Hey guys! Haven't written anything in a while, but this little plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it, so, hope you like it.
After the war, after everything that happened, after everyone he knew was gone, all Merlin could do was wait. Wait a very long time.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or any of its characters, if I did, it would have ended VERY differently.
Still Waiting
"Good morning Mr. Seahill," Said Carol, a tray precariously balanced on her hands as she turned to the old man "I'll just be a moment."
"Have no worries, Carol." He smiled, the gentle kind of smile that only old people have. "I have time."
Carol shook her head slightly, a bemused smile on her lips, wondering if the old man had ever done anything hastily on his life.It must be an old people thing.She decided, leaving a tray and taking out her notepad.
"Now then, Mr. Seahill, can I get you a cup of coffee?" The young woman asked him.
"That would be very nice, thank you." The old man said, long white beard swaying as he gave a nod in her direction.
To an outsider, especially one versed in the world of politics and diplomacy, it might have almost looked like a bow. The kind of salute that, once upon a time, was given as a sign of respect to individuals of a same rank. To Carol and the rest of the staff ofThe Round Table Cafe,it was just one of the qualities that endeared Mr. Seahill to them.
"Here you go. Two sugars and a dash of milk."
The old man looked up, as not two minutes later, the young waitress returned with a steaming cup of coffee. "I really have been coming here for a very long time, haven't I?"
"Well, I do hope you don't stop visiting just because of that, the Round Table wouldn't be the same without you." A gruff voice came from behind Carol. "You know this place would have fallen to pieces ages ago if it weren't for you."
"Mr. Brown, your praise is appreciated, but exaggerated as always." The older man said with a fond smile peeking beneath his beard.
"Oh please!" The owner of the cafe gave a dismissive wave with his hand, "You've been here since I was a lad, and you know that Mr. Brown was my father, no need to make me feel old." The man said, running a hand through his own shorter beard, which was just shy of starting to go grey.
"That's because youaregetting old, Artie." Mr. Seahill said with a teasing smile, though one would have seen a flash of sadness had they been looking at his eyes.
"Not as old as you Mr. Sea." He teased back, rolling his eyes with fond exasperation at the moniker the old man had given him when he was young. He never quite understood why he insisted on calling him that horrid name. Mr. Brown was of the opinion that Arthur was a perfectly fine name, and he saw no need to butcher it, though he'd long stopped arguing about it with Mr. Seahill.
"Me? Old? Never." He pronounced, blue eyes glinting beneath a mass of white hair.
Mr. Brown shook his head fondly. Nobody really knew how old Mr. Seahill was, but his hair had already been completely white by the time he had first come to the Round Table, some thirty years back. He really was what kept the place together, and if the phrase was a bit more literal than what most would have thought, then it was only a golden shine that could have borne witness to its true meaning.
Once upon a time, long before Artie's father was born, Mr. Seahill had also visited the cafe, back when it was first built. The owner had asked him, after seeing the old man sit at a table every day for ten years, why he kept coming back to the small cafe. The elder had simply said "waiting", the owner had nodded once, thoughtfully, and never again asked.
Many other times, however, waitresses and regulars, cooks and janitors, they had all asked the same question to the old man, though perhaps with different words. Sometimes, the asker would nod and leave it at that, but most times -especially with the young ones, those who had not yet discovered the wisdom that life was trying to give them- they asked "What? What is it that you're waiting for?" The old man would just give them a long look, shake his head, and say, "Just waiting".
Nevertheless, every once in a while, when a kid with insight that only children have asked, or an old person who had seen too much and knew even more posed the question, the answer would change to a different word. Though the frequency of the second answer had decreased more and more with every passing year. The old man hadn't given that answer in over twenty years.
So it was that the day passed, people eating and talking. Mr. Seahill finished his coffee and ordered a slice of cake, he sat there for a few minutes, paid, and went home, like any other day.
Days went by and became months, which in turn passed and turned into a year. Two. Three. Four years later, things were as they always had been. Customers coming and going, cooks and waiters hard at work, hours ticking by on the same old clock. But as all things, the Round Table Cafe was not impervious to time. Mr. Brown's beard now had a few grey hairs that had been brown not too long ago, he had married, had a daughter, and as family tradition goes, named her Gwen. Carol had met someone too, and she no longer worked at The Round Table, though she visited when she had the time. Johnson, the old man that used to cook the cakes that Mr. Seahill loved so much, had passed away in his sleep. Old age, they said. And so came Brian, a young man who loved cooking and hoped to be a famous chef someday.
Little by little, the Round Table lived on as everything in nature does. In constant movement. Yet, Mr. Seahill was still waiting.
It was on an ordinary day like all other ordinary days when the recurring thought came once more to Mr. Brown's head. It wasn't the first time it happened, and like all other times it was with a mix of fondness, relief, and a slight tinge of wistfulness that it came to mind.
Things have changed so much since I was a kid,thought Mr. Brown, as he went over the day's sales,but if there is one thing that stays the same, it's Mr. Seahill.
Of course, he didn't know how wrong he was, because Mr. Seahill wouldn't be there for much longer. In merely a month's time, word would get around that a terrible fire had started on that one small cabin down the road. The fire department would find that it started in the kitchen, though they weren't sure why, and they would then reveal that the fire had killed the only person in the cabin. And so the town mourned, Carol cried, and Mr. Brown gave a speech at a funeral for the grandfather he shared no blood with. The Round Table closed for a week, but it would soon be once again filled with customers and the smell of fresh coffee.
Little did they know, in a few decades time, a man who once bore the name Seahill would once again visit the cafe, a wide smile on his weathered face as he thought on what he had found. The first signs of what he'd been looking for had arrived. Now, it was all a matter of waiting.
A/N
Merlin: formed from Celtic elements mer, mori (sea) and dunom (hill, fortress). Therefore, Mr. Seahill, since I feel like Merlin would want to keep something from his old life but couldn't just go calling himself Merlin or Emrys and I doubt he'd take Arthur's name. So I tried to chose a name that would have meaning for him and though dunom can mean fortress, I decided to go with sea. (I wasn't going to name him Mr. Sea Fortress! )
I pictured this story taking place in maybe the late 60's, placing the return of magic near the current date and the previously mentioned visit to the cafe in the late 1800's, it being more a tavern than a coffee shop in its begginings.
That's all.
Bye, thanks for reading.
GMR