You guys... I'm sorry this took so long. It will probably take this long on a regular basis now school has started.
But I am so, so ridiculously happy right now. I can't believe how well everything has gone for my apps and everything so far. I registered my independent study and started research on my thesis, and my professor told me that between my scores and my record with the department, I may have a shot at getting into the Ivy league schools! I know, it's no guarantee, but I am so over the moon right now. :D:D
And speaking of grad schools... To the guest who reviewed, thank you for your review, and VERY best of luck with your comps. I know how nerve-wracking those can be. Lots of my friends are grad students. I hope you do well! And on your dissertation as well of course! :)
Real life aside, I apologize in advance to anyone who actually knows Oxford (or any part of England really!). I had a lot of fun with Google maps exploring places so I would describe them right, and I checked distances, times for travel, and even public transportation schedules! So I hope most of my information is fairly accurate!
Anyway, here's your chapter.
Oxford University had suffered during the Purge, both from riots and protests—far more volatile than those it experienced in recent months—and live military action, including some bombing and a brief period of complete military occupation. The Christ Church College was one area of the city which had taken a merciless beating. Merlin had seen it in pictures and films as it had been before the civil war—the massive courtyard surrounded by tall regal walls, whole and undamaged. Like much of Oxford, the architecture was reminiscent of a medieval castle. Crenulations and proud spires topped it, and tall arcades graced the walls within the courtyard. Christ Church was all the more iconic today because of its fate. It was all but abandoned now. The caved in roofs and crumbling walls featured in many documentaries and articles about the damage caused by England's civil war. The worst of the wreckage was gone, but Christ Church's ruins remained unrepaired, a symbol of the atrocities that had occurred during the Purge and everything that Oxford itself had endured.
The courtyard, unoccupied, open, and still walled in by the damaged buildings, would serve well. The buildings around it were tall enough and the courtyard large enough for the dragon to move about. No one would see him here once he revealed his form.
Arthur was pacing up and down along the neglected courtyard path a couple feet from where Merlin sat, mobile in hand. His voice was low and tightly controlled, and Merlin see a brewing storm in the rigid set of his shoulders and his brusque step. Whatever he was hearing on the other end of the line, it wasn't good news. Beside Merlin, Balinor stood straight with his hands clasped before him, and his demeanor nearly matched Arthur's, including the trace of masked weariness.
"What is he doing?" he asked in a low voice. Merlin shrugged. He registered the stiffening of his companion's shoulders.
"You can trust Arthur," he added. Balinor didn't look too certain of that, but neither of them said any more on the matter. They hadn't had much chance to speak since leaving Dartmoor. The man remained leery of Arthur's intentions and said nothing that might incur suspicion for Merlin, even though to all appearances Arthur had slept the whole ride back. Merlin, in all honesty, was as nervous as he was curious about Balinor, and hadn't known how to start a conversation if he'd wanted to. Now, they kept quiet while Arthur ended his call and stalked back towards Merlin on the stone steps at the courtyard's edge.
"Gwen called. I have to go." Merlin raised an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable outburst. "My father had my mobile rigged with a tracking chip," Arthur snarled. Merlin swore under his breath. Great.
"How does Gwen know that?"
"Morgana blew our cover. She came down to Oxford looking for me, and Leon went after my signal as soon as he saw her arrive. He's on his way here right now."
"Ah," Merlin said. Balinor shifted, enough to tell Merlin he was listening. Balinor might not know who 'Leon' was, but he could surely hear from the tone of their voices that this wasn't good news.
"Apparently, there are some unconfirmed rumors about a renegade military force in Camelot, and my father wants me somewhere safe," Arthur continued angrily. "So Leon has been sent to fetch me." Merlin breathed out slowly. Rebels in the city was just what they needed right now… "Look, Merlin…" Arthur flitted a worried look at Balinor then back to Merlin, as if he expected his roommate to protest. "Leon can't be here for this. Can you—"
"I can stay," Merlin preempted the request, and despite Arthur's annoyance, he felt a flood of relief. He trusted that Balinor could manage the dragon, but nonetheless he was glad Arthur would be safely out of the way. "Go. Just head him off before he sees us here." Balinor had his back turned to them, though Merlin was sure he was still listening. Arthur's gaze darted to him, and he stepped back.
"I can ask Gwen to drive out and pick you two up." Merlin exhaled impatiently. Arthur was still under the annoying impression that he was afraid of magic.
