Knights Of The Round Table - Tumblr Posts

● Blood Orange

• IV - Overture

It spoke to her in an ancient tongue.

Not a word could she identify nor a sound could she hear dancing at the openings of her torn off ears.

It was an all-encompassing drone of tones, a sound like the gaping maw of a beast grinding its teeth against the brimstone of an umbral body.

Her mind thought in flashes, ones that burned into her eyes, creeped to the edges of her vision, breaking her sight, breaking into the constellations of her weaved memories.

Bowed syllables rumbled through a resounding hum. It spoke through its mouth and from it befell an emotion akin to aching dread.

Her bones dried beneath the wet of her flesh, her skin shriveled, dismantled under a lecherous ooze, eternally mortal against the rage of sanctity withered

She let out a sound guttural and primal, forced to crawl on her belly and eviscerate her consumed sins in a trail of innards, themselves consumed by torment.

It spoke to her in an ancient tongue, and through divinity unbeknownst to the fruits of her mother's womb, she understood.

"Yes." She said.

"Yes." The beast heard to its askings.

"Yes." It understood.

A demiurge of forgotten chaos, ineffable in its existence, understanding of ends and of nothingness, knowledgeable about what there is not to be known, accountable for all that isn't, and all that may never be or has not yet become.

"Yes."

***********************************************

She awoke to closed eyes, like a cadaver put to rest, but unlike one, she sucked the air into her rising chest and leeched at the saliva dried to the roof of her mouth.

Her heart beat to an irregular rhythm, not a fast pace but not a slow one, either. It galloped, stumbled, and caught its footing again before racing off into her body.

A cool breeze blew in and brushed at her wet skin, pooled in her sweat, waves of heat rolled from her head to her feet.

She allowed herself to see, eyes fluttering open.

A rough ceiling dangled above her head. It appeared to be cobbled from sheets of metal, bolted, screwed and hammered haphazard and with haste, a night sky of corroded stars.

Through unlocking her senses, the surroundings of her body became clear, her head rested on a pillow, and by the way it scratched at her neck, she knew it to be down.

Her body felt eerily light, she raised her arm and no sounds of tin clanging made its way to her.

She propped herself up on her elbow, almost too weak to bear the load, and just barely missed scraping her head on the rust above her.

Staring down at her body, over which she wore her fleece undergarments, she confirmed her armored weights burdened her no longer.

From hazy peripherals, she caught regular gaps in her vision, a bookcase cut in three by the iron bars that surrounded her.

She pleaded for her mind to think, to process and understand but it was numb even to her own inputs, a fuzziness coated her, it pulsed to life in the tips of her fingers when she moved, needles stabbing into her skin.

Beneath her resting body, a red carpet provided cushioning as well as a covering for the floor. To her left, a soft outline of a door's seam and to her right, nothing more than a wall of iron.

Now that her eyes could see, she found herself in a room of marble and stonemasoned pillars.

The walls were a dull cream, the zones of the floor that were uncarpeted were a white streaked reflection of the chandeliers twinkling above them, and the ceiling was intricately carved with blooming flowers that appeared to weed through battlements and clubs.

Shelves upon shelves of books various and varied plastered the walls, embedded into nooks at intervals between which portraits of oil painted men and drab scenes hanged and glared over low backed seats.

Her feet faced an open window, curtains draped half closed, and through the gaps of golden tassels, she glimpsed a young night.

Behind her, she felt a strong wind blow in the wake of a material scourge, shutters banging against their bars.

Falling back into her feathered head rest, she sank into the white cotton. Her breathing was controlled, but her fear ran wild.

To the side of her head, the door opened silently, making itself known by forcing the pressure in the room to drop as it shut.

Someone taller than the roof of her cage, taller than it allowed her to see through the corners of her vision, walked in calmly, with dress shoes rapping against the marble floors.

"Good afternoon, Isolde. How are you feeling?"

She tensed, her fingernails digging into the carpeted floor. Her pulse sounded from within her throat, one she couldn't suppress even as she swallowed dryly.

"I have not drugged you, and you are not tied up. Perhaps you're shaken, understandably so if you are, but you should be alright, so let us speak."

