Part 37: link
As they proceed further along, the countryside changes into rolling vistas dotted with farms. All that Guinevere sees is green: Trees, hedgerows, ivy-covered farmhouses. Horses graze here and there, twitching their tails in the morning sunlight.
Fifteen minutes away from their destination, Arthur makes a call.
“Roger? Arthur Pendragon. We’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks, mate.”
“What was that?” Gwen asks.
“Caretaker. My father has a local gent look after the place. He has the keys, so he’ll be meeting us there.”
“Look at you, all posh,” she teases.
“Not me, my father,” he corrects her. “I’m just taking advantage of his fondness for you.” He winks at her, and she rolls her eyes.
Arthur pulls the car up the drive, and parks, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. “This is it.”
It is a stone cottage, similar in style to many others in the area. The garden is well cared-for, and the cottage looks charming and inviting, like a postcard.
“It’s lovely,” Gwen says, taking everything in. She strolls around the front a bit while Arthur goes and greets Roger, a tall, thin man about the same age as their fathers. He shakes Arthur’s hand and nods at Gwen. She waves, and crunches down the driveway to explore.
The garden is very well tended. Flowers are in bloom, the grass is neatly trimmed and the vines growing up the stone fences surrounding the property are kept in check by a careful hand. The wind blows, a warm, scented breeze. Gwen turns her head in the direction of the wind, searching for the source of the scent, and sees a large honeysuckle vine completely enveloping an arbor leading to the garden. The arbor is also flanked on either side by rosebushes, blooming profusely with yellow and orange roses. She walks through it, and finds that behind the cottage is small wooded area with the canal directly behind. She hears the distant bleat of sheep and smiles.
She walks back towards Arthur and see him take the keys from Roger and hand him some money.
What’s he paying him for? she wonders.
“Had him pick up some things for us at the market,” Arthur says, walking back to her and noticing her puzzled look.
“Smart man,” she says. Arthur takes the suitcases and they go inside.
Clearly Uther collected art in his spare time, Guinevere realized as she walked through the main doors into the tastefully low key reception hall, noting several pieces of framed artwork on the walls. I’ll have to make sure to take a closer look at these later.
The interior is cozy and tasteful, almost medieval on first appearance. It is not quite a manor house but it has all the trappings, including a large grandfather clock ticking soberly away, about to chime. It is serene, with warm, stuffed furniture, but not crowded or cluttered.
The only sound is their footsteps as they walk down the long hallway. Craning her neck, she can see a pair of French provincial doors that led out to a conservatory, clearly a renovation, but still rather impressive. She gets just a glimpse of the other side of the garden she had peeked at outside, catching sight of some topiary and more rosebushes.
“This way,” Arthur leads her to the master bedroom, where he sets the suitcases down. There is a large four-poster bed, a fireplace, and a door leading to an en suite bath. Gwen is impressed; Uther has taste. She wanders in to inspect the bath.
“I’ll just be moving in here, thanks,” she calls out to Arthur.
Curious, he follows her to find her lounging in the large oval bathtub, fully dressed and dry.
“I love this tub.”
He raises an eyebrow, contemplating possibilities. It is a large tub, after all.
“I know that look,” she says, standing and stepping out.
“You put the idea in my head, so don’t blame me,” he says, grabbing her and kissing her.
Arthur releases her and strolls to the toilet, so Gwen decides to go back to the bedroom. She notices a two-panel frame on a side table, hinged in the middle. She picks it up and smiles when she looks at the pictures.
One side shows what is clearly a young Uther, handsome and in his prime, standing with his hand on the shoulder of a skinny boy with hair so blonde that it is almost white. Arthur. He appears to be about eight years old, and he is holding a large fish aloft, grinning proudly. He is missing a tooth and he has a scrape on his bony right knee.
The other side is another picture of Arthur, a few years younger. He has a far-off look in his eyes, as if something in the distance has captured his attention. His white-blonde hair is tousled by the wind and there is dappled sunlight kissing his head. He clearly was unaware that he was being photographed, resulting in a beautiful, poignant picture.
Arthur emerges from the bathroom and is about to say something to Gwen when he sees her looking at the photo. As he watches, she strokes her finger gently along the glass, over his five-year-old cheek like a caress, a wistful look on her face.
She puts the picture back on the table and turns her attention to her suitcase. Arthur continues his progress into the room, making a beeline for Gwen. He puts his arms around her and kisses her neck.
“Did you catch that fish?” she asks, indicating the picture with her head.
