One Hundred Ways to View the World

Part II: Trousers

Balthazar hated mending by firelight. Hated the way his ring reflected the flames. Hated everything about it.

Most of all, he hated the memories it brought. Oh, but everything brought him memories these days. That's all his life really was anymore. One passionate goal and an infinite number of painful memories. On nights like these, when the fire burned brightly, he couldn't shut them out.

.^.^.^.^.^.

Years back, when Merlin had taught them magic, the old sorcerer had also taught them basic skills. Skills that ordinary people learned. How to raise animals, garden, cook, clean... any number of things that they were not allowed to use magic on. Because a true sorcerer wasn't lazy. And a real man could work the land. The stronger the man, the stronger the sorcerer. That was always Merlin's motto. Of course, he primarily meant "strong at heart", but he'd made it clear that muscles helped in life's little trials.

Veronica, however, had been... different. Merlin had trained men before them, of course. He was far older than they were, but though he'd had a few apprentices in the past, they apparently weren't worth mentioning. They had never been as impressive as Horvath and Balthazar. There had always been a flaw, and they had always parted ways. These two, however were steadfast and loyal. They always had been. He'd had no need of anyone else.

Then the girl had come to them. They'd taken her for some ragamuffin at first. She'd been filthy, painfully thin. Terribly weak. Her tattered clothes were barely recognizable from mud and varying other filth. She'd arrived exhausted, and had curled up in the stables to sleep.

Balthazar had found her the next morning when he'd gone out to prepare Merlin's horse for a ride. He'd stepped inside and in one of the empty pens, he'd spotted her. He hadn't known what to do, and had stood foolishly staring at her for several long moments until she finally must have felt his eyes upon her, and she awoke.

She hadn't spoken a word, her eyes watching him carefully. He'd wanted to help, and so he'd approached her. Asked her name. She'd simply stared, her eyes wide with terror. He'd offered his own name, reaching to her with the intent to help her up. She'd pulled away, leaping to her feet and pressing her back to the wall, looking very much like a cornered animal.

He could feel her terror. It was a tangible presence, and Balthazar had always been far too sensitive to people's emotions. Her fear was enough to almost make him ill.

He was saved by Horvath's entrance to the stable, demanding Balthazar hurry up already, as Merlin was nearly ready for the ride into town. He'd frozen at the sight of the girl. Had run his eyes over her pitiful frame, snorted derisively, and suggested they put the waif back out where she belonged before she stole something from their pantry.

That had set them to arguing, as usual. They were like brothers, those two. And they certainly fought like it.

She'd tried to run in their distraction, but Balthazar was always alert to his surroundings, even when distracted. She was fast, but he was quicker and he easily caught her. She was stronger than she looked and managed to get a few good hits in before he'd pinned her. Ironic that he rather than Horvath was her captor. He, who felt some strange need to protect her.

They'd brought her before Merlin, and eventually the story had come out.

She was the daughter of some noble. Who her family was, they'd never learned, even in their later years. It hadn't mattered. Her family was dead. She'd run away when she'd realized that she was different from them. At the time, those differences had been small things: the ability to speak languages she'd never heard before, for example. Not so extreme that it was particularly frightening. But enough that she was forced to hide it from everyone. So, tired of pretending to be something she wasn't, she had run. Her parents had gone after her. God forbid someone find her and realize that she was "different". She hadn't made it far when they'd found her and had forced her to return home. They never made it home. They had been outnumbered by the bandits. All murdered, then burned. She had been spared, if that's what it could be called, spending months as a captive before she'd finally managed to escape. Balthazar had never asked what they'd put her through, but he'd known. It had taken ages for her to speak to anyone other than Merlin. She'd avoided the two boys as though they'd carried the plague.

She was most terrified of Balthazar. He was too friendly. To concerned. In her mind, that was dangerous. He was dangerous. She'd wanted nothing to do with that one. She didn't want to know why he seemed so interested in her. His actions frightened her, and her fear confused him, drawing out his desire to help. A desire that succeeded in nothing more than pushing her further away. It was a vicious cycle that neither seemed able to break.

Horvath, she'd warmed up to first, mostly due to his indifference. What did he care about the little orphan girl? He rarely spoke to her, unless he had to. He looked at her as something occasionally useful. A servant girl. Wash the dishes, clean the floors, mend things. That was all she was good for in his eyes. He hated the chores. So did she, but she was grateful he only expected that from her.

Even Merlin hadn't appeared to realize what she was. He allowed her to stay, so she could heal, learn to trust again. He'd had every intention of sending her down to the village, helping find her a safe home when she was ready. None of them had expected that she'd change Merlin's plans.

