Heartfelt thanks to my wonderful betas: wryter501 and bannedfrompencils.
Warnings: sexual content at the start and graphic descriptions of canon-typical violence later.
Hunith pulled her thin blanket up and watched the reddish-pink square of light from her one window brighten and inch lower down the wooden slats of the western wall. The scratchy wool blanket was a shield between the night air and her bare shoulders; her back was comfortably pressed against the heat of her man's chest. Outside, she could hear geese and chickens scolding as her fellow villagers made their way to the fields. A dog barked and then whined at a sharp rebuke.
She should be out of bed. She should join the other women in the vegetable plot, there was a pile of raw wool waiting to feed her loom, her skirt needed patching, and she had not even started preparing pottage for their breakfast. But it was cozy under the blankets with Balinor's arms wrapped around her naked body, his left hand resting on her breast and his right cushioning her head. She pressed back against his bare chest and wriggled her bottom against his groin to see if he was awake. He groaned and his hand began stroking her breast. She smiled and wriggled again.
His lips tasted her neck and she turned her head to give him better access. Their hands began moving urgently, seeking bare skin. He pushed her onto her back so he could take a nipple into his mouth while his fingers fondled her other breast and his free hand moved lower.
"You make it hard to leave this bed," he mumbled.
In answer she reached down to stroke him, delighted at his moan.
Their lovemaking was not as leisurely as the night before. A full day's labour was waiting and the other villagers would not look kindly on both of them starting their chores late again. That kind of behaviour would be tolerated in newlyweds, not a couple who had been together for many seasons. Despite their haste, Balinor stroked and kissed until she pulled at his shoulders, silently urging him to enter her.
Afterward, they lay still. Hunith stroked his short, curly hair as his breathing slowed until it was time for them to rise and dress. The cool water in the basin felt good on her warm face. With a few quick twists, she tucked her hair up under a green scarf that would keep the heavy locks off her neck while she worked. The moment she knotted the scarf she felt Balinor's warm lips on her nape. His arm came around her waist and his hand cupped her breast, stroking through the cotton of her dress.
She leaned back to rest her head on his shoulder. "You make it hard to start my chores."
He chuckled, his warm breath brushing the back of her neck. "Is Eleynora going to help you spin that wool today?"
Hunith stiffened. She tried to hide her abrupt change of mood but Balinor had noticed.
"What is it?" he asked softly.
"Nothing."
He turned her to face him. His hands grasped her upper arms as he peered down into her face.
She blinked the sudden moisture from her eyes and ducked her head. "Eleynora announced yesterday that she's with child again."
"Oh, Hunith." He hugged her tightly, his bristly chin rubbing against her ear. "Don't worry. It hasn't been that long. We'll have a child yet, I know we will."
She pressed her face into his shoulder. "It's been four winters and not once has my womb quickened. The other women have given me all the advice they can. Most of them have given up on me."
"Well I haven't given up. In fact, I'm willing to try again right now if you want."
She smiled in spite of the aching hollow in her chest that yearned for a babe. "I appreciate your dedication but I've kept you long enough." She leaned back in his arms to look up into his face and laid one hand on his bristly cheek. "I'm fine, I promise. You go on and get your work done and let me get started on mine."
She forced a reassuring smile onto her face. He tucked a lock of dark hair under her headscarf before he bent to kiss her. Then with a final hug he left the tiny shack. The curtain that sheltered the doorway fluttered behind him, letting in the smell of animals along with the sounds of the men shouting to each other, women chastising children, chickens squawking, geese honking, and dogs barking.
For all his nonchalance, she knew Balinor wanted a child even more than she did. Many men wanted a son to help with men's work, to teach and instruct, to carry on when they were gone – but with dragonlords it was something even more. She barely understood what she saw when they gathered together: it was a kinship, a sacred trust, a shared identity that no one else could truly comprehend. Nearly every dragonlord as far as anyone could recall was male and almost always a dragonlord's first child was a boy. The yearning in Balinor's eyes when he watched others of the village men with their sons nearly made her suggest that he find another woman, but she was too selfish for that. Balinor was hers. She could not live without him in her life. They would simply have to keep trying and praying.
She swiped a hand across her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and went to work.
