I’m very disapointed that the fandom haven’t already made this joke yet and that I needed to do it myself.
But here you have it, a very chilled Eclipsa. Uh, by the way, this may be considered spoiler-ish? so yeah, watch out for that…. But if you’re reading this then you’re probably already seen the spoiler, so… whoops?
so if according to the crossover short, fairies are related closely enough to ghosts that they could be pulled into the thermos, would that mean that some fae mythology might apply to ghosts as well? that the fae courts could be ghostly courts and ghost changelings were a thing? that black dogs are just whatever wulf is? that time might move differently in the ghost zone and people getting kidnapped used to be more common?
Your hands are in my hair and my tongue in your mouth and
this is dangerous dangerous dangerous because anyone could see anyone could walk by I think that’s why it’s so exciting
I tell you I want you and you pull away long enough to look me in the eyes and say “baby you’ve never wanted a damn thing in your life”
And I tell you you’re wrong wrong wrong because I want you so badly it makes my teeth shake but when I see you with her it brings me back down to earth and my lip is bleeding from biting it so hard
ignoring someone has never been this loud before
I think the whole school can hear it and it sounds like a fire alarm
or maybe a too obvious way of saying
“I want you I want you I want you.
I think I’m gonna have to take a little break from tumblr this week I’m upset about the malec thing and seeing everyone discussing it is giving me a lot of anxiety, even though I definitely agree with a lot of it so seeya next week I guess
Author’s Notes: I wrote this about a week before John Hurt died so if the BBC asks me if they can use this to make a real series 6 (I wish), it would need some changing. This is chapter 1 of how I think series 6 of Merlin ought to go. I doubt I’ll write how I see all of series 6 going, but here’s chapter 1 of I don’t know how many. It’s written like it’s being watched on a screen but without screenplay formatting since that doesn’t translate well to online platforms. (Trust me, I know.) And since Merlin’s series are usually two-part episodes, I might write the part 2 if I can figure out how to finish part 1. This is probably the first few minutes of a TV episode. @melodynightsong ALSO it’s written as British as possible, but I’m American.
Opens on OLD MERLIN
walking alone on a path, backpack on his shoulders. It’s not the same path as
the one seen when the audience was first introduced to Merlin as a young boy in
series 1, but it is obviously meant to parallel that opening. He’s not wearing
any of his distinctive outfits, but everyone watching knows it’s him, so that
He comes across a bench
overlooking the misty moor that was once the Lake of Avalon, the ruined tower
in the middle of what was once the island in the distance. He grunts from
discomfort and takes his bag off his shoulders, rifling through it until he
pulls out a red apple—his favorite.
Before he can take a
bite, another old man drops onto the bench next to him. “You’ve changed, old
friend,” comments a voice that is familiar to Old Merlin, but not in human
But he smiles and looks
KILGHARRAH is sitting
there, dressed in some raggedy clothing, but recognizably John Hurt.
“Not as much as you,”
retorts Old Merlin. “Last time I saw you, you had wings.” Both men chuckle
before Merlin goes serious. “What are you doing here, Kilgharrah?” Merlin asks.
The man that was once a
dragon sighs. “The cycle of life has gone around once again. Yet you are still
here, guarding what used to be the Lake of Avalon,” Kilgharrah says.
Merlin grunts in
agreement. “Yes. I am. I’ve seen everything the world has to offer time and
time again. The new world, the old. And yet no matter how far I travel, I
always return here,” he replies, looking out over the field with a wistful look
on his old face. “Year after year I watch for signs, and century after century
I’ve seen nothing. Countless disasters and two world wars later, and somehow
Albion’s need has never been great enough.”
“Albion has been gone for a long time. You, my friend, are all that’s left.”
“What are you saying?”
“Since the demise of
Albion and the rise of the United Kingdom, the parameters regarding the king’s
return have changed.” Kilgharrah slaps his knees and moves to stand up. Merlin
follows his progress with lowered eyebrows.
“What are you talking
about?” demands Merlin.
“It is almost time,
Merlin. The day you’ve waited so patiently for is near at hand. I wish you
well, and wish you luck. Many others you recognize may stand in your path
before you, but that is not for me to say. When the time comes, our paths will
cross again—that much I know. Farewell, young
warlock, and take care.” Kilgharrah walks off and disappears around a
corner, leaving Merlin alone on the bench.
He looks out across the
moor toward the ruined tower. “Arthur…?” he whispers.
Arthur’s voice seems to
whisper “Merlin…” across the misty
Old Merlin’s eyes widen.
“Well then,” he begins in his best Dragoon the Great voice. “I guess I better
slip into something more comfortable.”
He pulls a small plastic
bottle of pale blue liquid out of the front pocket of his backpack and downs
the whole thing in one go. For several moments, nothing happens. Then a puff of
smoke consumes Old Merlin’s form, obscuring him from view.
The Main Theme from the
old series plays—this time with some new clips of what’s to happen in the
series to come, but still beginning with Excalibur lying on the bottom of the
lake. The names of the four mains return. Colin
Morgan. Angel Coulby. Bradley James. Katie McGrath. There is evidence of
magic, adventure, and yes, even comedy hiding in the opening titles with a
sense of nostalgia and excitement—because Merlin is back!