She forced her head to turn and look directly up towards the disembodied voice.

The dread wished for her not to, but she ignored it and at the end of her rotation she saw a man in a three piece suit, the very one who sat in the official stands, the one who brought Obille to his death.

"My name is Alistair Strauss."

His skin was pale, almost white, but his hight set cheeks were a healthy rose.

He wore a pair of thin spectacles above a hawked nose and below barely visible brows of a blonde as light as his complexion, an almost delicate combination of features that made him appear faint

His short hair reflected shining circle patches as bright as the whites of his dark eyes.

The collar beneath his silken coat had been spilled red, and when he unbuttoned it to drape it over the hook on the door, she could see the grey of his waist coat bore the same stains.

"I do apologize for my attire. It is rather off-putting to the eyes. You can surely imagine how disgusting it is to wear, but suits aren't easy to come by around these parts."

He walked over to the window behind her and peered through it. His every move was being followed dutifully, without rest in the form of blinking.

She guessed that they were likely elevated from the way he looked over and down before shutting the window.

"I don't want any wildlife getting in." He announced to nobody in particular.

There was something uncanny about him, something unsettling that she frantically searched for.

His unfazed face, unsmiling, unaffected, the way he spoke, walked, it was the farthest possible act from malice, evil, or anger, but her hackles raised when his eyes fell to her, a siren blared in the back of her mind and her body wished to flee but her muscles locked.

"It must feel inhumane to be in a cage, but I've done what I can to make it feel less so."

He half bent over and picked up a book from a low table. He made a thoughtful face before placing it back, "To what sick bastard did this chamber belong?" He mused, "That cage was here before I arrived, you know?"

To the front of the thin bar columns, he made his way, cut off from the torso so that she could only watch as his legs walked in front of her.

"I was not the one that undressed you, if you were wondering."

The points of his boots turned away from her, and suddenly, the cage creaked under a weight.

He crossed one leg over the other, and his suspended foot shook to a regular rhythm.

"I am waiting for a few associates of mine to return, in the meantime..." She heard the sound of a sparking flint and then a faint sizzle, followed by a poignant grey smoke so heavy that it fell to the floor.

"Please, do allow me to ramble." He said bluntly, voice slightly muffled.

A deep quiet followed, one neither captor nor prisoner had any desire to break, but the crackling puffs inhaled through his cigarette did not hold the same concerns.

"I imagine it's the gruesome sight of so many deceased that has you silent. For all its worth, my intention was not to murder Obille."

"Why did you do it?" She just barely whispered.

"He broke our deal. He was never meant to call for your execution, but there is no sum of money greater than a larger sum of money, I suppose. It's unfortunate that Balic had amassed more wealth than my sponsor's generous funding."

While the smell that emanated off a freshly lain corpse had just barely been forgotten by her senses memories, the sight of the bodies ripped to shreds and mangled had not yet become dull.

"Have you ever heard the story of a woman named Eyisbe?"

Her silence was followed by a sigh and then a gentle rapping on the steel over her head.

"N-no."

"Well," He pulled the red tip of his cigarette closer to his lips, "It's a short one. We've got time."

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

"Eyisbe was a peculiar girl who appeared in a small village one day.

She was filthy, spoke in tongues, had no family nor possessions, and not as much as a single cloth to cover her skin.

Despite this, the village and its people came to love her dearly and accepted her as one of their own.

The men could not resist her, and neither could the women. Even the animals of the forest took a strange liking to her.

When she came of age, the list of those that wished to wed her had grown longer than a river.

On one rainy day in particular, they found her alone in the forest, speaking to the trees, using their fallen leaves to cover the body of an injured deer.

The villagers couldn't believe what they had witnessed.

The trees shed their leaves to her whim, and the deer, still alive, did not flee from her.

She garnered the attention of one and all, from villages afar and even to beasts that man had feared for ages.

She committed miracles unthought to the minds of the villagers, things they could have never imagined.

From fruitless trees, a full harvest would bear, and from the lifeless soil, grains like golden rods would grow to the sky.

Soon, a young man named Jeles would grow jealous of the attention.

