Ready?
"Merlin."
There it was again, the oh so familiar voice inside my head. I knew that voice like the back of my hand. I listened to it for many years, and I exactly remembered the first time it spoke. The first time, after I had just arrived at Camelot. It would keep me awake, making me wonder if I was going insane.
"Merlin."
Trying to ignore its persistence wouldn't work. That voice would only get agitated and any sleep tonight would again be out of the question. But answering it, right here, in the middle of a busy train station, was so not done either. People would start staring; maybe pointing at me, the lunatic old man.
"I know you can hear me."
The voice has a sarcastic edge, and I clearly see the face that belongs to it in my mind. I see a trail of smoke coming from nostrils the size of my legs, and I see a smirk when the great dragon realises that I can actually hear him. Great.
Kilgharrah has been dead for so many years, I can't even remember how long ago it was. But here's his voice, chattering away in my head. Making me listen, if I want to or not. Maybe I am going crazy at my old age after all? I mean, come on. Where do dragons go when they die, certainly not inside people's heads, right? Or maybe...
An idea pops into my mind, and I berate myself for not thinking about it sooner. I take out my mobile phone, and place it against my ear. No one will notice that it's a voice in my head I'll be speaking to. Ah, the benefits of the modern world. I wish there had been mobile phones in Camelot. Arthur could have called me, instead of sending someone every time he needed me.
The phone is pressed hard against my ear, when I look around. Everyone is minding their own business, like a normal uneventful working day. I act as if I'm reading my newspaper, coughing before softly, but clearly voicing what I want to say.
"Will you stop speaking to me."
"So, you can hear me."
"Of course I can, now stop it."
"You're getting cranky at your old age, young Warlock, or is that old Warlock?" Kilgharrah's voice has the air of laughter in it, but I can't think of what's so funny. Maybe I 'am' getting cranky and old?
"It's not funny. What do you want?"
"Is that the way to greet an old friend?"
"You died a long time ago, how come I can suddenly hear you? And now of all times and places?"
"The time is nearly at hand."
"What?"
It can only mean one thing. I know Kilgharrah loves to speak in riddles, but I used to be able to read them rather well in the end of our journey together. I pull the newspaper in front of my face, as if I am trying to hide myself, or at least the emotion that I know is flickering over my face. I almost don't dare to breathe, and I definitely don't dare to hope. Not anymore. It's been too long.
"The return of the Once and Future King." The dragon states.
"Are you serious?" I mutter, "because I swear, if you're not, I'll kill you."
"I am already dead, Merlin." The voice chuckles, and I can't help but feel sheepish. "I am here to prepare you for what is to come."
Flashes of long forgotten events return to my mind with a vengeance. Meeting Arthur for the first time, becoming his servant, his friend. Telling him about my magic, gaining back his trust and the guilt of being too late to save him.
"When?" I ask, my old age all but forgotten when I silently hope it's soon. I am still careful and very sceptic though. "Within a century?"
"When the new moon rises."
"That's next week."
"Are you ready?"
Something heavy is falling off my shoulders. Like the dust of ages had gathered there, and it's blowing away on the breeze. My head is spinning, my mind is racing. Am I ready? Suddenly I'm not so sure, suddenly I feel baffled and a little scared. The moment I have longed for, for such a very long time is at hand, and all I have to be is ready.
"Well, Merlin?" Kilgharrah asks, his voice grave and full of confidence.
I slowly let go of my fears, together with a puff of air leaving my mouth. Then a smile forms on my lips, and I feel warm and secure in the knowledge that I'm not alone anymore. Kilgharrah will guide me, and Arthur will need me once more.
Am I ready?
A little boy gazes at me when I stand up, throw away my newspaper and walk away. His little mouth is wide open, and his eyes are full of surprise while he clutches his mother's arm. He is the only one who has seen the change as I leave the station, no longer the old man, but my younger self...
Yes, I am ready.