A short fanfic, written for Sweeney Agonistes. It takes place after Silver on the Tree -
a brief interlude between the two characters who would probably understand best the
importance of the turn of the year.

Standard disclaimers apply. The Dark Is Rising Sequence and all related characters
are property of the wonderful Susan Cooper.

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The Passing
By: Gramarye

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It was late, yes, but he could not sleep, and the book he had been reading earlier in
theday would surely be where he had left it, on the small round table in the library.

One of the massive double doors was slightly ajar: it made no noise when he pushed it
open. There was the table, and there was the book – and there was Merlion, sitting in
the chair beside the table, as motionless as any piece of furniture.

Gwion slipped into the room, fully prepared to collect the book and leave the Old One
to continue whatever private contemplation he was privately contemplating, but before
he could take two steps Merlion quickly held up a hand and said:

'Wait.'

And Gwion stopped, in mid-stride.

Merlion lowered his hand, but did not turn his head; he was looking at something at the
far end of the room. Gwion turned to follow the other man's gaze, and blinked when he
saw what the lion was looking at.

It was a clock, of the tall wooden type that he had learned was called a 'grandfather'
clock. It was a remarkably ugly specimen of its type, with dark worm-eaten wood and
overly ornate carvings and Roman numerals picked out on the face in gilt paint. But what was most remarkable about it was the fact that it had not been there when he had been
in the library that afternoon.

It was there now, however, and the hands indicated that it was midnight, or would be
within moments.

Gwion darted a quick glance at Merlion, but the Old One's expression was as
unreadable as ever. His gaze was fixed on the clock, and Gwion looked back at
the clock just in time to see the hands come together, pointing straight up.

There was a soft whirring sound, barely audible, and then the clock began to chime.

First came the quarter-hour, then the half, then the three-quarters, and finally the top
of the hour. The same four notes rearranged four times – a simple enough pattern for
a musician to detect – with the faint echoes of each note weaving together to form an
odd little counterpoint.

A beat of silence, then, like a pause for breath. Just enough time to let the echo
evaporate into nothing, and then the long slow strokes that tolled the hour.

Though the hands of the clock were plainly visible, Gwion found himself counting
all twelve in his head. Only when the twelfth and final stroke had sounded did he let
out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

He glanced over at Merlion, and their eyes met – only for a moment, but it was
long enough. There was a defensive fierceness in the lion's gaze, almost as if he
was challenging the harper to ask why he was sitting alone in the library, staring
a clock that did not belong there, waiting for an hour that would pass like any other.

But Gwion knew. Even in this land of eternal midsummer, there were some things that
could not pass unnoticed...and, in a way, it was fitting that the only ones present at the
passing were the Oldest of the Old Ones and a man who had once known what it was
like to be mortal.

'Happy New Year, Merlion,' he said quietly, and then turned on his heel and left the
room.

It was late, after all. The book would be there in the morning, and for many mornings
to come.

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Gramarye

31 January 2004