and forth between them, trying to read what was left unsaid. And, if he found whatever he’d been looking for, he didn’t mention anything to allow Arthur to follow along. Then, Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it tightly, and then reopened it.
“What if you were to make the first hit?”
Balinor dumped his cup over a patch of daffodils, a smirk playing at his lips. Arthur held his breath again, slightly nervous as the man stood up.
“Then I would betray all I stand for.” He made sure to catch both of the eyes, squinting enough to harden his stare and make either lad lean away. “That would mean that I would be using my magic and the dragons to hurt people. And that is something I will never do.”
“You are very noble,” Arthur croaked.
Balinor looked every bit like the nobles from his childhood. The men with deep colored robes and strong faces. Who wore rings on their fingers and relied on their tongues rather than swords. And Balinor’s cape was such a dark blue that it almost looked black. His hair was silvery around the temples, showing signs of age, and the wisdom he’d gathered in his years traveling Albion. And he did not have a weapon fastened at his hip like Arthur and Merlin. He was confident.
Then, the man snorted and let the tension of the moment pass.
“Don’t insult me, Arthur.”
*
The water was wonderfully cool.
Each of them had their pants rolled up as high as they would go, cooling off their red feet from walking with the horses to spare them the strain on such a hot day.
Arthur had his sward in one hand waiting to catch a shimmering fish beneath the surface of the stream. Merlin had cupped water and brought his hands to his lips just as Balinor splashed him with a small wave of water. He startled, blubbering in astonishment as Arthur and Balinor shared loud, echoing laughs at his expense.
“Quite attentive, you are,” Arthur teased, grinning enough to show his teeth. He tossed his head back to laugh even more at the open-mouthed scoff he received. He was sobered abruptly when his pants grew cold. And, when he glanced down, his crotch and front of his shirt was soaked through. He didn’t address the snort Balinor turned away with. He did, however, give his best sneer to Merlin’s wide smirk. “Merlin.”
The man’s face fell, and his eyes widened when Arthur hopped from one foot to another. Which should have been a very amusing sight if he hadn’t had his arms out ready to grab Merlin’s scrawny body and throw him into the water bank. So, he chased Merlin in circles, neither of them daring to get anywhere close to Balinor as the man made his way back to the sand and grass.
“Arthur!” Merlin breathlessly pleaded, breaking out into a laugh again when he managed to toss another swash back into his chaser’s face.
“I’m going to put you in the stocks when we get home!” he threatened in a grumble. Merlin only giggled, long since adapted to such a punishment it seemed.
“However, would you do that, commoner?” He lunged forward again. Merlin just barely dodged him, arms flailing to keep himself upright. He looked almost like an awkward doe with his long legs prancing through the shallow waters.
He bit his lip as he followed him towards the center of the stream, “I happen to know the prince. I’m sure he’ll see reason in my request.” Merlin spared a peek back, yelping and jumping further forward when he found Arthur close behind.
“Who’s to say that he won’t send you.” Arthur’s fingers brushed along Merlin’s sleeve. Said man pointed his nose towards the sky snootily, “You can be a prat, I’m sure he’d sympathize with me.”
“Oh really?” He leapt a little harder against the soft ground beneath his feet, silently cheering when he grew nearer. “I’ve heard we’re very similar.” Merlin had a higher pitched laugh ready, making Arthur grin, beside himself with excitement and the plan to rid himself of Merlin once he caught him was fleeting.
“Ah, but the prince is quite handsome, and you are much more akin to a wet cat. I’m not sure he would appreciate the comparison.”
Arthur did not bother responding, which made Merlin twist his head around in predetermined terror. Instead, he grabbed two fistfuls of Merlin’s shirt and pulled them together. He ducked his head to escape the flails of Merlin’s arms and held him around the middle even tighter when long fingers attempted to pry him away.
He stuck his nose against the skin behind Merlin’s ear, “Handsome you say?” He watched in calm satisfaction as pink lips opened in a gasp. He slung his chin over the man’s shoulder and lowered then enough so that Merlin could settle his feet back into the gritty sand.
“Princes are supposed to be, aren’t they?” The question tried to resume their banter, but Arthur knew that he had made it something more. It made it easier for him to rest his clasped hands just above Merlin’s naval and press his chest along the soft angles of shoulder blades.
“Are you trying to tell me something, Merlin?” he whispered, hot breath reverberating back against his own skin. Merlin opened his mouth wider as he stared out at the trees on the other side of the water, a dying sound escaping him before it snapped shut.
“Lads!” Balinor’s voice called out. When they both looked back in a dazed tandem, the man held up Arthur’s cape in one hand, and the spare that Merlin stored in one of Dia’s saddle bags. “Come warm up before dark! Preferably before one of you falls sick again.” He chuckled when each of them went red in the face.
Arthur couldn’t help but look down to catch Merlin’s expression. And he was pleased to see such an innocent surprise in Merlin’s eyes. He squeezed his friend’s side, letting his hand slide along as much of Merlin’s back as he broke their proximity. He’d let them enjoy the time they had. Even if neither man new the truth in it, he wouldn’t have had the heart to tear the immeasurable joy that such a simple moment offered them.
