A/N: Well, well, well, look who the cat dragged in. *coughs uncomfortably* I know it's been forever, people, and I'm sorry, but you know how RL gets in the way! Also, this chapter and the next one were giving me SO much trouble because I was trying to fit them into one, so I finally gave in and separated them. I'm posting both today, though, just so you all don't have to wait even longer.
I can't wait for the canonical year between season two and three, though. It's going to be so fun to write! Everything is original! Whoop-de-doop!
But unfortunately, "The Last Dragonlord" has managed to drag itself out over tHREE chapters now, so I promise it's over by the end of chapter 10. I promise! Anyway, I'll quit wasting time and let you all get to the story. Also, stand by for the aforementioned PLOT TWIST at the end of the next chapter. :) And I'm positive it's not what any of you think.
Summary: The soulmate words were seemingly the one form of magic Uther Pendragon could not best. Merlin has never wanted hers; they are sure to be a great deal of trouble on top of being a warlock. After all, soulmarks are a type of magic, and she has eight.
Spoilers for BBC's Merlin, Seasons One-Five
Warnings: Slight Angst, Multiple Canonical/Non-canonical Character Deaths
THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD.
Chapter 9:
Arthur is attempting to convince Balinor to change his mind. Merlin is attempting to skip pebbles on the quick-running little stream like she used to at the pond in Ealdor. Unfortunately, she doubts he will have any more luck than she is right now.
Her father.
Merlin throws a pebble with a little more vehemence than is perhaps required. Something more indeed. When Hunith spoke of Merlin's father, it was always with a wealth of affection; of how he would do little things like pull her chair out for her when they sat down to eat, of the warmth of his eyes when he looked at her.
However, most of the time, Hunith preferred not to speak of him at all. In truth, Merlin knew very little else about him except his soulmark, and the way they had met. She had heard that story a thousand times. She could retell it the way her mother used to by heart.
He had been the first to speak, she knew that. Merlin had liked to think that his words to Hunith implied that he was outgoing, charming. Handsome.
Would you like to dance, lady?
The perfect gentleman.
From what Merlin has seen, that is not the case. He is handsome, perhaps, in a rugged sort of way, but charm is something he seems to lack. Perhaps he was more outgoing and charming when he hadn't lived in a cave for longer than she has been alive, Merlin reflects. It might be enough to wear the charm off anyone.
I'm afraid I don't know how, as no one has ever asked me before.
Those were Hunith's words to him. She wonders, suddenly, if he can still remember how to dance. Merlin knows that when her parents first met, the very first thing they ever did together was dance. Hunith had once said that he was such a brilliant dancer that she didn't even need to learn the steps.
Merlin has always wanted to learn to dance; in Ealdor, there's no reason to know any dances but the traditional line dances or the skipping, twirling jigs that every villager in the five kingdoms could do on half a moment's notice. But the young warlock has a strange longing to know the type of dancing the courtiers do, the type she has seen them do at nearly every feast and banquet since she arrived at Camelot.
Gwen knows a little, and had been convinced early on to teach Merlin that much, but she is only a maid. She doesn't know anything past the most basic of two-steps; certainly nothing as complicated looking as a waltz. If it even is complicated, of course. Merlin wouldn't know.
Arthur knows every dance, of course, and has to dance them, too. Every time a noble or king with a daughter comes to feast at Camelot, he has to take every lady on the dance floor for a spin. He doesn't mind it, though. Not really, although he may complain about getting blisters.
Merlin could always ask him to teach her, but he would almost certainly laugh. And she wouldn't really blame him, to be honest. Merlin trips over her own feet on a daily basis; fumbles over the most simple, balance-oriented actions—like trying to hold a sword and do something with it, for instance.
Leon is a knight, and being Arthur's second-in-command, has to dance quite often as well. Merlin could ask him—he is one of her soulmates, after all—but he is always so busy, and when they do get to spend time together, he's so pleased to relax and just talk and laugh that she dismisses the idea every time.
But if she tells Balinor about being his daughter, maybe…the corners of Merlin's mouth turn up. Maybe he would teach her. Then again, she thinks self-deprecatingly, she would probably end up hurting whoever she was dancing with her natural clumsiness.
Forget the silliness of ridiculous things like dancing, he won't even help save Camelot from certain destruction, a little voice in the back of her head protests. No matter how wonderful Hunith and Gaius had made her father sound, he was just a disappointment in the end.
The crunch of pebbles shook her out of her thoughts, and she stood up hastily as Arthur made his way back over to her. "What did he say?"
"He'll change his mind," Arthur says casually.
Merlin almost gapes. "He said that?"
"Just…give him a moment."
Balinor follows up behind Arthur, and looks at him for a moment, and then at Merlin for a moment longer. "Farewell, then." He makes to walk back into his cave.
"That's your decision?" Arthur's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.
The dragonlord stops for a moment, turning back slightly. "I will not help Uther."
"Then the people of Camelot are damned!"
"So be it." He turns again, and continues walking.
