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The first time Merlin hears the tale, it is a dark autumn night and he has just dropped off his basket of herbs when he stumbles, hidden by the shadows, into a clearing of children camping beneath the stars. The sound of laughter tinkles in the air. The children are telling stories, and Merlin's old heart softens.
So Merlin sits, and listens.
Once upon a time, the tallest boy says grandly, as they huddle over the fire and listen to adventures fill the cold of the night - once upon a time there lived an old man.
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He lived by the lake of Avalon. Yes, that lake, somewhere not far from here, to the North. Now the lake was blue and wide and the forest around it treacherous (that means dangerous, by the way) and thick. Yes, the one we're in now. No, it's not so treacherous anymore. Why? Well, because of the old man. No that's not it- shhh! I'm the one telling the story!
The old man is waiting. Sometimes, if you're very lucky, you can see him standing by the lakeside as the sun goes down, and then he disappears in a flash of golden light together with the last rays of sunset. Yes, he still goes up to the lake when it's cloudy. Oh, just shut up and stop asking stupid questions! He's waited for hundreds and hundreds of years, which is why he still waits every day by the lake. It's why he looks so old. He has a long white beard and long robes, like a proper hermit. He probably lives in the forest, come to think of it. Anyway. The old man is very old and very kind, but very lonely. He doesn't have anyone to talk to. Not anymore. The person he loved had to leave him a thousand years ago, but promised to one day meet him back at the lake. And so the old man still waits a thousand years later.
Yeah, I know it's sad, but he's okay. His sadness makes him kind, you see? It's why the forest is safe now. All the bad things have learnt that the old man is the keeper of the forest and the lake (that means he takes care of the place) and they've all gone away.
I haven't seen him yet. My granddad says he has. Granddad says when he was a little boy he got lost near the lake once, and then when night was falling he saw through the trees an old man, with hair as white as snow, standing by the water. At sunset the old man turned and smiled and vanished, leaving a trail of tiny lights that guided him home. No, of course I'm not making this up! If you don't like the story then shut up and stop ruining it for others.
It is said that the old man will always be around to help children in need. So beware! If any of you trouble my little brother while I'm not there, the old man will get you, understand? And then I'll whack you with all I've got. No, I told you, I'm not making this up! Oh, now you're just asking for it--
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Merlin watches the scuffle with mild alarm, and waves his hand a bit so the other boy's fall isn't as hard as it could be. When the fight subsides the story of the old man is lost instead to mighty tales of adventure, but Merlin stays until they fall asleep, tired and smiling under the sky.
Merlin is old now. He is a thousand years and more, but he still remembers what it was like to be young, when his days were coloured in shades of gold and crimson red and laughing blue eyes. So he whispers a spell of protection over the children, a spell for them made with all the love he can spare.
The tale is true in the ways that matter. He is old and sad and lonely, and it has made him kinder and wiser as he waits. He remembers when the forest slowly began to make way for the villages, careful settlements of refugees hiding from wars in which he no longer fights. He remembers the boy lost in the woods, frightened and alone at sundown, and he remembers the spark of magic and warmth in his heart as he had guided the boy home. He remembers a girl, tiny and tender, and he'd made her a whirlwind of fluttering butterflies and smiled as she danced in glee. He remembers the children, young and free.
It seems now, the children remember him too.
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The next time Merlin comes across the story - the legend, now - it's twenty years later, from the lips of a young shy boy slipping over to him at sunset on the lake.
"Old Man," the boy blurts out, and then winces. "Ah- um- I, that came out wrong, it's just- Tommy the blacksmith's 'prentice always just called you 'the old man' so-" and then he halts, half-petrified as Merlin turns to look quizzically at him.
"Er hello sir my name is Joe," the boy says frantically, "Pleased to meet you old- sir! Sir, not old man. Sir."
Merlin raises his eyebrow. He knows he looks very dignified and inquiring when he raises his eyebrow in the right way, because he'd practiced.
The boy - Joe - straightens. "Sir. Tommy says you're waiting for someone. How long have you been waiting?"
Merlin is genuinely at a loss. He hasn't had a proper conversation in centuries, and he coughs a bit to make sure his lungs are in order for speaking.
"About a thousand years, give or take," he says slowly, voice rough from disuse.
Joel's eyes widen. "Woah."
Merlin nods. "I know. I'm pretty old. Isn't my beard impressive?"
"It's awesome!" says Joe enthusiastically. "Okay I have to get back now but thank you and Tommy is never going to believe this, I hope you meet who you're waiting for soon!"
"Yeah," says Merlin, as he watches the boy's retreating back. "I hope so too."