"We'll be fine. Go, before he gets here!" the warlock hissed. Arthur looked conflicted, but at an anxious gesture from Merlin he turned away and jogged across the grass and out of the courtyard.
Without Arthur, the empty, silent courtyard suddenly felt unbearably tense. Merlin buried his hands in his pockets and tilted his head back to stare up at the sky to avoid making eye contact with Balinor for the time. With every second his heart beat louder and his breathing seemed a rude intrusion to the serenity of the old buildings. He closed his eyes and reached out, searching for the dragon's presence. He could feel it now, distant but rapidly approaching, and wondered if Balinor felt it the same way; if he always felt it… if he could speak to the dragon through his mind as Merlin had many times now. Arthur had been skeptical, but Merlin didn't doubt the dragon lord's word for a second when he said he could summon the dragon to himself.
"How does it work?" Merlin asked tentatively after what felt like an eternity of silence, curiosity winning out over his initial diffidence. Balinor looked at him.
"Magic?"
"I…" Merlin scuffed the heel of his shoe against the bottom step. He wanted to tell Balinor—tell his father—that he had magic too: that he understood it… and they had something in common. But something kept the words in. He still barely knew the man. "I meant… being a dragon lord," he said. The man's brow furrowed in thought.
"There's no simple answer to that. I couldn't reach Kilgarrah from the Druids' refuge. I didn't even know if he was still alive, or I would have searched for him long ago. Perhaps Iseldir's wards protect us even from the detection of other sorcery." He was quiet for a moment. "From here I can contact him. I can feel his presence somewhere in my consciousness and call him."
"So… someone taught you how to speak with him?" Merlin asked, looking up.
"It's not something you're taught." Merlin frowned. "It's a sacred gift, handed down from father to son," Balinor explained quietly. His eyes rested on Merlin, and underneath his scrutiny Merlin held perfectly still. He could tell that Balinor understood what he'd meant earlier, and yet it went unsaid between them still. "As the Druids tell it, years ago when it became necessary to protect dragons from mankind, the sorcerers made a pact with them. In return for our help in keeping them hidden, dragons used their magic to protect and hide us as well. Certain sorcerers were bound to a dragon from birth. But as a dragon outlives many generations of men, the dragon lord's gift passed to his son. The spell is now so old that even the Druids scarcely understand how it works… it is a powerful magic which few would dare to tamper with."
"So," Merlin blinked, struggling to process the information. "That means… I'm a dragon lord too?"
"Not until the day I leave this world. Kilgarrah is still bound to me for now." Merlin nodded and resumed staring at his hands, not sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved by that revelation. He heard the scratch-and-click sound of a lighter flicking on and looked up from the corner of his eye. Balinor paused with his thumb on the wheel, and Merlin quickly dropped his gaze again, but Balinor had already lowered the lighter with a soft huff. "Your mother used to give me that look when we first met," he mused. Merlin stilled. "She made me quit, of course," the man added with a faint trace of warmth in his voice.
"Why start again then?" Merlin asked. It came out a trace more challenging than he meant. The warmth in Balinor's tone was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"Passes the time," he answered gruffly. Merlin shifted. He had a feeling it might be more than that. For a man who cared little if he lived or died, the damage done by the cigarettes wouldn't matter.
"You won't have to," he said. "Not anymore."
"This isn't going to change things." Balinor replied, returning the lighter and cigarette to a pocket. For some reason that made Merlin relax a little. "Your Pendragon friend may not turn me in, but I'll still have to hide." Merlin lifted his head and looked the dragon lord in the eye.
"Arthur has already spoken out against some of his father's harsher policies. He will change things," he insisted.
"Ever the hopeful one aren't you?" Merlin blinked, but there was no sneer in Balinor's words—nor scorn or annoyance. "I see her in you." For the first time, a small smile crossed Balinor's features and gleamed briefly in his eyes. "You have her determination… and her kindness." Merlin looked down at his shoes with a matching, tentative smile.
"She'll be glad to hear you're well," he said, unsure how to answer the praise personally.
"More or less." Balinor's tone darkened. Merlin flitted a glance up at him. His eyes were fixed on a distant point. Did he mean himself or Hunith? He opened his mouth, but Balinor straightened up and raised a hand for silence. Merlin stood as well, quelling a surge of disappointment. They'd gotten little enough chance to talk thus far… But he followed his father's gaze, though he could see nothing above them in the clouds. Rather, he shifted back into the shadow of the damaged college's walls and fell silent, catching the snatches of two voices in conversation. Arthur and Leon. He fervently hoped Arthur was busily in the process of getting Leon away from the courtyard. Arthur wouldn't deliberately lead Leon towards them, but his friend was a poor liar at best…
"He's here." Balinor's dark eyes narrowed.
