"I'd rather die"- a spoken vow
to hinder she that held him now
though courage would not stand the blow
of serpent's hiss from wicked foe
as fangs sank deep in flesh exposed
came shattered screams and eyes held closed
To friend awoke, the sound had come
as bonds did break and he would run
on forest floor, so cold and bound
not once did stir the friend he'd found
at last, when hope had seemed to flee
the slightest motion he did see
To cradle there, this fallen form
once prison gates, now welcome arms
the trees would keep him to the last
yet not their reach that he would catch
as hands wound over fevered brow
a face he knew, come to him now
In warnings gasped through broken lips
to try and drown deep-seated guilt
his name said once and eyes forlorn
from gentle-giant, heart now torn
aghast at failure he had brought
denied by friend who blamed him not
When pain bled from one life at last
unto the other it would pass
twice more he called- again, again
a plea to lift the lifeless head
with prayers lost in silent cry
bent crown to crown, one last goodbye
With body clutched to mailed chest,
through open gate, up cobbled steps
the kingdom hushed in battles won
a grieving nod to men who'd gone
they gathered now in solemn meet
'round soldier lain at sovereign feet
No sound met on the darkened shore
in red they cloaked, as done before
where silence once was not a choice
now souls they'd sell to hear that voice
sent out with pyre as yet unlit
to water's hands would vessel drift
And should he bear on pale crown
a wreath born of the oak tree's boughs
the Queen would speak-out not a word
of knight lay prone with polished sword
and watch green leaves turned into ash
beneath the fire's gentle grasp.
'Twas written bare on shadowed face
by whom the token had been placed
to mark lost strength, upon his brow
where heads had touched so long ago
as tribute paid from spirit broke
so suited him, this laurel oak
A gift it was, for space he'd left
in place of chain once laid at breast
the trinket at another's throat,
a parting gift plucked from the boat
to honor he who'd not returned
a noble man, by blood and earned
A/N: I blame everything on Merlin feels.
This all happened because I was reading about the Language of Flowers and found out that oak leaves mean "strength" and my immediate thought was of Gwaine (you know, "courage, magic, and strength"). Then between a google search, finding out about some Greek or Roman emperor who wore a head wreath/crown of gold oak leaves, and a previously decided headcannon that Percival (dammit Perwaine got me good in the last episode) wore Gwaine's necklace to remember him by after death (WEAR IT ALWAYS PERCY. ALWAYS) there was no going back. So I was unable to escape the idea of Percival gathering oak leaves and making a head wreath/laurel/crown from them to put on Gwaine's head (as a gift, for taking the necklace) when they lay him in the boat on the lake to be cremated.
I WAS going to just write a very short after-the-credits kind of fic where Percival does just that and no one bothers to try and stop him but when I was struck by inspiration and jotted down a first paragraph from Gwen's point of view it sounded more like a poem and then BAM. There was a poem.
Don't even ask me how I ended up deciding to make everything in sets of six either because I DON'T KNOW AND IT DROVE ME FREAKING CRAZY.
So yeah, I'm sorry if this is awful, strange, makes no sense, went off course, has an awful rhythm and terrible attempts at rhyming, and/or took too many liberties. I'm a fangirl and therefore utterly mad so hopefully no one will bother to look too much into this.
Also, I won't guarantee the translation is correct, but the title is Irish Gaelic for "The Strength of Oak".
REVIEWS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED. And thank you for reading!