-Three -
Royal visits were never anything to write home about. A shipment of overinflated egos belonging to the super privileged riding into Camelot amid a burst of their own self-importance with what seemed like the sole aim of disrupting the lives of all in whichever unfortunate kingdom they happened to be gracing at the time.
… A little long-winded, but nonetheless not bad for a supposedly illiterate peasant.
Balinor took a bite of the assumed fruit in his hand and let his head rest against the pillar at his back. As if bellowing around the castle hallways and swaggering over all in their path was not enough, those who qualified as royal enough for a royal visit took to feasting. A lot.
Currently the hall of ceremonies was alive with the hubbub and joviality of what was sure to be one of many feasts. The very prospect was both tiring and exceedingly irritating.
Standing at the far end of the hall, almost beneath the large window depicting the great red dragon, Balinor hid himself away and made himself as content as he could be. Those around him revelled in the amiable atmosphere, and let persistent servants pile their plates high with the rich foods, their goblets be filled with finest wine.
He took another bite of his unidentified fruit and chewed thoughtfully. None of the people seated at the tables having grown up in the manner he had thought this feast anything more than a necessity granted to them by their own superior birth. They were entitled to feast and be merry while those not permitted to sample the food or join the festivities served them.
He, having been raised as a peasant, saw it as a massive waste of food.
Nobody needed to eat as much as was placed before the nobles in the hall. Half of what was piled on their plates would not be eaten and would just go to the hounds waiting patiently and expectantly under the long tables. The act of feasting seemed so alien to him. It was such an unnecessary indulgence.
While he himself was permitted to sit with the high born bunch happily gorging themselves stupid, he refrained. Lurking at the back eating a … whatever the thing in his hand was, while keeping out of everyone's way was just fine by him.
Uther, of course, did not understand his aversion to a good feast. As with many aspects of his lowly friend's life, Uther could not grasp his reasons and found them laughable. He had not long ago tried to get Balinor to join him at the King's table, but Balinor had declined. How someone could be happy on their own out of the throng, eating a … whatever that thing – a fruit, maybe? - was, Uther could not comprehend. So he had correctly, yet unknowingly so, put it down to being a peasant thing, and had tried to change the subject. He could have returned to his table and continued with the feast, he did not have to stay and try and wring any more conversation out of Balinor, but he certainly could not admit aloud that he was missing his friend's company, though Balinor knew that, obviously.
- "What is that thing?"
Balinor glanced at the half-eaten object in his hands and gave a light shrug. "I have no idea."
"Where did you get it from?"
"Found it on the floor."
Uther wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You're eating something you picked up off the floor?"
"Yeah." Balinor shrugged again. "And?"
"What was it doing on the floor in the first place?"
"Probably fell off a platter or something."
"And you saw it, picked it up and started eating it?"
The peasant boy gave a firm nod. "Yes."
The prince blanched. "Have you seen the state of this floor?"
"It's fine, Uther." Balinor returned, his tone bored. "I picked off as much of the fluff as I could see."
"..." Uther pursed his lips, considering his friend carefully a moment. Though watching him eat that thing, knowing where it had come from almost turned him away. "You're a cretin." He concluded. "You really are."
The look Balinor directed at him, eyebrows raised in surprise forced a slow head shake out of the Prince.
"You have the manners of a swine."
"Rather the manners of a swine than a face like a dog's arse." Came the swift, level, and somewhat gruff reply.
After which Uther had promptly given up on him and returned to his seat beside his father. Not before administering a sharp punch to Balinor's forearm, of course. Not in affection. -
Uther would never understand his aversion to feasts, Balinor knew. He did not expect him to. The view of them as highly wasteful and unnecessary was never going to change as far as the young warlock was concerned, even if one day he would be nobility in his own right. From where he stood he observed his father sneakily tucking away all that he could not eat with the intention of taking it back to his chambers for later. Likely breakfast the following morning. Some of it would undoubtedly make its way to Gaius' chambers for his son by the end of the evening.
Likely to be dinner tonight, Balinor thought, making idle examination of the large stone visible at the centre of his mystery fruit. The thing baffled him. It was hairy on the outside, and now it contained a stone? It just got stranger and stranger.
He drew his attention away from it and focused on the party at the top table, his father among them. It was not Rion who commanded his attention this time, but Constantine and Godwyn.
The alliance between Camelot and Gawant was a strong one, and the two monarchs very good friends. Hence the great celebrations always laid on whenever Godwyn visited Camelot's lands. It was of great importance to both Kingdoms that the alliance remain strong, as it had for many, many years. Since the time of Bruta, in fact.