"He won't bring Leon in here. He wouldn't do that," Merlin said under his breath. Balinor shook his head jerkily.
"I don't mean the bodyguard," he returned. Merlin's head snapped up, and he sensed the presence, but a split second too late.
The impact seemed to shake the very ground under Merlin's feet. Yards away from Merlin and Balinor, the arch where Leon and Arthur stood trembled, then crumbled—whether from the dragon's magic or the dragon's brute force, Merlin didn't know; the dragon remained invisible.
"Kilgarrah!" Balinor's voice rang out, surprisingly loud over the sound of the arch's collapse. It was accompanied by a burst of curling flames. Merlin heard Leon's warning shout, and he was already sprinting towards them before both Leon and Arthur vanished from sighed. Balinor called after him, but he didn't even hear the words of his father's shout. His heart was hammering a panicked rhythm inside his chest, and his veins coursed with adrenaline. Leon and Arthur were over there somewhere, amid the rubble and flames. And Arthur was already tired and worn and shouldn't have been going anywhere to start with.
As quickly as he had struck, the dragon appeared in the air above the destruction he'd caused. Merlin didn't once stop to heed the massive creature wheeling over his head. He kept running, ignoring the growing ache in his lungs.
"Arthur!" Merlin's scream was lost in the rush of air that accompanied the dragon's massive wingspan.
"Merlin, get down!" The voice sent a stab of ice-cold fear through Merlin's heart. Leon… Leon was staggering to his feet, and bits of stone tumbled from his jacket and hair, weapon leveled to fire.
"No!" Merlin flung out a hand, but already the flames were billowing towards the young bodyguard. The bullets glanced uselessly away before even touching the dragon's hide, and he parted his jaws to engulf Leon in flames. Merlin's protection wrapped around the bodyguard a second too late. Leon crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and Merlin doused the fire on his clothing with a rapid spell, but the dragon was already turning away from the Patronus.
As Kilgarrah wheeled about, Merlin dove for the chaos that was the collapsed arch, forgetting altogether about Leon in his single-minded mission. He scrambled over the rubble, heedless of his raw, scraped hands. He didn't need to search. A magic as instinctual as that which had first guided him to Kilgarrah led him straight to Arthur half buried under the fallout of the collapse. Merlin fell to his knees amid the rubble. Arthur was near the edge of the fallen debris, unconscious. Merlin sent the wreckage around him tumbling away with a careless burst of magic. He pressed a hand to Arthur's chest, feeling it rise and fall. His own breath came in short, sharp gasps. Arthur's shirt was singed partially away, and his shoulder and arm were red and angry. The flames hadn't touched the rest of his body, luckily. A trickle of blood ran from his temple, and a dark bruise colored his cheek, but he was alive. Certainly alive, and not permanently damaged so far as Merlin could tell. The warlock lifted his head and faced Kilgarrah as the dragon lit on the ground before the wrecked arch, snaking out his neck towards the two young men.
"Don't touch him," Merlin warned. He didn't need to raise his voice. He knew well how keen the dragon's hearing was, and his own voice was laced with authority and force. Kilgarrah snorted disdainfully at the command, and Merlin raised a hand when a tongue of flickering fire danced from between his teeth. "I thought you believed in us," he said. "In our destiny! You told me when I first met you that he was destined to be a great leader—a man who would unite the two peoples of this country in peace. Or was that all a lie?" Above his head, he heard a quiet rumble of thunder. He hadn't even noticed the storm gathering. The dragon's voice followed the thunder, low and level.
"I have never lied to you, Emrys." It was the first time Merlin had heard anyone use that name with a trace of disdain, and irrationally, that made him nearly as angry as the dragon's unscrupulous use of the prophecies.
"What then? I'm the Emrys of prophecies. Has that ceased to mean anything to you?" he snarled. "My destiny, Arthur's—the future we're supposed to bring about. Was that a lie—all a ridiculous trick to manipulate me—or have you simply decided that the whole world can burn to satisfy the grief you can't let go of and your anger for the one man you can't find and kill?"
