Seeking a Path

So, this is my first attempt at doing a published fanfic for others to read. Please feel free to review.

As with many other folks out there, I'm purposefully ignoring Season Three: The Goliath Chronicles. I also am also avoiding the comics 'cause I haven't had access to them. I am tapping "Ask Greg" for information, though some things (like the most recent mating cycle being 2008, and the next one being 2028) I'm also just not dealing with because I just don't feel like dealing with the "I'm not ready to mate, but we only have three chances in our life times" drama. There are plenty of other fan fics out there with that in it.

Alright, onto the fic. Cheers!
-Mancer

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The mists of Avalon clung the the barely lashed boards like seagulls unwilling to leave a rotting carcass. A robed figure bent over, continually working at the ropes that bound the barely worked wood together.

Dark talons shook in the cold, the water swelling the ropes to near unworkable, they stretched every time they were tightened.

Mumbled magic spilled from the gargoyle's lips, two spells mixed together, part wish to keep the boat in one piece, part prayer for deliverance to a safe shore.

Saltwater tears flowed down dark cheeks to join with the water quickly filling the dugout.

The figure slumped in defeat as part of the rope gave just before a knot and the entirety slipped into the deep below. Strong arms wrapped around the bow, such as it was, and desperately tried to hold it together.

Avalon held no haven anymore. The misguided kindnesses shown by Gabriel and the others served only to send a knife slash of grief into a heart never quite designed to be whole. No tie kept the figure on the isle. Without the kindly old mage to keep company, learn the old magics from, there was nothing. The skies held no sparkle, the earthly pleasures that the others sought seemed wrong, somehow.

Sobs wracked the tired frame of the sea goer. Spells only half memorized to begin with lost cohesion in a mind filled with sadness. The spell of destination fell from lips wet with tears.

The dugout cracked open beneath as another knot fell away and the wood began to spread. No, the boat must be saved, must be shaped. Closed eyes and a moment of concentration. The talons holding the wood slipped away from their death grip. For a moment, some tendril of the mage's spirit seemed to fill the weary traveler's bones. Hands burned by the ropes glowed with an eeiry light as they grasped the seams and pressed them together. The wood protested. Freshly hewn trees from Avalons shores had a spirit all their own. They wanted to return, to become living once more. No, can't go back.

The gargoyle shouted the spell over suddenly stormy winds. Avalon trying to call back its own. No, couldn't have this small piece. The wood finally gave way, the separate pieces becoming one.

The figure slumped into the water-soaked bottom. Body shivering from exhaustion, no other spell could be cast. Not yet. The winds tossed the little boat up and down. Feet and finger talons Pressed into the wood, holding on tight.

Eyes as dark blue as the moonlit water stared at the still glowing talons. The spell hadn't dissipated.

With a sudden, painful thought.

No, not the time, not when the seas threatened to swallow the boat and passenger whole.

Then, when? Hm? If not now, on the brink of death, when would be a good time to cast it?

A sharp crack of lightening drew the eyes up. Aye. If not now then the never.

The boat bucked underneath as the gargoyle shed the clothing the mage had given. The freezing mists prickled dark skin, drawing up goosebumps.

The others had played as children, ran together and laughed and played. Done all the things they should. This one had hidden with the mage, unsure how to act around the others. Now, the fleeting wish for another ran through a fearful mind. With no model to go off of, there was nothing to do but try and remember.

The males would go topless after a good wrestle. That the gargoyle could fix easily enough. Glowing talons gripped the feminine flesh that clung where it shouldn't. Dug in. Ripped the flesh away. While toiling away with the humans, all that could be done was to bind the curves down, but this gift could be used to remove them forever.

Spots swam through the air as pain tore a scream from a voice unused to speaking in more than a whisper. Before the gargoyle lost the nerve, sharp talons pressed the open wounds together as the wood was pressed together earlier, closing everything into a semblance of a manly chest.

Another swell nearly unseated him. He panted. Concentration nearly lost. Stared at his hands as the glow began to fade. Panic sent his blood singing. What else? What else needed to be completed before the mage's gift wore off?

His talons fell over his face. Larger. His fingers clasped the diminutive horns sprouting from his forehead and pulled, dragging them up and back; they grew as he stretched, sweeping back and then finally out, like ram's horns.

No, no the spell is dying too fast. He could feel his flesh becoming more and more solid under his fingers. He grabbed at his shoulders, trying to pull them outward as the spell finally sputtered and died away. Pain flooded through him. Blocking out any other sensation, deadening him to the cold and wind. Avalon could not reclaim its own, but it could send the little boat spinning while he had no power to control it.

"Boatman," the wind seemed to whisper. "Bring what you have stolen back."

"I am Cailean," his hoarse voice whispered back to the wind. "If ye care to curse me, do so properly."