A/N- This is for the How Far Can You Reach? contest hosted by *writewatiwant*. The basis of this is Celtic Myth. Not enough fantasy to warrant sticking it in there. xD
Also, the deadline is the 15th, so quick reviews appreciated!
*
Merlin lifted his head from the water and gazed at the sight before him. The mist on the lake caressed his face, the damp softness like a lover’s kiss. His body was soon shrouded, but his eyes could see through the fog.
A wooden hull cut through the fog, a woman carved at the bow of the ship. The mist began to clear, slowly revealing white and green fabric hanging over the wood and trailing into the water. As the boat continued to glide forward, the silhouette of a woman appeared. Her hair shone like brushed copper, flashing first in the mist’s cloak. Her skin, almost as white as the mist, was last to become clear against the fog. She seemed to emerge from the forest around her: the early autumn leaves, flaming orange, mixed with green, and the late summer blossoms white against the water.
Water dripped through Merlin’s fingers, his thirst forgotten. He rose from his knees and took a step into the water, seeing the leaves on the surface clear between him and the woman as he walked farther. The boat drew closer, as if pulled by a thread. A waterfall was now visible behind her, its soft rumbling masking the bird songs around the lake.
The woman lifted her hand and extended it to him. Merlin suddenly felt the water around his thighs, realizing how far he had waded in. Still, he took her hand, feeling the slight dampness of her fingers. The water seemed to become solid steps under his feet, allowing him to climb into the boat with ease. It was remarkably stable, hardly rocking as he sat behind her. The woman turned to face him, sliding her legs over the bench she rested on. Her train never left the water.
“You have come for me at last,” she whispered, her voice audible above the waterfall. It seemed to blend with the sound, almost enhanced by it.
Merlin let his free hand trail in the water. His other hand still held hers. “This journey was not to come and meet you. This was the only water source for leagues. I had no choice but to stop here.”
The woman smiled. “But you came by this lake when you did not have to. I know you could have taken many other routs to Camalot.”
He didn’t answer and looked away. She reached across the distance between them and touched his cheek. Merlin returned his gaze to her. Her fingers were just as soft as the mist had been before.
“You have come here before, Merlin,” she said, voice still soft. “Do not think I have ignored your passes by this lake. Every time your fingers enter my waters to drink, I know why you have truly come.”
His eyes traced over her face. Eyes blue as the water, mouth as soft as the roses that grew along the shore. He stroked her cheek, like he had once done so long ago.
“Then why have you come to me now? I have not seen you since you gave Arthur his sword so long ago.”
She turned her face towards his hand. “And you saw me once before that when you asked I give Excalibur to him. I assume that gift has served him well?”
“It has,” Merlin said. “I thank you and this lake for providing it to him.”
“As for your question, I come now to ask for your wisdom. The secrets of your magic… can you teach them to me?”
He slowly nodded. “I will teach you. If only to repay your debt to me.”
~
The sounds of newly-hatched birds mixed with the sound of a man’s voice. Soon, Merlin leaned back on the tree he was sitting under. “That is my last secret: the imprisonment spell.”
The woman looked at him, absently tracing her finger in the water. She would only come on land for Merlin’s lessons, but she refused to stray farther than an arm’s length from her lake. She hadn’t aged in the years he had taught her. The red of her hair shone with the same brilliance, and her skin was still pure white.
“You have taught me everything?” she asked, as if to reassure herself what he had spoken was true.
He nodded, glad to see she was still asking questions. Seeing somebody flourish under his guidance reminded him of the times he had spent with Arthur. Merlin followed her finger with his eyes as she traced patterns in the water. He recognized the spell; it was the one he had just taught her. She never completed spells, however. He knew it was just to solidify them in her mind.
“Merlin, have you ever wondered why I asked you to teach me?”
He sat up, taken aback by her question. “No. I haven’t.”
The corners of her mouth suddenly resembled thorns. “I trusted you to give Excalibur to somebody trustworthy. Yet Arthur handed it to Morgan La Fey.”
Merlin frowned. “But it was returned.”
The woman smiled now, but her lips were thin like a knife blade. “For all your wisdom, you have forgotten one thing.”
He looked at the water. The symbols she was tracing were almost complete. To the point of being irreversible by an outside force.
She lifted her finger out of the water, taunting him. Should she stop now, she would be able to erase the spell. Merlin looked at her, unable to comprehend, pleading with his eyes.
“What did I forget?”
Slowly she lowered her finger back into the water. “You forgot to observe.”
With a final stroke the symbol was complete. Mist began to swirl around them. The cold fog soon became too opaque for him to see through. As he searched his memory for a spell, any spell, to escape, he heard her voice pierce through the mist. He recognized the melody she was singing. A sleeping spell.
He sank back against the tree. Visions, no doubt sent by her, flashed in his mind. Morgan using her own magic to copy the scabbard and sword. Only the scabbard being returned. Arthur, laying on the battlefield, bleeding to death from his wounds. Even in his trance-like state, Merlin cringed when he saw Arthur. Had Merlin checked the scabbard, he would have been able to save Arthur’s life at that battle.
Merlin saw one more vision as he closed his eyes. Projected onto the mist around him he saw a ship. The ship that would take Arthur to the otherworld of Avalon, where he would heal. Merlin let out a breath, almost a sigh, at the knowledge the boy he had loved like a son would be safe.
His head fell back against the bark of the tree. Her face, the one he had come to love, was now the only thing he could focus on. With his consciousness fading, he cursed the Lady of the Lake.
Although I'd have liked just a bit more description of Merlin himself. I know you're a bit limited because of the perspective you've chosen, but I'd at least like an age so I can know which version of the story you've gone with.
