Author's Notes: The following is the opening sequence of the first episode of Merlin season six, provided as a preview to what will be a four-part season premier.

The style of writing is meant to mimic the experience of watching an episode, rather than the experience of reading prose. Not written as a screenplay, because I'm not familiar with that kind of writing and I wanted it to be more immersive than that anyway.

When the word 'shot' is used, it's referring to the camera angle/scene.

The style of this story is inspired by "Merlin: Kingdom Come". Check out the audio recorded version of this work on YouTube. I forget who wrote it and who recorded it, otherwise I'd credit them here. I highly recommend it, though, as it in large part inspired me to write this, and it seems to be, at present, the closest we'll ever get to real closure for this series.

I do not own Merlin.


Merlin, season 6, episode 1: Avalon Rising, Part I

The episode begins with a shot of the water. Like in the original intro, we get a fade-in to gentle waves lapping black and blue, but there is no voice-over narration. Wistful, solemn music, plays.

Shot changes to Old-Merlin's face. He's sitting on the bank of the Lake of Avalon, looking out over the water. His gaze is far away; you can see in his eyes that his thoughts are miles in the past. It's the viewer's guess what exactly he's recalling. (Go ahead, three guesses. If you can't even begin to guess, go back and watch seasons 1-5, you are clearly not ready for this.)

Pan out to see more of the setting. From this wider angle, we see Old-Merlin (henceforth to be known within this work solely as Emrys) sitting under a twilight sky. The last orange glow of day is being pushed down to the horizon by the deep blue veil of night. There are trees in the distance, but there are also city lights. Sounds of modern civilization filter faintly into the ambience of the scene: car horns, tinny music, roar of traffic. A few stars dot the sky, but the blinking, moving lights of aircraft are more prominent.

Wide shot of the Lake, where we get a moment's glimpse of Emrys's hunched form framed against the water, before a car/truck goes roaring past.

Back to a closer shot of Emrys. Civilization has encroached upon this once-wild landscape, but even though surrounded by evidence of the changing times, Emrys betrays no awareness of any of it. Sitting here on the bank of Lake Avalon, his world is narrowed—to the earth beneath him, the water before him, and the sky above him.

And the many, many years behind him.

He closes his eyes, breathes out. When he opens his eyes again, it's as though the door to the past has closed in his mind. He roots himself in the present—resolves himself to it.

He rises and, a silhouette against the water, turns away.

A car rushing past intros a new scene: Emrys walking along the roadside. Here, the Lake is no longer in sight, but the scenery remains largely rural; a couple of cottages, road signs, and telephone poles are all that signify human influence. In this brief shot of Emrys walking, we are afforded a better look at what he is wearing. He is dressed similarly to the last time we saw him in the series finale, in loose, worn layers that, combined with his overgrown white hair and beard, give the impression of homelessness. His thin, canvas coat is a faded, nearly-black navy blue, beneath which he wears a slate blue jacket over a belted, off-white shirt. A pale gray wool scarf is visible beneath his beard, a blue knit hat on his head. His pants are nondescript black. His boots appear suspiciously identical to the boots he's always worn, but by all rights those should have worn out centuries ago.

Next scene: Emrys walking along a gravel path through the countryside. We see a hedge, a wooden fence. A dog barks somewhere. The warm lights in a cottage window only make the darkness of the encroaching night all the more lonely.

Now a forest path. Towering trunks all around, dead leaves carpeting the ground. The trees have the scant-canopied look of autumn, as though the remaining leaves are but a gust away from retiring to the forest floor. If we look closely, we will notice Emrys's breath clouding in the chilly air.

Emrys approaches his destination: a rustic cottage in a small clearing. With ivy snaking up its weather-worn sides and moss dotting the shingles of the roof, the house nearly blends into the forest. It sits dark and quiet—not as though abandoned, however; simply as though waiting.

We skip to inside the cabin—a shot of the front door just as Emrys pushes it open and lets himself in. He closes the door and slumps back against it, eyes closed. A moment passes, then he lets out a sigh.

His eyes open and flash gold.

Now we see the inside of the house come to life as Emrys moves about. Flames flare up merrily on dozens of candle wicks as Emrys passes, and a fire springs up in the little fireplace, bathing the room in a homey glow.

Emrys shucks his coat, and it flutters off to hang itself on a coat rack. Similarly, his hat slips off as though caught on an invisible fishing line and settles on the back of an armchair.

In the little adjoining kitchen, a burner clicks on under a kettle, which begins to steam within seconds.

With the candles lit, the attentive viewer is now able to see various details scattered around the cottage, like bottles, jars, and potted plants on shelves along with several knickknacks, including a small wooden carving of a dragon. Walking sticks and what appear to be magical staffs bunch together in an umbrella stand by the door. Stacks upon stacks of books overflow from a crammed bookshelf onto nearly every surface in the room.

Emrys sweeps past a desk cluttered with scrolls, loose sheets of paper, a map, and various writing implements. A pen immediately jumps up and begins scribbling furiously in a worn journal, scrawling out notes in a hand too rushed and small to be easily read, though one bold word stands out, the pen dashing three lines to underline it: REMEMBER.

Now the bedroom, upon which the scene lingers after Emrys walks through it, so that our focus settles on the many drawings arrayed on the wall. In everything from ink to charcoal to graphite, on everything from large sheets of paper to scraps of faded parchment: drawings of people, landscapes, locations.