Hunith gave the pot over the fire another stir before she fetched a loaf of the crusty black bread she had baked earlier. Then she dipped two mugs of water from one of the pails she had filled at the well that morning and carried both wooden cups to the two men seated on a single bench beside the hearth. Balinor smiled at her as he took one cup and she offered the other to his companion.
Ragnar had arrived shortly before sundown, traipsing into the village on foot, his thin cloak coated in dust and his boots caked with mud. Balinor had greeted him with a one-armed hug when he returned from the field, then they had fallen into earnest conversation. Ragnar had glanced around the curious faces of the other villagers and suggested they continue their discussion in Hunith's hut.
She added carrots to the potato stew already simmering and opened a jar of stewed apples, thankful she had baked bread earlier. A few locks of dark hair escaped from her scarf and she used her forearm to swipe the sweat-sticky strands away from her face.
"Myrxtia hasn't come though I've been calling her for over a week now." Ragnar's tanned brow was wrinkled in worry under his fringe of dark blond hair.
"I can ask Kilgharrah if he's seen the green dragon recently," Balinor offered.
"Are you certain you can contact him? Gvaarin has been missing for months now and since Bsollaf's body was discovered we know the dragons are in danger."
"Bsollaf was nearly eight hundred years old, ancient even for a dragon. He may simply have perished of old age."
Ragnar shook his head. "No dragon who died naturally has ever been seen again. In this case, the body was rotting at the mouth of that cave."
"What do you believe happened, then?"
The other man's face paled beneath his tan and his brown eyes darted around the room. He lowered his voice. "Uther Pendragon."
Hunith's gut churned at mention of Camelot's king who was quickly becoming the most feared man in the Five Kingdoms.
Balinor sat back. "Uther's purge is directed at sorcerers who engage in black magic, like the one he blames for his queen's death. He has no quarrel with dragons."
Ragnar sighed deeply. "You are always determined to see goodness in people. Even you must know by now that this purge is aimed at magic of all kinds, no matter who uses it or why."
A thick wooden ladle slipped from Hunith's fingers and its handle sank into the bubbling stew. "It's true, then?"
Both men turned to look at her.
Her hand trembled and she clenched her fist on a handful of her skirt. She frowned when Balinor refused to meet her eyes.
"Galbraith was burned at the stake twelve nights ago and Gwenillyn with him," Ragnar said slowly. "For the sole crime of possessing magic."
Hunith gasped and covered her mouth with one hand. "What of their children?"
"I helped smuggle them to safety but the eldest boy insisted on going back to Camelot's citadel to retrieve his parents' bones." Ragnar hesitated then and glanced at Balinor who shrugged in response.
"You might as well tell her."
"He was thrown into Camelot's dungeon."
Hunith clenched her jaw tightly. "But the boy has no magic."
"His parents did and he had not exposed them. That's all it takes anymore." Ragnar pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Would that I could convince Melisandre to leave Braithcliffe, or at least move to a village further from the city."
"You are welcome to stay with us, you know," Hunith said. "You and anyone else that needs to escape."
He shook his head without raising it. "My wife refuses to leave Camelot. It's where she was born, where her mother was born, where her grandmother was born. She has never been further from home than the lower town of Uther's citadel. Her entire family lives within one league of Braithcliffe and she insists she needs them near, especially now, so close to her time. You wouldn't understand, being that you don't have children."
For one painful instant Hunith's heart ceased to beat. Balinor's brows snapped together as his face turned red.
Ragnar's hands dropped and he stared up at her. "Hunith, I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean …"
The red faded slightly from Balinor's face but she laid a hand on his shoulder anyway. He was so rarely angry that his protective instinct had momentarily shocked her even in her pain.
"It's all right," she said.
"No, it isn't." Ragnar was still staring at her, eyes huge in his pale face. "That was insensitive. I've just been so worried." His gaze switched to Balinor, pleading for understanding. "It's our first child and you know it'll be a boy."
Beneath her hand, Balinor's shoulder muscles relaxed.
"Are you that worried for your safety?" Hunith asked.
Miserably, Ragnar nodded.
"I know most of those in Camelot with magic renounced it or left when the purge began, but it's remained safe in the villages," Balinor said.
"It's no longer safe anywhere in the kingdom. Soldiers make midnight raids, neighbours are afraid to speak to neighbours, even family members have turned on each other." Ragnar met Balinor's eyes. "Perhaps it is time to get involved."