“Sure did. It was tasty, too.” He kisses her neck again and gives her a squeeze before letting go.
After a brief tour and some unpacking, interspersed with some kissing, Arthur suggests a walk to show Gwen around to some of his favorite places.
He shows her the canal, suggesting a boat ride while they are there. He points out a pub where he wants to take her to dinner. “They have an incredible shepherd’s pie. It’s huge; we can share one and still not finish it,” he tells her.
Knowing her fondness for gardens, he points out a few that she might enjoy. He is impressed at her knowledge of the different kinds of flowers, naming most of the ones she sees with ease.
They return to the cottage a few hours later, having had lunch while they were out and about. Gwen wants to relax a bit, she says, and Arthur agrees that a little alone time would be nice indeed.
He flops down on a sofa, beckoning for her to join him. She curls up beside him, snuggling into him, and he wraps her in his arms. They both close their eyes and just absorb each other.
I feel so complete with her in my arms.
I feel so complete in his arms.
Arthur kisses the top of her head, and she sighs into his neck. He caresses her back, feeling her small form beneath his hands, so familiar and wonderful. He bends his head slightly and inhales her scent.
He slips his hand under the back of her shirt, sliding his warm hand along her skin, eyes still closed, and sighs.
“Enjoying yourself?” she mutters.
“Shh. I’m busy,” he says.
“Doing what?”
“Research.” She looks up at him, a question on her face. “I’m trying to decide which I like better: how you smell or how you feel.”
She laughs, and tucks her head back down onto his chest. “I know what my favorite thing is about you,” she tells him.
“Oh really?” he asks suggestively.
“You have a dirty mind,” she tells him, and pinches him.
“Ow! So, what is it, then?”
She hesitates. If I tell him, he’ll abuse it. Hell, he already does. “How you say my name.”
“Guinevere,” he supplies, and her stomach flutters.
“Yes, that’s it,” she says, snuggling closer.
He tips her chin up with his finger and kisses her softly.
“Well?” she asks.
“I think I’m going to have to do more research.”
“I can’t believe we fell asleep on the couch,” Gwen says as they walk hand in hand to the pub Arthur had pointed out earlier.
Arthur laughs and opens the door for her. They step inside and are pleased to find out that the pub isn’t too busy yet. He ushers her to a table in the corner and he holds her chair for her and she sits.
“My father brought me here as a boy. Purely for the food,” he tells her. “He’d let me play darts when I got older.”
“How long has your father had the cottage here?” she asks.
“As long as I can remember. It was after I was born, I’m sure. If he and Mum had bought it together it would have been sold long ago, and I probably would never have even known about it.” He cranes his neck, looking for a waitress or a barman.
“Arthur?”
“Wondering if someone is coming over. I’ll be back.” He gets up and walks to the bar.
Gwen watches him walk away, enjoying the view as he goes. He turns and looks back and catches her watching. He grins smugly and turns away again. Gwen sighs, and leans back in her chair. She gazes out the window at the street, watching the passers-by.
“Hello, darlin’,” an unfamiliar voice says, snapping her out of her daydream.
“Oh, I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asks politely, looking up at the man. He is a large man, with hard eyes and close-cropped brown hair.
“Not yet,” he says, sitting in Arthur’s chair. Gwen shifts uncomfortably in her seat and looks around him, looking for Arthur. She spies him at the bar, chatting with the barman. Great time for him to find an old friend, she thinks.
“I just couldn’t help but wonder why such a lovely little thing like yourself is sitting here all alone,” he says, leaning towards her.
Gwen leans away and says levelly, “I’m not alone.”
“I know, ‘cause I’m here now, ain’t I?”
She sighs. Patience. “I mean I wasn’t alone before.”
“You looked pretty alone to me,” he scoots his chair closer. He smells of alcohol. Gwen looks desperately in Arthur’s direction. This man is making her quite uncomfortable.
“What’s your name, darlin’?”
“It’s certainly not ‘Darling,’” she says, scooting her chair away.
“Oh, come on, now, don’t run away, I don’t bite,” he says, his voice oily. “Unless you like that kind of thing, of course.” He reaches for her hand, and she pulls it away. He is just about to grab her by the wrist, when a welcome voice interrupts him.
“Excuse me, you seem to be in my chair,” Arthur’s voice comes steadily from behind the man. Gwen looks up at him, and the look in her eyes makes his blood run cold.