With a thoughtful eye, Balinor looked Godwyn over, hoping to gain some inkling as to why Uther was so enamoured with the man. As before, in the courtyard, he didn't look much. Hardly the warrior king Uther had made him out to be. Yes, he appeared every inch the King, not the type who would take pleasure in the heat of battle, but more likely curl up beside his fireplace with a good book.
Godwyn could not be more than ten years older than Uther. Already he had proven himself a fine king, and a great asset as an ally to Camelot. He had assisted Constantine in matters of state and potential war when the need to present the Kingdom alongside its allies had arisen. Balinor smirked to himself, and took another bite of his... thing. He had heard from Delwen, maidservant to the Lady Elfleda, who had been told by her friend Hattie, a maid in Lady Margaret's household, who had heard from Aled, the charcoal boy who had overheard a conversation between Sir Baldulf's Squire Mabon and Sir Pslomydes' manservant Jack, who had it on good authority from his master's amused mumblings to Sir Ector that an extremely drunken Uther had been heard confessing to Sir Galvarium in the Rising Sun one night that originally the plan had been to strengthen the alliance between Camelot and Gawant through marriage. Thus Constantine and Godwyn's father had planned the betrothal of the then quite young Godwyn to the child Camelot's Queen carried at that time. Unfortunately, the planned union fell apart before it was even formed when Uther popped out allegedly sans lady parts, so the whole idea had been abandoned pretty sharpish.
Though the very idea of Uther's having come at all close to being betrothed to Godwyn almost made Balinor choke on lumps of suspicious floor fruit in gleeful laughter. He managed to save himself the inconvenience and swallow in safety.
Still, he couldn't help but snort looking at Godwyn speaking with Constantine, and Uther hanging on the visiting King's every word. The faithful wife.
Uther had yet to realise that his pet peasant knew of the proposed (ha, ha!) arrangement, and would surely be mortified if he did. So of course, Balinor would do what any decent friend would do.
Hold onto it and roll it out at the opportune time to cause Uther the most horror and irreparable embarrassment. For though Balinor did not like attacking Uther physically unless provoked, he had absolutely no issue with tearing the Prince's self esteem and ego to pieces with words. They served him better than physical violence ever had.
Chuckling, he drew his eyes away from his stupid friend and absorbed himself in examining the mostly-eaten fruit in his long fingers.
"... It's a peach."
Balinor looked up hurriedly, feeling a light, playful brush against his magic as Nimueh approached.
She nodded to the fruit in his hand. "They grow upon a tree on the Isle of the Blessed." She explained, inclining her head towards it. "The High Priestesses teach us that the tree originated in a far off land across the Great seas of Meredor to which my sisters once travelled. The stone at its centre is the seed. One of the Priestesses returned with such a stone and placed it into the sacred ground of the Isle that we may nurture it with magic, and help it to grow. These peaches tonight are a gift from Nyneve, and the other Priestesses of the Isle."
Balinor felt his skin pale, and flicked his mortified eyes to the half-eaten peach currently residing in his hand. "Oh." Unsure quite what he ought to do, he held it out to her awkwardly. "M'sorry. Didn't realise."
Nimueh looked at the fruit in amusement, but took it nonetheless. "You have absolutely nothing to apologise for, Balinor. All here are perfectly welcome to enjoy them, regardless of status. Though..." She hesitated, and dropped her voice to little more than a murmur those around them would not hear, "Of all here tonight, you are perhaps one of the more entitled to enjoy their sweetness."
He looked at her quizzically, not quite sure that he understood her reasoning, but she did not explain. Instead she raised the peach to her lips and took a bite, savouring the taste.
"It is, however," She began, raising her deep blue eyes to meet his dark ones and giving a secretive smile, "a deep, and meaningful gesture to share the Isle's fruit with another."
Balinor swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry as she presented the peach to him in both her hands. Nerves churning in his belly, he took it and held it awkwardly, unsure quite what to do with it. Eat it, he supposed, but perhaps that was not the correct way to behave now? Offending Nimueh was not something he wanted to do.
Heat prickled at his cheeks, his palms feeling sweaty. Or maybe it was the peach juice, he couldn't quite be sure.
His lack of activity did not seem to worry Nimueh, who folded her arms over her chest and, surprisingly, took up a lean against the pillar alongside him.
"You are not eating tonight?" She queried in a conversational manner, a tone of slight curiousity tucked away beneath.
"Only sacred fruits I pick up off the floor." He returned bluntly, and promptly flushed red as his brain caught up to his mouth.
Nimueh did not seem to have any opinion on his words, or the inadvertent revelation of the peach's origins. She chose instead to make an observation. "You never take part in feasts. Since your arrival at Court, I have never once seen you sit down to feast with us."