He and Merlin sat shoulder to shoulder as they dried their feet and pulled their boots back up.
“We’re never going to see him again once the dragon is taken care of,” Merlin whispered, eyes focused as he rolled his pantleg back down to his ankle, “Are we?”
Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, “I’ll figure something out.” He felt satisfied enough when Merlin’s lips quirked in a hopeful grin.
“We’d better get going soon!” Balinor returned from where the horses were resting, a waterskin in his hand. Arthur caught Llamrei and Dia lifting their heads with their ears. Then, Balinor was tossing Merlin the tan pouch, and it was already too late by the time he caught sight of the tiny glint of iron in the sky. His heart fell deep into the ground when there was a telltale thump of an arrow landing in its target.
“No!” Arthur screamed, legs stuck where they were planted in front of Merlin, sword out in a useless, directionless fashion. Balinor fell to his knees, eyes already blackened with the soulless mirror of death.
“Arthur,” the man gasped, clutching the arrowhead poking out from the center of his chest with one hand, and pointing behind the other two with the other. Arthur shook himself out of his stupor, grabbing Merlin with as tight a hold as he could. He caught the way Balinor looked at Merlin before closing his eyes, an upwards lift to his lips as he fell forwards lifelessly. How his hand still tried to reach out for them. Merlin didn’t make a sound as they ran to their horses, silent tears like liquid silver.
Without a thought, Arthur had pushed Merlin atop Dia, sparing not a second to say a word. He cut free Balinor’s stallion, distantly noting the direction he stampeded away to, and then the others. He gave a slap to Dia’s side, immediately jumping up onto Llamrei to follow close behind. He clutched her neck, having not had the time to refasten the reins on either of them.
They moved like lightning, black and white moving in zigzagging tandem through the forest Arthur could only hope to navigate correctly as his heart pounded as fast as the horses’ hooves against the ground in his chest. Eventually he heard Cenred’s men shouting and the clanging of their armor and weapons growing quieter.
Merlin looked small when he dared to check. He was plastered along Dia’s neck and back, nearly flat as he hid his face from the world. He allowed her to guide him, trusting his horse to take care of them. Arthur clicked his tongue, letting her know to follow as he guided Llamrei back home, not slowing for even a moment as the sun began to set behind the trees.
“Merlin!” He gritted his teeth as he struggled to lead Llamrei through endless trunks of trees at the speed they were going. His legs ached as he hugged her back with them to hang on, using his arms to push head her left and right. “Merlin, please!” He begged.
Quickly, with heavy breaths that sounded like numerous punches to his gut, Merlin sat up straight as an arrow. He didn’t wipe his red eyes and wet cheeks, but immediately held onto Dia’s mane with nimble fingers. And he took the lead.
Arthur gaped as they suddenly swapped places. He felt a rush of emotion at the glimpse of anger on Merlin’s face. The fury of a man left with no more hope. A man striped of dreams.
He stamped down his need to call out again. Biting the inside cheek hard enough to draw the metallic tang of blood. He hugged Llamrei’s neck, and took comfort in the way she adapted and calmed as the number of trees surrounding them thinned.
He kept his eyes on Merlin‘s ridged back, on the way his elbows were perfectly square and sturdy as he took charge towards their home. Where the lights of torches and lit-up windows could be seen a bit too far.
With the promise of safety close by, Arthur’s mind betrayed him. As he blinked, Balinor’s last word drummed through his mind. His name, like a desperate plea that Arthur hadn’t been fast nor strong enough to grant. He had failed. He had failed, and now he had Camelot’s final hope in front of him nursing a broken heart. So broken even without knowing the entire truth.
They reached the gates and were greeted with frowns and silence. None of the guards on duty were those of Arthur’s prioritized rank. And, when one of them told him of his awaiting father, he desperately wished Leon were nearby to ease his racing heart. He nodded to the unfamiliar young man, and followed Merlin through the smoldering buildings that had been destroyed by the dragon.
A young boy stared up at him from behind his mother’s shroud. A dark head of unwashed hair and soot along his left cheek. He looked unbelievably tired as the woman he clung onto spoke harshly to a young woman opposite of them. Arthur shed a tear.
“Arthur,” Merlin broke his line of sight, eyes still the color a salmon’s scales around the edges. He ducked his head, wiping a hand over his face as though he were simply tired. “Arthur we’ll figure something else out.”
He laughed, humorless, “You sound so sure of yourself.” He felt himself soften when he saw Merlin’s eyes fall to his hands against Dia’s inky mane. He sighed heavily, “I’m not so sure we’ll be able to get around this one.” Merlin’s cold fingers crooked around Arthur’s wrist, drawing his attention back with a start.
His fragile cheeks twitched with a small smile, “Trust me.”
