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It's been a, generally, quiet day in the Sanctum itself. The Wards have been rather silent as they wander the large estate. The library, however, holds residence to one of the Sanctum's occupants. Merlin sits in one of the many chairs, a small side table next to him with a tea set on it, and a giant tome on his lap.
"Magicis carminum genere urbanissimus natura plantis et animalibus, saepe alte insitum moribus antiquis ictum super terram." He reads aloud as his finger traces the sentence in the book. He chuckles. "Of course magic that's bolstered by plants and animals has a deep impact upon the earth. Whomever wrote this had a knack for stating the obvious!"
*
The wards report very little on the whole of interest. In the previous day, naturally, they hummed to the activity of sorcerous comings and goings, including the arrival of the resident witch responsible for completely removing all fruits, vegetables, and the lion's share of honey from the kitchen. How naughty to not replace the groceries, but given the pinched, pensive look chasing the Sorcerer Supreme around, it might be best not to ask. At least there is sugar for the tea, and several spoonfuls of that make a proper cup of black tea absolutely atrocious. There's no milk, only sugar and brewed water.
Padding along, she pinches her black dress with a modicum of irritation expressed on her face. It insists on hanging at least to her knees, fashionably wide in the skirt, and therefore detestable for a girl who isn't much for feminine trappings. Bound for the library, and sipping her scalding drink, she peeks inside only to find her second favourite person in residence rather than, say, a monster. "Good evening." Day? She doesn't quite know. "Am I an interruption?"
*
"Hmm?" The old sorcerer looks up at the young witch and twitches his nose slightly. "No, no. Not at all. I'm just reading a latin book on nature magic. I enjoy discovering the painfully obvious facts that they feel the desire to point out." He explains as he closes the book. "Some writers were just hogwash. Others stated such obvious statements that I wish I could go back and ask them what they were thinking, and whether they thought that practitioners of the arcane arts were idiots."
He rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers, causing the book to float on its own back to its place in the shelves. "How are you this day, Ms. Maximoff?"
*
Old, as if he wears the years so heavily. Not quite pruned by the passing of time, the grandfatherly visage conceals a mind sharp as iron, and every bit as bladed. She knows better than to believe his twinkling eyes are doddering, or that he falters in any fashion. Immortality goes elsewhere. Wanda indulges this show of crotchety behaviour as one must always indulge a false curmudgeon, by nodding gravely.
"They do not think much of us. They think we are a myth or a legend. They see you and their doubts fall away." The witch gives a faint shake of her head, throwing mahogany tresses around her narrow shoulders. "Such writers do not try to touch truth. Easy if they write whatever serves them."
Her English is improved, far from perfect but polished more, proximity to other native speakers certainly an assist. Nonetheless, she raises the tea to her rose lips for a rather deep swallow. "I tire. So much work to be done, and others are so busy. Time does not stand for me. It runs. I thought to have a piece of this done, but…"
*
"No. They don't appear to think much of us, do they? But we must carry on as we do." Merlin murmurs and nods. Motioning to a nearby seat, tilts his head. "I would think that you would dispel their doubts even greater than I. In this modern age, my name brings but images of fables, of a legend, a mentor to a king who would unite the lands of Albion under a single flag. Even within circles of the arcane, whispers of my name oft conjure up thoughts of a child's tale for young magic users who dare dream of what they might become." He shakes his head. "I am fortunate to have places such as this where my reality is truly known and cared for."
He furrows his brow as he listens to Wanda. "Time passes as it does, more quickly than many realize. Soon the caterpillar becomes the butterfly, winter becomes spring, and the student becomes a teacher." He nods ever so slightly. "What work have you to do? Perhaps I might be of assistance?" He enquires as he reaches for his own tea.
*
"How odd. You have given over all your life to help. Protect us, save the magic. Is it always like this? To be without thanks and anyone who notices? I see that they come here when they want something but not at other times." Wanda tips her head slightly, her gaze focused upon Merlin and seeing him perhaps as he was, is, and will be. Time exists in the strangest of situations for the wielders of the Eye of Agamotto, but for a young witch with her own children plucked out of the timestream to prior to their conception, maybe not so oddly. At home in her own contemplation, the sleep-deprived and wearied creature risen only recently from the slumberous sea of dreams sips the last of her tea. "You belong to the best stories of English, yes? The ones remembered. That memory is long, it is changed, but it is very much you. Any with a tie to history must live or fade. Your name is immortal as they think in Egypt. Written, it lasts forever with the word."
Her rests her cup in front of her, staring into it. "My teacher is not one who speaks to me often now. She does her own things. But she moves me sometimes to her thoughts and would speak. And she speaks a message to you, that she tells me to say." Her hand rubs the side of her head, sighing. "I will say it in my words, not hers, which could be rude. For you are not, I think, 'young man.'"
*
"'Tis quite often this way, yes." Merlin nods solemnly. "There are, it is true, some who know that I still live. They call on me, seek my council. However, perhaps it is best that most of my work on this Earth is done in the shadows. I may come forth during times of great upheavel, such as I have now, but I do not the work I do for thanks." He says with a smile, a little twinkle in his eye. "Once upon a time, I may have permitted myself the folly of hubris, with my skill as it was. And I desired to be praised. Those were the wishes of a young man." He sighs softly, almost seeming tired. "While it grows monotonous to have my identity called into question when I meet with person new, it is a part of my life. I have learned to, on occasion, have fun with it. Besides which, my work is about doing what is right, not about whether or not I am praised and recognized readily." He nods to the witch's words. "You are correct, I do belong to the stories of the English, and there I shall remain for many years yet."
At her words of her teacher, the old wizard seems curious, even leaning forward somewhat. "You have me intruiged. Worry not about being rude. You may speak the words as they are, without change." He chuckles at the comment of his age. "To you, I certainly am not a 'young man'. However, those words would be quite apt when spoken by others."