Merlin in Modernland

by Layarana Haven

A many, many years ago since the death of the Once and Future King, the legendary Merlin, presiding in the 21st century England where Camelot has become nothing but mythical stories, starts a new journey that may be even more dangerous than the Arthurian Era where he once called home.

1. Prologue

Prologue

"The King is dead," Sir Leon says, followed by, "Long live the Queen!"

The subjects mimic his words in a chant of "Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!"

The wrinkled eyelids of old man in his 90s blearily opened to reveal ocean blue colored eyes, along with the wisdom, sadness, and determination that came along with it. His head hair, bushy eyebrows, long beard connected with a mustache reached about four to five inches below narrow shoulder and was the color of white dirty paper and a resemblance of not being kept well.

He wore a blue jacket, bluish grey cap, worn out shoes, brown fingerless gloves and two bags slung over and around his shoulders. Nevertheless, he looked homeless.

A long truck blasted past him. The familiar lake came near him the further he walked on the side of the dirt road, yet, when he stopped, as if reminiscing the place once called Avalon and the ruined tower that lay across from it on a small island, he did not look to his left; he just continued forward, heavy steps reflecting the weight on his shoulders.

A black car drove past him next and blared its horn when the old man swayed from his path onto the road.

The driver stops when he is sure that no one was behind him and rolls down the window. A big man in a lumber jack shirt looked tweeked.

"Are you blazen mad, you old croon?" The old man walked slowly still, the car trailing next to him. "Hey you listenin'?"

The man said nothing. The driver snorts. He leans menacingly over the open window with his thick elbow.

"Do us lads all a fava will you? And stay off the road!"

The old man finally turns his head to rumbles of laughter, and this is not what surprised the driver as his laugh dies down, it was the golden eyes that flashed from the croon. The big man retreated back, eyes shining in slight fright, mouth agape, gripping the steering wheel for dear life. Then he rubs his eyes and when he stared back, the gold color was gone to be replaced by ocean blue. The drive sneers, growls and shouts, "Stay off the road!" and drives off.

The old man walks again as if nothing had transpired.

Whatever path the man was taking, he was sure it was here, the last place he wanted to be: Lake Avalon.

If it was not, time would only move forward.