"I will find Uther Pendragon. You are the only one standing in my way just now," Kilgarrah snarled. He laughed bitterly. "And what does it matter if you are Emrys or not? You have ever refused to heed my warnings about your future. You never believed a word I told you of your prophecy. Of course, you would conveniently choose to remember that conversation now when you stand at my mercy." The dragon's lip curled, revealing rows of pointed teeth, and Merlin raised his hand again, and his eyes narrowed, flickering a dark, threatening golden-yellow.
"I am not at your mercy," he replied, rising to his feet and placing his body between the dragon and his friend. "This is your doing. You told me yourself, I am the greatest warlock ever to walk the earth. Arthur Pendragon is under my protection, and I will not let you hurt him."
"Do you really believe that your petty magic can hurt me?" the dragon returned in a voice thick with scorn. He stepped closer, and his tail whipped dangerously behind him, sending several great blocks of stone tumbling away. "I care nothing for either of you. You have betrayed your kind, Merlin." What? Merlin gaped at him, momentarily. How…. "I will give you one chance to decide now. You can tell me what the Pendragon has done with my dragon lord, or I'll burn you both." What Arthur did with… Merlin's eyes widened in shocked understanding.
"Arthur never—"
"I'm right here, Kilgarrah." Balinor's voice interrupted. Merlin heard the crunch of boots on the rocks behind him and exhaled shakily. The dragon's head swung about. Balinor picked his way stiffly over the rubble to Merlin's side. "Let them be. I came of my own free will." Every line of the dragon's form relaxed at the sight of his dragon lord. "What happened to you, old friend?" Balinor asked quietly, stepping past Merlin, closer to the dragon. "I never took you for the type to strike a man when he's down."
"What mercy does a Pendragon deserve from either of us?" The dragon bared his teeth again, and his great golden eyes shifted to fix hungrily on Arthur again in a way that made Merlin tense and brace himself warily.
"What Uther did has nothing to do with that boy. He was scarcely more than a baby when those crimes were committed." A step behind Merlin, Arthur stirred and groaned. Merlin shuffled backwards, but he didn't dare take his eyes off of Kilgarrah.
"No, but he still has his uses. He knows where the coward is hiding." The dragon leaned closer. "There are ways to make him talk." A jolt of fear surged through Merlin's chest.
"Don't," he said, putting out a hand palm-forward. He looked into the creature's eyes, his heart pounding fit to burst out of his chest. He couldn't fight a dragon. One swipe—a careless flick of the dragon's claws—and his body would be left broken on the ground. His eyes darted frantically to Balinor, and his fear deepened when he saw the dragon lord still and quiet… thoughtful. He wasn't going to allow this, surely? The dragon turned his gaze on Merlin's father, and his tail swept the ground behind him in an impatient lash.
"You saw them too—lying in their own blood after he had them slaughtered. This is our chance. We can avenge them: rid the country of the tyrant."
"And accomplish what? If Uther is killed by sorcery—by your fire, you only confirm the fears of the people: that it's as corrupt as Uther claims," Merlin snapped. Balinor was looking at him, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Arthur won't tell you anything. And if you want to hurt him, you'll have to kill me first," Merlin said firmly, locking eyes with his father. Please… please don't do this. Kilgarrah turned on the warlock with a snarl. Merlin could feel the dragon's breath hot on his face.
"So be it. You have chosen your side."
"No." The dragon's burning golden eyes turned away from Merlin, leaving him shaky and breathless. "Merlin has only chosen to protect the innocent. You have forgotten who you are, Kilgarrah. You've caused enough harm already. I can't let you continue this." Merlin's knees felt weak with relief. He sank onto the pavement beside the half-conscious Arthur and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Lie still, Arthur. You're alright," he murmured, but even as he moved, the dragon arched his neck with a snarl of unbridled fury. He turned on Merlin and Arthur again, and praying that Arthur wasn't conscious enough to understand what was going, Merlin instantly threw up a protective shield around them and Balinor as well. He didn't need it. The dragon bared his teeth at the three of them and spread his wings in a dramatic sweep.
"You're making a mistake, Balinor," he growled. Merlin huddled over his friend as the dragon rose into the air, and within seconds, he vanished into the air and was gone. Merlin kept his hand on Arthur's shoulder and looked warily up at Balinor.
"Is he…?"