Arthur’s mouth stayed slightly open as he admired the warmth of the sun’s light dancing across Merlin’s soft eyes. As if the magic that had passed over was already thrumming through the man’s veins. And, although it was beautiful, Arthur felt sick.
“Of course I trust you.”
The shared a small, delicate smile. Not enough to make their eyes crinkle at the corner, but enough that Merlin’s tight shoulders sagged in relief.
*
“What was the whole point of this?” Uther’s hand sliced through the air like a sword. Even his words hit Arthur in the gut as such.
“Cenred’s men ambushed us and killed him,” Arthur relayed, head down shamefully. Uther was in his lonely chair, the red reminding him of the blood in Balinor’s tunic right after he’d been shot. His father’s eyes held none of the warmth that Balinor had regarded them with. Uther had cold, carefully navigating eyes. The kind that could find miniscule imperfections and could make you feel as though you were smaller than the tip of the crown on top of his head.
Arthur distantly wondered why he had it on. And then he saw the dozens of torch flames down in the citadel.
“I suppose it’s not so bad,” Uther stood from his chair and walked to the window that Arthur had been glancing at. “He wasn’t to be trusted either way. We will find another way to make the dragon pay.”
Arthur didn’t not feel the same way about his father's reassurances as he had Merlin’s. In fact, his stomach turned as Uther turned his head and regarded him impassively. He found nothing that proved he believed himself either. He wondered, fleetingly, why the man was the king in the first place.
“He just wanted to help,” Arthur replied, much too much emotion leaking through his tone.
Uther’s eyes thinned meanly, “They never want to simply help, Arthur. You know this,” he pushed his son’s arm, nearly sending him off balance. “We would have had to kill him afterwards anyway,” he tossed a hand back. Like it was nothing, taking a life.
“Even after he would have helped us? After he’d have saved us?” He stepped forwards, forgetting himself. “Why?”
“Because it is the law,” Uther seethed impatiently.
“You make the law,” Arthur grasped at straws in his mind, searching endlessly for some way to make his father see what he had so plainly. In the way Balinor had cared for them up until his final breath. How he had gasped Arthur’s name like a beg for so many unspoken things. Like he had trusted Arthur to do good, but had wanted to leave him with one final acknowledgment.
It hurt. How a man Arthur had known for a few days had known him better than his own father. Had believed in him more.
“I am the law,” his father tonelessly reminded him, “You’ll be smart to remember that, Arthur.”
“But what if we could bring peace between us and the magic users?” he continued, even as he sensed the rising waters of his father’s tempter. For Merlin’s sake, he would bare the invisible injury it would cause. Or the cell he might find himself in once again for the protection of his closest friend.
Uther, for a moment, looked as if he might send him away. Then, he planted himself sternly in front of his son and looked him in the eye.
“I have done what is best for the people of Camelot, and I will not ruin the progress I have made because of one blasted pest.” He clasped a hand on either side of Arthur’s shoulders. “Do you understand?”
Arthur answered honestly, because Merlin was somewhere in the castle, harboring magic like a bayonet on a timed clock. And Arthur loved him.
“No.”
But, before Arthur could he sent to a cell, or to his room, or down to patrol the gates with his knights that Uther did not care for, people began to scream from the citadel. And Arthur was gone and hanging partially out of the window to see why. Uther was right behind him, crying out in outrage when they noticed the figure of a flying serpent in the air just outside the castle walls.
It was an old dragon, fully grown and dim like wet sand. But what surprised him, was the way it stalled just outside the barrier of the stone wall. But, even then, its bright eyes were aimed at the castle, scanning for something Arthur was certain could be found exactly three steps away from himself.
He spun and dragged his father out to the hall, “Get to safety,” he needlessly directed. Uther gave him a distracted pat on the arm and disappeared in a circle if fully armored shouting knights.
Arthur ran down stairs and through hallways, sending broken prayers to the goddess he hoped cared for him enough to help him keep his home safe. He caught a hand on one of the doors that led out to the citadel, taking a small moment to assess any damage.
There was crying. But, there was also laughing. His heart plummeted. He felt his hands begin to shake.
Leon greeted him first, seconds later and with a confused grin on his face. He hugged Arthur quickly, stepping back almost immediately.
“The dragon is gone!” he told Arthur, hair sticking up and sweaty from where it had been under his helmet. “It landed on the wall for a moment, but then it just—”
“—Retreated?” Arthur murmured, eyes trained on a cloaked figure stepping around and through the celebrating merchants. A blue fabric much like the one Arthur had of Merlin’s stowed up in his bedchambers. And boots, weathered with buckles that Arthur would recognize anywhere.
“Sire?” Leon didn’t agree, his relief falling in an instant as he watched Arthur’s eyes water.
“I’m very tired, Leon,” he whispered.
His knight nodded, returning his helmet and stepping back, “Everything will be in order upon your return.” He began to turn, eyes trained on the figure hunched and quick on his feet returning to the tower where Gius resided. “Arthur?” Leon asked returning worriedly to his side, “Arthur, are you alright?”
Arthur’s vision burned as fear consumed him.