Πέρασμα των πορειών

Four

When he woke, Merlin did so with a big yawn. He sat up and rubbed at his bleary eyes, blinking away the haze to glance about and gauge his surroundings. His clothes lay folded in a pile on his bed beside him, clean and dry. On a rock across the cave, Balinor sat engaged in scraping at a piece of wood with a knife. At Merlin's stirring, he looked up.

"Awake?" He queried lightly.

Merlin nodded and yawned again, drawing his blanket up about his shoulders. He got to his feet and padded over to take Balinor's hand and pull it away from the wood block to see what he was doing.

He examined the carved wood closely, running a fingertip over the roughly-formed head of the pony taking shape from it.

"Mine," he announced, looking up at Balinor with a serious expression.

The man tried to swallow his smile, but was largely unsuccessful. "If you want. I'll have to finish it first."

"No," Merlin shook his head. "Mine."

He was trying to say something, but Balinor could not work out what. He frowned, wishing that he could understand better, and returned to carving only to look up a few strokes later, "thirsty?"

Merlin nodded and padded over to the table on bare feet, reaching for the mug there with grasping fingers.

Balinor reached it for him, dipping it into the bucket to fill with water, and handed it to Merlin who set to drinking as though utterly parched.

He was likely dehydrated still. The bounty hunter had probably deprived him of water as well as food, so Balinor was taking care to rehydrate him a little at a time, the same as building up his food intake, for the same reasons.

After hefting Merlin about by necessity, and judging by his energy levels, Balinor had come to think that maybe he hadn't been in the bounty hunter's clutches all that long after all. He was certainly hungry, but seemed to be naturally of quite a thin build. However long it was, it had certainly been long enough to scare him soundly. At his age that was unsurprising. The whole thing must have been terrible for him, especially if the state of his wrists were anything to go by.

"Merlin."

The lad looked up at him over his mug, still drinking. Balinor cleared his throat, aware that there would be resistance. "Where is your village?"

Merlin stopped drinking, and shook his head.

"Merlin," Balinor took the mug from him gently and set it on the table. He crouched down, taking hold of the boy's shoulders that Merlin faced him and that he could look him in the eye. "I need to know, so that I can take you home. If you don't tell me, then I can't do that." He spoke slowly, ensuring that Merlin listened well to what he was saying, and took it on board, "you need to tell me where you're from, boy."

Merlin did not answer. He shook his head again, looking for all the world as though he was about to burst into tears.

Balinor did not know what to do or say. He huffed to himself, and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You want to go home?"

To his confusion, Merlin shook his head, then nodded, only to shake it again.

"You don't want to go home?"

Merlin clearly did not know what to say or do. It didn't look as though he knew the answer to that himself.

"You want to see your mother?" Balinor pressed.

Merlin nodded readily, faltering as he realised that Balinor was looking back at him with a searching expression, waiting for more of an answer. He shook his head and brought his hands to his eyes.

Balinor rubbed Merlin's arms reassuringly as the boy began to shake under silent sobs. "You want to see your mother, but you don't want to go back to your village? Why?"

"..."

Balinor blinked, becoming frustrated, though he fought not to let it show. "Why?"

"Simmons." Merlin's small voice quaked.

Balinor's brows drew together. "Simmons?"

Merlin nodded, his shoulders relaxing a little. "Old man Simmons."

Balinor started, drawing back a little, "Old man- you're from Ealdor?"

Merlin looked up at him, eyes darting over the surprise on his face. He nodded his head.

Balinor felt winded. Breathless. "I know Ealdor," he told Merlin, a quiver to his voice. "Your mother is there?"

Again, Merlin nodded.

"And you're afraid of Simmons?"

Merlin swallowed, his throat bobbing. That was indication enough.

Balinor grit his teeth. Simmons was a singular piece of work. Disliked anything out of the ordinary. Had issues with magic, thought it unnatural, and vile, and was outspoken on the subject. Balinor frowned harder. The man would have taken out his dislike on a child? Terrified Merlin so much that the poor boy would be afraid to go home?

"Merlin, does your mother know you're afraid of Simmons?"

The little boy shook his head.

"What about your father?"

Merlin shook his head harder, a sob rising from his throat to echo in the cave.