"He won't come back." Balinor slowly knelt down beside Arthur and brushed his fingers over the raw, angry burns on the young man's arm. "I'll speak to him again, outside the city. He won't cause any more trouble." Merlin nodded, and Balinor bowed his head, murmuring a few soft words. The blisters and tears on Arthur's arm and shoulder faded away, and Arthur's breathing evened out and he lay still again, quiet.
"Thank you," Merlin whispered hoarsely, as much for Arthur's sake as his own.
"I've only done what little I can to ease the pain," Balinor said, rising stiffly to his feet. "Iseldir is better at healing burns." Burns. Merlin surged to his feet all at once.
"Leon," he breathed, and his heart sank like a rock.
Leon had been far worse off than Arthur. Merlin had to swallow down his fear as well as the bile that rose in his throat seeing the burns across Leon's face and torso. But Iseldir was efficient and calm. He'd asked no questions when Merlin called him on the way back to his and Arthur's flat. He hadn't even blinked at the tattered but still distinguishable remains of Leon's uniform but set quietly to work, evening the man's breathing and easing the pain to reduce the inevitable shock of so traumatic and extensive an injury. Merlin had left the man in Iseldir's hands briefly to help Balinor bring a semi-conscious Arthur in and settle him on the couch as comfortably as possible. When the warlock returned to hover in the doorway of the his room where Leon was situated, he could see the gruesome burns fading away and the skin smoothing out again, still red and painful looking, but whole once more. Leon's eyes flickered open, and Merlin's breath caught, but Iseldir's only reaction was to speak a murmured reassurance to the confused young man and slip a hand under his head to help him take a drink. When Iseldir stood again, Leon's eyes were closed again, and he was resting peacefully. Merlin backed out of the doorway as Iseldir approached.
"He'll be fine," Iseldir told him. Merlin exhaled shakily.
"Will he remember this?" he asked.
"Perhaps. I can't say."
"He won't turn you in," Merlin promised instantly. He'd see to it himself if he had to. He didn't want to see Iseldir punished after all that he'd done to help.
"No. I believe he won't," Iseldir replied. Over on the couch, Merlin caught sight of a flicker of movement. Arthur was half-sitting up on the couch. He wasn't sure how long his friend had been up, but Arthur had located Merlin's mobile phone on the table next to him and was propped on his uninjured arm, typing out a message. "Don't worry about me," Iseldir said. "You'll know where to find me if anything happens."
Arthur didn't appear to have noticed Iseldir or Balinor who were now in the kitchen talking quietly. Merlin slipped past when Iseldir began speaking to his father and fetched a glass from the kitchen before he took a seat on the low table next to the sofa.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, offering the glass of water to Arthur. The blond looked up from Merlin's mobile. He still had a hazy look in his eyes, but he was fully conscious now, and clearly feeling the pain that came with it.
"Like I've been fried to a crisp," he grumbled.
"Apparently you were feeling well enough to remember my passcode," Merlin observed, arching an eyebrow. A grin tugged at Arthur's lips. He ignored the complaint and took the glass, greedily swallowing down its contents in a couple of long gulps. Merlin gingerly pulled the blanket back. Balinor had done a skillful job of mitigating the burns before they coaxed Arthur back to consciousness. What had been raw, blistered skin was now only red and inflamed, more like a common burn than the result of dragon-fire, much like Leon's burn was now, though Arthur's only covered the shoulder and part of his arm. "It looks pretty good to me. You're fine, prat," he said, but for once he refrained from giving Arthur an elbow to the ribs or a shove. It might not be a second-degree burn anymore, but his friend was still in a lot of pain.
"Easy for you to say. You didn't get roasted for a dragon's supper," Arthur groused.
"I don't think he was planning to eat you, Arthur."
"Is that supposed to be comforting?" Arthur asked, giving him a baleful look. Merlin shrugged.
"I thought it was."
"You're an idiot, Merlin," Arthur grunted, settling back down onto the pillows, lying on his stomach with his head resting on his arms. Merlin smiled and draped the blanket over Arthur's shoulders as gently as possible.
"Excuse me. This idiot saved your sorry backside today," Merlin informed him loftily. Arthur turned his head enough to look at Merlin from the corner of his eye.
"Why didn't he fry you?" he asked, squinting. Merlin smirked, recalling Arthur's words from that morning.
"I asked him not to. Nicely." Arthur rolled his eyes. Somewhere nearby, Merlin heard the front door clicking shut, and he barely got to his feet to see who it was before Gwen had her arms around him in a fierce hug.
