True North (Stand Tall 3)

Part Four: Closer

Merlin hadn't known a feeling like it. Though he knew she could not have been here on this day in 793, he flew down to the waters edge. His feet landed expertly between bodies, but he could not avoid the muddy mixture of blood and sand. His rhythmic breathing and the thud of his footfalls were the only things he could hear as he ran, panic fueling his madness.

The warlock fell to his knees beside the young Shieldmaiden, feverishly checking her body for wounds. He found several, but they were not as gruesome as some of the others. A rather clean stab through the belly and an arrow in the back. The salt of Merlin's tears joined that of the blood and the sea. He couldn't lose her again. Not after what she'd been through. Not after what he'd done to bring her back. He turned her over, wishing to see her face one last time.

But it was not her face. It was not Braith. The woman's eyes were brown, her face slightly older, and altogether different.

Merlin stood back, relieved but questioning himself. He had panicked over the mere suggestion of the Dane's death. He looked at the girl he'd mistook for his beloved, sighing before moving to stand.

His eyes were met by the silver tip of a spear. For some reason he didn't run. It wasn't an ordinary spear. Strings of shells and glass beads hung about the shaft. The soft pale hand that held it turned the point away from Merlin, and hovered it above the Shieldmaiden's body. The warlock's eyes fell to the spear's wielder. Her dress was white, and ragged at the bottom where it was stained red with blood. She was beautiful to behold. Long brown hair waved like water with braids to sweep it out of her radiant face.

When the young man saw her, he thought she could not be. She was everything he remembered - and more. Her eyes were warm and loving, yet glinting with knowledge as bright as the gold ring at her neck.

"Freya," Merlin smiled, letting peace wash over him, even in this grim place.

She laughed, her face breaking into a smile. Her fingers brushed the side of his face as she knelt down to him. The distance between their faces grew smaller, and the warlock's eyes fluttered closed for her long awaited kiss.

But it never came. He opened his eyes again, and she was nowhere. Vanished, her touch simply the breeze caressing his face.

He felt water around his feet, and looked down to see the tide flooding in, faster than nature would ever condone. The surge of water was pushing him to his feet, the sky mirroring the waves.

It grew dark. Merlin could not move.

The water was pulling him back, clawing at him with currents stronger than any he'd ever felt, the raw power of the North Sea. They dragged him away from the beach as he thrashed in vain. He couldn't run. His spark of human fire was no match for a world full of water.

His feet could no longer touch sand or stone.

He fought to keep his head above the surface. The sea threw him up and pulled him down with the waves, he was helpless, at the mercy of the mountainous swells. There was rain on the waves now, and the sea was beginning to roil.

Did something grab for his leg?

The sheer vastness of the open sea was what terrified him. Distance lost meaning, the shore was lost in clouds, and the warlock had lost control. All there was was water, farther than the eye could see, and the great dome of the angry sky.

Go under.

He sucked in a breath and swam downward as much as he could. His eyes were squinted, stinging with the abrasive of whatever had been snatched up by the waves. It was even stranger down here. Shapes just drifted in the dark, no telling what was what.