“Piss off,” the man says, not looking up. He reaches for Gwen again and finds she is suddenly much farther away. Arthur has pulled his chair back several feet, away from the table, away from Guinevere. He moves the man as if he weighed no more than a child.
Arthur walks around to stand in front of the man. “The lady is clearly not interested in your attention.” His voice would cut glass.
“And what are you going to do about it, boy?” he stands, and he is several inches taller than Arthur. He pokes Arthur forcefully on the shoulder. Gwen watches, not nervous, she realizes. Merely curious.
Arthur grabs the man’s finger and quickly twists it down and around, wrenching it painfully. “As little as is necessary,” Arthur answers, hardly exerting himself.
The man is leaning forward, wincing. Arthur flicks him on the nose with his free hand, and pulls him to the side, away from their table, where he releases him.
“All right, Harold, time for you to shove off,” the barman comes over and ushers him out the door. He returns a moment later, apologizing. “Sorry about that, Arthur, Miss. He gets a few pints in him and thinks he’s bleedin’ Casanova.”
Arthur nods at him, saying, “Just don’t let him back in, Charlie.” He goes back to Gwen, pulling his chair back and sitting close to her. “You all right?” he asks tenderly, checking her over for any sign of injury or upset, his eyes full of concern. He strokes her cheek tenderly.
“Yes, Arthur, I’m fine,” she tells him. “I’m just glad you came back when you did.”
“Charlie spotted it, actually. Sorry I left you so long; I hadn’t seen him in years and got a little caught up catching up. Sorry.” He kisses her.
“You want to know something funny?” she asks.
“Yes. Please tell me something funny before I decide to go outside and pound that idiot,” he tells her.
He’s more upset than I am, she realizes. “I wasn’t worried for you. Even though that… Harold… was bigger, I somehow knew that you wouldn’t have any problem getting rid of him. Is that odd?”
Arthur grins broadly. Oh God, now I’ve just stroked his ego, Gwen realizes, and says, “I guess not.”
“Wayne has a black belt in Judo. He’s taught us all a few things; small, but effective,” Arthur explains. Then he laughs. “We used to practice on Paul.”
“That’s not very nice! Paul seems like such a nice, gentle person!” Guinevere is a little shocked that they’d take advantage like that.
“He is, but he’s also a good sport. We never hurt him, I promise. He never gave us the opportunity.” He laughs again, and adds, “He’s actually the smallest of all his brothers.”
“Oh my God, his poor mother. How many brothers does he have?” Gwen asks, genuinely curious now.
“Four. He’s not the youngest, but he’s the smallest. I’ve seen them all together. It looks like the circus is in town.”
Gwen laughs at this, and Charlie arrives with their shepherd’s pie, two plates, a pint for Arthur and a Diet Coke for Gwen. “On the house,” he tells them, setting everything down.
“That’s really not necessary,” Gwen protests, but Charlie insists.
“Nonsense. Least I can do since you were almost accosted in my pub, Miss.”
“Thank you,” she says.
“Yes, thanks, Charlie. Oh, I’m sorry! Gwen, this is Charlie. Charlie, my fiancée, Gwen,” Arthur says.
“Nice to meet you, Gwen,” Charlie says. He is a jovial older gentleman who appears to be one of those men who is a fixture in the town. “Good to see our Arthur setting down,” he slaps Arthur companionably on the shoulder.
“Nice to meet you as well, and thank you for sending my knight in shining armor to my rescue,” she chuckles.
“Any time, Miss. Now eat up while it’s hot.”
“Thanks again, mate,” Arthur says, reaching for his fork.
“Call it an engagement present,” he winks at them and returns to the bar.
Part 39: link
As they proceed further along, the countryside changes into rolling vistas dotted with farms. All that Guinevere sees is green: Trees, hedgerows, ivy-covered farmhouses. Horses graze here and there, twitching their tails in the morning sunlight.
Fifteen minutes away from their destination, Arthur makes a call.
“Roger? Arthur Pendragon. We’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks, mate.”
“What was that?” Gwen asks.
“Caretaker. My father has a local gent look after the place. He has the keys, so he’ll be meeting us there.”
“Look at you, all posh,” she teases.
“Not me, my father,” he corrects her. “I’m just taking advantage of his fondness for you.” He winks at her, and she rolls her eyes.
Arthur pulls the car up the drive, and parks, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. “This is it.”
It is a stone cottage, similar in style to many others in the area. The garden is well cared-for, and the cottage looks charming and inviting, like a postcard.
