AN: So, this idea came to me while I was doing maths. And because I'm naughty, I had to write it straight away. It was inspired by that scene in LOTR, where their in that dwarven place, under the mountain, and Gandalf reads from that book, about how they were trapped, and they couldn't get out. If you have read the books, or seen the films, then you will recognise a bit of the writing on the wall. But hey, it was a good idea Tolkein had, and I'm not about to let it go to waste. It is a oneshot.
I'm going to post some of SIM later, okay? Sorry about the wait!
Please read and review, because I love to know what you think, it really motivates me, and it means I write quicker. Good deal? Even just a words like, 'Good' or (I hope not) 'Bad'.
Anyway, I hope you like it!
Merlin picked his way through the rubble desolately.
The clouds above were a range of colours, varying from light greys, to dark blacks. Rain was imminent.
Tears ran down his face, mingling with dust and grime, but he didn't seem to notice, instead staring around with dead eyes. This was his home. This was his life. This was his destiny. Lying in a big pile on the floor, because he had failed.
Failed.
People were dead, a once great city lay in ruins. Because of him. If he had been braver, had had the courage, this wouldn't have happened. Of course Arthur would have accepted him if he came back. Of course he wouldn't have been executed.
Unconsciously, his steps were heading towards the one wall still standing. It stood, tall and straight, looking almost untouched. How was it, that something in the middle of all this destruction, was unharmed? How was it, he thought bitterly, that someone who was at the centre of this conflict, was also untouched?
He stopped, looking at the wall in front of him. This was all that was left of Camelot. This was all that was left of the castle. Walking parallel to the wall, he trailed a hand on the coarse stone. Where he was walking now, had once been the great hall. Here and there, he could see bodies. Corpses, long dead.
He closed his eyes briefly, leaning his forehead against the cool stone. Among those bodies would be Arthur. Gwaine. Lancelot. Gwen. Gaius. Percival. Elyan. Leon. And also among those, Morgana. Morgouase. Mordred. Alvarr.
He rocked back on his heels, opening his eyes again. He couldn't do this; he didn't have the strength. Before he could stop it, an image of his friends lying dead rose in his minds eye. Angrily, he drew his hand back, making a fist, then punched the wall.
The pain felt good.
Using his hand, he traced an image against the wall, frowning as he felt an unevenness. It was almost like someone had cut into it, with a sword or knife. Looking closer, he saw that indeed, someone had. Words had been carved crudely into the stone, several lines, and Merlin leant close to read what they said.
We are trapped, read the first line.
We cannot get out, the second.
We pray for help, but none comes.
We are trapped.
They are coming.
We can't stop them.
Merlins hands fell to his sides, numbly. Who had written this? Arthur? Gwaine? Leon?
People are dying. The city is burning.
Still, they are coming.
The tears began to fall harder and faster.
We can hear the screams.
How long till it is us?
He wanted to scream, shout, yell, stamp. But what good would it do? The past was the past, and he couldn't change it.
They are coming.
They are here.
He felt himself sink to the ground. He stared straight ahead with dead eyes, seeing nothing. He could have helped. He could have saved them.
But he hadn't. He didn't. He was too late.
They are coming.
They are here.
It began to rain.