He was unable to see the appeal the others did, and he spread false rumors to the other young men in the village.

On the night of her twentieth birthday, they invited her to a barn in the woods.

From the rafters, they hanged her by her neck, and they stripped her from head to toe.

They had their way with her, screaming unheard by the village and its people.

The boy, Eles, took a rusted knife and thrust it between her legs.

They filled a cup with the virgin blood that poured from her thighs, and they shared it together."

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

He finished speaking, and Esandolyn was grateful. Her stomach had twisted into a knot that painfully unwound itself.

The tone of his voice and the words he spoke were not synonymous. They drove an icy stake into the base of her neck.

"It was said that Eyisbe was the personification of nature, our mother, a way of saying, by the hands of man, nothing is sacred."

There was a gentle knock at the door, a triplet pulse followed by a polite enquiring voice, "Mister Strauss, may I enter?"

"Yes, you may enter."

A sharply dressed man, as slender as the curl of his forked coattails entered the room, his one hand grasped at the door handle, and his other balanced a silver tray topped with a fine glass tea set.

He hurriedly set it down on the table and, with no time wasted, set two fingers atop the tea pot's lid and poured a rich liquid into two bulbed cups.

"How many sugars do you take, Miss Esandolyn?" His bushy mustache, curled at its tips, jumped up and down as his lips moved.

She mouthed the words he spoke to repeat them to see if she had understood them correctly.

"I will leave you with the sugar so you can take as much as you please."

He gently raised the saucer and cup into the air and handed it the man that sat above her, who replied with a polite, "Thank you, Rosenthal."

"Always a pleasure, Mister Strauss." He set down a cup in front of her as well, along with a bowl of heaped sugar in which a small spoon drowned.

"My purpose in telling you that story, heaven forbid you're thinking to yourself 'goodness, what an odd fellow this Alistair is,' was an admittedly feeble attempt at an explanation."

The steel groaned, relieved to be free from the weight as his boots returned to the carpet.

"I don't believe killing to be sin, nor I do believe lying, thievery, greed or lust to be blasphemous deeds."

He took a sip of his tea instead of a breath between words.

"A sin is an offense to divinity, a complete transgression against the laws set up by our lord." He paused while turned away from her, his hand clasped at the small of his back.

"The day mankind slaughtered a God was the day we committed our first true sin. It was the day our creators left us."

A sinking feeling had fallen on the net of her beating chest and brought it down to the base of her stomach.

"Rosenthal, please wait outside for Rawsthorne to arrive."

"Of course." He moved to the exit and bowed once before letting himself out, slinking through a thin gap.

He turned to her, and his face had not lost its effect on her instincts.

"You must have many questions, so ask away. I'll answer what I can, I mean to be nothing but honest with you."

"Where have you taken the queen?" She had been itching to ask and jumped at the opportunity now that it arose.

In the time it would take a hummingbird to flap its wings exactly once, his face rippled with an expression of surprise, then the waters stilled, and his calm demeanor returned.

He smiled, but only with his mouth, the flesh of his cheeks pushed his eyes to close, but they remained fixed on her. "So it's true, after all. I must say I'm relieved."

She felt that she had made a mistake, and with just a few more thoughts, she swore softly to herself for being so stupid for allowing the situation to muddy her logic.

"I won't tell you where she is."

"Then tell me what I'm doing here, why did you take me?"

Whether she shook from rage or from fear, a combination, perhaps, she did not know, but her words were still sharp.

"You are very special, one of a kind in the truest sense. To some others, you would be a clairvoyant, a soothsayer, a..." He gestured to the air, searching for a word through half closed eyes, "... A prognosticator, perhaps, if you want to be fanciful."

"And what am I to you?"

He smiled with raised brows, "Exactly right, you are."

Dropping himself onto the arm of a low backed cushioned bench upholstered in a velvet red, he set the cup and saucer to balance on his crossed legs.

"To me, you are a prophet."

"Wh-What? What does that mean?"

"Definitions can be so pedantic. Let's not get lost in detail. All those words mean the same thing, but "prophet" has the connotation of someone chosen to be a voice for the voiceless."

"A voice? What am I a voice for?"