Balinor shook his head. "Dragonlords do not take part in wars. We cannot choose sides, not in this, not in any fight, ever." The destructive power of dragons was as awesome as their power to heal. It could not be unleashed no matter who believed their side was "right." Too many would die.
"Perhaps this time we need to step in. Uther has murdered so many it has been named the Great Purge – not that there is anything great about this slaughter."
"And many more would die if the dragons were to attack. Uther's soldiers have families and lives just as do any of us, as do the citizens that would be caught in the fighting." Balinor leaned forward to lay one hand on Ragnar's forearm. "We cannot allow fear or anger to rule us. Remember what happened to Daobeth. Those dragonlords thought they were right, too. Now the ruined castle is a monument to the thousands of lives ripped apart by the death and destruction the dragons wrought there."
"You're right." Ragnar gripped his elbow in return. "But you were in Camelot just weeks ago. You've seen what it's like. You know what would happen to you if you used magic in the city."
Hunith put both hands on her hips and stared at Balinor. "You knew," she said. "You knew things had gone from bad to worse."
He flushed under her stare.
She faced Ragnar. "How much danger is he in?"
"I advise you both to stay here and not cross the border into Camelot for any reason."
"Which I have no intention of doing so you can cease worrying," Balinor said. At Hunith's frown he put on his most endearing smile which made his eyes crinkle. "Now how about we taste that delicious-smelling stew?"
Hunith looked from one of them to the other, not convinced they had told her everything, but entranced by Balinor's smile despite her worry. "Just so long as you have no intention of venturing into Camelot."
"None at all," he said.
Eleynora deftly wrapped a long, grey strand of fleece around her carding board. "What did the message say?"
Hunith smiled though she could not prevent a stab of envy as her eyes fell on Eleynora's slightly rounded stomach.
"Ragnar and Melisandre's child was a boy." The message was the one bit of joy in a steady stream of bad news.
Refugees from Camelot had begun crossing the border into Essetir daily, bringing with them tales of raids by soldiers and rampant accusations of sorcery that made it difficult to travel. Strangers were not welcome anywhere. Most of the refugees fled in groups and even so they walked night and day without attempting to barter for food along the way. It was safer to keep moving and keep to themselves. By the time they passed into Ealdor, many were footsore, exhausted to the point of collapse, and near starving. Hunith and her fellow villagers tended to the first groups but as the weeks dragged on there was less and less to spare.
The sound of horses made both women exchange a puzzled glance. What visitors wealthy enough to afford mounts would be passing through Ealdor? If it were bandits there would have been shouting but instead there were no sounds of human communication at all. Hunith set down her carding board and walked to the doorway.
Chickens and geese protested and flapped as they parted for a column of soldiers bearing a standard with a coiled serpent on a grey field. The dust stirred up by the horses' hooves caused Hunith to blink and cough and she stepped back again.
"Soldiers," she said to Eleynora. "Heading toward the border."
"Ah." The other woman returned to her task. "Good thing you received your friend's message. If our king has decided to turn away Camelot's refugees , I fear the flow of news will likewise dwindle."
She was right, the number of travelers crossing into Essetir became fewer and fewer and it grew harder to learn anything of what was happening in their neighbouring kingdom. Until dragons attacked Camelot – the first time anyone could remember a dragon attacking a human settlement since the fall of Daobeth generations ago – and then people spoke of little else.
"No!" Hunith grabbed the pack from Balinor's hands and upended it, dumping clothing and food onto the floor of the hut.
He ignored the mess and put both hands on her shoulders. "I promise everything will be all right. I'll be back safely."
She dropped the pack on top of the pile and covered her face in her hands. "It won't be all right. This is madness." She gripped his tunic in her fists, no longer hiding the tears in her eyes. "Don't go."
"Oh, Hunith." He pulled her close and rubbed one hand up and down her back.
She knew she was being a shrew. He was entitled to do what he believed to be right – it was one of the many things she loved about him – and misery choked her at making him feel guilty about it. But her apology stuck in her throat.
More tears welled up. She hated women who used tears to make men do what they wanted yet the more she tried to stop them the harder she cried. She pressed her face into the scratchy wool of his tunic. "Don't go."
