Work Text:
To Arthur
Sting of a Serket, slash of a sword
Spikes of a mace, from a Lady outlawed.
A foaming mouth, and trembling limbs,
Tightening chains 'round a figure slim.
Magical flames, that mark'd my chest,
Fomorroh snake, that did infest
My being, and made me a slave to her will ;
A black and blue back when the Sidhe tried to kill
My prat of a prince, heir to Camelot ;
A wound to the head when I sussed out her plot
And foiled her plan for the princess and kings,
Eyes highlighted by inky rings
And heavy bags, from toiling and trying
To keep those I love from painfully dying...
A sense of cold that never leaves,
Worsened, sometimes, by the losses I grieve ;
Flying through the air, and landing afoul
Then struggling up to a witch's scowl
Is an experience I know all too well,
And to swim while concussed is a special Hell.
I ache and I bleed but I do it with pride,
These wounds are Mine, to show or to hide.
Not marks of sorrow, but loyalty -
Not blindly protecting royalty...
As naturally as a river flows,
Again and again, 'tis you whom I chose -
Destined or not, Arthur, it's you whom I choose.