Merlin Headcanons

This is What I Know (Part 1)

This is what I know:
When he came to Ealdor, his eyes were haunted, and he ran as one hunted. His feet bled from running, and his once fine clothes were stained with blood and tears. He was proud, or had been, once, but when he sank to the floor beside my fire, his shoulders were hunched, and he told me hoarsely that it was all his fault. He said that the mad king had brought an end to the age of dragon lords. He had invited them all, every last noble, loyal soul, to a poisoned feast. He'd massacred them there though they'd fought, even as they choked on their last breaths.
He'd said chance had saved him. Chance or a cruel fate that had allowed him to survive so that he could fail to save what little was left.
My heart went out to him, so I wrapped him in a blanket before I rapped him over the head with a ladle for talking nonsense.
This is what I know:
He made the crops grow so bountifully that no one's belly so much as twinged that winter. He put out the fire that tried to devour Mildred's house with a word and fixed little Lucas's broken leg with the same. He saved Old Man Rodan from pneumonia and the village cow when her birthing went badly, although he laughed over the last.
It must have been very different from his old life, but he seemed happy. We all were. He saved us effortlessly, again and again.
Is it any wonder I loved him?
This is what I know:
When spring came, he killed every last one of the bandits who came, but it pained him afterwards. His nightmares came back, but he told me, fiercely, that he would do it again. This was his home now. His marriage to me seemed to seal it.
When more men came, I thought they were bandits at first. He knew better.
They were knights. Knights of Camelot. The mad king disregarded even kingdom boundaries now.
He killed them all. I had never seen such rage on his face before. It frightened the others.
They didn't see the tears that ran down his face as he carried one of the bodies away to the pyre. He said the knight's name had been Sir Ector.
He didn't say it outright, but I knew they had once been friends.
The second time they come, he was out hunting. They threatened to burn down the village if we didn't reveal him, and when that didn't work, they threatened me.
He killed those too and did not weep, but a deep weariness had settled over his face. I was not surprised when he told me he had to leave. I cursed the mad king for stealing him from me even as I blessed him for driving him here in the first place.
The third time they came, he stood ready with his pack instead of his sword. He waited until he was sure they had seen him, and then he fled.
This is what I fear:
They hunted him until his feet bled once more and then they surrounded him and killed him like a dog.
They caught him in a trap and dragged him back to that monstrous king and bound him to a stake and burned him.
They forced him to his knees, he who should bow to no one, and removed that head I loved so much.
This is what I fear. I do not know. None of them - not knight, not love - ever came back.
This is what I know:
More knights came after to see if we hid any more sorcerers. They didn't believe we hid none. They burned the village to the ground.
We said nothing. But the others eyed my growing belly, and I feared for Balinor's child.
This is what I know:
My son, my beautiful son, was born with eyes of gold. His first cry sent my cupboards flying open, and it seemed the whole world sang for joy.
King Uther sent more knights. Cenred could have cared less, but he began to wonder if a sorcerer of some power might hide here that he could claim and use for his own purposes. He sent his own men.
Slavers came that winter when food was scarce and hearts were cold. Bounty hunters passed through a nearby town.
I hid my son, my beautiful Merlin, from them all. I hid his magic from our neighbors and sighed aloud that he had none of his father's talent, that he would not be able to make our fields grow as the Dragonlord had.
I swore to Balinor, absent though he might be, that I would teach his son secrecy just as he had taught me my letters. I would send him to sleep with stories of burnings, I would teach him to run at a flash of red.
This is what I know:
I will keep my son, my beautiful baby boy, safe, or I will die trying.