There was a question hiding in there somewhere, Balinor's painfully lethargic brain was quite sure. It just did not want to comprehend, occupied as it was by the sudden leap in more interesting things around him. Nimueh's presence was... intoxicating. Whether she meant it to be or not, Balinor was unsure. Either way, his whole being tingled when she was near. His magic leapt and almost jerked against any attempt to rein it in. It reached out in search of hers, brushing against it, sending a shiver through him.
He coughed, and folded his arms tightly over his chest. Outwardly, he did not show any sign of nerves or feeling. Inwardly he did battle with the new, intense sensations. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Not physical, not even emotional. It was on another level entirely. A touch against the part of him that was his magic; that which was him and his in every sense of the word. He suppressed a shudder and made an attempt to get a grip on his errant magic before he somehow managed to embarrass himself, as much as he did not want to. If the sensation was physical, it would probably be considered obscene.
He almost felt guilty for it, beyond his control as it may be. Who was he to have such 'feelings'? No more than a scrawny peasant boy, while Nimueh was a Priestess in training. Maybe he was a Dragonlord in waiting, but it was a right he would not receive for some time. Nimueh was firmly out of his reach for hopefully, for his father's sake, many years to come. Besides that, he knew next to nothing about her. They had not spoken at all in the two years he had been in Camelot until that morning, and then he had been suffering under the influence of a particularly nasty hangover. It was unfeasible that he should have made a good impression on her.
"Balinor?"
She remembered his name, then?
"Hm?" He cocked his head to look down at her beside his shoulder, suddenly much less intimidated to look into her face and remember that she was still a girl of his own age, whatever else she may be. "Yes?"
Her lips curved up slightly at the edges. "You have not answered my question."
That was right. She had asked a question, hadn't she? One of those questions women asked that weren't actually questions. Or traps, as his father had once called them.
"Waste of good food." He returned almost gruffly. "Enough here to feed my village for a month, all gone in one night, and half of that to the dogs."
It took a moment for him to realise that Nimueh was looking at him with a light frown. The sight made his stomach drop into his boots in dismay. "Forgive me, my Lady." He murmured with a respectful dip of his head. "I spoke too plainly. Have I offended you?"
She shook her head lightly. "Not at all. It is refreshing to meet one who offers their opinion so readily." She smiled, lips twitching against a grin to see him duck his head in apparent mortification. "It is rare. Even rarer for the opinion offered to be so honest."
A glint of humour in his eyes, Balinor lifted his head a little meet her own, candid eyes. "Refreshing?"
"And shocking as a winter's rain."
"Makes an impression, then?" He ventured, feeling a little bolder.
"A lasting one." She agreed, and regarded him a moment with one eye narrowed as she searched his face. Finally, she shook her head. "I cannot fathom you out."
Balinor lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Nothing to fathom out. Plain-speaking and dull as a blunt pitchfork, that's me."
Nimueh gave a light chuckle absolutely dripping with disbelief. "I think that little could be farther from the truth."
"That is your opinion?"
"Refreshing, is it not?"
Balinor smirked, and took a bite of his peach, chewing thoughtfully. He did not say anything further, but turned his attention on the festivities instead.
Already Uther looked merrier than usual. For somebody so obsessed with manliness, and presenting oneself as a 'pillar of strength', the Prince really did not consider the dashing of those ideals with such a high rate of alcohol consumption. In a few hours it would be down to Balinor and Edmund to drag him through the corridors to put the paralytic grutnol to bed.
Personally, Balinor thought that drinking one's weight in wine seemed like a particularly bad idea. The previous night was enough for a little while. Gaius was right – you could poison yourself with alcohol, and the amount Balinor had consumed during the previous night's session must have been close. Exactly how he and Uther had made it from the Rising Sun back to the Citadel escaped the hold of memory, but there was the hazy recollection of lots of leaning on one another, and raucous singing... and prolonged and painful vomiting into a bush somewhere. Hopefully it did not belong to anyone, or somebody, somewhere, was in for a nasty surprise when they next thought it needed pruning.
He chased the thought and any guilt or embarrassment at potential situations arising from it out of his head and glanced at Nimueh.
What was she even doing there? She had not moved but still leant against the pillar beside him, watching the rest of the feast going on around them. Her sisters all remained around Nyneve, engaging in conversation with various Camelot nobility and members of Godwyn's party. Nyneve herself spoke in playful, charming tones with Constantine and Godwyn.
None of them actually feasted. Balinor had observed that before, on previous occasions. The Priestess' function was more subtle than that of mere guests. They and their mistress moved around the room, mingling rather than remaining in one place, while eyes were drawn to follow their movements. Later on they would dance and call down a blessing on the Court and its guests from the Goddess. That was always a sight to behold, and one that spoke to Balinor on a level he had never understood.