It had actually been Balthazar's fault. A last, desperate move to try to earn her friendship. He'd cornered her in the kitchen one evening when they were alone. Merlin and Horvath had not yet returned from a day trip to town. He'd taken advantage of their time alone, slipping into the room where she'd sat mending a cloak. He'd sat beside her at the table, as she tried her best to ignore him, her hands shaking slightly. Her stitches growing sloppy. Her lips forming a tight line as she realized that she'd have to tear them out because of him.

His right hand rested gently on the table where she could see it. A pale green ring flashed on his finger. She knew what the ring meant, and she'd done her best to ignore it. Magicians. Sorcerers, they'd called themselves. Mother would have had a fit. Evil she would have called it. Never mind that this batch seemed harmless enough. They used magic and so they were evil.

Veronica wasn't so sure anymore. She'd seen evil, and no magic had been necessary.

The ring was lovely, though. It beckoned to her, and she found her eyes drawn to it. Gaudy on the hands of this lanky, awkward boy. But still, attractive in its own way. And oddly, it suited him. It seemed as though it belonged on his hand.

He noticed her watching, and tried to make eye contact. "Would you like to hold it?" he asked, softly.

Her eyes shot up to his face. The first time she'd ever made eye contact. His eyes were a pale blue-grey like the sky before a storm. They were too intense for a boy his age. She found that it was almost harder to resist his eyes than it had been to tear her focus from the ring.

"I thought you weren't supposed to take it off," she whispered. "Isn't it important? Horvath won't even let me look at his."

She'd spoken to him. Finally. He couldn't help but smile, deciding that this plan was definitely worth the risk. "I'm not. But it can't hurt only for a moment. I thought you might like to see it. That's all." And he did the unthinkable. He slipped it off of his finger, and placed into her outstretched hand all the power he had in the world.

She'd thought he was handing her some sign of his sorcery. She'd never dreamed at the time that he was handing over to her his ability to control his very essence... just to earn her trust.

And he'd never dreamed that when she'd slipped it on, examining its glow in the firelight, that her thrill of its strange internal light would cause the fire to leap from the fireplace in a roar, setting a tapestry on fire. He'd leapt up, waving his hand to put it out.

Nothing. He'd forgotten. She was still wearing the ring.

"Give it to me," he'd demanded, panicking.

Her eyes were wide and terrified. "Put it out!"

"I need the ring!" He reached for her, but she tore from his grip, retreating. Fire terrified her, ever since the night she'd been taken...

"Veronica, I need it. I can't—" He didn't finish, the fire was getting worse, spreading to another tapestry, and creeping toward the next. They were choking on the smoke, and he could no longer see where she was. He'd been forced to move. Tearing one of the tapestries from the wall, he'd thrown it over the fire that was spreading to some thrush on the floor, smothering it before that, too, could spread. Racing to the window, he threw the shutters open to help clear some of the smoke. But he didn't know what else to do. He was usually a clear thinker, but it had been a long time since he'd been unarmed like this.

He had to find the cleaning bucket. Anything that contained water. By sheer luck in his search, he stumbled over Veronica, who was against the wall. "I need the ring," he'd said urgently.

"No, we need water!" she snapped, having clearly overcome fear as her practical streak finally took control.

"Fine. Where is it?" He wasn't familiar with the kitchen. That had been her domain.

"Behind us somewhere. I can't see." She looked around, frustrated. "I tried to find it."

"Then, I really need the ring." No time to explain. No more time to be courteous. He'd taken her hand and pulled the ring from her. Thankfully it had been to large for her finger, and it came right off. Slipping it back onto his own finger, he'd turned to the flaming tapestries. "Behind us?" he'd asked again. "Can you find it? I need a better idea of where."

She didn't answer, scrambling back, coughing on smoke, feeling across the wall. Searching again. Stumbling over a bucket. Water sloshed over her feet. "Here!" she'd shouted over the crackle of flames that were now licking at the wooden supports. This could fast become deadly. "Back here!"

She was invisible in the smoke, but he could guess just about where she was. It would have to be good enough. He hoped it would be. Raising his hands and hoping to god he had enough skill to channel the magic to his hands rather than directly through his ring, he forced the water that he knew was somewhere behind him toward the flames. He had minimal control, given that normally he had to point his ring at the object, but he managed to find the bucket, increase its contents, until it was a torrent of water soaking them, but also dousing the fire, leaving only smoke and charred remains. One last effort, and Balthazar managed to force the smoke out the window leaving the air mostly clear.

He collapsed to the floor, head resting against the cool, wet stone. Veronica came up beside him, soaked, if it were possible, worse than he was. She dropped to her knees beside him, also breathing hard. A touch of fear still in her eyes. "Are you okay?" she'd asked, beating him to the question.

He nodded. "Yes. You?"