“It’s lovely,” Gwen says, taking everything in. She strolls around the front a bit while Arthur goes and greets Roger, a tall, thin man about the same age as their fathers. He shakes Arthur’s hand and nods at Gwen. She waves, and crunches down the driveway to explore.
The garden is very well tended. Flowers are in bloom, the grass is neatly trimmed and the vines growing up the stone fences surrounding the property are kept in check by a careful hand. The wind blows, a warm, scented breeze. Gwen turns her head in the direction of the wind, searching for the source of the scent, and sees a large honeysuckle vine completely enveloping an arbor leading to the garden. The arbor is also flanked on either side by rosebushes, blooming profusely with yellow and orange roses. She walks through it, and finds that behind the cottage is small wooded area with the canal directly behind. She hears the distant bleat of sheep and smiles.
She walks back towards Arthur and see him take the keys from Roger and hand him some money.
What’s he paying him for? she wonders.
“Had him pick up some things for us at the market,” Arthur says, walking back to her and noticing her puzzled look.
“Smart man,” she says. Arthur takes the suitcases and they go inside.
Clearly Uther collected art in his spare time, Guinevere realized as she walked through the main doors into the tastefully low key reception hall, noting several pieces of framed artwork on the walls. I’ll have to make sure to take a closer look at these later.
The interior is cozy and tasteful, almost medieval on first appearance. It is not quite a manor house but it has all the trappings, including a large grandfather clock ticking soberly away, about to chime. It is serene, with warm, stuffed furniture, but not crowded or cluttered.
The only sound is their footsteps as they walk down the long hallway. Craning her neck, she can see a pair of French provincial doors that led out to a conservatory, clearly a renovation, but still rather impressive. She gets just a glimpse of the other side of the garden she had peeked at outside, catching sight of some topiary and more rosebushes.
“This way,” Arthur leads her to the master bedroom, where he sets the suitcases down. There is a large four-poster bed, a fireplace, and a door leading to an en suite bath. Gwen is impressed; Uther has taste. She wanders in to inspect the bath.
“I’ll just be moving in here, thanks,” she calls out to Arthur.
Curious, he follows her to find her lounging in the large oval bathtub, fully dressed and dry.
“I love this tub.”
He raises an eyebrow, contemplating possibilities. It is a large tub, after all.
“I know that look,” she says, standing and stepping out.
“You put the idea in my head, so don’t blame me,” he says, grabbing her and kissing her.
Arthur releases her and strolls to the toilet, so Gwen decides to go back to the bedroom. She notices a two-panel frame on a side table, hinged in the middle. She picks it up and smiles when she looks at the pictures.
One side shows what is clearly a young Uther, handsome and in his prime, standing with his hand on the shoulder of a skinny boy with hair so blonde that it is almost white. Arthur. He appears to be about eight years old, and he is holding a large fish aloft, grinning proudly. He is missing a tooth and he has a scrape on his bony right knee.
The other side is another picture of Arthur, a few years younger. He has a far-off look in his eyes, as if something in the distance has captured his attention. His white-blonde hair is tousled by the wind and there is dappled sunlight kissing his head. He clearly was unaware that he was being photographed, resulting in a beautiful, poignant picture.
Arthur emerges from the bathroom and is about to say something to Gwen when he sees her looking at the photo. As he watches, she strokes her finger gently along the glass, over his five-year-old cheek like a caress, a wistful look on her face.
She puts the picture back on the table and turns her attention to her suitcase. Arthur continues his progress into the room, making a beeline for Gwen. He puts his arms around her and kisses her neck.
“Did you catch that fish?” she asks, indicating the picture with her head.
“Sure did. It was tasty, too.” He kisses her neck again and gives her a squeeze before letting go.
After a brief tour and some unpacking, interspersed with some kissing, Arthur suggests a walk to show Gwen around to some of his favorite places.
He shows her the canal, suggesting a boat ride while they are there. He points out a pub where he wants to take her to dinner. “They have an incredible shepherd’s pie. It’s huge; we can share one and still not finish it,” he tells her.
Knowing her fondness for gardens, he points out a few that she might enjoy. He is impressed at her knowledge of the different kinds of flowers, naming most of the ones she sees with ease.
They return to the cottage a few hours later, having had lunch while they were out and about. Gwen wants to relax a bit, she says, and Arthur agrees that a little alone time would be nice indeed.
He flops down on a sofa, beckoning for her to join him. She curls up beside him, snuggling into him, and he wraps her in his arms. They both close their eyes and just absorb each other.
I feel so complete with her in my arms.
