Spring Morning, Mid Lunar-Cycle:

Let it be known that I, Merlin the great and powerful wizard, here begin penning my most important and ingenious thoughts so that future wizarding generations can benefit from–

Archimedes is laughing at me. Feathery nuisance.

Mid-Morning, Same Day:

It has occurred to me that future readers of this work may not understand what I have previously stated. That is, my owl, Archimedes, was shaking with silent mirth and hooting in a most derisive fashion. He knows full well that I hate it when someone reads over my shoulder.

Mid-Morning, Moments Later:

It has also occurred to me that future readers might doubt my owl's literary capabilities. I now assure said readers that Archimedes is the most intelligent bird I have met.

Which is interesting, really, since owls as a species are quite dull, actually, but have been held in esteem for wisdom since the Hellenistic age. In reality, ravens and parrots are the smartest fowl, but they are too raucous as aides for a wizard operating in secret. Archimedes is the exception for his kind, capable of expressing uncanny emotion and locating other wizards at great distances.

Of course, all wizards are distanced from here. No one likes a war-torn country, and magic is best performed away from mortals.

"Mortals." Honestly, we're all mortal! We wizards may live longer, but we too must perish. Everything dies. What would life be without death?

Midday:

Boring, that's what.

I really must call a meeting of the council to discuss better names for "mortals." Also to try and convince my comrades to come out of hiding at least so I can find them without Archimedes' help. Spell-casting in secret is wise, but we can't hide from the "mortals" forever. We need to make peace with them early on or we'll have another war.

The problem is humanity. Humans are born with a tendency to fear what they do not understand, envy what they lack, and hate those unlike themselves. Mortals and wizards, we are all human, and we can all succumb to this unfortunate nature of our race.

No one listens to me, that's the other problem. None of my magical peers take me seriously.

Peers? What am I saying? I am, by far, the most powerful of the council, perhaps of the modern world, but my wisdom goes unheeded.

Archimedes is laughing again. Pest.

I'm certain the treatment I get from my fellows has nothing to do with my eccentricity. A sense of humour is imperative; every wizard should have one. With power should come the ability to laugh at oneself. I spent the majority of my youth using my magical ability in pursuit of trickery and jest. I invented quite a number of exploding devices that I still think brilliant. Alas, I fear my failure to take myself seriously has prompted my comrades to do the same.

At least I'm not an arrogant elitist like that haughty Morgan le Fay. She is a perfect example of what happens when you refuse to embrace your faults and laugh at them. The way she struts around, you'd think SHE was the most powerful wizard in the land. She has talent, I cannot deny this, but she seems to believe that being fair and a Metamorphmagus and the youngest member of the council makes her an object worthy of worship. She actually wore a green velvet dress to our last assembly. As though she were holding court! I shall only say that some of the younger men found it very difficult to concentrate on the topics of debate.

The only fault I can forgive of Morgan is the cold manner with which she treats me. She is understandably bitter about the Igraine/Uther enchantment. She had only been a small girl when I reluctantly concocted a Polyjuice Potion for Uther so he could pose as Igraine's husband for the night. I destroyed her family.

I am not certain I would do it again. The Lady of the Lake's prophecy did state unarguably that Igraine and Uther's child would be king, and I have never doubted her visions. I suspect her of being descended from Cassandra or Aeneas' sibyl at the least. Still...

Ah! Guilt is too heavy a feeling to relate for so long. Dislike is much easier to pen.

I cannot forgive Morgan for her exclusionary attitude. She reviles "mortals" and anyone who carries blood of one or of a nonhuman creature.

It's her fault the council voted against Nimue joining. Infernal green dress. I believe she's rather envious of Nimue's flawless beauty. Half-veela age with astonishing grace, perhaps because their hair is already silver. I have conveniently neglected to tell Morgan that Nimue is in fact my age.

Archimedes is giving me a reproachful look. He is too wise for his own good. I must find him a nice female owl so he can spread his intelligence throughout owlkind. I could have quite a business, breeding and distributing messenger owls. But the council would probably dismiss it as an eccentric idea. Perhaps if I wore a green dress...

Archimedes keeps looking at me. It is most unnerving, being fixed under that round, yellow stare. Odd...he only looks at me that way when I have forgotten something... O! Arthur is coming today!

After Noon:

Arthur has yet to arrive. It's unlike him to be late. I'm beginning to worry in an alarmingly paternal manner. Is that normal mentor behavior?

Perhaps I should send Archimedes to search for him...

I should make dinner. I haven't eaten all day in my eagerness to pen my earthshaking thoughts.

Archimedes is laughing too hard to fly. I'll have to go out myself. Overgrown sparrow.