The Adventures of MERLIN
Return of the King, Part 1
Merlin as we know
him—that is, younger and Colin Morgan—is the first thing we see when we get
back to the main body of the episode. His familiar face, inviting us back. He’s
wearing normal, modern clothing. Dark skinny jeans, black trainers, a navy blue
collared button-down shirt, black leather jacket, and most noticeably, no
neckerchief. The backpack is still there as well, but he’s no longer wearing
it. It’s propped up against his leg.
But he’s a few years
older than the last time we got to see him as a young man. He’s pensive,
subdued, more mature, almost weary. He’s grown and seen a lot in the past
fourteen-hundred years or so—more than one pair of human eyes ought to see.
And, because Colin Morgan is an amazing actor, the weight of all he’s seen is
easily visible on Merlin’s face.
He’s standing at the
shoreline of the lake—which is still a field covered in mist with a ruined
tower on a hill in the middle—waiting. With his hands in his jacket pockets.
Familiar faces and sights
to everyone flash over the screen like a bad signal. Guinevere. Sir Leon. Sir
Percival. The Camelot throne room. The council chambers in the palace. Arthur’s
chambers. They flick and disappear with modern Merlin’s expressionless face and
heavy eyes in between them.
Then, after another
flicker, Merlin’s memories take hold and Camelot is solidly on screen.
“My lady,” greets Merlin,
approaching QUEEN GUINEVERE in the council chambers with a slight bow to his
tall frame. He’s in his old outfit—blue shirt, red neckerchief, brown jacket,
breeches, and boots. Gwen gives him a friendly, but sad, smile, wearing one of
her lovely gowns—a deep red one. Merlin stops a few feet from her and put his
hands behind his back. “You wanted to see me.”
Gwen nods. “Yes. Since
you’ve been absent, I have not yet had the chance to thank you for your actions
at the Battle of Camlann,” she informs him.
“You were the sorcerer
who defeated the Saxons, the dragon, Morgana. I know it was you. Camelot is
indebted to you. And so am I. I know you did all you could to save Arthur. In
the end there was just nothing that could have been done.”
“You must be mistaken.
I’m not a sor—” Merlin begins to protest, more out of habit than anything else.
“It’s alright. I’m not
going to have you executed or thrown in jail,” the queen interrupts. “But
you’ve been missing for so long that I wondered if I would ever get the chance
to thank you.” Merlin fidgets awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He clears his
throat and looks everywhere but at his old friend, internally panicking. Gwen
sees he’s struggling to think of something to say and adds, “I’m lifting the
ban on magic and appointing you court sorcerer.” Merlin stares, silently, in
confusion and surprise. “You helped save everything we hold most dear. And no one
deserves our gratitude more than you. I’m pleased with what you’ve done,
Merlin. You’ve always been a good man with a good heart.”
“Th-thank you, Your
Majesty,” Merlin finally manages to say. “But lifting the ban on magic—”
“Has been a long time
coming. Not everyone who practices magic is evil. You are living proof of that.
I see no reason why it should not be appealed,” Gwen informs him, looking
amused at his shock and confusion. “Also Gaius has informed me that he’s
getting old and almost ready to step down from his position as court physician.
If you would consider it, I’d like for you to take his place.”
“My lady, you ought to
choose someone more qualified than me,” protests Merlin.
“There is none I’d rather
have. You learned under Gaius for years and I cannot think of anyone I would
trust more to fill the position,” Gwen presses, firm but kind.
Merlin smiles, looking
almost embarrassed. “I will consider it. Thank you for the honour.”
Cut back to Merlin
standing next to the Field of Avalon, the ghost of a smile playing on the edges
of his lips at the fond memory.
Suddenly the mists
covering the moor start swirling. There is no wind to speak of. This is the
work of powerful magic—more powerful even than Merlin. This is the magic of the
land itself—magic that has been waiting, sleeping, dormant, for centuries.
Merlin watches on in
anticipation, taking his hands out of his pockets, letting them hang.
The mist swirls like a
tornado around one spot between what was once the shoreline—where Merlin is
standing—and the hill that was once the isle in the center of the lake. Merlin
takes a step forward, watching intently.
His eyes flash gold—the
first use of his magic in the new series, and probably in years—and time slows
down. The mist spirals slower, the wind chime in the small town behind him
drifts sluggishly where it hangs, and the car on the road in the town goes from
a normal pace to a crawl. Merlin watches the slow mist, peering at it as close
as he can in an attempt to see what’s happening.
In the middle of the pale
silver mist, a dark grey silhouette begins to fade into existence. A very
familiar silhouette of broad shoulders, narrow waist, and thick hair on top.
The smile on Merlin’s
face grows wider. He knows that frame well.
There are a few tense
moments as the mist spins even faster, despite Merlin and the audience watching
through slowed-down time. The hair on top of the silhouette seems to flap in
the winds. Merlin’s fringe also flicks as the breeze picks up.
