"Stories are born out of truth,
The dark, the cruel, and how we grew,
To fall, to love, to wreck and built,
The pain, the loss, regrets and guilt,
The raised sword of the King,
Once was and once will be,
He waits for him as the story folds,
To pause and to once again behold."
-Once and Future (by little-godling-stuff)
PROLOGUE:
The night was quiet and clouds had gathered above a simple town in modern day society.
Honks of cars and low bass music could be heard even from the distance. The self-proclaimed Necromancer had trudged on into the woods, following his gut instincts to the right place; the exact same spot. There had been many deaths in this small collection of trees but this one had stood out. A beacon among so many souls, he'd wager. It was a powerful soul that much he could tell.
No one had believed him when he had told them he had the power to hear the dead. He had been born to his abilities. When he was young, he'd been told that it was all in his head, those terrifying yet mysterious voices that whisper even to the most smallest of silence. When he was in his teens, it had vanished, forced to the very back and deepest corner of his mind. It remained quiet for a good, solid decade until he'd lost his love in an accident.
In his grief, he'd been distraught enough to seek her out. He'd remembered when he was a young boy how the dead would whisper to him and so he'd forced himself to do so again. The Necromancer had willed himself to call to his dormant powers yet to fail each day. He became restless and angry to his incompetence. He'd desperately needed to call to his beloved. To tell her he loved her, to apologize, to say he never meant the things he'd said that fateful night she'd ran out and had collided with a drunk man's car.
Years had passed and still he failed. He'd grown bitter and hate had resided where a loving heart had once flourished. He'd traveled miles, over seas and lands, to seek power. The power he'd initially wanted just to talk to her, to tell her goodbye. But he'd grown tired of feeling helpless, weak and unable to reach to a gift he'd once feared. Now, he wanted her back from the dead. In his travels, he had picked up the Art of Necromancy. In practice, he'd proclaimed himself a master in the very dark art most folk like him had feared and he relished on the look of fear, disgust and envy from his peers.
How foolish he'd be to think so after this fateful night is over.
Though his powers are truly great, he had been denied and still lack the ability to raise the dead. Now, he thinks himself ready for the task. Tonight, he would raise some poor soul for practice. Tonight, he'd prove himself a true and formidable sorcerer. He picked up his pace as the call that had led him to the very center of this small cluster of trees, bushes and undergrowth grew stronger and louder, it tingled his skin.
Then, it all grew quiet and still.
He had arrived.
He'd placed special made candles and mixtures he'd made before for the ceremony. They were placed around him in a firm circle. Just from the very items around him, magic grew restless and it pulsed in weak waves inside his neat circle. From an outsider, his smile was wicked, almost cruel and mad, but to him it was pure adoration for his life long work and creation. To the achievements he will ravish after this night.
To see his beloved again..
He raised his palm and, with a hard, determined glint in his eye and a small twitch of his lips in excitement, he started chanting, "Pentru a murit în somn, care minciuna, suflet care a fost înrobit la moarte, auzi chemarea mea, auzi chemarea mea, de Magic Vechi, eu sun, prin puterea de Avalon, răspunde-mi, vin și să fie ridicat și să fie obligat pentru a trai o dată mai mult.."
He felt the exotic burn through his body traveling to his eyes as he knew would be burning a molten gold right about now. He'd felt the words roll off his tongue with conviction and power but nothing stirred. He stretched his hand farther, his back straightening, his stance firming and shut his eyes in concentration, sweat rolling off his brow, back and temples to neck.
"Pentru a murit în somn, care minciuna, suflet care a fost înrobit la moarte, auzi chemarea mea, auzi chemarea mea, de Magic Vechi, eu sun, prin puterea de Avalon, răspunde-mi, vin și să fie ridicat și să fie obligat pentru a trai o dată mai mult!" he all but screamed.
A churn from beneath his feet caused him to open his eyes. They widened in glee and he barely noticed the way he panted from the amount of power the spell took from him. The sky grumbled and murmured silent roars, meaning to pent its frustrations. The clouds had thickened and threatened to let loose horrible storms. He closed his eyes again, breathed in and out to gather stamina. He felt calm, at peace, to the power he wielded in the palm of his hand. His magic twirled and swam inside him like a great tiger shark demanding to be released. He had never felt greater power than he had now.
He never knew he even had such gift.
He held his breath, straightened his back, stretched his palm and sweat trickling down his brows once again, he released his breath along with a roar; "Pentru a murit în somn, care minciuna, suflet care a fost înrobit la moarte, auzi chemarea mea, auzi chemarea mea, de Magic Vechi, eu sun, prin puterea de Avalon, răspunde-mi, vin și să fie ridicat și să fie obligat pentru a trai o dată mai mult!"
Lightning had flashed and hit inside his circle, right in front of him. He was thrown back with the impact. He felt his back collide with a tree with a sickening thud. He slipped to the ground and hit his side on the tree's root. It knocked the breath out of him. A moment, a second, a minute passed as he recovered from his short of breath and dizziness. He lifted his head and saw someone else lying in his neat little circle. He forced himself up and limped toward the unmoving figure. She lay bare of any clothing and curled in a fetal position as if a newborn, her hair knotted and full of grime. He turned her around and pushed the hair out of her beautiful, sharp and angelic face, her lips pale white that blended with her albino skin. Her beauty knocked him breathless once again.
Her eyes burst open and thunder boomed, revealing cold pale green eyes.
"Congratulations, it's a baby boy!" the doctor proclaimed. A smile adorned the young parents as the bundle was laid in the new mother's arms. The young father swelled with pride and joy as the young mother smiled lovingly down at her son.
"What's his name?" the doctor quietly asked.
"Arthur," the mother said just as quietly. "His name is Arthur."
Somewhere miles away, as the thunder boomed from the distance, the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth had rather a jolting awakening from his slumber. He panted, breathing away the recent nightmares, his old bones creaking in protest at his sudden movement. He took his robe and put it on, walking toward the window where a storm brewed in the horizon.
"The Once and Future King has risen again." he murmured.
Then, he chuckled. "It's about time, you prat." he said.
NOTES: so, yeah, this is my first Merlin fic. And the little poem I made along with it.
I was really happy with the way the show ended, contrary to many fan's feels. It was just perfect in my perspective. It allowed this whole hope to build and ideas to churn whatsoever. I just feel so proud of the entire production and how it all turned out. The language I used for the Necromancer's spell is actually Romanian since its so hard to find an actual Celtic translator and I couldn't be bothered. XD The, er, picture is not mine. I found it on google or tumblr, I forgot. XD
So, I hope you enjoyed this and tell me if I should continue or not..
MERLIN IS NOT MINE BUT THE PROPERTY OF THE ONE AND ONLY HEART-BREAKERS, BBC.
