Author's Note: Thanks to those of you who have stuck with me this far. I know I'm rubbish at publishing regularly and the chapters are short, but I've really been enjoying hearing everyone's feedback. I feel like I'm finally getting where I've been trying to go with this. Oh – and Happy Equinox!
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They must have been a strange sight to behold – the little prince on his little horse, riding just in tow of his adult servant and his massive mare, and the great white dragon who lumbered after them carelessly as they traversed the open countryside.
"Meerrrrlin," George said. On the first leg of the trip he had adopted this new pronunciation of his servant's name, drawing out the er unbearably to make the name sound like some botched spell.
"Yes, sire?" Merlin asked. They'd been riding for about two hours, and the little boy was growing impatient.
"Are we there yet?"
"No, my lord. We are not there yet."
"Will you tell me where we're going?"
Merlin tossed a glance back over his shoulder. The little boy bobbed up and down in the saddle every step the horse took. His nose was wrinkled up as if there was a foul smell in the air, but there was nothing there. "If I told you," Merlin said with a wink, "it wouldn't be a surprise."
"But you're going to do magic?" George asked hopefully.
"No, George. You are."
The little boy's face lit up. He clamped his mouth shut, lips upturned in a look of triumph. His cheeks were rosy. Merlin supposed children's cheeks were meant to be so – but still, it made him look a little more royal.
They rode in silence for a little while. The open expanse of field melded slowly into a thick forest, green and brimming with life. A chill hung in the air, announcing the onset of autumn. The sun dipped in and out of clouds, casting remarkably sharp shadows on the dirt below for a moment and then dissolving them into the mist. Soon the leaves would be golden, then the rain would come lashing and tearing at the land. So it was every year, on and on and on.
"Do you know what day it is, George?" Merlin asked.
The boy looked up, then he looked down. Finding nothing, he took a wild guess. "Is it your birthday?"
Merlin shook his head. "No."
"It's not my birthday either," George announced.
"Right…" Merlin said, "Well, Sire, when it is your birthday I promise I shall do some birthday magic for you. However, today…" Merlin glanced back to make sure George was still listening. To his surprise, Merlin had a rapt audience. "Today is the autumn equinox. The Druids call it Mabon. It is said to be a day for recollection and remembrance."
"So it's a memory day?" George asked.
Merlin thought for a moment. "Well, yes. I suppose it is."
The trees were slowly breaking into another stretch of grass. When they crested the rolling hill they were climbing, the great stone circle would be in view. Merlin absently patted the satchel at the side of the horse, checking in a strangely habitual way to make sure the horn of Cathbhadh was still tucked safely away. Merlin was falling into strange thoughts of what was to come, when he was stirred from his daydreaming by an unexpected question.
"Merlin," said the little boy, in a tone almost too serene to suit him, "What do you remember?"
Merlin blinked a few times, as if clearing sleep from his eyes. What did he remember? Whole loads of things – spells for setting fires and quenching them, the type of herb needed to prepare the best cough remedy, the name of the first horse he'd ever ridden (which, not so consequentially, was also the first horse he'd fallen off), and he remembered Kilgarrah's great wings and the intelligence in his huge golden eyes. He remembered the particular ashen quality Morgana's face used to take on when she'd woken from a bad dream in her chambers in the castle. He remembered his mother's smile – oh, he'd never forget that – and Gaius's occasional disapproving scowl.
So what did George expect him to say? His life was so full of vibrant memories, and suddenly they were crashing against his mind like uncontrollable waves of color and voice. He remembered it all. Every moment.
When the pause between question and answer had gone on too long, Merlin let out a sigh. George had urged his horse forward so that he now rode alongside Merlin – the way he and Arthur used to ride.
Arthur.
"I remember," Merlin said slowly, carefully. He suddenly felt he had to get the words just right. "I remember when I met your father for the first time. He was chucking spears at a target and tormenting a serving boy. I'd only just come to Camelot earlier that day. I walked from Ealdor, where I'd lived with my mother. I'd never been away from home before."
The young prince stared at Merlin, in a sort of trance-like focus.