The Priestesses truly were strange creatures. Even now as he watched them, only Nyneve put food to her lips, and that was a peach she shared with Godwyn. That gesture made sense now, at least. Thanks to Nimueh.
Despite having magic, Balinor did not purport to understand the intricacies and rituals that others of his kind seemed to know all about. Somewhere, deep down it saddened him greatly that he did not have that knowledge.
Nimueh and the other Priestesses would have been taught from a very early age all about their magical heritage. More than read about the rites of Beltane, they would have always been a part of the celebrations, making the garlands of may, and building the fires. Not sat at their windows watching the glow from far off flames, fearful that asking to follow their hearts and go to them would cause their fathers undue sadness and worry.
They would never have felt Samhain pass, knowing somehow, somewhere, others were gathering together who felt the same thing they did, but could not understand.
While Rion, as a Dragonlord was a creature of the Old Religion, and revered and respected magic and all that it could give and teach, he did not understand it. Neither did he understand the feelings that stirred within his boy when nights of powerful magic approached, and Balinor could not answer the calls that so consumed him with the need.
Balinor lowered his head a little, his heart clenching in his chest. Had his mother lived, then things would have been different.
Thoughts of his mother had him wanting to go. To leave the celebrations and head across the citadel to the place he knew that he would receive some comfort for his sadness without disturbing his father. There was one these past two years who had behaved almost as a mother to him. She would provide him a shoulder to cry on, even if it was not within her ability to embrace him and hold him as a mother would. Thinking of her, the want to see her almost moved his feet and took him from the hall, but he resisted. He would go later on, when there came a chance to slip away, when Uther was too drunk to draw attention to the fact that he was missing.
"You are not amused." Nimueh pointed out suddenly, that shy smile on her face as her voice pulled him from his moping and introspection. "The merriment is not merry enough for you?"
"I'm protesting peacefully." He answered in a deadly serious tone that had her raising her eyebrows in amusement. "It wouldn't look right if I was enjoying myself."
"I see." She cocked a glance at Uther, who was currently running through the events of the previous day's tourney final in a manner too animated to be good for the nearby pitchers of wine. Or poor Edmund's patience, and nerves judging by the man's face. "And what does our esteemed Prince have to say about your objections?"
"Oh, he doesn't know I'm protesting." Balinor answered casually, and begun striking his heel lightly against the flag stones beneath him. "And he thinks I'm strange for not enjoying a good feast. Just as he believes me to have a mental affliction for not wanting to hit things with swords, or shoot deer."
Nimueh actually giggled at that. "A mental affliction?"
Balinor nodded, all seriousness. "Yes. He found out about their existence from Gaius some time ago, and now it's his favourite explanation whenever somebody doesn't enjoy the things he does, or behaves at all out of the ordinary. According to his logic, half of Camelot is mentally afflicted with something or other."
"Does he have any idea what?"
Balinor grunted, and shrugged. "No idea. Sense, probably, judging by the way in which he behaves."
"He is not the most empathetic of people, our Prince." Nimueh observed with a smile as Uther's gesticulating hands ventured too close to a pitcher and actually knocked it over.
Edmund lunged forward in trained response, but was still too slow. The manservant's heart stopped thumping with horror as the pitcher halted at a dangerous tilt, and fell no further. He did not even have to look far to offer Balinor a nod of thanks, finding the young warlock within easy sight across the room, leaning against a pillar with one hand raised towards the pitcher, irises aglow with the gold of magic. The glow that meant averted spillages as far as Edmund was concerned.
Balinor dropped his hand to fold his arms again, Edmund having the pitcher situation in hand, and blinked lazily as the gold faded from his eyes. "No," he murmured in reply to Nimueh's statement, "but I'm working on it."
"Oh, you are?" She was looking up at him with a grin that sent a pleasant tingle down his spine.
He nodded, almost off handedly. "Yeah. I'm training him."
"Like a dog?"
Balinor shook his head, a light smile playing across his lips at the mental image. "No, but that's not a bad idea. Whistles and food...?"
That he even appeared to be seriously contemplating means of training the Prince made Nimueh laugh out loud. Quietly, she did have to wonder why Balinor put any stock in Uther at all. The Prince was brash, arrogant, loud and stubborn as a donkey. Not to mention famously bad tempered, violent and unforgiving. No one could hold a grudge like Uther. It did not take much to make him hate you.
Unless you were Balinor.
There was something very curious in that. It was no secret that the boys were the best of friends. They went everywhere together, did everything together. Except hunt, though reportedly only because Balinor did not agree with it, and was a rather skilled saboteur by all accounts.
Everyone had seen how rough the Prince was with Balinor, however. It was a common sight to see Uther punch Balinor, or push him down the smaller flights of stairs around the citadel. There was even talk that the previous week Uther had chased Balinor around the castle with a sword. An incident that only ended when Balinor managed to lock Uther in the tower and left him there to cool down for a couple of hours.