I feel so complete in his arms.
Arthur kisses the top of her head, and she sighs into his neck. He caresses her back, feeling her small form beneath his hands, so familiar and wonderful. He bends his head slightly and inhales her scent.
He slips his hand under the back of her shirt, sliding his warm hand along her skin, eyes still closed, and sighs.
“Enjoying yourself?” she mutters.
“Shh. I’m busy,” he says.
“Doing what?”
“Research.” She looks up at him, a question on her face. “I’m trying to decide which I like better: how you smell or how you feel.”
She laughs, and tucks her head back down onto his chest. “I know what my favorite thing is about you,” she tells him.
“Oh really?” he asks suggestively.
“You have a dirty mind,” she tells him, and pinches him.
“Ow! So, what is it, then?”
She hesitates. If I tell him, he’ll abuse it. Hell, he already does. “How you say my name.”
“Guinevere,” he supplies, and her stomach flutters.
“Yes, that’s it,” she says, snuggling closer.
He tips her chin up with his finger and kisses her softly.
“Well?” she asks.
“I think I’m going to have to do more research.”
“I can’t believe we fell asleep on the couch,” Gwen says as they walk hand in hand to the pub Arthur had pointed out earlier.
Arthur laughs and opens the door for her. They step inside and are pleased to find out that the pub isn’t too busy yet. He ushers her to a table in the corner and he holds her chair for her and she sits.
“My father brought me here as a boy. Purely for the food,” he tells her. “He’d let me play darts when I got older.”
“How long has your father had the cottage here?” she asks.
“As long as I can remember. It was after I was born, I’m sure. If he and Mum had bought it together it would have been sold long ago, and I probably would never have even known about it.” He cranes his neck, looking for a waitress or a barman.
“Arthur?”
“Wondering if someone is coming over. I’ll be back.” He gets up and walks to the bar.
Gwen watches him walk away, enjoying the view as he goes. He turns and looks back and catches her watching. He grins smugly and turns away again. Gwen sighs, and leans back in her chair. She gazes out the window at the street, watching the passers-by.
“Hello, darlin’,” an unfamiliar voice says, snapping her out of her daydream.
“Oh, I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asks politely, looking up at the man. He is a large man, with hard eyes and close-cropped brown hair.
“Not yet,” he says, sitting in Arthur’s chair. Gwen shifts uncomfortably in her seat and looks around him, looking for Arthur. She spies him at the bar, chatting with the barman. Great time for him to find an old friend, she thinks.
“I just couldn’t help but wonder why such a lovely little thing like yourself is sitting here all alone,” he says, leaning towards her.
Gwen leans away and says levelly, “I’m not alone.”
“I know, ‘cause I’m here now, ain’t I?”
She sighs. Patience. “I mean I wasn’t alone before.”
“You looked pretty alone to me,” he scoots his chair closer. He smells of alcohol. Gwen looks desperately in Arthur’s direction. This man is making her quite uncomfortable.
“What’s your name, darlin’?”
“It’s certainly not ‘Darling,’” she says, scooting her chair away.
“Oh, come on, now, don’t run away, I don’t bite,” he says, his voice oily. “Unless you like that kind of thing, of course.” He reaches for her hand, and she pulls it away. He is just about to grab her by the wrist, when a welcome voice interrupts him.
“Excuse me, you seem to be in my chair,” Arthur’s voice comes steadily from behind the man. Gwen looks up at him, and the look in her eyes makes his blood run cold.
“Piss off,” the man says, not looking up. He reaches for Gwen again and finds she is suddenly much farther away. Arthur has pulled his chair back several feet, away from the table, away from Guinevere. He moves the man as if he weighed no more than a child.
Arthur walks around to stand in front of the man. “The lady is clearly not interested in your attention.” His voice would cut glass.
“And what are you going to do about it, boy?” he stands, and he is several inches taller than Arthur. He pokes Arthur forcefully on the shoulder. Gwen watches, not nervous, she realizes. Merely curious.
Arthur grabs the man’s finger and quickly twists it down and around, wrenching it painfully. “As little as is necessary,” Arthur answers, hardly exerting himself.
The man is leaning forward, wincing. Arthur flicks him on the nose with his free hand, and pulls him to the side, away from their table, where he releases him.
“All right, Harold, time for you to shove off,” the barman comes over and ushers him out the door. He returns a moment later, apologizing. “Sorry about that, Arthur, Miss. He gets a few pints in him and thinks he’s bleedin’ Casanova.”
