Authors Note: Hello People. This is the prologue for a new story. I hope you like it. Yes it's short but hey prologues are usually always short. Please review!!!!!!!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and the unknown characters.
Warnings: None to begin with.
An Old Myth
Prologue
"Grandpa tell us the story again," a chorus of soft voices pleaded like they usually did every night before they went to bed.
"Again? Children you have heard it now every night you have stayed with me you must surely be getting bored of it," the old man sighed though a small smile of amusement played at his lips.
"Please Grandpa it'd be the last time we promise!" the youngest of the five grandchildren stated her head held high though a mischievous glint shone in her eyes. He sighed once again as if he truly did not want to tell the story and he smirked inwardly seeing their pouts. They were special to him and he could never say no to their shining blue eyes so much like their great uncle who he had not spoken to for many years.
Slowly shaking his head he smiled wearily.
"This is the last time and straight after you shall all go to sleep or your mother shall surely have my head," he chided before limping over to the wooden rocking chair that he had had since he was a child. He had given it to him. The man who had worked himself into the young boys heart had given him the chair, had used the chair many a time when he was looking after him.
Although the wood was dull, the legs bowed from being sat on too many times and so very creaky he could not bring himself to throw it away. To the old man it was something from his past, something he would keep with him to his dying day. It was one of the few things he had that belonged to 'him'.
Slowly sitting down wincing at the creaking from both the chair and his old bones he turned to face the five excited faces looking at him. They were all lying on their stomachs their feet kicking in the air and he could not help but smile at the picture they presented. It was like old times when he and his brother had sat like that waiting for their mother to tell them a bedtime story usually filled with magic and creatures and evil and heroes. Just like the story he was going to tell these children.
Though it was no ordinary story. Most believed it to be unbelievable, far fetched and a bit mad. That did not bother the old man though, by many of his peers, by many of the children of the village he was a bumbling old fool who never made any sense. He was a man who often lived in a past filled with conspiracies and theories, a time of mystery and murder, a time that no one of today understood or even wanted to. After all why would they want to know about a past filled with persecution and prejudice, a past filled with what ifs and what could be's. They were in the here and now, they knew what happened in the end what did they care about a John, Mary or Harry. They didn't care, they all knew how one person had saved them from oblivion and they celebrated him but did that mean they had to live in the past?
They liked the tales he spun about the past, about the hero, the villain and the persecution but that was all that they were right? Tales. He was just an old man wanting to keep the kids happy and as long as he kept the kids occupied there was nothing wrong with it. Just as long as he didn't corner them and make them hear it.
Sighing once again the old man looked out of the window seeing only his reflection in the darkness it was time to start his tale.