"Have you no conscience?!" Arthur demands, frustration and despair boiling over.
"You should ask that question of your father!" Balinor snaps.
"And you are no better than him!" Merlin shouts suddenly. Her eyes are burning angrily, and her heart is pounding. Her nails bite into her palms as he fists clench.
"Don't waste your time, Merlin," Arthur says in disgust, and turns, walking away.
Merlin ignores him, anger filling her voice. "Gaius spoke of the nobility of dragonlords. Clearly, he was wrong!"
That hits home. Balinor stops in his tracks. "Gaius?"
"Yes."
"A good man." He sounds almost surprised.
"Yeah," she agrees, voice trembling. "I was hoping that you'd be like him."
"Merlin!" Arthur yells for her angrily.
"I wanted to…" Merlin stopped abruptly, unsure of how to finish her sentence.
I wanted to tell you that I am your daughter?
I wanted to meet you for years and now all you do is disappoint me?
I wanted to ask you to teach me to dance, like you taught my mother so long ago?
I wanted to have you save Gaius and Arthur and Leon and Gwen and all the people and home I love?
I wanted to tell you why Hunith's words on your skin turned gray, and that it was all my fault?
I wanted to make Uther see that Dragonlords can be heroes?
I wanted to have a father?
"Merlin!"
She shrugs hopelessly. "Well, there's no point."
Merlin doesn't know exactly what she said to compel Balinor to come after them. It might have been the mention of Gaius, she doesn't know. She isn't sure she cares, though, because her father is going to save Camelot, and that is all that matters.
And she has another chance to tell him.
"You…spoke of a, a woman, in that village where you took refuge. What was her name?" She tried to keep her voice neutral, using one arm to hold her stack of kindling and the other to swipe a few stray strands of black hair from her bun behind her ear before picking up another piece of wood to add to the stack.
"Hunith," Balinor sighs, tapping another piece of wood against a tree to shake off the dirt, and adding it to his pile. "Hunith was her name. It was a long time ago."
"I knew her. I grew up in the village," Merlin replies carefully, wondering if she has the nerve to tell him the truth. She has to try, she tells herself. For her mother's sake, and his, if nothing else.
"In Ealdor? You truly knew her?" her father exclaims, eyebrows shooting up.
Merlin wonders if she looks like him when she does that. "Yeah, Ealdor," she says nervously. "I knew Hunith…she was my mother."
"She married, then." Balinor says quietly. "That's good."
"She never married," Merlin says suddenly, not even sure what she is going to say. "I grew up with only rare tales of my father. They were soulmates, you see, and my father—he asked her to dance," she continues uncertainly, with the air of someone retelling a story they barely knew. "But she didn't know how. And…and it didn't matter, because he was such a brilliant dancer that she didn't even need to learn the steps."
Balinor gazes at her, brow furrowed slightly, the wood in his arms forgotten. His brown eyes hold a newfound light that Merlin prays she isn't just imagining. "I don't know what it is to have a daughter."
"Nor I a father," she admits, hardly able to breathe.
A little bit away, at their campsite, Arthur snaps a long piece of wood in half to add to their potential fire.
Merlin glances in his direction worriedly. "You must not tell Arthur."
Balinor nods and gives a bit of a smile, and hands her some more wood. Merlin's grin feels like it's almost splitting her face open. It feels amazing.
"You never returned. Was it because of Uther? Why?"
"I thought her life would be better without me," her father says quietly, flicking a woodchip from whatever he is carving into the fire. The firelight flickers over his face, changing the pattern of shadows and light. He sighs, staring at his chunk of wood. "I thought she would be safe. From Uther, from everything that was so dangerous about me. I suppose I was wrong."
Merlin's gut twists in guilt. She should tell him that it's her fault. She should….
"We…we could've come with you," she says, gazing at his from across the fire.
"What kind of a life would you have had here?" Balinor counters.
Merlin suddenly smiles, blue eyes bright, imagining what might have been. "We'd have been…happy."
He looks at her hard for a moment. "I see her in you. Her kindness, her love. You have her way of telling stories. She was lucky to have you."
"I wish that were true." Merlin says, feeling her grief well up inside her again. "It…it was my fault. That she died. I couldn't save her."
Balinor is silent for a moment. The only sounds are the crackling of the fire and the soft scrape of his knife against the wood. "It is true. From what I have seen of you, you would have tried your hardest, and if you could not save Hunith, I doubt anyone could."
"I should have been able to," she whispers harshly. Merlin stretches out a finger at the fire, conscious of Arthur sleeping only a few meters away. Her eyes burn gold. A tiny dragon, made of flames from the fire, rises up, flaps its wings twice, roars soundlessly, and bursts into sparks. "I was born with it," she tells him quietly. "With magic. I could move things across the room before I could talk. Incantations help, but…I don't need them, most of the time."
"That is incredible," Balinor says softly. "But I stand by my words. If you could not save her, with such power, no one could. Certainly not me."
