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Visiting some abandoned castle really hadn’t been included in Clay Morrison’s plans for the week, but the editor-in-chief had told him to write a report on it and the editor-in-chief’s word was the law and it better was obeyed, if one would not want to be fired.
So here he was, an aspiring journalist, stuck with a report about the history of a castle that had no history. All that was left of this castle was ruins, more like a few rocks really, in no way hinting at past glory or at least some ghost story.
Clay made his way through the nettle jungle surrounding the ruins, trying not to get his legs stabbed everywhere. Dammit, he shouldn’t have put on shorts. He had to be looking like a wannabe travel blogger right now, with his camera, baseball cap and a t-shirt that said ‘Been there, done that’. Good thing nobody else was here.
Or not.
He raised his eyebrows as he saw someone else sitting on one of the castle remains. An old man, wearing a dark blue trench coat with a yellow micro-beanie and red converses. Clay wasn’t sure, if to feel safe.
The man noticed him and raised his head, staring back at the young man.
“Arthur?” he asked then, breathlessly.
“N- no. My name is Clay.”
“Oh.”
The man looked down again.
“I mistook you for someone. My apologies. It’s the hair.”
“No problem.” Clay grinned awkwardly, pulling out his camera to take some shots of the remains.
“What brings you here, young man?” The man eyed him profusely, once again.
“I have to write a report about this castle. But it’s not like there’s any interesting stuff about it.”
The stranger let out a hoarse chuckle. “Trust me, this castle has more interesting stuff than your entire life ever will.”
Rude.
“Yeah? What’s so special about it?”
The man’s gaze drifted away, like he was getting lost in his own mind. “Once, this was the castle of Camelot, the golden kingdom.”
Quickly, Clay pulled out his notebook. At least a bizarre legend told by a crazy old guy was better than getting fired for not doing his job.
“It was ruled by a glorious king. His name was Arthur. A truly kind and generous one, but there was one thing that put a cloud of darkness over the kingdom. The king’s father had put the practice of sorcery under the death penalty and king Arthur never made an effort to change that, so the magic-users of Camelot had to live in fear for their lives. Amongst them, there was a boy.”
His words got lost again, as the old man was gazing into the sky, but quickly continued talking.
“His name was Merlin. Merlin was a powerful sorcerer, but also the king’s servant, as he had saved his life once. Over the years, he saved his life over and over and soon he realized, it was his destiny, to protect Arthur, the once and future king, so he could one day reunite the kingdoms of Albion.”
Clay listened eagerly to stories about dragons and beasts, about brave knights and the king’s traitorous sister. He knew none of it was true, this was a fairytale, the mind games of an old, senile man, but it was still captivating.
“And then,” the man’s face darkened. “There was another boy. A boy, who also had a destiny. His name was Mordred.”
Once again, the old man’s gaze trailed to the sky.
“His destiny was to kill the king. And Merlin knew that from the beginning on, so he never trusted him and always pushed Mordred away, despite the fact that he proved himself over and over. After Arthur executed someone he loved, Mordred had enough. So he slayed the once and future king in the great final battle of Camlann and Merlin had to save his life once again.”
A chill ran down Clay’s spine, as the man met his eyes directly.
“This time, he failed.”
Huh, not a happy story then.
“He was told that one day, Arthur would rise again. But to this day, he is waiting.”
“So Arthur never came back?”
The man shook his head, with a sorrowful expression.
“Merlin watched the kingdom of Camelot lose its luster, watched his friends pass away and Arthur never came back. That’s the end.”
“Th-thank you. For telling me of this legend- I mean history- history of the castle” Clay glanced at his notebook, now filled with words, telling the story of Arthur and Merlin.
“Thank you. For listening.” The man gave him a small smile.
“Can I take a picture of you? For the newspaper?”
To Clay’s surprise, the man shook his head. “I’d rather be unrecognized, my friend.”
“Alright,” Clay replied. “But at least, tell me your name.”
The man smirked.
“My name is Merlin.”
Three weeks later.
“What the hell is this?” The editor-in-chief looked at Clay’s article with a mix of confusion and disbelieve.
“It’s- It’s a legend surrounding this castle. The legend of King Arthur, haven’t you heard of it?” Clay responded, trying his best to sound convincing.
“And how did you find out about this legend!?”
Clay looked out the window, briefly.
“A sorcerer told me about it.”