From How To Recognise The Trees Of The Countryside, The Young Naturalist Series - 1954. This Book Belonged

We deserved more of just Merlin

The little head tilt, the sweet voice and the tiny smile, the moment he asked Arthur:

“Don’t you?”

To Merlin, magic had always been there for everyone to see, to feel.

He is magic, after all.

For all those years, Merlin had believed what he felt was obvious, and that everyone else felt the same way. It was strange to Merlin that Arthur couldn’t understand that the forest, the animals, even the smallest, living in it, were sacred. Because life is sacred. He couldn’t grasp the reason why the knights couldn’t feel that the old Druids’ camp was haunted, and therefore didn’t believe him. He had literally heard death, and cried because of it.

“As if everything is much more than itself.”

The phrase could refer to him too. Merlin is much more than… Him.

That’s what brought his doom. He had never had the chance to truly know himself. He was either a servant, or the sorcerer of a prophecy, or a Dragonlord.

Never just him.

And in this moment we see he had missed being one with nature, breathing in the animals’ lives. He was himself again.

He was vibrating, much like anything else there living with him.

They never went deep into Merlin’s powers, they were just there for Arthur. Merlin had lost sight of what he wanted to do with them, he even forgot he was so powerful he could have overthrown Arthur himself, if he really wished to.

Merlin was the only man alive able to see Avalon.

During the knights and the king’s quest to save Gwen, Merlin met the Queen of a Queendom no one had ever even seen.

He could have killed Morgana (and did try) multiple times, although she was an High Priestess, and simply decided not to, but he had more than just the power to do so.

The Catha, the Druids bowed to him, met him in the woods, called to him.

Merlin created a telepathic connection with Arthur the first days he was in Camelot.

He survived death multiple times.

His immortality forbid him to die.

Merlin hated hunting because he could feel the animals being scared, followed; he had recognised Gwen when Morgana transformed her into a deer; he could hear the magic around him, inside objects and inside people, like a whisper, as if it was nothing; he could call lightning from the sky.

He could stop the time, or at least slow it down.

Every magical being knew him by name only. But he was not a leader, he was just different.

“Is she like me?” “No one is like you, Merlin.”

After everything he had witnessed, even Gaius knew Merlin was special and did nothing to help him understand why he was.

Merlin was the reason Aithusa was born, why Kilgharrah was free, and we were robbed of him getting to really know his powers, both as a Dragonlord and as the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth.

He literally deleted himself just to be at Arthur’ side, and it hurt him. We saw it constantly. He was sad not only because everyone and everything was against him, or because he couldn’t use magic for simple tricks, but because he couldn’t really know what he could do, both as a magical being and as just Merlin.

To study his powers meant treason and death, and Merlin forbid himself to go beyond what he already knew.

His incapacity to understand, his lack of will to know, and his indecision about who he was, literally helped the fall of the great destiny he was a part of.

Merlin’s decisions, whatever he wanted them to happen or not, helped Arthur die.

Merlin’s real enemy was himself.

the twrch trwyth in the search for olwen !!

Thanks @liviapeleia for tagging me, your wip excerpts made me very curious to know what's next :D!

Rules: you will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

Tagging @breadkween, @achillesuwu and @futurepastme if you're interested! Your word should you choose to accept it is FISH!

Livia you gave me 'myth.'

M

“Merlin is a-” 

But he knew, he had known for a long time. 

Across from him his servant looked like a startled hare, wide-eyed, gaunt in the dim light. The thing they had not been saying had almost been said. Did Merlin think that just because it was said aloud that suddenly Arthur would change his mind, have him executed? 

Instead he made a show of sagging in relief and Merlin hesitated and then sagged with him. 

Y

“You’re lying. You have something you must do, something that might help me. Maybe it'll turn the tide of this battle.” 

“Arthur-”

“Whatever you're about to say, let it be the truth for once. I need to hear it, finally hear it. How many years has it been? We never spoke about your magic, not once, not really, not like we should have.” 

“My-?” 

“It’s said now, I don't care, not anymore. I can't go into this battle without you, not unless I know it’s for a good cause and not unless I know that you’ll be safe.” 

T

“The spitting, what's that then?”

“To ward off curses! Anyone can do it!”

“The asphodel?” 

“The dead need appeasing!” Merlin threw his hands in the air and then towards Arthur. “You’ve seen the ghost of your father, you've fought the undead!” 

Arthur was throwing his hands too now. “The cabbage leaves? Prophetic dreams have to be sorcerery?!” 

“Yes but not the kind you get from cabbage leaves!” 

H

He is the custodian of our stories, the golden age we brought about together and he’ll be the custodian of the stories after I’m gone, learn them from him, help him to hold them and share them, I think some days he might find them too heavy to carry.

He’s the most powerful and the most precious thing to ever walk this Earth, it would be a tragedy too immense to imagine or bear thinking about if he lost what made him human. But more than that, I ask you to do this, to pass on this message to those who come after you because I love him and I cannot do all of these things myself. 

I redrew some Merlin characters to be more historically and culturally accurate! The text is their original names in a later Latin script, yoinked from a display in the Corinium Museum, Cirencester. (Sneaky edit to add: Y'all are incredibly welcome to use this in any way you want, I would love to see more of my home's culture being represented more accurately in media!!)

Unlabelled version under the cut!!

that "OKAY SO" before someone u love starts infodumping........ most blessed feeling in the world

Day 1

Dear Hunith,

your son has safely reached Camelot, which I think is most unfortunate. I am plagued with questions over your reasoning for sending him here. He's betrayed his secret with me five seconds through the door of my apartments; had there been a patient there, I would be writing you for arrangements for his remains. He also seems, from bits of our conversation, unaware of his father's identity but that seems too odd to be true to me, considering you of all people should know very well what sleeps underneath the castle.

I shall try to keep his as safe as possible, but please, call him back home. My heart could hardly take much more of this,

Gaius

Day 2

Dear Hunith,

Your menace of a son is in jail.

Are there any poems that inspired TSV? I know I asked a similar question about plays, and I really loved the ones listen!

Well, there's a huge amount of Seamus Heaney in the landscape and vibes of TSV (particularly the bog-sacrifice poems for obvious reasons, the early Death of a Naturalist work trying to make sense of his childhood and parents, and his Buile Suibhne translations), and generally speaking we're sort of riffing off symbolist knight-errant narratives which includes poems like Faerie Queene.

They're almost too obvious and famous to be called influences, but I don't think you can write anything about religious and apocalyptic dread without feeling the looming shadow of The Waste Land, The Hollow Men and The Second Coming, and I think there's a lot of buried Rime of the Ancient Mariner homages in Carpenter's story (like one who on a lonesome road, etc) and Kubla Khan in Faulkner's.