A Tale for Small People & Aging Juveniles

The soundest of sleeps, a slumber not of the type enjoyed by those of us consigned to the mortal world, annoyingly disturbed. A child? At least he thinks the voice that bellows so is that of an overly expectant child. Whatever, his Dark Age final resting place enigma has finally been unravelled it seems. ‘Botheration’, his passing thought.  Regardless, it is thus he descends, not without a certain reticence and more than a little difficulty (he was, after all born 1267 years previous), the still formidable ‘reach to the heavens’ Pine of Barenton.

“It is you isn’t it?” asks the youngster, she of unkempt blackest hair and rumpled rags.

“Depends upon who you mean by ‘you’ young lady.”

“Merlin, you must be Merlin…you have to be Merlin…please, please, please be Merlin. Your pet owl Ambrose told me I might find you here.” There are notes of distress in the child’s sniffling plea/come question.

“Ambrose you say. How is the old chap by the way, faring well I trust?”

“Ambrose is very well indeed, but that’s not why I am here…and sorry I woke you up…didn’t mean to, had no choice really. So you genuinely are Merlin then?”

“Yes, that is who I am.  Well then child this better be important, I was in the middle of the most splendid shapeshifting dream…anyhow, do you answer to a name young lady?”

“It is very important, very important indeed…and I do have a name; my name is Niviane”

“Niviane! I knew a Niviane once a long, long time ago. She broke my heart as it happens, still that’s of little consequence now,” the mumblings of the time honoured wizard, then with the come easy rattling gusto of the geriatrics anywhere and everywhere, “Spit it out then Niviane, don’t beat about the bush girl.”

“Well…not sure where to start…”

“For God’s sake child for pities sake just start!”

“Well, the world’s gone mad, really, really mad.”

“‘Twas ever thus…nothing new in that.”

“No, this time it’s gone absolutely bonkers and frankly I have no idea what to do about it. I am so very worried you see everybody is fighting one another. They fight each other because some think their skin colour is better than the rest, and sometimes they are even killing each other with guns over it!  You probably don’t know what guns are being so old and decrepit but let’s just say they are worse than swords or even the dreaded dragon’s breath…and my mum said only the return of a legend can save us all…you’re a legend aren’t you?”

“I suppose I’ve had my legendary moments in my time, but what can I do…my track record when it comes to bringing peace to the world is nothing to shout home about, you’ve only got to remember the demise of Camelot and you’ll understand what I mean. I am… or should I say was…merely a magician by trade, nothing more…cast a spell here, cast a spell there, that’s all. What do you want of me?”

“I’ve thought about this a lot. I want you to do your wizard thingy and turn everyone the same colour. I like sky blue personally but don’t mind any colour really. Then I reckon you could do a special spell to turn their hair the same colour as well just to be on the safe side. Pointless having the same skin but different hair…do the ginger kids a favour as well that would. Once they are all the same they’ll have nothing to fight about see. You can do that can’t you?”

“What a clever gal you are Niviane.  Changing the colour of things is my speciality…I’ve changed more bouquets of white roses to red one’s for Arthur to gift Gwen back in the day than you’ve had hot dinners. Let’s see…yes, silver skin and sky blue hair for one and all, a doddle.  There, job done.”

“You didn’t do anything!”

“Go look at yourself in the still waters of the lake Niviane…you’ll see.”

Niviane does indeed see, “Wow, that’s amazing…everyone in the world is now silver with sky blue hair?”

“That’s about the strength of it…pleased?”

“Oh yes, and I almost forgot mum said if I found you I have to say that I’m your Great, great, great, great, great, great……well, can’t remember how many greats…great granddaughter.”

“Well knock me down with a feather…so then Niviane you’re in my blood line, best you have this old wand of mine to work your own magic with…I’m off for a long kip now…see you again one day.” 

(Legend has it that Merlin once had a thing for Niviane’s Great, Great, Great etc. Grandmother)




  1. thank you Merlin – now I have what I dreamed of – a never ending supply metal to smith more guns and bullets – all I need do is shoot some noisy clanking chap every so often and voila!

    1. Oh for the gift of magic…what fun I’d have! Still, this very morn the quack tells me I am OK…save for perhaps an ear lobe there is not a bit of me that hasn’t fallen victim of ultra sound and worse. Sigh of relief and all that!

      1. They smothered me in slippery gel at one point to the extent that I felt compelled to advise Shirl not to give me her ‘return of the hero’ mandatory hug upon arrival home for fear of a nasty accident.

  2. what a splendid skin colour, and the umbrellas. Well, ultimately that must be for fashion as silver is quite reflective.

    1. Actually the thought of a small child – providing she was good – granted eternal access to Merlin’s wand does spark a few ideas…more a book than a short tale I reckon!

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