A/N: Hello! HELLO! HELLOO. :) Welcome to my story, please grab a seat and sit down. There's lemonade in the fridge and please don't steal all the popcorn! I'm sure there's enough to go around. -glares pointedly-

Anyway, this is a Hunith/Balinor fic. There will be no smut, or anything like that, but there will be violence and psychological suffering. (Self blame, nightmares, self hate..) It's set a few years after Ygraine's death and the start of the Purge.

There will be happy parts too. Hopefully... -cringes-
Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Merlin or any of the characters/ places mentioned here. All rights belong to the BBC and whoever else created it.

As Balinor tore blindly through the forest, he was faintly aware of screaming. The noise was all around him: piercing through his daze as he tried to forget the events which had happened-

He choked back a sob and narrowly missed a tree.

-the shrieks he had heard, the stink of the smoke and burning flesh. His family and friends being tortured to death, the crying of the dragons as they could do nothing but watch and Kilgharrah being led away to a fate worse than death. After that there had been Uther: gloating and jeering at him through the cell bars. What had happened to the man he had known? Balinor didn't want to know. And then Gaius, with a firm grip and empty promises. A key to help him escape, a blessing of good fortune and a command to run, Balinor. And he, in his stupor, had nodded wordlessly and done as he had been told to.

What a pathetic excuse for a Dragonlord, a little voice sniggered.

Kilgharrah would never forgive him, the young man thought. Kilgharrah, who had stood by Balinor's side and had taught him everything he knew, had been betrayed by his own Dragonlord. Balinor stumbled, and felt bile rise up in his throat. He should've done something to save the dragon.

In his chest there was a foreign emptiness where his heart should have been. It ate at him, tore at him and every breath was harder than the last.

Vaguely he wondered if he was going to be sick, but there was no time to rest. The monsters were behind him. Catching up with him, even, and he wasn't sure what was keeping him from giving himself up. Perhaps Uther, or the agony that would surely await him.

But Balinor would not let his kin perish for nothing. With that thought in mind, he changed direction towards the Lake of Avalon. At least, he hoped it was the right direction. He doubted even the bloodcloaks would look for him thered. Yet he had a sneaking suspicion that Uther would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Balinor slipped and tripped over a tree root, crying out as he collapsed onto the ground. He had to get up. He had to. Had to.

His clothes were ripped and dirty, his hair was tangled with leaves and mud and his body shook and shuddered as waves of emotion and adrenaline battered him. Sweat dripped from his brow and tears fell from his eyes. His vision grew fuzzy as he lay there in a crumpled heap, panting and gasping for air. Balinor heard the hooves of horses thudding against the ground and his hope faded. He was going to die. The notion was strangely comforting, as he sighed in acceptance of his fate. Balinor grimaced; watching his burst of enthusiastic determination dissolve into the air.

All around him was screaming. So much screaming. Balinor smiled as the world tilted and he slid into unconsciousness. Tomorrow he would die, and join his kin in Annwn.

If Annwn would accept him.

"You are a Dragonlord, sir, of renown skill."

The voice snapped him into focus: there stood King Uther Pendragon, his head held high and his stance demanding the upmost obedience and respect. The king had positioned himself in the centre of the meeting room- he was not one to skulk in the shadows, and Balinor had the sudden urge to hit the man.

"I would not say renown, Sire." The young Dragonlord replied, not wanting any compliments from this king. He frowned- where had this hatred come from? He and Uther were good friends.

But instead of the teasing insult he expected, Uther laughed and Balinor watched with horror as his friend drew a long knife and stabbed him. He let out a scream of pain as white agony and betrayal rushed through him. All of a sudden the young man's voice twisted and warped into a roar of a dragon he knew all too well.

Kilgharrah.

His mind was sluggish and slow, he could not comprehend why that name bought such chills up his spine. He could only watch, in agony, as Uther turned and strode purposefully away. Balinor was alone. Always alone.

Yet it was not so: he turned and saw, to his relief, Alfred staring at him with blank, emotionless eyes that had once been so full of light.

"Alfred-" Balinor wheezed. "H-help me, old friend."

But the fellow Dragonlord only smiled and whispered:

"Help you? Like you helped us?"

He watched as his friend gestured to the skin on his face, blackened and ruined by fire. It had not been there a second ago, Balinor thought, and wept as the Dragonlord before him collapsed into a pile of ashes.

Alone. Always alone. He screamed again. To the sky, the world, the Goddess and collapsed onto the wooden floor… Which vanished, and he fell, tumbling, into a river of blood. What was happening?
Balinor closed his eyes and found himself being dragged under the surface by the thick, sticky, reeking liquid. As he fell through the stuff, a thousand hands grabbed at his clothing, his hair and whispered as one: what have you done, O Dragonlord?

He awoke with a cry, and his eyes flew open.

Darkness stared back at him.

A/N:

Annwn- In Arthurian Mythology it's the Druidic version of Heaven or paradise, ruled by Gwyn ap Nudd who is also associated with the Wild Hunt. Source: Wiki

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Thank you.
TBC

-VellichorNovelist