Thanks to Ego-chan for helping me find my style, and for her appreciation of a good setting [and I swear I didn't plagiarize! It was just the only thing that I could make work!]
Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I wasn't T.A. Barron, and he's the guy that owns these characters.
The paragraphs in italics are Merlin's musings.
Closer to YouToo many things are forgotten, washed away in the flow of years.
All too often, there are parts of us that we remember little about, and don't know enough to understand. We reach our full potential with amazing deeds, but can't fathom how it occurred. An ever-present sense of sorrow, of loss, enshrouds us as we wonder, as we mourn for what it is that we don't know is gone.
Yet we are always striving to be closer.
.
The distant roar of the sea... Waves rushed forth to meet the shore, shifting their domain endlessly. Here they deposit a shell, there they heap up sand against a rock as they grasp as a lifeless strand of kelp, greedily dragging it back into the waters once more. The mist clung to this meeting place of land and ocean, like a bridge in between, a shroud as wet as the waves, but light as the air. Everywhere the tang of salt suffused the damp, heavy atmosphere.
Yet this was only the surface of the sea, the way the aroma of ambrosia bread, while full of its own merits, could never fully describe the flavors and sensations invoked by the grains in your mouth. Though the rhythm of the waves rolled ever in the back of his mind, he knew there was something still deeper, lurking beneath them. Something he couldn't quite imagine, yet it was there nonetheless.
All the important things had been lost, he decided, lost like images in the swirling mists. He only caught fleeting glimpses of them, always unexpectedly, and always found in that memory of the sea.
He had always subconsciously known the lulling roar of the waters, and felt the ebb and flow of the waves in his soul. But the pictures, and the stirrings of still-slumbering memories, had come from trips to the shore when he was small.
If only he could hear the stories the sea might tell him...
.
So many things escape my memory with the passing of time, but Dagda forbid I should ever forget her name.
Yet even if I did, I shall never truly forget her. For when I hear reeds swaying in the wind, or the pounding of hooves, or see the large, expressive eyes of a doe, I remember not who she was called, but who she was.
Because all of these things bring me closer to you.
.
"The swish and swirl of waters long ago upon the shore
Like mist enshrouds the mem'ries when I stood here once before"
Water lapped continuously against the wet sands, altering their patterns endlessly. One might visit the same exact place twice, but it would be unique each time. The footprints left by past visitors had long ago faded into the secrets of the sea, all traces of them washed into the boundless mystery. All things change, so why should one expect the oceans to be any different?
The boy, too, had changed since he had last tarried on that shore. He had grown taller, though no less scrawny. Coal-black hair stubbornly endeavored to hang in his face, despite all his efforts otherwise. Something had also battered him a good bit more since then, though he was no worse for the wear than any other young, adventurous boy.
He picked his way across the rock-strewn beach in a manner that was more ungainly than graceful. Skirting a small tide pool, he scrambled down to the edge of the sea and let the waves swirl about his ankles. There was something about this place, something just beyond his mind's reach... so very close, yet so very far away.
He sighed softly— most likely what he sought lay concealed beneath the waters, though he would surely drown if he tried to risk it. He was certain that many wondrous things hid there, but they would forever stay unknown to him. If only he possessed the fins of a fish, then perhaps he might discover his heart's desire.
The boy returned to the tide pool and seated himself beside it, drawing lazy patterns in the damp sand with his fingers. If only he knew what it was he was trying to find.
A small crab scuttled out of the depths of the pool, and crawled across the child's bare toes. Apparently it was every bit as curious as the boy himself, for it explored the whole of his foot with its strange sideways gait. The boy grinned to himself, rather liking this little creature.
"Hello there. My name is Stangmar." The crustacean merely shuffled in response. "It means tree climber. Bet you've never climbed a tree."
The crab snapped a claw as if to confirm this.
"When I'm up there, it's like I'm just another part belonging to the tree. And since all of the trees are pieces of the whole forest, I'm part of that as well. In fact, it's like I'm one part connected to all of Fincayra. Even the crabs."
The boy took a handful of sand and let the grains slowly trickle away through his fingers. "When I'm up there, it doesn't matter that I might not have 'the powers.' All of a sudden I understand what Father feels when he speaks about his magic. It makes me feel closer to him."
The crab danced back and forth agitatedly.
"Oh, my father is a wizard. You might have heard of him, the great sage Tuatha. I couldn't even begin to follow in his footsteps, let alone fill them." Stangmar brought his face closer, whispering confidentially, "The great spirit Dagda has even come to our home once to consult with my father on a very important matter."
His voice turned wistful as he continued. "I've heard that Dagda keeps a most wondrous tree in the Otherworld. A tree that grows upside down! How I wish I could climb it, from the tips of the very highest branches, all the way up to the ends of the roots! Father says that those very roots embrace the whole world above." He grinned mischievously. "I wonder if I would find them if I dug a deep hole, or perhaps if I swam to the very bottom of the sea.
"You haven't seen them, have you?" The creature on his foot waved a claw in dismissal.
Stangmar smiled as he watched. For whatever reason, he felt a kinship to with this little crab, a dweller of both water and land. It must be quite a conflict to be tied to both homes, but it managed somehow.
His roving hand fell upon a shell, a beautiful conch splashed with pale lavenders and blues. He held it up to his hear, the echoes of the waves dully roaring through the spiraled depths. The boy loved the sound, even if he couldn't understand why it called to him so.
Perhaps he would never know, but even through his doubts and wonderings, his connection to the sea reminded him of something long ago, safe and peaceful.
Yet... he could have sworn that day there was a whispery voice rolling through the shell's waves as well...
"... Moooothhhheeeerrr..."
I treasure every little thing that brings me closer, closer to you.
...
End
...
[In case anyone forgot... Stangmar's mother, Olwen, was a mer person, and she died when he was an infant. As Cairpré said, he was "born with the strange depths of the sea in his bones."
And Merlin was reminiscing about Hallia.]
-Windswift Shinju