Merlin looks away, into the darkness of the woods. He's only saying that to be kind, she tells herself. He couldn't possibly know. "How did you become a dragonlord?"
He lets the subject change easily. "You don't choose to become a dragonlord, and it isn't something you can be taught. It's a sacred gift, passed down for thousands of years from a parent to his or her child. And now, that is what you will become."
"I'd like that."
"And like all dragonlords," he continues, "you won't know for sure that you have that power until you face your first dragon. Now, get some sleep. We've a big day ahead of us." Balinor pauses. "Goodnight, daughter."
He called her daughter. Merlin instantly forgets to tell him that she has faced the dragon. That she knows that she can do nothing against Kilgharrah. She smiles. "Sleep well, father."
For just one moment, she can believe that all will be right in the world.
The blood is everywhere. Balinor is choking on it where he's collapsed on the ground. Merlin runs a shaky hand over his wound, trying to see how bad it is. Her hand comes away red. The sword went all the way through.
"Leave it," he croaks, forcing a tight smile.
"No, I can do something. I have to! No, I…I can't do this alone," she chokes, tears threatening to spill over and obscure her vision. "Don't make me do it alone, father…."
"My daughter," Balinor says. "I have seen enough to know that you will make me proud."
"No!"
The blood pours faster, pumping out his life, but it doesn't stop, doesn't slow. It keeps rushing, surrounding her where she kneels. Merlin looks back down at her hands with horror and they are soaked with blood.
He smiles, blood against his teeth as he suddenly pulls her down, close to his face. "Merlin. Merlin! Wake up," he cackles, and falls to the ground. He isn't breathing, but he is still laughing, until his uncontrollable, humorless cackling turns into Kilgharrah's crusty roar of a laugh.
"It's your fault, all your fault," the Balinor/Kilgarrah corpse laughs. "Everything is your fault! Wake up, you lazy idiot!"
Merlin jerks awake to Arthur prodding her with a boot. "Hurry up and shift your lazy rear, Merlin. We've got most of a day's walk ahead."
She staggers upright, brow creased in confusion. "What?"
The prince rolls his eyes. "Did you forget, Merlin? We're taking Balinor back to Camelot to deal with the dragon, remember?"
Her father appears around a tree, where he was dumping the cold ashes from the night's fire. He nods in greeting as though he wasn't bleeding out in her hands only a few moments before. "He's right; we'd best get moving."
Of course, the real Balinor hadn't been. It was a nightmare.
"Yeah," she says, rolling up her pack and slinging it over her shoulders hurriedly. If she wasn't ready, she'd only be holding them up. "Sorry, I just…I had a strange dream, that's all."
Balinor pauses for a moment, and looks her up and down more analytically. "A strange dream, you say? Do you have those often?"
Merlin thinks of her nightmares of being burnt alive, of the dreams where she lost someone whose face she couldn't see, of Nimueh, of Gwen's coronation, even of picking mushrooms. "Not really."
He looks at her again for a longer moment, and nods. "Just a dream, then." Balinor follows Arthur into the undergrowth of the forest.
"Just a dream," she repeats, and, going after them, tries to shake the images of his dead body from her mind.
Three hours later, Merlin is detracting from the slightly awkward silence by recalling one of the half-baked plans Arthur had come up with. "It really was a complete disaster, you wouldn't believe it—"
"It was only a disaster on your end, if I remember rightly, Merlin," Arthur interrupts, hacking his way into the clearing with a sense of irritation when Merlin suddenly stops, causing Balinor behind her to pull up suddenly to avoid colliding with her.
"Merlin? What is it?"
She gazes around the clearing, the blood draining from her face. "I…I thought I heard something."
"Where?" Balinor asks, inspecting her closely again.
"I don't know," she says nervously. "We should move on. I have a bad feeling about this."
"What, scared of a rabbit, Merlin? Or was it a woodpecker this time?" Arthur teases. He's grinning, assuming that she was being her normal paranoid self.
Merlin, however, is deadly serious this time. The instant they stepped into the clearing, she recognized it as the place from her dream, peaceful and bloodless or not.
It's all a bit fuzzy, though. How long had they been in the clearing before the attack began? How long do they have left before it? Which direction did her father's attacker come from? Why had he been distracted enough to get run through?
She can't remember…Merlin's heart beats faster and faster. Something is going to happen.
A twig snaps and she whirls around, startled. Balinor just took a step to her left, heading out into the more open clearing. Suddenly, the right images flood into Merlin's mind. He had pushed her out of the way! He had taken the sword for her while Arthur was trying to fend off multiple assailants further away.
Merlin's thoughts race.
She can't let him sacrifice himself for her, not matter what. He is the last dragonlord, and the only one who can stop Kilgharrah. Without him, Camelot will fall. Without her…well, Arthur will just have to find a new servant. And now isn't the time to be thinking about how her friends—how her soulmates—and Gaius will feel, or she'll lose her nerve.
She might not have been able to save her mother, but she's going to save her father if it kills her.
