Over the years, Balinor had learned to bury his emotions somewhere deep inside, stashed away in some dark, forgotten corner where they had no effect on the simple act of surviving from one day to the next. Prepare food, gather water, eat, sleep... the routine was bearable enough, especially when combined with the small solace to be found in practicing a bit of magic deep within his cave at the end of a long day.
Sometimes he could even convince himself that he was... not happy, certainly, but reasonably content.
Unfortunately, it was a lie, one that never held up in the face of even the vaguest reminder of all he'd lost – flower that reminded him of the color of Hunith's eyes, the wild strawberries that grew in early summer, recalling soft, delicate fingers holding their sweetness to his lips. Balinor had always assumed these memories would fade in time, certainly after more than twenty years had passed in solitude.
Unfortunately, they never did.
A single reminder, and he'd be back there all over again, young and frightened, and so very angry as he was forced to leave behind the woman he loved, along with all of the beautiful promise in that life he'd so desperately wanted. How cruel fate was... it wasn't enough that it had stolen the dragons, destroyed his greatest and only purpose up until that point. With a great deal of grief, he'd accepted his losses, resolved to make a new start with another life he'd never expected, yet could have given him the peace that had eluded him ever since Uther had unleashed his tyranny upon the world of magic.
Why couldn't the unfeeling bastard have just left him alone? Why couldn't he have remained in that peaceful village, gladly forswearing any further use of magic just for the chance to stay with her?
Instead, he'd been forced to flee like a criminal, a man who hadn't uttered a single incantation in months... who'd certainly never done so with the intention of causing harm to another person.
These thoughts haunted Balinor as he trudged blindly through the trees, somehow sharper and more painful then they'd been in years. It had been a dream that had done it – his traitorous subconscious bringing forth a carefully suppressed recollection of a woman lying in his arms, soft and sweet in the aftermath of their shared passion. His mind had conjured it up so vividly, from the velvety texture of her bare skin, to the faint fragrance of daisies that had clung to the tousled brown tendrils of hair as they'd spilled across his chest.
Awakening from that dream, from warm contentment to the stark, cold reality of his isolated cave, had shaken Balinor to the core. He'd risen and jerked on his clothes, with no other intention but to escape... to somehow remove himself from the painful reality of all he'd lost.
Of course, that was impossible. Her absence, his solitude was the reminder... no headlong rush through the trees was going to make it go away, with no other company than his own harsh, ragged breaths and the silent forest all around him. Alone, always alone.
He dropped to his knees beside the little spring that seemed to have appeared overnight, hardly sparing a thought for its unfamiliarity as he cupped his hands and bathed his face in the cool, soothing water. By instinct more than conscious choice, he drank deeply, his throat parched in the aftermath of his unaccustomed exertions.
Breakfast... yes, he should resume his normal routine, lose himself in ordinary activity until his dismal mood faded back into welcome numbness. But he was tired, so tired... weary after half a lifetime of trying to fight against the simple need to feel, to love, to be something more than what he'd become. Just a brief rest, that was all he needed...
"What is it?"
She stood before him, visibly trembling as she held out the unfurled parchment. His eyes fell upon the seal first, that distinctive Pendragon sigil which represented everything he had once served faithfully, but now...
Balinor hesitated, quite certain he knew exactly what it would say. It would demand his surrender, promising death if he tried to elude the king's justice. He let out a bitter laugh at the thought – as if the same fate wouldn't be awaiting him whether he came willingly or not. He had magic, and in these dark times, magic equaled death. How many innocent people had he known, had he loved, that had learned the hard way that there was no such thing as mercy anymore?
"Just read it," Hunith said quietly.
"There's no need. We both knew this day was coming, did we not? I... I have to leave. As soon as possible. I wish... well, there's no time for that now. I'll be gone before sundown. There's..."
"Balinor. Read it."
And for the first time, he looked at her more closely. She was indeed trembling, but she didn't appear frightened or distraught in any way. On the contrary, her cheeks were rosy, blue eyes shining with an emotion it took him a moment to identify as hope. More than that, she... was that a smile?!
Suddenly curious, he reached out and took the parchment from her fingers.
OFFICIAL DECREE OF ROYAL PARDON
It is with the deepest regret that I must announce the death of our noble sovereign, King Uther Pendragon. I do not have the words to describe what a monumental loss this is for the kingdom of Camelot, particularly when his only son and heir, Prince Arthur, is far too young to rule in his stead.
According to the last Will and Testament of our dearly departed king, I, Lord Gorlois of Cornwall, have been charged with the stewardship of this realm until our young prince should come of age.
