It is hot in Camelot. The sun is burning pitilessly since weeks. It didn't rain for a long time. The plants are withering on the fields, the cattle is dieing of thirst on the grazing land. There is a strange tension in the air. Everybody is nervous. The people of Camelot are moaning and sweating at the slightest movement. The always busy town is quiet. The are hardly any people in the streets and alleys. The courtyard is nearly empty. The is an old man close to the fountain. He is dressed in black and holds an old wodden stick. His hair is white, but if you look exactly at him you'll find some last black curls. He leans his stick at the fountain and tries to pull up the bucket. Clumsily he turns the wheel. One of the guards watches him. Sweat runs down his face. He sighs and walks towards the old man. Smiling he turns the wheel and hands him the bucket with the water. The old man nods appreciative and starts drinking. The guard nods and goes back to his work.
While dinking slowly the old man looks around. Camelot, the proud castle. The proud citadel of Arthur Pendragon.
Meanwhile the king and his servant are walking down the stairs. Arthur looks up to the sky. No clouds at all. He sighs and looks at Merlin, who shakes his head. Side by side they passe the fountain in direction of the gate towards the lower town. The king is going to look after the water supplies by hisself. As they nearly passed the fountain, the old man looks up. Immediately a cold shower runs down Merlin's back. He pauses and looks towards the old man. As they change their views this strange feeling increases. He gets a goose flesh although the sun is burning. He makes a step towards the old man. He has never seen him before, but there is something about that old man. Who is that? Before he can make another step towards him, something holds him. As he turns around, he looks into his friend's eyes. It is Arthur who holds his arm. "Merlin, we don't have time for that. Come on." With this words he already has turned back and leaves the place. Merlin hesitates. The old man ist too weird. But as he hears his king's angrily calling "Merlin!", he also turns around and follows his friend. Both leave the courtyrad.
Immediately the view of the old man gets darker. His smile dies. In his eyes all you find is hatred. Grimly he picks up his stick. Slowly he makes his own way leaving the courtyard. Breathing heavily he passes the gate and the lower town. Step by step he makes his way into the woods. As soon as he is out of sight of the people of Camelot and the guards, he gets faster. His white hair gets darker and darker. His walk becomes straight, almost youthful. He pauses and turns around. His black clothes, which have been to big for his old and weak body, now they are fitting his trained body. As he looks up, his evil eyes are shining. It is Mordred! With every fiber of his body he personifies the dark side of life. He smiles nasty.