"To figure out the answer to that question is precisely why I need you."

"Why does it have to be me? Why can't it be someone else, a different prophet? Leave me out of this!" A sliver of rage broke through into her words.

"Who else could it be but you, Isolde. There has only ever been one prophet at a time since the age of divinity, passed down through descendants...chosen at their death... it matters not, you're the only one, its a terrible unluck and certainly nothing personal."

She stared at the brown water of the still tea. She could just barely see her eyes over the rim, and she felt the same as her reflection, that she too might sink deep into something that would swallow her whole.

"Then why kill all of those people just to get to me?"

"It's upsetting, I know, but it's not in vein. I'm only willing to do what's necessary to accomplish this. While I was not planning on it, we're conveniently ahead of schedule." A voice sickeningly pleased rang out from the rim of the cup pressed to his lips.

"How many have you killed?"

He looked into her eyes, studying them, studying her face, so much so that it felt as though he had stared right through them, into her mind and soul.

"How many do you see, Isolde?"

"How many...?" She asked, brows furrowed, concerned and confused.

Any excitement etched in his face slowly faded back to his regular neutrality.

"Don't worry, it is still early. But back to the root of your question, we simply need the bodies."

"Wha-"

"Mister Strauss," Rosenthal interrupted through the door, "Rawsthorne has arrived. She says the preparations have been made, and we can leave at your earliest convenience."

"Ah, perfect timing! We'll, I assume since you knew of the Queen's kidnapping," He said to isolde, "you would have known of this too, and I assume you left behind an indication of sorts."

She remained silent, and so did he, watching her as she watched him in return.

"Someone you know made an appearance today, funnily enough, though it was unrelated. These obelisks are making quiet the splash amongst you knightly figures." He smiled slyly.

She perked up at the mention of someone she might know, "What did he look like?!"

"She, actually. Sorry to disappoint, but dark hair, small build, yellow gems in the armor she wore, she may fetch quiet a hefty sum..." He said thoughtfully.

"Gen...?" She said quietly, confusion on her face.

He heaved himself off from the seat with a groan and placed his still steaming tea aside, "Well, we have to be off Isolde. It was lovely to officially make your acquaintance, I am terribly sorry that you can not bathe or get a proper change of clothes beforehand, but I will give you a pair of shoes before we leave."

With that, he walked behind her to an area blocked out from her vision.

She heard the rattling of chains and the friction of them being pulled taught accompanied by the grinding of old gears.

With a shudder, the cage lifted from the floor, leaving behind railed dents in the carpet.

Rosenthal was waiting for her once it rose completely, arms neatly tucked behind his back and a pleasant expression on his weathered face.

He gently took her by the arms and guided her to her feet, making sure not to hurt her.

"That's it, Miss Esandolyn..."

She thought to struggle, thought to fend against the two men knowing she would emerge relatively unscathed, she was trained after all, but her hopes were shattered under his vice like grip.

Unnaturaly strong, he pressed her flesh to to her bone, and to her skin, he brought the cold point of a knife that whispered persuasive threats that warned her to stay put.

Two more people entered the room, dressed as though they were attending a cabaret, blacks and whites in cottons and silks.

They swarmed her, tightly holding on to her arms and clothes, dragging her by chains made of her own limbs.

"Let us be off, Isolde."

“And what are you going to do now, little girl? Oh, what's with that angry face?”

- scene from "Fate/ Grand Order - Two Intertwined Souls", Gawain vs Cu Chulainn.

Me, September 16th, 2021: Nah, I don't like Fate that much. I play Grand Order because the game is fun!

*Camelot Movie blu-ray get released*

*There is various characters in the banners*

Meh, I have Sigfried np3 and Artoria, I don't need another Saber. But there is Leonardo Da Vinci! I could try for her.

*rolls and gets Bedivere*

Ah. He seems to be the protagonist, well he is 3 star, I will keep him there.

*goes doing mission so can get more quartz. Tries out Gawain as support*

nice buster.

