Avalon

Upon Avalon's Waters

In a rocking boat, upon the rippling tide

We are far from near to Avalon.

Two other woman row, one with her being and the other with her magics.

A man lies in the boat's bottom, his head on my lap. I won't cry. I won't myself trap.

I lift his once strong head and he gazes into the mistful air. 

"Am I home?" He inquires of us, any of us. I stroke his cheek and shake my head. 

So very weak.

A king, who only last week, had his entire fate in his hands.

Then the child came, and stole it from under his nose.

Those closest to him destroyed him and I carry him

To

The 

End.

He will not die, not just yet. 

He will sleep, evermore.

A prophecy rings clear 

That the merlin had sung many a winter fire ago

He shall sleep to Britain's direst hour

And when he awakens, all of Gaia's children shall rejoce,

For he shall melt the fires of the Reckoning

And rekindle the flames of Light in even the darkest hearts of men.

And I shall wait, too.

I will wait to the end of time to see Arthur recrowned,

My friend,

My enemy.

My King.