DISCLAIMER: IDNOM (BIWID)
Two reviews already! Thank you guys so much! I seriously wasn't expecting that - glad you liked Hermione. Look out for her - she'll be appearing again.
And seeming as I'm at a big sixteenth birthday at which there is alcohol, I went adventuring for the wifi password, and am currently hiding in the corner, writing fanfic. It's also technically after midnight, and is therefore officially Remembrance Sunday. So enjoy this amazingly-morbid-merlin-angst chapter.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
The trumpet's call died away as Merlin bowed his head. The image of red poppies blowing in the breeze settled in his head, taking seed, growing steadily. He'd seen the poppies before they'd become a national symbol - a single red bloom growing over the body of a young man. A young boy.
He'd been in more wars than he cared to remember, swapping sides and fighting for whatever cause he though was right. Arthurian, Crimean, World ones...he'd seen death and destruction in all. He'd missed the crusades (killing innocent people for religious symbols wasn't his style. After all, it wasn't even his religion. Jesus was a nice guy, sure, but nothing more than your average magician). He'd seen the fear that he'd felt in his first battle echoed on the faces of thousands of young boys and innocent children fleeing for their lives. He'd witnessed the brutal murder of peaceful citizens with no interest or part in war over and over again. He'd killed and maimed and injured and saved time and time again, until blood and sacrifice lost all meaning, and acts of heroic bravery became everyday feats of the ordinary man.
He'd watched dictators come and go, empires rise and fall, seen William conquer and Henry behead. Watched marriages fail and political shams shame. He'd stood by, a silent watcher, interfering only when he felt compelled too.
He'd seen bravery and goodness too - Joan of Arc, brave beyond belief, so many martyrs, dying for their beliefs.
At least they were remembered. The good, the bad, and the ugly - all written down and recorded in textbooks and television documentaries. Some passed into myth and legend, some remembered with almost pinpoint accuracy. Remembered in rhyme and song and poem. Deeds greatened, others lessened; after all, history was written by the winners.
The sergeant finished, her final words echoing in the silence. The courtyard bowed its heads, a movement echoed across the country. Merlin looked down, a solitary tear tracing its way down his cheek, memories echoing across the vast expanse of time.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.