A short nod. Then, it was as though all of the fear and frustration and action had broken through some barrier, and she began to laugh.

He stared at her as though she were insane. "Veronica?"

"You should see what you look like," she burst out.

A small smile twitched at his lips. "No worse than you, I'd wager." Her laughter was contagious.

They'd both laughed until they were too tired to laugh anymore. Until the fear had washed out, and was replaced by exhaustion.

Until Balthazar was reminded that he would have to try to fix what he could before Merlin returned and greatly shortened his lifespan upon seeing the kitchen.

"Balthazar?" Her voice was somber now as well. Thoughtful. "Why did you wait to magic it?"

He stared blankly at her. "Wait?"

"Yes." Her expression was earnest. "Why didn't you put out the fire before it got so bad? With your magic?"

And he realized. "I couldn't. Didn't you know?"

She blinked at him. "Know what?"

He closed his eyes and again leaned his head back against the cold stone wall. "Our power is channelled through the ring. Without it, I'm powerless. I couldn't do anything while you were wearing it."

He couldn't see her expression, but he could hear the quiet surprise in her voice. "You let me hold your power?"

"I thought maybe you'd trust me if I trusted you." He was dead tired, and his voice was soft now. "I thought you knew. It was stupid of me. I should have told you."

"So you let me use your power, then?" she repeated. Her voice was hushed as well.

He shook his head. "No. No, it only channels the power. I still had my ability. I just couldn't access it. It's hard to explain. We're each given a ring that's meant just for us. Other sorcerers can use it, but it's not nearly as effective as their own. And you can only use the ring if—" His eyes flew open, and he sat up sharply, startling her. "Have you ever held one of those before?"

She shook her head, eyes wide. "Never. Why?"

"You're the one who started the fire, Veronica." At her outraged expression, he quickly amended that. "Not on purpose. But you moved the ring toward the fireplace. When you were looking at the stone. And the flames shot out. You..." He shook his head. "I can't believe Merlin didn't check you. Though, nowadays I suppose female sorcerers are rare..."

"What are you saying? Are you implying that I am like you?"

He smiled faintly, hauling himself to his feet. "No. No, you're nothing like me. But you can be. I'm sure you can be. I couldn't make my ring do anything, even on accident, for days when I first got it. And you... even though it wasn't even yours..." He shook his head to clear it. "We need to talk to Merlin when he returns. We need to tell him about you." He looked around at the destruction of the kitchen. "But... we need to clean this first..."

"Magic?" she asked, hopefully.

He winced, remembering that harsh lesson with his master. "Ah... no. It's easy to lose control of scrub brushes and such. We don't need me to cause a flood by cheating..."

She'd have sworn she heard him mutter under his breath, "Again..."

So, they'd scrubbed the place clean before Merlin had returned. The tapestries and partially burned wood, they'd left for him to fix, which he had done. After he'd punished Balthazar as far as he was realistically able. Then he'd listened to their discovery. He'd listened to Veronica's defense of the boy. He'd listened to their defenses of each other. Then he'd punished her as well, and sent them off to bed. They'd need to rest up for how much work they'd earned for themselves... Enough to keep them more than busy for the next month. If they were lucky.

As they'd walked off, Balthazar could have sworn he'd caught a glimpse of the old man smiling, examining the ring that he'd inexplicably gone to town to purchase that day. The ring that Balthazar was certain he'd bequeath to Veronica.

Such a coincidence. The boy sighed as he left the kitchen. There was no such thing as coincidence.

Obviously, the old man had already known...

.^.^.^.^.^.

He tried unsuccessfully to force the memories from his mind.

He hated mending by firelight with a passion. Hated the way his ring reflected the flames as it had once in her shining eyes. Hated everything about it. It reminded him of what he'd had. And what he'd lost.

And it reminded him that it was his fault.

He sighed, taking a small break from mending the trousers, rubbing his hand over his eyes, tiredly.

Mostly, he hated the memories it brought. He closed his eyes. That wasn't true. He lived for the memories. That was all he had left, now. Memories of a brother who would never betray him. A master he'd loved like a father. Of a girl...

He couldn't take that thought, but the firelight always brought her back to him as though she haunted him.

Balthazar set the trousers aside for now. He couldn't take any of this anymore. He just needed to rest. Needed to clear his mind or he'd be useless in his search tomorrow. Mending could wait until daylight, when the fire was out and the hearth was cold.

He extinguished the fire with one abrupt motion. He would freeze tonight, but he didn't care. He just needed one night alone.

Author's Note: So, I tend to use the word as motivation, and I make sure it is included, but I let the story go where it takes me. This is the second word of the Balthy 100 challenge. I hope it's acceptable in all its randomness.

Thanks for reading!

Sirius