Arthur nods at him, saying, “Just don’t let him back in, Charlie.” He goes back to Gwen, pulling his chair back and sitting close to her. “You all right?” he asks tenderly, checking her over for any sign of injury or upset, his eyes full of concern. He strokes her cheek tenderly.
“Yes, Arthur, I’m fine,” she tells him. “I’m just glad you came back when you did.”
“Charlie spotted it, actually. Sorry I left you so long; I hadn’t seen him in years and got a little caught up catching up. Sorry.” He kisses her.
“You want to know something funny?” she asks.
“Yes. Please tell me something funny before I decide to go outside and pound that idiot,” he tells her.
He’s more upset than I am, she realizes. “I wasn’t worried for you. Even though that… Harold… was bigger, I somehow knew that you wouldn’t have any problem getting rid of him. Is that odd?”
Arthur grins broadly. Oh God, now I’ve just stroked his ego, Gwen realizes, and says, “I guess not.”
“Wayne has a black belt in Judo. He’s taught us all a few things; small, but effective,” Arthur explains. Then he laughs. “We used to practice on Paul.”
“That’s not very nice! Paul seems like such a nice, gentle person!” Guinevere is a little shocked that they’d take advantage like that.
“He is, but he’s also a good sport. We never hurt him, I promise. He never gave us the opportunity.” He laughs again, and adds, “He’s actually the smallest of all his brothers.”
“Oh my God, his poor mother. How many brothers does he have?” Gwen asks, genuinely curious now.
“Four. He’s not the youngest, but he’s the smallest. I’ve seen them all together. It looks like the circus is in town.”
Gwen laughs at this, and Charlie arrives with their shepherd’s pie, two plates, a pint for Arthur and a Diet Coke for Gwen. “On the house,” he tells them, setting everything down.
“That’s really not necessary,” Gwen protests, but Charlie insists.
“Nonsense. Least I can do since you were almost accosted in my pub, Miss.”
“Thank you,” she says.
“Yes, thanks, Charlie. Oh, I’m sorry! Gwen, this is Charlie. Charlie, my fiancée, Gwen,” Arthur says.
“Nice to meet you, Gwen,” Charlie says. He is a jovial older gentleman who appears to be one of those men who is a fixture in the town. “Good to see our Arthur setting down,” he slaps Arthur companionably on the shoulder.
“Nice to meet you as well, and thank you for sending my knight in shining armor to my rescue,” she chuckles.
“Any time, Miss. Now eat up while it’s hot.”
“Thanks again, mate,” Arthur says, reaching for his fork.
“Call it an engagement present,” he winks at them and returns to the bar.
Part 39: link
In the inky depths of an ancient pool, three soothsayers cast a dark judgment upon the King of Camelot.
But despite Merlin’s warnings, headstrong Arthur refuses to take the words of the Disir (Frances Tomelty, Sian Thomas, Helen Schlesinger) seriously and their fury rains down on Camelot. Only the greatest sacrifice can appease them, and with the kingdom in jeopardy, is it one that Arthur is prepared to make?
Faced with the King’s uncertainty, Merlin has just one chance to save him from his destiny, but this decision comes at the highest price.
Colin Morgan is Merlin, Bradley James is Arthur, Angel Coulby is Gwen, Katie McGrath is Morgana, Richard Wilson is Gaius and John Hurt is the voice of the Great Dragon. Tom Hopper, Rupert Young, Eoin Macken and Adetomiwa Edun return as The Knights of the Round Table. Special guest stars include Frances Tomelty, Sian Thomas, Helen Schlesinger as the Disir and Andrew Tiernan as Osgar.
But despite Merlin’s warnings, headstrong Arthur refuses to take the words of the Disir (Frances Tomelty, Sian Thomas, Helen Schlesinger) seriously and their fury rains down on Camelot. Only the greatest sacrifice can appease them, and with the kingdom in jeopardy, is it one that Arthur is prepared to make?
Faced with the King’s uncertainty, Merlin has just one chance to save him from his destiny, but this decision comes at the highest price.
Colin Morgan is Merlin, Bradley James is Arthur, Angel Coulby is Gwen, Katie McGrath is Morgana, Richard Wilson is Gaius and John Hurt is the voice of the Great Dragon. Tom Hopper, Rupert Young, Eoin Macken and Adetomiwa Edun return as The Knights of the Round Table. Special guest stars include Frances Tomelty, Sian Thomas, Helen Schlesinger as the Disir and Andrew Tiernan as Osgar.