With a burst, the mist
flees from the scene, blasting Merlin in the face with wind, making him take a
step back to steady himself.
Standing where the
magical fog had been—
He’s pale and blinks in
the sunlight before falling forward, collapsing on the ground. He’s in his
chainmail, still with the patch of blood on his side, and breeches. His hair is
ruffled from the magic gusts.
Merlin’s smile could
photosynthesize Camelot’s forest for a week.
He leaps over the ridge
that makes up the former shoreline and rushes over to his friend. “Arthur!” he
shouts as he runs. He falls onto his knees next to the king of Camelot’s
shoulder and helps him roll over onto his back, resting his upper body on
Merlin’s knees. “Arthur?”
There are several moments
of silence in which Arthur stares up at his former servant, looking confused
and bleary—like he just woke up. Which, in a way, he did. Merlin continues to
hold him in place, smiling and near tears at seeing his friend again after so long. Arthur blinks over and over as
though getting sleep out of his eyes and brain—for a while he doesn’t realize
that it’s not sleep lodged in his mind. It’s death.
“Merlin?” he asks,
confused. “What’s going on?”
“You’re back. You’re
back,” Merlin replies, now crying from happiness.
“Back from where? You’re
talking gibberish,” Arthur mumbles, trying for the same harsh tone he used in
the series 4 finale and failing because he’s still exhausted.
“Listen to me, Arthur.
You died from your wounds after the Battle of Camlann. Which was… about
fourteen-hundred years ago. You’re back from the dead.”
“Why are you here, then?”
Merlin has the same sort
of awkward look on his face that he had in the series 5 finale when he told
Arthur that he could see the path ahead. “My… magic keeps me alive,” he admits.
Arthur tries to sit up in surprise, but he’s still weak from just barely being
revived. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You are not
well enough to stand on your own. Let me help you.”
Merlin manages to get Arthur
into an upright position before they both struggle to stand. Merlin slings Arthur’s
arm around his shoulders and together they stagger over the field and make it
to the bench where Merlin’s bag is still waiting. Merlin eases Arthur down onto
the bench. “Sit here. Rest. Everything’s going to be okay. But we need to get
you out of that chainmail before anyone sees. No one wears that kind of stuff
anymore.” Merlin looks around at the small town behind them. “And we need to
get you back to my flat before dark. Stay here. I’ll be right back. And don’t
freak out. I promise everything is going to be alright.”
Merlin glances around
again and leaves. Arthur remains on the bench, looking around. The last thing
he remembers—thanking Merlin—appears on the screen for a moment as he stares
over the field thoughtfully. He looks down at the patch of blood still staining
his chainmail and winces at the memory of Mordred stabbing him. He looks over
his shoulder carefully, eyeing the little modern town with lowered eyebrows,
A car pulls up on the
road behind the bench. Merlin gets out of it, opens the passenger side door,
and goes over to Arthur. “Come on. Once we get you inside we can talk more and
I can make sure you’re alright.”
“What is that?”
“Ah. That… is a car. It’s like a horse but easier to use and more than
one person can ride in it. Don’t worry, it’s completely safe. I’ve been driving
since automobiles were invented,” Merlin answers.
“I have no idea what
you’re talking about,” Arthur comments.
“I know. And I promise
I’ll explain. When we get somewhere that no one will hear us talking. Because
to anyone else we’re going to sound insane,” Merlin replies. He helps Arthur
stand up and pile into the car. He puts the seatbelt across his friend and
clicks it into place. “That’s going to keep you safe in the event of an
accident—which we won’t get into. I’m very good at driving. Raced in the Indy
Five-Hundred recently. Not that anyone knew it was me.”
“What are you talking about?” demands Arthur.
“I’ll explain when we get
inside,” sighs Merlin. He gets in the driver’s side and they pull away from the
Cut to Merlin supporting
Arthur through a door into the lounge of his flat. It’s been decorated with
everything Merlin has seen throughout the ages. A sword from Camelot (not
Excalibur). A Renaissance painting. Vinyl records from the seventies hanging on
the wall in frames. And especially books. Books from every age. The walls are
covered with bookshelves. There are pictures of Merlin from various times since
photographs were invented in various clothing—including his old Camelot outfit
with the red shirt and blue neckerchief at a Renaissance fair.
He helps Arthur sit down
on the sofa and then eases him out of his armor and chainmail, which he throws
on the armchair across the room from the sofa. Then off goes Arthur’s
protective shirt and the normal shirt he wears underneath it so Merlin can
examine his wound.
“It’s perfectly healed.
You’ll be just fine. Welcome back, Arthur,” Merlin remarks.
“What’s that?” Arthur
asks, not paying attention, pointing at the TV in the corner.
“Okay. Some supper first,
and then I’ll explain everything. You’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
Yes, he does! Bruce and I got home from our (amazing and wonderful) vacation last night… I wasn’t supposed to be back at work until tomorrow, but Perry texted me this morning that they really needed me. I’ve been sleepy and also really busy ALLLL day, and I just spent the whole day wanting a nap. Oh well… I’m sure I’ll be my usual self tomorrow!