He was still rubbing her back tenderly. "Listen to me. King Uther has offered to make peace. He regrets what his grief has wrought on the Five Kingdoms and he wants to prove that to Kilgharrah. You can understand how the loss of his wife drove him to commit horrible things, can't you?"
She nodded. The rough wool scraped the moisture from her right cheek.
"We all do things when we are angry or grieving that we regret later." He leaned back and took her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed the wetness from the corners of her eyes. "King Uther would be a fool to continue this war now that the dragons have set themselves against him."
"Perhaps he is a fool." She sniffed.
"Uther Pendragon is anything but foolish," Balinor said. His fingers tucked loose strands of her hair back under the green headscarf. "I promise I will come back to you, no matter what."
She shivered at the intensity in his gaze. Then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed. "I'm sorry I made such a fuss," she mumbled into his shoulder.
Quickly, she stepped back and dropped to her knees to gather up everything she had scattered. Her hands shook only slightly. Together, they folded and repacked the sack.
They shared a long kiss before he said his final farewell and pushed aside the cloth hanging across the doorway. Then he was gone.
Why had she behaved like that? It wasn't like her to be so possessive or so irrational. It was as if she heard her future heartbroken cries begging her not to let him go. She clenched her fingers tightly across her empty belly. If only they had had children, she would have someone to live for besides Balinor.
"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!" Balinor waited in the thigh-high grass of the field, one hand shading his eyes from the sun overhead.
In moments, the yellow grass bent double and a cloud of grasshoppers scattered from the mini-windstorm. The ground trembled beneath his feet when Kilgharrah landed on all fours and folded back his immense leathery wings.
"I've been calling you every day for three days."
Kilgharrah's huge head bobbed in the air. "It is not my fault your power cannot reach far." The long neck bent closer to the ground causing the tall grass to curl in the dragon's hot breath. "You risk much entering Uther's kingdom."
"It's a risk I'm willing to take in order to avoid further bloodshed."
Large yellow eyes blinked.
"I know about your nightly assaults on the citadel and I have come to make peace between King Uther and the dragons."
The horned head lifted into the air so that Balinor had to crane his neck to look upward.
"Have you now," Kilgharrah said softly.
"Yes."
"But there are no more dragons, only me." The deep voice was a gentle rumble.
Balinor passed a hand across his face. Kilgharrah had been the largest and oldest of the dragons. Had he Seen that he would be the last?
"Even Myrxtia?"
The massive head nodded.
"But she only hatched last year."
"An easy target for Uther's butchers."
The idea that a dragon no matter how young was an easy target was laughable but Balinor felt no humour. He pushed aside the urge for retribution that clawed at his heart and straightened his shoulders. "I am told that Uther deeply regrets the pain he has caused many these past couple of years. The destruction you have inflicted on his citadel has made him see that he has endangered his people with his war on magic. He was grieving, though that does not excuse his actions, but he wishes to end the hostilities now."
The yellow eyes blinked again. "I see."
Again Balinor wondered what the ancient dragon had Seen of the future. Not that the future was set in stone; it was always in motion, difficult to interpret even for an experienced Seer.
The thick head cocked on the dragon's long neck. "What makes you think this offer is genuine?"
"Ragnar called all the dragonlords to meet with him so that we can face Uther together. Ragnar fears and distrusts Uther more than anyone; if he has sent for us it must be safe."
Once more, the head bent low so that tall grass brushed against the dragon's massive jaw. "Are you certain you know who you can trust?"
A few blades of dry, yellow grass smoked from the heat of the creature's breath.
"I have to try," Balinor said. "Too many have died or seen their loved ones dying or imprisoned. This madness must end. You will cease your attacks on Uther's citadel while we negotiate peace."
"Yes," Kilgharrah said. The yellow eyes blinked.
"Balinor." Ragnar's face had lost much of its tan, paler now than his dirty blond hair.
They exchanged a one-armed hug before the other man stepped back quickly and glanced around the darkened clearing. Tall trees ringed an open space, though not much else was visible in the twilight. Frogs chirped in a boggy spot closer to the stream Balinor had followed to this meeting place. A fox darted across the edge of the clearing, briefly outlined by the last bit of light.
Ragnar flinched at the movement, his eyes darting around the treeline. He tightened his cloak and pulled up its hood. "Where is Kilgharrah?"
"I said I would call once I located you."