"Why do you allow him to treat you as he does?" She found herself asking. "If it is not too invasive a question."
"What do you mean?" Balinor blinked back at her owlishly.
She shrugged against the cool pillar, resettling her shoulders into a position that afforded more comfort, and threw a glance at the chortling Prince as he found something Sir Johfrit had said as amusing as the knight himself clearly did. "Uther is a violent oaf. I heard that he chased you with a sword."
"Is that all?" Balinor shook his head and rubbed at his ear absently, sure that something had flitted inside without invitation, and rolled his shoulders against the stone at his back to settle into his lean once more. "Chased me with a spear once, too. Sword has less reach."
"But why do you let him do it?" She pressed. "Because he is the Prince? Or are you reluctant to use your magic against him?"
Balinor snorted. "Don't give a damn that he's the Prince. Could be a common farmyard swine for all I care. And I have no qualms with using my magic against him. Gets on my tits enough, can always blast him out a window. Done that a few times. Quite satisfying actually."
Now it was Nimueh's turn to look at him owlishly. He cleared his throat, and gave a less... awful answer to her question, in a softer, much less gruff tone,
"Uther is my friend. Even if he is a colossal git. He doesn't know how to show emotion, and has a temper hotter than the pits of hell. The line between being fun and a death threat blurs on occasion, and that he's never really been made to understand that actions have consequences doesn't help. He's less of a pig than he was when I first met him, apparently, and is getting better. His punches hurt less now."
"Yet you still let him do it."
"It's how he says 'I love you'."
"I see." The tone of her voice was scornful, but Balinor understood that it was directed at Uther, not himself. He felt a rise of protectiveness over his friend, and had to come to his defence.
"No, you don't." He sighed, trying to find the right words. "Uther is emotionally repressed. So much so that he genuinely believes it is unmanly to show affection in any way other than slapping and punching. That's why I put up with it. That, and for some reason I genuinely like him. Perhaps I do have a mental affliction. Though, according to some people he is actually starting to behave more like a normal person, and less like a rampaging wild boar, and that can only be a good thing for the Kingdom. It's helping him be a better Prince."
"And in turn will help him to be a better King?"
Again, Balinor snorted. "He'd be a bloody terrible King." It took a moment for him to realise that she did not mean now. He cleared his throat and steadied himself. "He'll get there eventually, if I keep working on him."
"You afford yourself much credit." Nimueh told him playfully, grinning up at him.
"Some of the bruises I've had, I damn well deserve it." He looked down at her then, meeting her eyes.
They stared at one another a moment, before he felt himself reddening and looked away, back at the top table and incidentally Nyneve. "So tell me," he began, not daring look at Nimueh until the colour had receded from his cheeks, "why are you all the way back here, lurking, when your sisters and your mistress are enjoying the evening?"
"I find conversation of tournaments and slaying beasts boring beyond belief." Nimueh answered flatly, with surprising candour. "Rather than endure it, I thought that I would go in search of more interesting company."
"Yet you are standing here with me?"
"A creature so strange as yourself is infinitely more interesting than the exploits of men and boys enamoured with killing everything, and one another."
That sentence appealed to him much more than she could probably know. Still, Balinor let a small smile quirk his lips as he latched onto what she had said aside from the killing remark. "So I'm a creature, am I?"
"Undoubtedly." She smirked and met his gaze.
He felt that same warm brush of her magic against his, and took a small breath. She did not miss it, as her smirk grew into a small grin filled with lovely white teeth.
She had to keep doing that, didn't she? Surely she must know what it was doing to him? Balinor's eyes widened. He fought from looking at her. She was flirting with him. She had to be if she knew what it did to him when she did that.
He did look at her then, surprised as she shyly lowered her eyes and shuttered them behind thick, dark lashes. It may have been his imagination, the candlelight, but were her cheeks a little pink?
He ought to say something, but just what escaped him. What did you say to a girl who may like you? Especially when it was so damn obvious that you liked her? He had to say something. Anything. Swallowing deeply, he opened his mouth to speak, certain that a strangled gargle would be all to come out, when Nimueh looked up abruptly, across the room at Nyneve.
"My mistress is calling me." She said quietly, and offered him a small smile before stepping away from the pillar and out into the merry atmosphere.
Balinor watched her go, a small frown on his face. Strange, but he had not heard Nyneve call Nimueh's name. The High Priestess had not even looked up from her conversation with the Kings, yet her young charges were drawing to her from around the hall. That the Priestesses were gathering could only mean one thing. All in the hall knew it also, and stopped what they were doing to watch.
