Have you ever noticed how fun it is to write exaggerated accents? I wrote one, somewhere down there, for no real reason other than I felt like it. So fun. Anyway, enjoy part 5!

A Bit of Trauma, a Bit of Drama, a Bit of Compassion (Part 5): Red

Ilan almost never set her baby down. She adjusted his position in her arms to her breast or hip or shoulder, but she never put him on the ground or gave him to someone else's care, with the sole exception of Merlin. Merlin held the baby quite often, actually. He usually held it if he and Ilan were both in the dungeon at the same time, and he held it if he was in the dungeon while Ilan was out working. He got away with the latter because they had a thick cloth that could store her milk without leaking much for a few hours, so he could remain alone with the babe and feed it when needed. Occasionally, he also held the baby while they were both working.

He had asked the question on the first night after the birth, but after receiving a negative answer, he did not ask again until about a week later.

"Have you given him a name yet?"

It was only proper for a child to have a name. Often, it was the first thing a child received from its parents other than life. A name was important. He did not want to press Ilan too much if she was not prepared to give one to her son, but he felt that the task should not be delayed too long. He got the feeling that she had been hoping to leave the slaveyard before naming the babe.

Merlin was also hoping for an escape—he still had a small hope that Arthur and the knights would find him, despite the fact that it had been more than a month already since he had arrived. However, Merlin could not be sure when they would arrive, nor could he even be certain that they were coming at all. He had once told Ilan that if his friends came for him, then he would make sure that there was a place for her in Camelot, since she had admitted to him that she had no other family or friends.

In any case, the second time he had asked the question, her face had softened as she thought about it, and he knew that she had indeed chosen a name.

"Rowan."

Arthur scanned the riverbanks, searching for the body of a friend, though any clue as to where that friend was would satisfy him. But alas, there was nothing. No sign. It had been a couple weeks since the rain had stopped, and- dear goodness- had it already been a month since he had last seen Merlin? The river was starting to return to its original size, but nothing had been revealed by the abating of the water. This excursion would have to be the last. He could not search for Merlin forever, no matter how much he wanted to do so. Sometimes being king was more of a burden than anything else.

In the village that Arthur and his small party of knights had just departed, he had spoken to a few of the peasants. While they denied having ever seen anyone matching Merlin's description, they had another grievance to share with him. Apparently, over the past months, several people had been disappearing from their village and the neighboring towns as well. Since they were not sure what exactly was going on or why these people were disappearing, let alone whether the disappearances were interrelated, the matter had not been taken to the city of Camelot.

They came to a brief stop in the next town, too. He ordered his knights to ask about both Merlin and any other unexplained disappearances. Arthur found himself speaking to a man who was, perhaps, in his late thirties.

"Disappearances? Aye, we've had a couple… Happens every year—hazardous land, you know. Didn't think nothin' of it, meself. Though, if yer lookin' for strange happenings, you might want to look over yonder."

Arthur gazed in the direction the man was pointing. At first, he did not see anything out of the ordinary, but then he noticed a pillar of smoke. It was not indicative of a fire that was catching to a forest, but it did seem rather constant and perhaps larger than a single man or even a company of men would need, especially during the day.

"That there smoke started risin' a few months back, and hasn't stopped since. Day or night makes no difference. Don't know what it's for, but I suspect it ain't no bonfire."

Arthur suspected the same. He thanked the man for his time and regrouped with his knights. There was still a little further they could go before needing to set up camp, and they had likely gathered all the information of value that existed in this place. The smoke looked like it might be originating from somewhere beyond Camelot's borders, but he felt that he should know what was going on over there. There were a fair amount of possibilities running through his head, and since it was so close to his kingdom, many of those possibilities spelled threat.

He ordered a stop as close to the border as he dared get with a full party of knights. As they were setting up camp, he took two knights aside and gave them instructions to scout out the source of the smoke- after they had gotten some quick food and rest- and report back in the morning. He was glad to see them hustling to carry out the order.

The scouts returned the next morning when their simple camp was just about packed. Arthur met them and asked for their report.

"Sire," the apparent spokesman acknowledged his rank before plunging onward, "we discovered the source of the smoke. It is a forge used for smelting. We could not determine what ores are being used, but the furnace is stationed beside the mine."

Arthur accepted the report with a nod. So, it was a mining operation. That was good to know; he was glad that it was nothing particularly sinister that he would have to deal with in one way or another.

"Sire," the second knight hesitantly recalled his attention, "The workers… We're not certain whether they were slaves or prisoners or.. they were all in chains."

This knight was young and having trouble articulating what had obviously disturbed him. In any case, Arthur had heard all that he needed to hear. If the workers were all in chains, they were not performing under their own free will, and that changed things a bit. A mining operation was one thing, but a mine operated by slaves was another. Arthur could not condone it. He resolved to write a letter to the king over the neighboring lands as soon as he made it back home. He was already composing it in his head as he directed his knights back to the castle. His message, he thought, would go something like this:

I have discovered a slave-operated mine near our mutual border, on your side. I believe it to be a menace to the people in my outlying villages. If you have endorsed this mine, I recommend you employ your workers by mutual contract rather than force. I intend to see it shut down, otherwise. If you are not prepared to deal with the problem yourself, I respectfully request your permission to send a party of my own knights to take care of it.

So, I discovered that one of the meanings of the name Rowan is Red, which led to the inspiration behind the title of this chapter. I actually spent quite a long time debating what to name the baby… Robin was a really close second to Rowan!