*pulls for Gawain. Get Medusa Lancer on last day of banner.*

*grows obsessed with Gawain and the round table*

*has Bedivere lv70 with np3*

*has Lancelot Berserker lv80 np5*

*still hopes every gold Archer is Tristan but it's just Atalanta and Emiya*

*hopes to find Saber Lancelot*

*hopes to find Percival but still not farming nor saving for him*

*wants to Grail Gawain and has material for enhancing his skill at 9 and doesn't use them on other Servants*

*throw 900 quartz in Castoria banner. No Castoria, no Rounds, just 5★ CEs*

Welcome to my gatcha hell.

Tristan: I knew it! That Mordred was a troublemaker from the start!

Kay: Don’t look at me! They get it from Morgan’s side of the family!

Gareth: They were just trying to get our king’s acknowledgement.

Agravain: But now that they’ve caused a rebellion, our family will be forever shamed, dishonor will come to the kingdom, tradition values will disintegrate!

Percival: Not to mention, a lot of people will die.

Lancelot: My son never had such trouble! He ascended to heaven after finding the Holy Grail!

Gawain: Well we can’t ALL magically ascend to heaven!

Bedivere: No, your sibling had to get our king KILLED.

To me, Merlin’s dynamic with all the knights (including Arthur) is “The only person who gets to torture my brother is me” but like it’s reciprocated

knights of the round table

Nothing makes me happier than the fact that Perceval has practically lost his chance with this lady

screw you that's MY sad dumb little show you can't have it

fight me

(/j /lh)

Heyyyyyyy whatever you do totally don't imagine gwaine dying thinking he failed camelot, failed MERLIN, in the arms of one of his best friends. don't think about how percival has to live knowing this. and definitely don't think about the fact that he has to make the long journey back to camelot, empty handed and heavy hearted, because he just lost all three of the people he was knighted alongside,

Best is a loose term that can mean ANYTHING but it's absolutely 100% Gwaine.

(and Elyan, and Lancelot, and Percival, in no particular order)

Okay, so out of all the knights Merlin ‘collected’ who was the best? Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival or Eylan?

Including Percy and Eylan, cause I really doubt they’d be there if it wasn’t for Merlin

Gawain/Lancelot Moodboard, created for fandomtrees 2023.

if im not consistently and constantly teetering on the edge of falling back into the merlin fandom at any given moment, thats not me. thats an impostor of some kind. kill it with fire.

Pretty sure Lancelot was everyone (except Gwen ig) gay/bi awakening

Merlin definetely had a crush on him and confirmed the fact he is bisexual

Arthur, I have no idea because I HC him as both gay and bisexual, I cannot choose but Lancelot was definitely an awakening

And Morgana not being attracted to him, realising that if she were ever going to be attracted to a man it would be him and she's not, therefore is a lesbian

I'm pretty sure Gwaine already knew he was bi but for the rest of the knights, Lancelot was prolly also their gay/ bi awakening

Merlin, 1x06: Lancelot

This rewatch I'm not getting too much vibes between Arthur and Merlin (except the destiny stuff and two sides of the same coin obv) but what I DO see is both of them crushing so hard on Lancelot. Like, yeah Merlin, he has saved your life, that's true, and you hate living in a monarchy where there isn't any meritocracy, but he never asked you to make him false documents to enter the knights. And when Lancelot asks him about Gwen and Merlin says there's nothing between them EVEN IF THEY KISSED JUST ONE EPISODE AGO?? Like, bro, wtf? Why are you not telling him that? Because it's pretty clear that even if you didn't dislike the kiss, you aren't really into her. So he could just say what happened and tell Lancelot that it didn't mean anything to him.

And Arthur, Arthur, Arthur... Sweet arrogant summer child, maybe you don't know all the aristocratic families' trees, that's fine, but you SHOULD be able to tell if someone had or hadn't been brought up in high society. He even admits it when Lancelot is in jail! I even thought that he knew and closed a blind eye because he thought Lancelot was knight material! And there is no straight reason for him not seeing through Lancelot. The only possible reason is that he was smitten by him. Also I think he doesn't know how to interact with guys he likes so he just gives them chores. (see: Merlin. The character, not the series. But also the series.)

