Title: The Dragonlord’s Tears
Summary: What if Balinor had known his infant son…for a few precious days…
Warnings: A slight AU twist from the show / Also some mildly graphic and mature descriptions
Word Count: 993
Author's Notes: Prequel fic with an AU twist
The Dragonlord’s Tears
He had it. In some kind of strong abundance. The bearded man of dark hair looked down upon the resting babe who now had opened his eyes, seeming to look directly into his. But that was foolery. A babe so young did not have such strong awareness.
A woman entered the room. Her expression was open, giving. Coming to sit on the small crude bed beside them, she lowered part of her dress. It took barely a second for the infant to start suckling hungrily.
“He has a hearty appetite for such a scrawny tiny thing.”
“Yes,” The woman echoed, her head coming to rest against the man’s shoulder as the baby all but ignored them, enjoying his meal. The man resisted a bit at first, and then as the woman didn’t seem to take that as any insult, he sighed heavily, said nothing.
The woman noticed how his dark hairs strayed out of the loose ponytail he wore. She eased the strands back gently, away from his long angled forehead. “We still have not agreed upon a name.”
The man shrugged slightly, bringing one hand out. There were deep red ugly scars upon his wrists. The woman told him they should fade, but it might take months. Shackles had that kind of effect. “Ambrosius?”
She shook her head a fraction. “Don’t know. Sounds a bit pompous.” He laughed at that and she smiled further. His laughter was rare. His dreams were always dark and filled of death.
“Then what do you propose?”
He whispered the name, gathering it upon his tongue. It was a little strange and a little right. And he doubted he could ever refuse her anyway. He owed his life to this woman and much more. “Merlin it is then.”
She pushed further into his side, fingering inside his dark tunic. She knew the scars that lay there. And she knew the dark waved pattern of his chest hair and down lower. She had felt the rareness of his love before. Felt how it shuddered her body into tremors of pleasure and sweet pain. Mostly he was gentle in bed. Almost shy actually. It took the throes of passion to make him want to actually control things. Lifting her face, she smiled into his deep blue eyes and kissed his slightly parched lips softly, ropes of feeling.
All of this was for naught he silently knew . But his heart was mush. This woman was too good, too beautiful, too brave and too filled with care. He pressed gently against one of her sore breasts, flushed with milk like the other the baby had just nursed from.
Now he was asleep, tiny fingers grazing his mother’s body. Together, they lowered him to another cradled bed. Then they lowered themselves to the other. Gave into the whims of adults…
He woke shaking. With dreams of friends, flying beasts with supreme intelligence being slaughtered by their own. The king’s trick. He heard the horrors of children’s cries as they were drowned into the wells and rivers. And he felt the terror of beings of magic burning under red and gold flames of death. It was always how he woke. Even with her beside. Balinor knew this could not last. She was in too much danger with him here. And so was the babe.
He lifted up onto his knees, feeling the blanket falling away from his body. He reached for his tunic and coat, pushing them over his arms. She stirred some, her hand clasping his thigh in sleep. He flinched at it for a moment, and then gently pushed it away with his long thin fingers. “I cannot stay.”
For months he had. He’d been all but dead and she dragged him through the tall grasses, calling for help. They brought him here. This sweet little village named Ealdor. It had been his home for many months, close to a year. But now with his son barely a week old, he knew it was time.
He heard rumors recently. He knew the kinds of orders the maddened king would give. Destroy. Take. Burn the houses. Kill anyone who-
Better to leave now. Not burden her with the price paid for helping a man who had a death certificate choking his neck.
He pulled his pants on and then seeing her move some in her sleep, he softly, quietly lay back down upon the bed.
“Hunith…I thought my life was lost before you. I had no reason to want to live. You know the ugliness of my dreams. My scars. You’ve loved me anyway. You’ve made me want to live again. I’ve been a fool though to think I could live this life with you without bringing you threat. I can feel it. The magic I have, that you have never shunned away from me for, feels it. Even with every dragon gone, but one, once ties to my sanity, I know it.
He is coming. Uther. And I will not let him touch you or our son.” Tears rolled down his cheeks as he placed a piece of parchment near her. It said some. Not enough. He kissed her cheek softly, not wanting to face her eyes when she awoke and saw his absence.
Shaking, he got up from the bed, moved to the smaller cradled one, and lifted the babe from the crib. “Take care of your mother my son. One day…maybe you can right the wrong."
It took every force of heart’s strength he had to lower his son again, to start backing out of the tiny house. He padded carefully through the sleeping village. Moved faster when he got to the wood. And the next day when the sun barely rose, he not only felt it. But saw.
The king’s armies.
Thank the old religion he left in time.
Now as he was relentlessly hunted…
They’d be safe.