Balinor ducked his head, hoping to catch the lad's eye. "Have you told him?"

No response.

"Alfred, or Galen?"

Merlin simply looked devastated.

Balinor squeezed his eyes shut, able he thought, to discern why. He ought to have known, really. Simmons was an elder. The men of Ealdor did not know how to fight. When the bounty hunter passed through the village he could have taken Merlin without difficulty. Nobody would have spoken up or resisted. Especially if it had been Simmons who turned over Merlin. There was little that they could have done, the way things were.

As much as he had come to dislike Simmons during his time in the village, Balinor never would have thought him capable of something so vicious. Simmons was something of an opportunist, however. If Merlin had somehow gotten on his bad side, or if he found out that the boy had magic, then a bounty hunter passing through may have seemed too good to be true.

And only Merlin's mother had tried to stop it.

The thought made Balinor's blood boil. What sort of man was Merlin's father, that the boy's mother would fight for him, but he would not? Even he had challenged Simmons during his time in the village. The whole thing made him angry and rightly so.

"Merlin," he took the boy's arm, drawing the crying child round to face him proper. "Merlin, look at me."

The boy did as he was told, gnawing on one fingernail almost frantically.

Balinor stilled him, meeting his eyes with an earnest look of his own, "listen to me, boy. I am going to take you back to Ealdor, and I am I going to make damn sure that Old man Simmons knows that no harm is to come to you, understand?"

To his satisfaction, Merlin stared up at him wide-eyed. Balinor went on, "I know Simmons, and he knows me. He knows that I will not take no for an answer or I'll shout him down. And believe me, boy, there is nobody can shout as loud as me."

Merlin looked back at him in astonishment, rubbing the tears from one eye with the sleeve of his oversized tunic. He noted the seriousness in Balinor's eyes, and the contrasting smirk on his lips, and found himself smiling also.

Balinor raised both eyebrows, waiting for a further response from the child. "You believe me?"

To his relief, Merlin nodded, and gave a wide grin.

Balinor patted him on the head affectionately. "Good lad. Now go get your clothes. We'll get you dressed, your wounds sorted and I'll start dinner. We need to get going afterwards."

Obediently, Merlin nodded and ran to his bed to do as he was told.

Balinor watched him go, his feelings mixed. He was glad to finally know where he had to take Merlin, but felt conflicted about it. Anywhere else would have been a blessing. Not Ealdor.

He had resigned himself to never returning to the village, and yet now it seemed that he would find himself back there once again. The thought made his heart both leap and sink at the same time, however that was possible. It was both the place that he had been happiest, and somewhere that filled him with dread. With all his loss, returning there was sure to confront him with yet more. He really did not know if he could bear it.

Simmons would be a problem also. Not only for his position within the village, but for all that Balinor knew himself to be a laid back soul, he recognised that his temper could sometimes get the better of him. Looking at Merlin setting out his clothes and smoothing out the creases with such care, ready to put on, he realised that there was nothing more he would like than to break Simmons' jaw, 'old man' or not.

Whoever Merlin's father was, he could do with some sense knocked into him also. Perhaps it was his blood weighing in and influencing his opinion without knowing all of the facts, but to protect one's young was one of the most fundamental imperatives of a Dragonlord. The first born son carried the future of the line. To not fight for one's child was simply abhorrent. With that thought in mind, he found himself unsure that he wanted to know the man. Still, he needed to find out who he was returning the boy to.

"Merlin?"

The boy glanced back over his shoulder at him, blinking steadily.

Balinor blinked back at him, measuring the boy's looks thoughtfully. "Who is your father?"

To his surprise, Merlin shook his head and returned to gathering his clothing.

Balinor frowned. "You don't want to tell me?"

The boy shrugged, deepening Balinor's confusion. He opened his mouth to ask again, only to catch the way Merlin's shoulders quaked, heard his quiet sniffles.