So in this episode every teenager (how old are the characters???) gets a crush on Lancelot (except maybe Morgana), while he saves the day and then rides way into the sunset.

Percival: How are we going to stall them?

Gwaine: With my obvious charm, of course

Percival: …Do we have a backup plan?

Arthur, trying to train Elyan, Percival, Leon, and Gwaine: All right. You're in the woods, surrounded by bandits. Two of you are injured. What do you do?

Elyan: Call the kni-

Arthur: YOU ARE THE KNIGHTS

In season 4 of BBC Merlin, the episode where they have to face the "Lamia" is probably one of the biggest monstrosities I have ever witnessed. The way the knights treated Merlin was so mean, so appalling, so cruel. It broke my heart.

I am fully aware they were enchanted. Still when Leon starts coming for merlin saying that he's not a Knight, not a physician, that he's nothing but a servant, I seriously considered homicide.

I mean, technically, merlin was the court physicians apprentice first before Arthur's servant.

It hurts even more when I remember that at the beginning of the episode, Elyan stood up for him in front of the elder of the village.

I also can't help but think if Lancelot were there, Merlin could have used his magic to get him disenchanted or something, then help him find a way to slay the Lamia. But he was left alone.

Same goes for the episode where they visited a shrine the druids had made. The Knights made fun of it. Merlin looked so upset because they were making fun of his beliefs, his religion in a way. Alas, they couldn't know they were doing so, but it still doesn't make it any less hurtful. Especially when you remember that the victims the shrine was made for were probably unjustly executed at the hands of Uther. And again, if Lance was there, he probably could have said something to appease the air. But no, Merlin was left alone.

Damn it, I'm really in my feels(　＾ω＾)

What is really ironic is that the episode "Lancelot du Lac" is one I just can't get myself to watch, even though one of my most adored characters is coming back from dead. But the episode where the insufferable Uther comes back brings me actual joy.

They really brought Lance back to paint as this dishonourable homewrecker who would kiss the knigdom's soon to be queen literally the night before the wedding, ruining his reputation forever. They also made Gwen appear as a cheater who would betray her soon to be husband literally the night before her wedding day. The scene in which her and Arthur fight in the courtroom broke my heart. They don't explain that the monster was sent by Morgana as a shade version of our beloved Lancelot or even that Gwen was drawn to him because of the enchanted bracelet. Also, the fact that Melrin had to say goodbye to his friend again. The way I sobbed when Merlin performed the spell to free Lancelot from Morgana's control. The way Lance said "Thank you" broke my heart for he at least got to die as himself, next to his friend and peacefully.

Now for when Uther comes back, I just really like the fact that Arthur finally realises that his father has always been and will always be an abusive piece of $h!t, as well as a murderer. Arthur gets to let go of those expectations he had set for himself thinking that he could get his father's approval, that he would finally make him proud. He decides to set his own path, as he himself says "You've had your turn. Now it's mine.". Camelot is his to rule now and to command as he sees fit. He knows he can't please his father and has to be true to himself. What is also great is Merlin ,later on, says that Uther did what he thought was best for the kingdom (which i believe in his own twisted mind could be true) mainly trying to appease his friend, but Arthur just deadpans "It doesn't mean he was right." And I believe it stuck with me because it felt like the first time Arthur truly acknowledges his father's faults, especially in front of another person. I truly loved it. This episode is also so precious because of the poetry scene iykyk lol.

My take on the last episode of Merlin

Here's my take on the last moments between Merlin and Arthur after the battle of Camlann because I am seemingly too obssessed and I need someone to hear me out/ discuss this with. Sadly my entourage is not very familiar with the show 😔. So here it is for whoever is willing to read this.

"Why did you never tell me ?"

"I didn't want to put you in that position"

"That's what worried you ?"