"I insulted him. I didn't know he was the crowned Prince. I wasn't even from this kingdom. I even took a swing at him –" Merlin laughed. "He threw me in the dungeon and the next day he nearly killed me with a mace. But he was a good man, George. I knew that the moment I met him. I didn't like him, and he didn't like me, but I saw something in him that I see in you: greatness."
George smiled and straightened up, accepting his mantel of greatness without hesitation. When Merlin didn't continue, the boy leaned forward eagerly, big cat-eyes shining. "Tell me more! Mum never talks about dad!"
"He was…" Merlin searched his thoughts. "Once we were attacked by bandits in the forest. There were maybe twelve of us and forty of them. Your father fought three men at once, and won. He was the quickest sword in the land. Well, maybe second quickest depending who you ask…but, that's another story. We were in the middle of this fight, and I was trying to protect him with my magic without being seen. It was still illegal at the time, so I had to be subtle. I got so distracted trying not to be seen that a bandit came up behind me and ran his sword halfway through me. I'd never felt such pain in my life."
George leaned so far over that Merlin thought he might tumble off his saddle. They were at the top of the hill now, and a light rain had begun to fall. Merlin could see the stone circle rising through the mist like some ethereal thing. He drew in a half breath and continued his story.
"Well I figured I was done for. I didn't know as much about healing spells then as I do now, and even so I couldn't very well do one on myself because I couldn't think through the pain. The whole world was swirling and dark – and the next thing I knew your father had hoisted me up on to his back. He fought a bandit with one hand with me hanging over his shoulder. And then he carried me. Into the forest, away from danger."
Merlin was no longer looking where he was going. His mare stopped instinctively a ways away from the stone circle, as if she could sense the magic which pulsed through the site like a heartbeat. George looked up at Merlin with awe. He was young and innocent and had just discovered one of the great secrets of life, though he couldn't put to words what exactly it was.
"Your father was a great king, but he was an even better friend." A tear rolled down Merlin's cheek, but he was smiling. "Would you like to meet him?"
Merlin dismounted his mare and the little boy followed suit. Carefully, Merlin drew the sacred horn from its place in the satchel. He knelt down, so he could meet George at eye level. "This is the Horn of Cathbhadh. It is an ancient and sacred object endowed with magic by the High Priestesses of the Old Religion. It is said that every year on the equinox the Priestesses would gather here, at the stone circle, and blow the horn to be reunited with their ancestors." Merlin held the horn in both hands, his palms upturned. He presented it gently to his prince. "George, if you so wish, step into the circle and blow the horn, and think of your dad – everything I've just told you and everything you've ever sensed about him. If you think hard enough, he will be there."
The little boy held the horn gingerly, recognizing a great responsibility had been handed to him. Merlin offered an encouraging smile. George rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment, and shut his eyes so tight that it looked like he was trying to close out all the light from his world. Then he opened them back up, nodded, and walked into the circle.
Merlin followed slowly behind, hesitating on the edge of one of the great arches. It seemed wrong of him to cross into that space, one which he knew to be so sacred. Was stepping into the circle crossing a line? He hoovered there for a moment while George rested the horn against his lips. He turned it this way and that, and it occurred to Merlin that the little boy had probably never blown a horn before.
Forgetting his hesitation, Merlin strode into the center of the circle and knelt down next to George. He helped the nervous boy straighten the horn out properly, and then gave him a nod. George took in a deep breath of air, filling his lungs to full capacity, and then, with his whole heart let out a great belt. The horn sang its beautiful honking song, and a blinding white light swallowed up the whole world.
Merlin stood. His heart was in his throat.
Out of the haze and radiance a figure came slowly, slim and golden haired. He stopped just on the edge of visibility, half obscured by light like a strange mirage.
The spectral creature seemed to squint. Merlin forgot to breathe. Then, in a familiarly baffled, remarkably joyful voice, Arthur said, "Merlin?" The kingly ghost smiled and stepped from the veil into full view. He was still wearing his armor, sans cape, but it was immaculately polished. "Well, it's about damn time."