He paused, and rubbed a hand over his mouth. It could wait. He knew where to take Merlin. He had gotten enough out of the boy for now. It would probably be better not to upset him further, or to have the time to dwell on the man he would be handing Merlin back to. Give him less of an opportunity to get het up and take the coward to task. If indeed, all had transpired as he believed it had. If the bounty hunter had taken Merlin with relative ease, and not-

The thought put Balinor on the back foot. What if there was no one to take Merlin back to? What then? The boy could be crying for any number of reasons, least of all that he was now an orphan. There maybe someone in the village who would take Merlin in - as she had taken in another lost soul - but that thought too filled him with worry.

It did no good to think that way. One thing at a time.

He had to wonder though, yet could not equate Merlin to any of the men he knew in Ealdor. There were a few women he could recall that Merlin could feasibly belong to. The most likely in his mind was Rhoda, the dark-haired seamstress. She was a rather fiery woman who'd no qualms about shouting at a man for any reason. She'd no children when he was in the village, but there were plenty attempting to court her when he left. Merlin could possibly be hers.

He thoughtlessly opened his mouth to ask Merlin, but stopped himself, and swallowed. More than the possibility that Merlin no longer had a mother, he shouldn't want to know about her. He should not get too invested in Merlin beyond taking him home. The boy was nothing to do with him. How he was raised was none of his business.

He would take Merlin home, talk to Simmons about leaving the lad be, as he had promised, and avoid getting involved with anyone or anything else in the village. That way he may not have to face what he feared the most in returning there. She would be spared the misery of facing him, also.

… Who was he to call anyone else a coward?

With a deep sigh, he scrubbed his hands back over his face, got to his feet and made for the table to prepare the salve for Merlin's wrists.

Whatever happened when they reached Ealdor, he knew that he ought to start preparing himself for heartache. A prospect that set a downturn in his mood he had to try and ignore. He could not let himself mope, for Merlin's sake.

Night drew on quickly once the blue skies clouded over. Rain looked to be due at some point, but not for a couple of hours. Balinor tugged at the straps of his knapsack that they rested comfortably over his shoulders, and glanced up at the black sky. The last signs of blue light were fading rapidly in the west. It would soon be totally dark.

Merlin stood at his side, fingers twined in the thigh of his trousers as they seemed to be whenever the boy stood beside him. The little lad was fed and rested, and wrapped about his shoulders in a small fox fur Balinor had once traded for and forgotten about, and dug out of the sacks under the table. His wrists were freshly tended and bandaged. They were as ready as they would ever be.

With a light intake of breath Balinor held out his hand to Merlin, who dutifully released his trouser leg to take it and waited whilst the little boy waved goodbye to the cave before starting out over the smooth rocks beside the stream.

Ealdor was not far. About a half day's walk from Engerd which was in itself only about a league* from the cave. Engerd however, lay right on the border with Camelot. While passing through the town did not strike him as a good idea, Balinor needed to ensure that the bounty hunter had moved on.

They made their way through the forest, zig-zagging up the hill out of the valley at something of a snail's pace compared to Balinor's usual walking speed. Merlin's little legs could not keep up with that, so proceedings were bound to be slower. Still, he trundled along at Balinor's side, clutching his hand with tight little fingers. He could not see very well in the dark, apparently.

They eventually made it to the top of the hill and the road that ran along its crest. Balinor had to pick Merlin up and carry him across the brambles and large rocks that bordered the road's edge, but Merlin did not seem to mind, clinging to him as he went.

It was almost halfway before Merlin grew tired and he had to be carried again. To his credit he did not complain, only tugging on Balinor's coat to let him know when he could go no further. He was swept up and carried from there on, eventually putting his head down on Balinor's shoulder and drifting off to sleep with the bobbing rock of the Dragonlord's long, bouncing stride.

He slept for some long time, mouthing his thumb intermittently and only waking when Balinor set him down a couple of times to rest his arms, and when the first drops of rain fell.

The night was well advanced and the rain lashing down by the time the rooftops and lights of Engerd came into view. Balinor darted into the shadow of a small house, tugging Merlin along with him that the boy stayed close.

Holding his little shoulders, Balinor felt Merlin shaking and knew that it was not just shivers from the rain. He peered around the wall, at the inn across the street.

There was no sign of the bounty hunter's cage, or of any of Eldred's men. The street was completely empty. Cautious, Balinor tugged Merlin across the road by his hand, over to the side of the inn and through the door that he knew was there.