In all, Camelot possessed seven Priestesses at any one time. Nyneve, the High Priestess and Court Sorceress, and six Priestesses studying beneath her that they may too take their rites and become High Priestesses in their own right.
While at Court, they served much the same purpose as Nyneve herself: to preside over ceremonies and festivals of religious importance, and serve as stewards of all things magic in the Kingdom.
Tonight they danced for the Court, and the Triple Goddess, and asked that she hand down her blessing upon Camelot and Gawant, and the enduring alliance between both Kingdoms.
Balinor observed them as they took their place at the centre of the hall and organised themselves into two rows, Nyneve at their head.
They were quite a sight; Nyneve, dark-haired and beautiful, dressed in a gown of flowing green and silver, her hands raised and cupped above her head, lovely face tilted to the sky. Behind her, the young Priestesses, each dressed in long gowns of varying design, all white silk trimmed with gold.
Each and every girl was a beauty to behold in themselves, the sight of them stood together, though it was one he had seen many times in the past two years made Balinor's stomach clench with nerves. For the first time it struck him that which he saw before him, the faces of these beautiful girls, was a sight that he alone could see. Camelot's Priestesses as they truly were.
The realisation made him feel a little guilty. He had to fight not to look away, aware that to not pay them attention was an insult when they danced.
Any guilty feelings faded away as his eyes fell on Nimueh. She looked back at him from where she stood at the end of the first row behind Nyneve. Shyly, she lowered her eyes to the ground at her feet, a light smile on her lips.
Balinor had no time to ponder her behaviour as the minstrels began to play, and the seven Priestesses began to dance.
Nyneve stepped forward in two dainty movements, bringing her arms to her sides in an arc and lowering her head. Her bare toes brushed the flagstones beneath her feet, her arms sweeping intricate paths through the air as she swayed, and twirled with the music. Behind her, the Priestesses began to sway as one, performing the same arm movements and twirls as their mistress. It was breathtaking to watch, all six girls moving as one being. No step was out of place, no sweep out of sequence.
Nimueh moved flawlessly, no longer distracted by outward influences as she danced for her King, and her Goddess.
Magic permeated the air, flowing through every living being; every whisper of wind in the hall; every droplet of water. It touched Balinor's own magic, singing in his every fibre, drawing him in with all that he was. His magic danced inside him, beating alongside his heart with the rhythm of the dance played out before him. He took a deep breath and felt it race through him; sensed every thread of life woven throughout his entire being, every stitch and fray in the tapestry that was his personality and spirit, and all that he was, and would ever be. His eyes slid closed, a welcome rush of warmth settling behind them as they began to glow the golden colour of magic.
Everything was so alive – more than it ever was at any other time inside the dusty old halls of the castle. It seeped from the air, and the water, and the flame and the Earth, into the very walls of Camelot, awakening the ancient magic that lay dormant there – a city built by magic. The whole world around him vibrated as life, and emotion, and magic surrounded him.
It was incredible.
Before the Court of Camelot and its guests the Priestesses danced, and magic danced with them.
Others in the hall slowed, and became transfixed in a way others of the audience did not. A serving boy, and a maid stilled, their own small magic touched by the wild dance of the world around them. A noblewoman relaxed in her chair, staring wide eyes at the swaying, twirling Priestesses of magic, while a squire and a shield maiden who had been talking together in one corner fell silent and closed their eyes sleepily. Despite their grasp on the magic that touched them, none of them felt what Balinor felt.
His head titled back against the pillar and his eyes closed, the peasant boy traced the magic weaving through the air as trails of swirling colour. The magic in the air, and the magic inside every individual being with the hall.
He watched the Priestesses dance, seven forms of glowing light and colour of many different shades. Nyneve burned as a slash of harsh green, much brighter than most of the others moving with her. Nimueh matched her, shining vibrant red in the dark of his mind's eye.
He lifted his hand above his head, and observed in wonder the bright glow of almost blinding white that was his own magic. His very essence. But it was more than that. Whereas the others he saw shone only one colour, an aura of blue light surrounded his white, interwoven by threads of bright gold. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, and so very strange. It followed the movement of his hand in hurried, jerky movements as though worried about being left behind, never mixing completely with his own inner light, but passing in and out of it as though completely independent of it. A part of him, yet separate.
A smile found its way onto his lips. It felt warm, and.. friendly? His, but not.
The feeling of utter euphoria pure magic gave him prevented him from wondering about it too deeply, or worrying at its difference. It was beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking, and glowed all the brighter as small flashes of colour leapt from the other slashes of magic in the hall to flit across and dance playfully around it.
He waved his hand back and forth across his field of 'vision', grinning, almost drunk watching the sparks of colour bob and sway. It was wonderful.
Then, suddenly, it was gone.