This conversation was so hard to watch, Arthur asking that question means that he still sees him as a friend even though by this point he's still confused about the whole situation. But he cares to know why his best friend of 10 years never told him such an important truth about who he is. He cares to understand. He's been mostly silent and withdrawn and I like to think he wasn't afraid for long, but rather hurt obvisously and overly very sad and betrayed. But mostly he cared to know why Merlin thought he couldn't or even shouldn't tell Arthur about his magic. And once Merlin tells him he didn't want him to be put in that position, Arthur probably is generally going 'this idiot always putting others first to the point he denies who he is for the sake to not put his friend in a position where he will be hurt and confused to the point he doesn't know what to do'. And the he asks the question that haunts me at night, Merlin gives him the speech and the whole "I was born to serve you" .That's when it has finally dawned on him that this man hovering over him right now is no powerful sorcerer, no evil martermind who snuck into the castle, no traitor, it's just... Merlin. His idiotic, self sacrificial, beyond loyal friend.

"I'm not going to change now."

"I don't want you to change. I want you…to always…be you"

This right here altered my brain chemistry forever. But i specifically want to focus on the way Arthur says it: "I want you to all ways be you". Again, might just be me reading too much into it, I mean poor man was on the verge of dying, he can't be speaking properly but it is how I hear it. Therefore, I can"t help but think that it is just his own way of reassuring Merlin that even if he know the truth now, nothing changes for him, he still sees him as his dearest friend. The only friend he has and can't bare to lose him. It was maybe also more for him to vocalise his acceptance out loud. In the end It feels amazing to give in to his hopes, his doubts, his sentiments about magic. It's not evil, because if Merlin is born of it, it can only be wonderful. So yes, Arthur accepts Merlin fully with all his jokes, his clumsiness, his kind heart and his mighty powers.

"Everything you've done. I know now."

All i want to say is Athur, my dear you don't know half of it; and it's cruel because even if Merlin doesn't seek any credit, he deserved to be able to tell those tails of how he singlehandedly saved all the knights all of Camelot and Arthur numerous times. He was captured, stabbed, poisoned, punched, left to die alone in the middle of the forest. He could have told how he watched his father die right in front of him and couldn't even grieve properly, because he couldn't be revealed to even know the man let alone be his son. He watched his lover die in his arms and again couldn't speak of her because he would be beheaded if anyone came to know he had just laid eyes one her. He could have told Arthur about how he poisoned Morgana, freed Kilgharrah, caused his father's death, and manipulated him into thinking that he was the cause of his mother's death even after he learnt the truth. Merlin deserved to tell him all this and let him process it on his own to be freed from the weight of the lies and the guilt and the secrecy. And Arthur deserved to know.

"I want to say something I've never said to you before. "

"Thank you"

Now this is self explanatory, but it brought me some joy, like very little, but it also broke me because for all those years, Arthur thought his friendship with Merlin was quite equal in a sense. As in Arthur is the prince who lets his manservant do whatever he wants, say whatever he wants, and be however he would like. Merlin did protect him, help him, serve him but first and formeost he was his friend. And Arthur treated him as more than he ever was, protecting him, sending out search parties for him, a servant. He always thought they managed to trespass and see past the power imbalance in their relationship. But here he is, realising he actually never treated Merlin, his closest friend, the way he deserved, never properly thanked him for the sacrifice, for the life he had to lead whilst in Camelot, for everything he has endured and more. But he felt helpless, he was dying and there wasn't much he could do, so he opted to try and express his gratitude. Though words could never amount to truly convey hiw sentiments but he still managed to say it with assurance; Thank you.

And thanks for reading this, I know it's probably very silly but it has been torturing me for years and I just wanted to talk about this with someone and I finally got the courage to just do it so here it is 😊.

Lancelot: And I also encouraged Merlin to start a fire yesterday but I can't tell you that.

Lancelot: What's wrong?

Leon: I think Gwaine is onto something, Lancelot. I think I AM lame.

Lancelot: What? What are you talking about?

Leon: I'm, like, the uncool parent. I'm the stick in the mud. I have become lame.

Lancelot: No, you haven't!

Leon: Face it, Lance. A wild Saturday night for us now is rum raisin ice cream and startling raccoons. When was the last time you did something illegal?

Lancelot:

Lancelot: Last week, at the tavern, I asked for a water cup and I put lemonade in it.

Leon:

Lancelot: It was an accident. I apologized. I poured it out, and I paid for it, but it was still pretty reckless. Right?

Leon:

Lancelot: Okay, maybe we are lame.