A bridge shattered
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: A Bridge Shattered
Rating: G
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin
Summary: With Arthur dead, Merlin’s grief takes him to Grettir’s bridge.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 200
Camelot Drabble Prompt bingo 512: Bridge
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Strength was gone and Courage, too, both dead so long ago.
All Merlin had left was magic and what good was that? Without Arthur, there was no purpose, nothing but dreams gone into the mists of time.
Still he travelled to Grettir’s bridge, to see if he could find answers in the Perilous Lands. Merlin had tried everything else. Begging at Avalon’s shore, shrieking at those with magic, snarling at the Druids who looked at him with pity. Traveling far and wide to see if there was something, anything he could do to bring Arthur back.
But the bridge was gone, nothing but shattered wood, an empty space where once hope lived.
Merlin wept then, filling the world with grief. He didn’t scream for help. What good would it do? Sitting on the soft moss, his world surrounded by silence and storms, his magic swirled, as agitated as he, as the ruined bridge rose up to encase him.
Before long, a lone oak stood where once there had been a man.
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Everyone knew it was haunted, the oak seeming to weep with sorrow almost too much to bear.
But Arthur lifted up his axe anyway. He had wood to cut.
Title: A Bridge Shattered
Rating: G
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin
Summary: With Arthur dead, Merlin’s grief takes him to Grettir’s bridge.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 200
Camelot Drabble Prompt bingo 512: Bridge
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
--------------------
Strength was gone and Courage, too, both dead so long ago.
All Merlin had left was magic and what good was that? Without Arthur, there was no purpose, nothing but dreams gone into the mists of time.
Still he travelled to Grettir’s bridge, to see if he could find answers in the Perilous Lands. Merlin had tried everything else. Begging at Avalon’s shore, shrieking at those with magic, snarling at the Druids who looked at him with pity. Traveling far and wide to see if there was something, anything he could do to bring Arthur back.
But the bridge was gone, nothing but shattered wood, an empty space where once hope lived.
Merlin wept then, filling the world with grief. He didn’t scream for help. What good would it do? Sitting on the soft moss, his world surrounded by silence and storms, his magic swirled, as agitated as he, as the ruined bridge rose up to encase him.
Before long, a lone oak stood where once there had been a man.
----------
Everyone knew it was haunted, the oak seeming to weep with sorrow almost too much to bear.
But Arthur lifted up his axe anyway. He had wood to cut.