The Priestesses reached the end of their dance, and the magic ended. The colours faded away. His own white glow faded, the blue and gold sank slowly into his skin and settled comfortably within him alongside his pulse, but curiously out of his grasp.
Balinor opened his eyes to find Nyneve in the same position she had begun the dance, the Priestesses crouched upon the ground behind her, heads bowed. Constantine began to applaud, quickly joined by Godwyn and the rest of the Court.
Blinking, Balinor glanced about, feeling a little light-headed, but extremely pleasant with it. He felt wonderful, warm all over as though having just stepped out of a warm bath. He began to applaud also, somewhat behind everyone else in showing his appreciation while the Priestesses began to dance to the new song the minstrels played. Others began to step onto the floor. Once the Priestesses had completed their prayer, the floor was opened to all for dancing should they so wish.
Balinor smiled, and began to tap his foot along with the music. As an oaf dancing was not for him, but he did enjoy watching everyone else have fun.
In his self-imposed duty, he threw a glance at the top table to see Uther once again waving his arms about and bellowing self-importantly over the music, braying about something violent with Sir Johfrit. The idiot was fine. Satisfied, Balinor settled his shoulders against the pillar and watched the dancing, feeling deeply relaxed.
The Priestesses moved about the floor, selecting young men from the nobility and drawing them to the floor to dance with them. Balinor noted Nyneve taking his father's hand and encouraging him to stand and dance with her as was usual. The Court Sorceress and Dragonlord always shared a dance at these things. Today was no exception.
Balinor grinned at his father and flicked his eyebrows, aware that Rion was infinitely more graceful than he was, and won a sarcastic face pull behind Nyneve's back. His grin grew a little, and he swallowed a chuckle. Watching others dance was always enjoyable.
So engrossed was he that he did not notice Nimueh's approach until her hand was closed around his wrist, pulling him away from the pillar.
Immediately he stumbled forwards after her, his stomach knotted. "No!"
"Come on!" Nimueh grinned at him over her shoulder, yanking him towards the floor.
Panic rose in the young warlock. "Nimueh I can't!"
"Don't be foolish."
"No, really." He halted as she dropped his wrist and grabbed his hands to place his left on her shoulder and take his right in hers.
"Of course you can." She began to skip, dancing to the right in the same direction as the other couples to the spirited music.
"I can't dance!"
As if to prove his point his feet immediately tangled and he stumbled heavily, almost falling flat on his face in front of Nimueh.
She pulled him to stand straight, ignoring his lack of coordination to place his hands back where they needed to be and dance away again.
Balinor went with her, managing a few steps before stumbling again. He felt his face flush red, and planted his eyes on his stupid, disobedient feet to watch where he put them and avoid looking at Nimueh. Even keeping an eye on them was ultimately pointless as Nimueh changed direction and he tripped trying to keep up.
He did hit the floor that time, almost tripping up the neighbouring couple. His breath hitching, he quickly pushed himself to stand, mortified.
"Balinor, come on!" Nimueh chastised him, apparently beginning to lose her patience.
What did she expect? He had told her that he couldn't dance.
She arranged his hands once again, and pulled him left.
The others around them were not particularly pleased with him by the expressions on their faces. They were all noblemen and women dressed in their finery. He was a common peasant, wearing the same thing he had worn since leaving his village. Nyneve was frowning at him in absolute disapproval, Rion didn't know what to do with him and appeared baffled by his presence on the floor in the first place. Gaius at the top table looked sympathetic, and Uther was laughing so hard at him he may well be sick.
And Nimueh. Balinor swallowed. Nimueh looked disappointed in him.
He felt hot. His eyes were beginning to tear up despite himself. He felt so self-conscious as everyone stared or sneered at him. Nimueh looked embarrassed to be seen with him and regretted choosing him to dance with in the first place. Uther's laughter was so loud and raucous it may as well have been the only thing he could hear.
Balinor took a shuddering breath. For all that he made light of it, pretended that it didn't matter, he hated his clumsiness. Hated the way it made him feel, and the way that others looked at him because of it. He was used to being embarrassed by it, and laughed at because of it, but it was not just him it was embarrassing this time.
Nimueh should have picked a graceful nobleman, as she was supposed to have. Not.. not a clumsy, inconsequential nothing like him.
He blinked, and looked away, aware that Nimueh was looking at him in sudden concern.
"Balinor?"
He swallowed, trying to hold the tears in.
"Balinor, you idiot!" Uther's amused shout took him by surprise and broke his concentration, sending him stumbling over his own feet again. He took a breath, but did not try and throw a hand out to catch himself. Without thinking about what he was doing, he threw out his magic instead. It reached out, and it grabbed the nearest thing it could find. It grabbed Nimueh's.
The effect was instantaneous. He found his feet, as though he had grabbed her hand to steady himself, and straightened.