Ragnar's head nodded beneath the enveloping hood. "Good."
"Where are the others?" Balinor had expected his fellow dragonlords to meet him here. A few he had not seen in years and it would be good to lay eyes on their faces despite the strained circumstances.
"Malacant and Ceynard are waiting in town. Dinadan won't arrive until tomorrow." Ragnar clutched his cloak tighter, his knuckles white.
Balinor frowned. "Is something wrong, my friend?"
A dry chuckle cut the evening air. "I'm sorry to be so on edge."
"I completely understand." Since he crossed the border into Uther's kingdom Balinor had found himself looking over his shoulder at every little noise. "How are Melisandre and the baby?"
Ragnar's brown eyes looked so bleak that for a moment Balinor thought tragedy had befallen mother or child.
"They're both well. Listen, Uther has requested that the Great Dragon submit to certain precautions for this meeting."
"Ah." The reason for his friend's nervousness was abruptly clear. Though Ragnar was also a dragonlord, he had always been hesitant in the presence of the largest dragon, preferring to spend his time with hatchlings and yearlings. He would hate to face Kilgharrah's displeasure at whatever restrictions Uther had suggested.
"Don't worry, my friend." Balinor patted the other man's back. "Whatever it is, I'll make certain Kilgharrah submits graciously." For all the dragon's imposing bulk, he really was not hard to deal with.
"What of the Court Physician, Gaius?" asked freckle-faced Timion.
In the hearth, a log broke causing two others to shift. Flames climbed higher as the logs collapsed and Timion shifted closer to the warmth.
"Don't trust him. He's firmly in Uther's pocket." Malacant rocked back in his chair, propped it on two legs, and continued to whittle a chunk of wood as large as his fist.
Balinor watched him work, envying the skill and patience in Malacant's hands as a tiny figure began to take shape. "But they say Gaius has magic himself."
"He gave it up for the king. Now he only practices healing the way the other leeches do."
"I've never seen him use leeches," Bors said. "He relies on his potions, brewed without magic, and effective at times."
"At times. Have you tasted one of his remedies? I'd rather be ill." Malacant spat on the floor.
Timion frowned. "Do you truly believe he would betray his own kind to Uther?"
"No, he doesn't have the guts. But don't trust him to lend a hand. He's perfectly willing to stand aside and allow the most horrendous travesties without lifting a finger against his king and patron," Malacant said.
"That's not entirely true," Ceynard said. His freckles were darker than his son's though there were fewer of them. "His woman was a healer, far more powerful than he ever was, yet she slipped out of Camelot before the butchers could come for her. There's only one person who could have warned her and got her out before Uther executed her."
"Yet he didn't go with her." Malacant's eyes flashed gold and a cup filled itself with mead and delivered itself to his hand. "No profit in being a fugitive. Being Court Physician is a lucrative position; no land, but a cozy spot within the citadel and food from the king's own table."
Balinor hoped the physician was not as callous or mercenary as Malacant painted him. He recalled the distinguished man he had seen earlier in Camelot's busy marketplace, his brown hair elegantly streaked with grey at each temple and long enough to brush the collar of an embroidered blue robe. The older man had had a golden-haired toddler by the hand. When the little boy stumbled and skinned his palm on a stone, the physician had swept him up and carried him on his shoulders. The toddler giggled and bounced excitedly, his hurt hand entirely forgotten.
Surely a man so caring of a little boy could not be entirely self-serving? If his only concern was to shield the prince from harm it would not require carrying the little one or making him laugh.
The wooden door opened to let two cloaked figures into the room along with a rush of cold air that made the candle flames flicker.
"Dinadan." Balinor leapt up to give one of the men a welcoming hug. "It's been a long time, my friend."
"Too long," the other agreed as he stepped back and shed his heavy woolen cloak.
Ragnar took off his cloak as well before he gestured the newest arrival to take a seat on one of the overturned barrels nearest the hearth.
"We're all here now." Balinor let his gaze wander around the room. It had been years since they had all been together, and the warmth that infused his chest surprised him. It was a feeling like coming home, though he had never been to this room in Camelot before.
He looked forward to the evening more than he had imagined possible. They would share many cups tonight and break bread together while they talked of dragons and sons and the coming peace. Even the empty hole in his life which should have been filled with his own son shrunk at being among his kin once more.