Notes: This was written for a contest on the merlinxarthur community on lj, inspired by a photo prompt (the one I chose was of an avenue of trees with a path through them, as the sun set. Or rose...). According to the web, "Ambages" is an archaic word that means: a winding pathway, indirect proceedings, a style that involves indirect ways of expressing things.
Warnings: For a slightly warped view of the legends, including just how close the lake was to Camlann, character death and reincarnation
Ambages
There is a path through the trees, and this path two men walk every day.
First there comes a man with brown hair who walks with a jaunty step, but whose eyes glance nervously around. He stops in the middle of the road and sits on the roots of a tree (an old, very old, elm) to watch the sun rise and bathe the world in a golden glow.
And later (never at the same time twice) another man walks down the road from the opposite direction, golden hair hidden by a hood, and he stops at the tree the other man sits on. The second man stands, looking across the land, and does not allow himself to glance at the first man for more than a second (as if by not seeing him with his eyes he is not committing treason).
"Merlin," he says in greeting, nodding sharply.
"Hello Arthur," the second man replies (and while Arthur looks across the fields, Merlin stares at him as if he has been deprived of the most addictive of drugs).
They stay like that for several minutes, exchanging news and remarks, and then Arthur looks down at Merlin, cups his cheek, kisses him chastely, and forces himself to walk back down the road towards his home (his head bent and shoulders tense as the daylight shatters around his retreating form in front of Merlin's eyes).
There is a path through the trees, and on this path many people travel.
There are merchants, foreign dignitaries, peasant families from the outlying villages, and laborers, all come to stake their claim on the glory that is Camelot under its young King. They talk joyfully amongst themselves, for even though they are weary with travelling, their excitement and hope cannot be repressed. "Did you hear?" they say "King Arthur is riding out tomorrow, to fight the barbarians in the south!" Or perhaps they tell the stories of the Great Merlin (the first Court Sorcerer in many decades) whose kindness and generosity are known throughout the realm, as are the many tales of the victories won by King Arthur.
They pass through the avenue lined with trees, dust rising underneath their feet, accompanied by the wail of babies (and their hope is an almost palpable cloud above them).
There is a path through the trees, and this path a solitary man travels in the golden light of dawn.
He comes to the middle of the path and stands by a tree, looking out into the mist as it disappears in the warmth of the day, until with a flap of wings a snowy owl lands beside him and transforms into the brown haired man (whose face is showing the first signs of age).
"Hello, Merlin," the man greets with a smile (completely at ease and content in this moment).
"Arthur," the man Merlin says with his own smile. He walks forward a few steps until he can wrap his arms around the other man, who hugs him back.
"I've missed this," Arthur whispers into Merlin's hair (so low that Merlin does not hear it and the sound is lost like the mist), and Arthur hugs Merlin tighter.
They pull away after a moment, and Arthur holds Merlin's face in his hands, staring hungrily, before he leans in and kisses him.
Later, they sit at the base of the tree together, hand in hand, a stolen moment of time that no one will ever whisper about, for only the trees are present to see it.
There is a path through the trees (which shows the prints of ages of travelers), and this an army travels through.
The people line the avenue (even this far out of Camelot) and cheer as they watch their men and leaders go past (confident in the knowledge of the invincible power that is their land).
(The people's cheer hails their king as he passes by, accompanied by the faithful Merlin. The space on the other side of their king is conspicuously empty, as are the new lines on the weary-looking face of the king, and the people are silent for a moment, remembering how once Lancelot, second Knight of the Round Table, would have ridden beside their golden king).
King Arthur turns and grimaces at Merlin, and Merlin twitches his lips upward, just a little.
"They're fine," he says in a low voice. "Lancelot and Gwen are fine."
King Arthur sighs. "They better be," he says grimly, "after all the precautions we took to help them."
"They are," Merlin says assuredly (and his eyes are golden, powerful, all knowing).
The king sighs again, and nods slightly. "Alright," he acknowledges. After a moment he adds "And Morgana?"
Merlin looks down, away. "She's there, with their army." Merlin looks ahead, seeing things that have not happened yet.
(And if Arthur knows Merlin is hiding something, he does not comment).
There is a path through the trees, and this path a dark procession walks as the sunlight fades.
The trees whisper with the wind, which plays with the hem of the dresses of the four females, whom this avenue has not seen in many years.
This, the wind whispers, was the one called Morgana (whose dress is bloody and torn, her hair straggly and matted down her back) and this one, this one was named Nimueh (who bows her head in subservience with a spiteful twist of her lips when the man at the front of the procession glances back). And this one, the wind says, moving past the first two women, this one was called Ygraine, the one the land recognized as its queen (whose form is solid yet see through) and that one, it calls, that one was named Freya, and now the earth knows her as the Lady of the Lake.
And this one, the wind says mournfully (rising up, lifting the woman's skirts so they flap around their bodies like a ghastly parody of angels wings) this one, on the plank the women carry, this one was known to all as the Great King Arthur (and the trees think, no, this one was known as Arthur, and lay with a man on our roots, and liked the time during dawn when everything is cold, when the dew is still on the grass and the fog still on the fields, and the sun starts to rise).
The wind glides over the pale body of the man on the wood (carried by four women he never really knew, now charged to watch him in death), caressing his beloved features. It slides and whispers over his body, and then blows away to tell the tale of the last journey of Arthur, once and future king of Albion.
When the procession gets to the last tree, to the end of the avenue where the road opens up into a glade, the person in the front of the procession, the one whom the wind had not investigated for the crackle of power emanating from him left no doubt as to his identity (the only person there whom Arthur knew), stops and turns around to look back the way they came.
"Merlin?" Morgana asks softly, and Merlin glances at her once, quickly, and says "Keep going, I'll meet you at the lake." The women obey, their figures quickly swallowed by the dark.
Merlin looks up the trail, at the familiar trees and the mist of twilight rolling in (bathed golden in the light of the fading sun), and calls out, loudly (too loudly, so that his admission echoes in the surrounding silence). "It's over! This...This is the end."
He sobs, tears trickling down his cheeks, and then he turns around and walks away, as the trees shake and whisper their disagreement.
There is a path through the trees (overgrown with grass and brambles), and this path two men walk this day.
First there comes a gangly, large-eared teen, tripping over roots and looking around with wide eyes. He comes to the middle tree, and just stares at it for long moments, before reaching up hesitantly and touching it with his hand. "Oh," he says, "Oh."
And then comes a youth whose golden hair glows radiantly in the mid-day sun, walking up the opposite side of the path, looking around as though lost in a memory. The first man stands up from where he had sat on the roots of a tree as the second man approaches, mouth open and joy lighting his features.
"Arthur," he says softly (as though he is afraid he will wake from a dream if he speaks too loud). "Oh God, Arthur."
(And no one else will ever know about this meeting of destiny, no one will ever whisper "Did you know? About Merlin and King Arthur?" But the trees witness it, silent observers as the world changes, and they keep their secrets for all eternity).
Notes: Reviews will make my day and possibly give me the courage to actually post it for the contest.