Nimueh drew a sharp breath as their magic touched, left breathless as the two forces met as though his hand had clapped down in hers. She raised her eyes to meet his, her elegant brows pulled together in wonder as she stared at him. Balinor looked back at her, lips slightly parted in surprise. He closed her hand in his, gripped her shoulder, and moved to the right, taking her with him.
They moved among the others on the floor, not moving with them, but weaving in and out of them, twisting and turning around one another to pass between and around others in their path. Balinor raised Nimueh's hands above their heads, spinning under them as she did. Beneath him his feet skipped lightly over the flagstones, worn old boots barely whispering as their toes dusted the stone. He twirled Nimueh, her skirts billowing out around her hand holding them gathered from her feet, white ribbons whirling around her head where they twined through her long, dark hair.
Balinor spun around behind her, taking her hands that they skipped back to back.
Their light movements carried them around the floor to the quick tempo of the music – a tempo that seemed to be increasing with the tension and cares draining from Balinor's taught shoulders.
He no longer noticed anybody else; did not realise when he no longer needed to navigate around others on the floor. He saw only Nimueh, as together they skipped about the flagstones. His magic sang throughout his body, crying out in pure joy with him as it touched Nimueh's and he moved with more grace than he had ever commanded before.
Nimueh wore a bright smile as she danced, her eyes locked with his. There was nothing besides one another, and the music surrounding them. They noticed nothing else. Not that Uther was no longer laughing, nor the suddenly empty floor between the tables, nor the blood-pumping rhythm that sounded in the enthusiastic clapping all around them.
They noticed only one another as they skipped and twirled around the floor in their own spirited dance.
Magic seemed to spark through the air between Priestess and Warlock, pushing them on faster and faster in their turns and skips until neither of them noticed the movements they made any longer.
The minstrels approached the end of their song, loathe to end it and break the spectacle before them. But all things must come to an end.
The music reached a crescendo with a flourish of notes, the spinning couple coming to an abrupt halt with it, Nimueh's small hands upon Balinor's slight chest, his arms wrapped around her, his head resting gently against the side of her neck.
They remained like that a long moment, silent, unmoving. At last, Balinor drew back to stand awkwardly before her, his rough hands resting lightly on her bare shoulders. They stared at one another, unaware that they both drew heavy breaths, or even that they had stilled. They simply gazed at one another as though the end of the music had left them in that world of their own.
Somebody, somewhere, began to applaud and just like that, the spell was broken.
Balinor blinked and looked up. He didn't know quite what to do, seeing the others who had been dancing stood back against the long tables that he and Nimueh alone had the floor. They all stood watching the young Priestess and gangly warlock, applauding heartily, expressions of awe and approval on their stunned, smiling faces.
His breath caught, his cheeks flaring red. He released his hold on Nimueh's shoulders, and stepped back further from her, remembering suddenly that he was not meant to touch her. With a nervous breath, he glanced around.
Uther was staring open-mouthed, while beside him Constantine and Godwyn stood, applauding. Balinor swallowed, unsure what to make of being applauded by not one King, but two.
Nyneve applauded also, but reluctantly, a sour expression of marked disapproval on her face. At her side, his father wore a look of absolute disbelief, but with it clear pride. Rion had never seen his boy move with such grace and beauty before. Not his awkward little Balinor. He could not help but applaud his son, even if he did not know quite what else to do.
The Priestesses applauded their sister, and appeared to be talking in low tones of excitement that had Nyneve looking even more sour and unimpressed.
Balinor hiccuped quietly, and swallowed again. Any grace he had possessed had been fleeting and had now well and truly fled. He turned to Nimueh, gave an awkward bow, and 'strode' off the floor.
His heart pounded in his chest, his palms sweaty, balled in tight fists at his sides. He did not return to the pillar beneath the window, but walked straight across the flagstones and out of the main doors, out of the hall of ceremonies and kept on walking. He did not stop.
*Notes: This chapter was so long I've split it. Part I is going to be longer than I had realised, as there's such a lot of character introduction going on. Getting to know everyone as they were, rather than what they have become by the time we meet them onscreen. This story is as much about the journey that gets them there as it is the yarn aspect. Stick with it, though, as there is a little bit of adventure to come in between the akward teenage moments. Fear not, if something does not appear to make sense yet, then it will eventually. I have a plan!
*Dragonlords don't seem to operate like normal human beings in the way in which their unique powers are inherited, so I figured that they must have some connection to the Old Religion, even if their art is not actually magic.
* Balinor tells Merlin that his father and grandfather both understood that the Old Religion could 'teach us many things', and for the purposes of this little tale, Rion does not have magic, and neither did his father. That doesn't mean that he doesn't appreciate the wisdom of the old ways ;)