It opened onto a corner of the bar, out of the light of the candles. Balinor kept Merlin behind him, and scanned the room carefully before moving any further in.

The place was empty – no lingering patrons hiding away in shadowed corners. One man did remain; a large, bearded man likely in his early thirties, reading laboriously over several sheets of parchment at the bar.

Balinor brushed a hand back over Merlin's soaked hair, and started forward to approach the man.

"Ned."

The man looked up over his shoulder, an expression of disbelief settling firmly on his face. He got to his feet, facing the newcomer in surprise. "Balinor?"

The Dragonlord smiled, stepping forward to meet the man's brotherly embrace with a chuckle. "Hello, Ned."

Merlin hung back, staring up at them, unsure.

The men released one another, taking a moment to share mutual smiles. Ned broke first, shaking his head and looking Balinor up and down. "You haven't changed a bit."

"It's only been a couple of years."

"And look at me." Ned sobered, looking down at Merlin. "This your little one?"

Balinor glanced at Merlin, noting the worry on the lad's face. He took his hand. "No. This is Merlin. I'm taking him home to his village."

Ned considered Merlin carefully, his scrutiny making the child uncomfortable. After a moment, he rubbed his chin and turned his attention back to Balinor.

"Could pass as yours. Got ears like you."

Balinor frowned, a little annoyed by mention of his least favourite feature. He let it go and fixed Ned with a serious look, "there was a man here," he began, voice a little shaky, "a bounty hunter-"

"Halig," Ned put in, nodding his understanding. "He's gone. Left here yesterday."

The tension washed out of Balinor, hearing those words. He breathed an audible sigh of relief and swiped a hand back into his hair, grabbing a handful in an attempt to ground himself. "Then, I need to ask something of you." He leant down and picked up Merlin and sat the boy on his hip. "We need help."

Ned considered the two of them carefully, no flicker of doubt crossing his face but clear worry. He shuttered his eyes and raked a hand back through his own rapidly thinning hair. "Balinor, you're my brother. What do you need?"

"Somewhere to stay. Just for tonight."

Ned did not have to think about it. He nodded his head, "follow me."

It was strange, but Merlin had sunk into a sort of silent shaking fit. Balinor rocked him, pacing the length of the room that Ned had shown them to, listening to everything the innkeeper had to tell him about Halig and his whereabouts with an expression of stone cold hatred on his face.

The vicious bastard had spent several evenings at the inn, waxing lyrical to any that would listen about the 'baby sorcerer' he had captured, and the pretty sum that Uther Pendragon would pay for him. If the desire to kill the man had not stirred in Balinor before, it certainly did now.

After a while Ned left with the promise to make breakfast for them in the morning. There was apparently nobody else at the inn that night, so they need not worry about being discovered. Before he left Ned had admonished Balinor for not dropping in on previous visits to town and engaged in a hearty handshake with him that brought him into close proximity to Merlin, sending the child into a violent shaking fit.

As soon as Ned was gone and the door closed behind him, Balinor sat Merlin down on the end of one of the beds and looked him over in concern. "What's the matter, boy?"

Merlin did not say anything, but rubbed at his eye. His shakes had subsided, but he still appeared fearful. Balinor glanced about the room, uncertain,

"Is it this place?"

Merlin shook his head, but continued to rub his eyes. Balinor swallowed, frowning as he tried to surmise what it was that upset his young charge so. "Are you afraid of Ned?" That seemed like the next most likely reason.

To his surprise, Merlin nodded.

It took Balinor aback. "Why? He did something? When you were here before? In the cage?"

Merlin shook his head. "Bad men," he muttered under his breath.

"Bad men?" Balinor looked at the boy squarely. "Why do you say that?"

Without explanation, Merlin leant forward and brushed his hands over Balinor's jaw.

"Bad men," he repeated with a quiver.

What did he mean by that? Balinor tried to decipher it, aware that what Merlin thought a simple explanation was complex to anyone not possessed of a child's logic. What his face could mean to- ah.

He lowered his eyes, staring at Merlin's feet dangling over the end of the bed that they rested atop his knees where he crouched. "Bad men have beards, is that it?"

In his periphery, Merlin nodded.

Balinor understood. "Like Simmons, and Halig?"