"I'm so glad you're alright," she breathed. Merlin grinned and hugged her back.
"Yeah. Me too." Gwen released Merlin and let out a shaky breath.
"Oh, Arthur…" Merlin had to admit, he cut a pretty pitiful figure between the raw, burnt shoulder and arm and the gash on his temple, but he brushed it off.
"He's fine, Gwen. He's been busy insulting me," Merlin told her, rolling his eyes at Arthur's theatrically slow attempt to sit up. "Oof!" A heavy pillow caught him full in the gut. He glared at his grinning friend. "I'm glad you're feeling better too, Arthur," he said sarcastically. Gwen seated herself on the couch beside him and put a hand on his cheek, eyes full of concern, and Arthur leaned into her touch, eyes drifting shut contentedly. "All yours," Merlin said breathlessly, glaring at the blond as he backed out of the room.
Iseldir was gone. He must have slipped out at some point while Merlin was talking to Arthur. Balinor was seated at the tiny kitchen table, hands folded atop it, and his pack of smokes sitting just inches from his fingers.
"Iseldir said he'll come back tomorrow to check on your friend and pick me up," Balinor said. Merlin nodded his acknowledgement and stood a moment in anxious silence until Balinor spoke again. "It seems you inherited your father's gift." Merlin nodded.
"Yeah… I have magic." It felt good to say the words aloud.
"I can teach you the spell I used to heal Arthur." Merlin strayed a look over at the blond and he nodded again, feeling excitement stir inside him at the thought.
"I'd like that."
"How are they?" Balinor asked, following his gaze.
"Leon's alright now… and Arthur," Merlin tilted his head slightly towards the living room, indicating the two figures on the couch, and his eyes gleamed with amusement.
"He's enjoying the attention," he said with a smile. Arthur's blond hair stood out against the dark curls on Gwen's shoulder. They were involved in their own quiet conversation, and Gwen paused to rest her cheek against his hair, eyes closed. Balinor nodded and folded his hands over the table again, looking at the pack of cigarettes. Silence fell again. Merlin took his wallet out of his pocket and sat down at the corner near his father, turning it over in his hands. "I…" He paused, half reconsidering his offer. "I thought you might like to have this." He could feel the man's eyes on him and quickly slipped a little photograph out and pushed it across the table. Balinor's expression changed in a heartbeat. His eyes softened, and he picked it up gingerly, as though it were the most precious thing in the world.
"I always knew she'd make a good mother," he said quietly. Merlin smiled tentatively.
"You can come visit her—when all this is over. I'll find a way to get you there. We can go together," he said. The older man shook his head, and his expression spoke of weariness far beyond his years.
"I'd love to see Ireland again… but I don't think that my body will bear much more travel, Merlin." Merlin blinked.
"You're sick?" he asked. He'd noticed the way Balinor moved and how tired he looked, but…
"I have four, perhaps five months left," Balinor answered calmly. It was as if the ground dropped out from under Merlin. It had been there from the start… even the second he first met Balinor and Mordred said Iseldir had sent them… Can't he let a man die in peace? He swallowed to even out his voice before he spoke again, then the words came so fast they seemed to stumble over one another;
"We'll figure something out. There must be something I can do. I cured Arthur when he was sick. I can find a way. Perhaps Kilgarrah knows—"
"Merlin," Balinor interrupted. Merlin closed his mouth, realizing he'd been rambling. "Magic cannot cure everything. This," he touched his sternum with a small, tired smile, "Is my body destroying itself. It isn't something you can protect me from." Merlin blinked rapidly, and his voice broke on his next words;
"Can't I do anything?" The smile reached Balinor's eyes, and he put a hand on Merlin's shoulder.
"You've already done more than I had any right to ask. I know… I haven't been much of a father to you, but for what it's worth… I'm proud to call you my son." Merlin breathed out slowly, stared at his hands, blinking rapidly. He didn't know how to answer that… what to say… even how to feel. He bit his lip.
"Can I at least come back and see you?" he asked at length in a small voice. The hand on his shoulder tightened.
"I'm counting on it."
AN: I'm legitimately not sure if you guys will be happy about this or not... But be honest. Did anyone expect Balinor to survive this chapter? I mean... that's good... see, I'm a nice author... right?
Please drop me a line! I'm going to be home-bound this week recovering from my wisdom teeth extraction, so diversions would be lovely. :)
Cheers all! And good luck starting the new school year!
Sandyy