A/N: Greetings Merthur fans! This is my first Merlin fanfic (technically) so all of this will be completely risqué. In relation to the poem at the beginning of this, I owe my discovery of it to my sixth grade language arts curriculum. Yeah, it was a poem that we read in class—but cut me some slack! It totally spoke to me as a Merthur prompt. If it doesn't make any sense now, don't worry, it will make sense later on. That is…if I get to later on…as in, assuming that I don't run out of steam by then. BTW, reviews supply lots and lots of steam! Sorry about the short prologue, but chap. 1 will be up really soon!
. . . .
When I was young my mother rocked me When I was older we moved to this boat Sun from sea washes my walls. Water stars shimmer up from the deep I'm now too heavy for a lap to hold Held in my bed in the bow of my boat Like reins on a horse as it canters the moors As I set my own sails, make my way
her rocking chair waves on maternal sea.
I slept to a rhythm deep inside
ebb and flow—briny night ride.
that rocks all night—holds me afloat.
In morning light I stretch, rise
still held tight while riding tides.
Sky-spawned rain spills waterfalls.
Ocean below me, I drift above fish.
Cast a pebble from my window. Make a wish.
Moon above, beneath while I sleep.
A rocking boat bed that holds my dreams,
my tears, my fears, my in-betweens.
no one rocks a child this old.
Yet every night I sway in sea air
rocked aloft by Neptune's lair.
in the hold of my ship, home I float.
Buoyed, tossed, swayed by ocean's flow
a gift to grow up this wild and slow.
or string on a kite while it soars
I tie my house to the end of the pier
so when I come home, it will still be here.
anchor pulled up, inner compass in play
thrum of billow, seasoning of sea
my rocking house harbor now rides inside me.
—Rocking House, by C. Drew Lamm
. . . .
Prologue:
"I cannot lose him! He's my friend!"
Denial. Denial, fury, pain, desperation—the worst, most sickening kind of desperation.
Vision blurred and one insistent string of thought: Please.
The sentiment, the imploration could go no farther than this.
Please.
When I heard Kilgharrah speaking again, his pitying tone and condescending voice alerted me to the losing fight that was this request. As my system started to shut down he continued to attempt consoling me. "Though no man, no matter how great, can know his destiny, some lives have been foretold, Merlin. Arthur is not just a King—he is the Once and Future King. Take heart, for when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again. It has been a privilege to have known you, young warlock—the story we have been a part of will live long in the minds of men."
The roar of wings batting and fading in the distance could appeal only to my ears. Tears flooded my eyes and destroyed any hope of seeing through my already impaired vision—impaired by what, I wasn't sure. Most likely some more denial. And some more fury, some more pain, and hey: why not a little more despair to collapse on my shoulders?
I tried to pretend that it wasn't him. That this limp body in my arms was not Arthur's and that the cheek pressed to my own was not cooling with the chill of death and that the young face was not paling in expiration.
Please…please…please…
He didn't open his eyes. He didn't stir, didn't look up at me with an irritable, groggy expression and demand to know what time it was that I dared waked him. He just…lay—he lay in perfect, beautiful youth that settled from pink and boyish to angelic and sadly wasted as I gently and tremblingly settled him in the grass and looked up with strained eyes.
Blue glass water reflected a grey world to me, a single turret protruding from the cloud of mist to stand high and proud, like a lone tribute to the King at the center of the lake.
Please…please…
Maybe one day, whatever plea I could not properly form in this moment would be answered. I could only pray to the Triple Goddess that this was true.
PLEASE….PLEASE…PLEASE…
()()
Give him back. Just give him back.