Merlin nodded again, with new certainty.

"I must have been a bad man."

Hurriedly Merlin shook his head, becoming distressed at the flaw in his logic, and at the idea of his having upset Balinor. He all but launched himself off the bed at Balinor, caught up in the man's arms as he threw his own around the Dragonlord's neck. Merlin shook his head vigorously and began to cry.

Balinor sighed, and folded the hysterical child in a secure cuddle. "It's alright, Merlin," he soothed. "I'm trying to understand. You haven't anything to cry about."

He held onto Merlin, resting his cheek against the boy's hair, rubbing his back reassuringly. He huffed, more to himself than to Merlin. "I'm not upset. I look ridiculous with a beard, anyway."

A grin tugged at his lips, hearing Merlin giggle next to his ear. Carefully, he extracted Merlin and held him at arm's length that the boy stood on his own two feet, and chucked his cheek. "It's good to be cautious, Merlin. It's a skill we can all do well to learn. You don't have to worry about how a person looks. There's no judging a man's character by looks alone."

Merlin nodded, taking the man in front of him as proof of that quite readily.

Balinor continued, "and you needn't be afraid of Ned."

The boy looked unsure whether or not to take that assurance to heart. He thought on it some, before arriving at a conclusion.

"Brothers?" He asked, uncertain.

Balinor hesitated to answer. How could he explain it to the child? He doubted that Merlin would be able to grasp the concept of milk kinship. "Sort of."

Again, Merlin took that at face value, and raised his hand to rub at his eye.

Balinor smiled at him, quietly thankful that he was such a laid back child really, and reached out to pick him up under his arms. "Come on."

He sat Merlin back on the end of the bed and set about rummaging through his knapsack for the oversized nightshirt he had packed for the lad. Businesslike, he held the garment up and dutifully shook out the creases. "Let's get you to bed."

After the journey from the cave it seemed that Merlin was more than glad to do as he was told. No sooner had he wriggled under the covers and laid his head on the pillow did he begin to drift off.

He was asleep and breathing softly before Balinor had finished tucking him in.

The Dragonlord looked at him a moment, smiling as the boy's thumb found its way into his mouth again.

He couldn't fool himself that he wasn't becoming attached to the lad. Merlin was a very endearing little person. It was hard not to like him. He recognised also, however, that being so isolated left him in need of human company. Solitude had never really appealed. He was very much a pack animal, and always had been. Having someone to talk to other than himself was something of a relief. Even the inane chatter of a child was better than the endless silence.

Tired, he pulled the cord from his hair and shook it out to run a hand back through the damp waves. Travelling under cover of darkness this far had given him piece of mind. He hadn't wanted to fall foul of Merlin's captor in daylight, and risk drawing Eldred's men into the inevitable fray should there be any in town. He had needed to know that the man had moved on.

He couldn't help but reflect on Ned's assurances with relief as he stripped off his shirt for a clean nightshirt. It was likely that Halig would have headed to Ealdor once the search for himself and Merlin proved fruitless. It was the decent thing to do, returning a lost child to their parents. Returning to the boy's village seemed a logical step to take, working on the off chance that Balinor was indeed a decent person. In the best case scenario Halig would have given Merlin up as a lost cause and moved on to other parts. That would be ideal. On the other hand, it was likely that he and Merlin would now be travelling behind the bounty hunter towards Ealdor. Hunting may not be his forte, but Balinor recognised that he possessed skill in tracking. With Halig leading the way it would be much easier to avoid catching up with, or running into him.

Reassured, Balinor clambered into the other bed, drawing the blanket up over himself and turned onto his side. He made to blow out the candle atop the small chest of drawers between the two beds, when his gaze fell on his charge.

He found a soft smile at the sight, and huffed, wondering how he had ended up in this situation, and surprised at himself that he was not regretful of any of it.

"Goodnight, Merlin."

The child stirred a little, smacking his lips around his thumb as he rolled onto his back, throwing his other arm above his head onto his pillow.

"G'night," he murmured, barely awake, before breathing a deep sigh and drifting off into dreams once more.

Balinor shook his head gently. He leant over and blew out the candle.

*One league = about three miles/4.82 Kilometres. Or roughly the distance one could walk in an hour.