Therefore, by the power vested in me, I hereby decree that the ban on magic shall be lifted forthwith, accompanied by my apology to all those who have suffered as a result of a well intended, but terribly misguided assault on some of our most valued citizens. Provided they have not been charged with additional crimes, all magic users throughout the kingdom are hereby permitted to resume their normal lives, free from the threat of retribution.
To further express my regret, allow me to make myself clear: Prince Arthur will be brought up to practice justice and tolerance toward all our citizens, in a dedicated effort not to repeat a most shameful part of our shared history.
In closing, I bid you all to enjoy your freedom. Please use it wisely.
Lord Gorlois of Cornwall, Steward of Camelot
Balinor sank heavily onto the bed, the parchment falling from his limp fingers. He swallowed the lump in his throat, looking up at Hunith with eyes that were bright with unshed tears.
"It's over. It's really over."
"I..." she started. "I want to believe it, but how can we be sure? Who is Gorlois? What if it's a trap?"
He released a shaky breath and retrieved the parchment from the floor, tracing his fingers over the lettering in an almost loving gesture. "This is no trap. I'd know this handwriting anywhere. Gorlois was the king's dearest friend."
"But..."
"He never agreed with Uther's treatment of my kind. When it first began, he was one of the loudest and most vehement protesters... and in the long run, one of the few who never stopped defending our cause. He risked his wealth, position, his own life to speak on our behalf, and... well, he's a great man. A truly great man. I feel honored to be holding the truth of that right here in my hands."
Hunith gave him a tentative smile. "But if all that is true, then why would the king leave him in command? Surely he must have known it would lead to this."
Balinor considered the question. "It's hard to say. Perhaps the will hadn't been altered since before the ban on magic was brought into existence. Maybe Uther simply realized there was no one else he could trust as much as Gorlois, despite their differing opinions. Whatever the reason, we can only be grateful for the result. Perhaps it's wrong to rejoice at a man's death, but..."
"No, I understand," Hunith said gently, laying a soft hand over his own. "Speak no more of it."
"Freedom," Balinor said, running his fingers through his thick brown hair as he stared off into the distance. "It's been so long since I even dared to hope for such a thing. I just... I can't believe it."
"What will you do?" she said almost abruptly, and he was surprised when he looked up to see genuine fear in her eyes. "Will you go back?"
And then suddenly, he understood. In the blink of an eye, she was in his arms, cradled tightly against his chest as he planted a tender kiss on the top of her head. "I don't intend on going anywhere," he murmured into her hair, feeling her sigh in relief as she snuggled more closely against him. "I wish the new ruler of Camelot well, but my days of service to the kingdom are behind me. There's nothing I'd like more than to stay here with you, to enjoy the life I was beginning to think we'd never have a chance to build together."
"Oh, Balinor..."
He smiled, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades as she sniffled, her tears soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt. "That is, if you'll have me."
She pulled away, shooting him a glare that wasn't even remotely convincing. "Don't be ridiculous! You know..."
"I know," he said softly. "I know."
It wasn't until later that night, after they'd made love slowly, almost lazily, relishing the first taste of a life lived without the constant threat of separation hanging over their heads, that she finally made his world complete with a shy smile and four simple words.
"I am with child."
Balinor hardly remembered lying down for his impromptu nap, but he was rather glad he'd done so. Granted, he still felt miserable, but it was tolerable now... a dull ache compared with the soul wrenching grief he'd felt earlier that morning. Sighing in resignation, he set about gathering firewood on the way back to his cave.
And then he sensed it... not just a human presence, but something more than that. He didn't know what it was, but there was a definite change in the air, whispers of powerful magic other than his own… something he hadn't felt in more than two decades.
He swallowed his excitement as he crept closer to the cave, reminding himself that "powerful" didn't necessarily mean "good." A movement out of the corner of his eye was all it took – he fell upon the intruder, determined to show nothing but the hostility born of caution that he had so carefully honed throughout his long years of exile. It had sent many a man fleeing in terror, and kept quite a few from ever approaching his solitary hovel in the first place.
"What do you want here, boy?"
"My friend, he's sick! He needs help!"
Balinor could've told him to leave. He could have given him directions to the nearest village where there happened to be a quite competent healer. But for the first time since he'd come to this place, angry and alone, determined not to allow the rest of the world to hurt him any longer, he was surprised to find himself reluctant to order another human being away. There was something... something about those eyes that demanded a closer look.
"Show me, boy," he demanded roughly.
It was probably nothing more than simple chance that had brought the boy to his cave at just this moment. And yet, with the palpable aura of magic in the air and a pair of bright blue eyes that somehow hinted at everything good he had known and been and wished for in his previous life, Balinor couldn't escape the uncanny feeling that his world was about to change forever.