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After Joe there are a few other boys; and then there is Clara, who sneaks up behind him one spring day and tries to cut off one of his hairs.
Merlin lets her creep all the way to an arms length from his back, and then whirls around and shouts, "Boo!"
She screams and drops the little knife, and then glares and picks it up and holds it in front of her in a manner that is probably supposed to be threatening, but isn't really because her arms are shaking quite a bit. Merlin chuckles and she makes an affronted jabbing motion with the knife.
"And what is your name, fair lady?" he says cheerfully, holding his palms up in surrender. "For what purpose do you come to me?"
She narrows her eyes. "I'm Clara. I'm here to bring home one strand of your hair."
"Same as the boys before you, then?"
She nods sullenly. "It's supposed to be a test of courage for when you turn thirteen, but the boys keep insisting that a girl will never make it."
"Very well," says Merlin, twirling his beard in a show of thinking. "A test of courage: hand me the knife."
Clara looks like she’s going to protest, but at Merlin’s look she swallows. She stands on shaking feet, and slowly, she extends the knife towards Merlin, and drops it in his upturned palm.
Merlin takes the knife and cuts from his beard one long white strand of hair. "Here," he says, as gentle as a wisp of wind, as he places the strand in her hand and winds it around her wrist. "Proof of your courage to trust."
She looks at him with wide eyes, and Merlin smiles kindly.
"Some people will take advantage of your trust," he tells her, returning her knife into it's little sheath. "It takes courage to trust once you've been hurt before. I hope your trust shall never be misplaced."
Clara nods. Before she leaves, Merlin adds with a twinkle in his eye, "Although it's probably best to stay away from mysterious old men in the future. I'm the exception."
Clara laughs then, and curtsies, her lips curling into a sweet strawberry red smile. "Thank you, mister. You're much better than in the stories!"
Merlin grins, and on the spur of the moment, disappears in a shower of golden sparks that sprinkle her path home with light.
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But all stories lose their shape over time.
Perhaps it is because he remains the same yet grows older at the same time - that the tales start to hint of an unnatural darkness, sitting in the belly of the old man by the lake, the old man who waits and is always alone. He is told as a ghost and a lover and a dark wizard and a madmen, and time carries the tales until no one knows which is true, not even the children.
The truth is: Merlin is a servant and a sorcerer and a friend. And Merlin will wait, even though the tales are told fewer and less kind. He will wait even though children now hover, uncertain, at the sight of his back against the water. Even though it is now only the bravest and most foolish of the children who will dare to draw near, and even they run when he turns; the ghost-man by the lake too real a tale, too much a risk for a childish game in the summer of their thirteenth year.
He will wait, even if, in the end, a tale is all he becomes. Even if no one believes, even though he still comes.
Merlin will wait.
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Then in his fourteen hundredth year, a brave young boy comes up to him as he stands by the lake.
"They say you're not real," the boy says carefully, stepping close with the bravado of a thirteen year old and the bravery of a prince. "They say you're a myth, an urban legend, a ghost, and that you're a wizard, and that you eat children, but also that you help lost children find their way home."
Then the boy's voice trembles. "They say you've been waiting a thousand years for the person you love. They say you don't have a name. They say you're lonely."
Merlin turns. The boy's hair shines golden in the light of the sun, and his eyes are as blue as the lake of Avalon was a thousand years before.
Merlin's breath catches. "And?”
"I say - I say hello. Hello, I flew in here yesterday, and I remember you, I think. I say you do have a name, and I'm sorry it's been so long, I think I liked you better without the beard. And- and I don't want you to be lonely ever again."
Merlin, as unsteady as if the ground was shaking under his feet, says: "Arthur?"
The boy smiles, and tries hard not to cry, but can't quite manage it. "Hello again, Merlin."
"Arthur," says Merlin. "Arthur. Arthur."
And as Merlin glows golden under the last rays of the sun, he feels his years melt away as he stands before his king and his friend, at the end of one story and the start of the next. A story they will make, together.
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Once upon a time, there lived an old man. He lived by the lake of Avalon, where he waited a thousand years for the person he loved to return. The old man was just a man really, not a ghost, or a monster - well okay, he was a really powerful sorcerer, I mean he had to be to live that long - but that's not the point. The point is, the old man waited a thousand plus years, and finally the person he was waiting for showed up. And it turned out that the person was younger than the old man remembered. So the old man made himself young too, so they could grow old together. The person was just as annoying as the old man remembered and twice as young, so all in all they saved the world a few times and irritated each other to no end - but they lived, if not always happily ever after, very happily indeed.
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The End.