Too Late for Love
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: Too Late for Love
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Balinor/Hunith
Character/s: Balinor, Hunith
Summary: Balinor knows that he can’t stay in Ealdor. Uther would never rest until Balinor was dead and anyone helping him.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 572
Camelot Drabble Prompt 520: Aftermath
Author’s notes: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
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The sound of dogs and chainmail was soft in the distance, almost a buzzing rather than something more ominous. Mixing with the growing dawn, joyous birdsong beginning to spread through Ealdor, the far-off sound of a rooster crowing the new day and the rumble of Mr Simpson’s cow pushing against the barn door as she always did at first light. All around him were the sounds of normalcy and a farmer’s life.
But Balinor knew better. They had come for him. They had come to destroy the last of the Dragonlords.
He had tried to explain it to Hunith, tried to reason with her when she insisted she would go with him, no matter the circumstances, through rain and sleet and snow, through winter and summer, willing to live in caves and the hollows of trees if necessary.
Balinor loved her for it, but it was no life for a woman made for better things. Always on the run and likely, if caught, to be slaughtered before his eyes, just because Uther Pendragon was that cruel.
In the end, he stopped quarrelling with her, just nodded whenever she planned their future together, smiling as she drew him back to her bed. She was everything he had ever wanted really, not gold or jewels or a position at court, but love personified. A gentle soul with a backbone of iron at times but perfect even when she argued with him.
He would carry her in his heart until the day he died. But as the dogs drew near, he murmured something into her ear, watching her settle back into sleep. One final look to carry him into the empty years ahead.
Then he was off, running as if the wind were at his back, using magic to muddy his tracks, leaves over the trail, and silence as he moved quickly away.
Stopping at the edge of the hill, looking back to see red cloaks and dogs howling, the first of the villagers rousted out of warm beds into a corral of horses and knights, Uther’s armour-plated troops following the orders of a tyrant. Even from his viewpoint, he could hear shouting and accusations, arms waving about, and Tomas, the headman, pointing back toward the road leading to Cenred’s castle. In the opposite direction from where Balinor lay as he watched his life crumble into dust.
Then Hunith came out, her hair tousled, huddled into the shawl Balinor had bought her, the fabric all greens and blues. He thought of the day the merchant had offered it to her, her fingers smoothing the linen, her face shining with want but shaking her head at the extravagance. He’d gifted it to her later that night and he remembered again how her body wrapped around his in joy.
Now all he could do was watch her standing there, face blank, her hands clutching at the linen as if she were holding him to her heart. Then she twisted, her shoulders slumped as she stumbled back into the hut. The knights rode away, toward Cenred’s stronghold, and all was quiet again.
Aching to go back, gather Hunith into his arms once more, Balinor knew then that his time in Ealdor had been a dream and now that dream was done.
Taking one last look at Ealdor, the last of his happiness gone, Balinor turned away, running, running, running into his bleak future.
He never saw her again.
Title: Too Late for Love
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Balinor/Hunith
Character/s: Balinor, Hunith
Summary: Balinor knows that he can’t stay in Ealdor. Uther would never rest until Balinor was dead and anyone helping him.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 572
Camelot Drabble Prompt 520: Aftermath
Author’s notes: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
------------------
The sound of dogs and chainmail was soft in the distance, almost a buzzing rather than something more ominous. Mixing with the growing dawn, joyous birdsong beginning to spread through Ealdor, the far-off sound of a rooster crowing the new day and the rumble of Mr Simpson’s cow pushing against the barn door as she always did at first light. All around him were the sounds of normalcy and a farmer’s life.
But Balinor knew better. They had come for him. They had come to destroy the last of the Dragonlords.
He had tried to explain it to Hunith, tried to reason with her when she insisted she would go with him, no matter the circumstances, through rain and sleet and snow, through winter and summer, willing to live in caves and the hollows of trees if necessary.
Balinor loved her for it, but it was no life for a woman made for better things. Always on the run and likely, if caught, to be slaughtered before his eyes, just because Uther Pendragon was that cruel.
In the end, he stopped quarrelling with her, just nodded whenever she planned their future together, smiling as she drew him back to her bed. She was everything he had ever wanted really, not gold or jewels or a position at court, but love personified. A gentle soul with a backbone of iron at times but perfect even when she argued with him.
He would carry her in his heart until the day he died. But as the dogs drew near, he murmured something into her ear, watching her settle back into sleep. One final look to carry him into the empty years ahead.
Then he was off, running as if the wind were at his back, using magic to muddy his tracks, leaves over the trail, and silence as he moved quickly away.
Stopping at the edge of the hill, looking back to see red cloaks and dogs howling, the first of the villagers rousted out of warm beds into a corral of horses and knights, Uther’s armour-plated troops following the orders of a tyrant. Even from his viewpoint, he could hear shouting and accusations, arms waving about, and Tomas, the headman, pointing back toward the road leading to Cenred’s castle. In the opposite direction from where Balinor lay as he watched his life crumble into dust.
Then Hunith came out, her hair tousled, huddled into the shawl Balinor had bought her, the fabric all greens and blues. He thought of the day the merchant had offered it to her, her fingers smoothing the linen, her face shining with want but shaking her head at the extravagance. He’d gifted it to her later that night and he remembered again how her body wrapped around his in joy.
Now all he could do was watch her standing there, face blank, her hands clutching at the linen as if she were holding him to her heart. Then she twisted, her shoulders slumped as she stumbled back into the hut. The knights rode away, toward Cenred’s stronghold, and all was quiet again.
Aching to go back, gather Hunith into his arms once more, Balinor knew then that his time in Ealdor had been a dream and now that dream was done.
Taking one last look at Ealdor, the last of his happiness gone, Balinor turned away, running, running, running into his bleak future.
He never saw her again.