To the sound of Emrys moving about in the background, we move in closer to the drawings and see portraits of each of the knights—

Gwaine, winking and raising a tankard in a toast.

Lancelot, knelt on the bank of a stream.

Leon, pensively gazing off into the middle ground.

Percival, grinning up at a child sitting on his shoulder.

Elyan, smiling faintly, a sword slung over one shoulder.

There's Gaius, glasses perched on his nose as he frowns down at a book.

Guinevere, smiling bashfully, her hair a mess of ringlets and her dress plain as before she became queen.

There are sketches of Camelot castle, the forest, the physician's chambers. There are other drawings, other portraits of the same familiar people and places, but there are also some of people we haven't seen before.

We close in to the top of a short dresser where a few pencils and sticks of charcoal are scattered amongst more portraits of the knights, Gaius, and Gwen. These drawings were obviously done more recently, as the paper is the clean-white of modern make. The subjects of these drawings, though clearly recognizable, are less defined. The lines are sharper, darker, but the details just aren't there like in the older portraits. Despite the heavy lines, these drawings feel faded, somehow.

Meanwhile, in a cramped corner bathroom, Emrys looks at himself in a mirror fogged with age. His reflection slips out of view as he ducks to wash his face in the basin. A moment of splashing water, followed by the musical swishy sound of magic, and then Merlin, the younger version, appears in the mirror as he straightens up again. Face wet, he peers into his own eyes. Though he appears decades younger than a moment before, he has not lost the haunted look of a man worn down by too many lifetimes' worth of care.

He blinks at himself, and his lips quirk into a faint, almost apologetic smile.

Next scene, back in the main room, Merlin sitting at the little kitchen table eating dinner. It's quiet. Besides the swaying candle flames and the curling fire, the room has gone still. Merlin sits in an island of candlelight, surrounded by flickering shadows.

Scene to a single candle burning on the nightstand by the bed. The candle blurs out, focus shifting to the bed, where Merlin, dressed for sleep, flops down. He takes a moment to settle himself, then looks towards the candle.

With a flash of gold, the flame extinguishes, and we are left with complete darkness.

Darkness.

Whispers—ethereal, indistinct, echoing in a way that indicates we have entered a dream.

Mist curls in the dark. Shot rushes forward, revealing Merlin pacing, agitated, in the mist and darkness.

The whispering becomes louder, calling his name. The voices dart around him, as though spirits are passing just out of his line of sight, but every time he turns, there is no one there.

A voice, loud, commanding, and layered as though spoken by more than one person, calls from right behind him: "Merlin!"

Startled, he whips around, stumbling and falling back. All voices cease.

A pinprick of golden light blossoms in the distance. A high-pitched ringing registers. The light gets steadily bigger and brighter as the ringing gets louder and louder, until all the darkness is chased away. Merlin is forced to squeeze his eyes shut and clamp his hands over his ears, and he falls onto his side with a shout that is drowned out by the ringing.

There is a blast of thunder and the scene suddenly flashes. Merlin is now lying in a field in the middle of a raging tempest. Rain lashing, wind whipping, thunder rolling.

Merlin staggers to his feet, squinting against the rain, dazed and confused.

A blast of lightning splits the sky, and almost immediately a huge black dragon bursts from the clouds with a roar like thunder. Eyes like white fire burn in the dragon's head as its wings beat the air. It hurtles straight down at Merlin, talons outstretched.

Merlin dives to the side, rolling. He barely has time to glance up before the pounding of hooves forces him to jerk violently back and roll the other way, narrowly avoiding the unicorn that thunders over the spot he had been just a heartbeat before.

Merlin wrenches upright, breathing hard. The dragon has vanished, but now the field and the air above it churns with all other manner of magical beasts: wyverns, griffins, serkets, unicorns, pegasi, bastets, phoenixes, manticores, chimera—all kinds of beautiful and deadly creatures of legend leap or fly past, charging past Merlin as though he isn't there. Their cacophony of shrieks and calls join the tumult of the storm in a maddening crescendo not unlike the rage and clamor of a battlefield.

In the midst of the chaos, a single unicorn strides up to Merlin from a break in the stampede. It is so white it is nearly painful to look at, and it alone of all the creatures is completely calm. Merlin stares up at it, slack-jawed, speechless.

It lowers its head and regards him with an eye as black as obsidian.

Time slows around them, the noise muting.

The unicorn blinks.

Merlin breathes.

Thunder explodes. The unicorn rears back with a piercing whinny that turns into a deafening roar as its form expands and darkens. Batlike wings as vast as sails unfurl, and it is now the pitch black dragon that towers over Merlin.

Its great head snakes down, its jaws opening to reveal rows of glistening white fangs. The dragon releases a mighty bellow, fire roiling up from the depths of its throat.

Merlin gasps. The flames reflect in his eyes, and for a moment his irises appear gold.

And then Merlin is bolting awake in bed.

He breathes hard, eyes unfocused. His hands are shaking as he reaches up to cradle his head. He squeezes his eyes shut—trying to make sense of the nightmare, or trying to shut it from his mind completely?

He forces himself to take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then his eyes open, looking sad, scared, and so very, very lost.

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Insert opening credits and theme music.

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(If you wish for maximum authenticity, pause here to actually play the title theme and visualize the credit sequence. Your choice if you want the original opening credits, or if you want to try to imagine scenes that could go with the new modern setting, or if you want to go all out and use new music and images entirely that fit the modern setting and the gravity of the angst and danger that is about to ensue.)


Author's note: Please review. I'm hoping this preview will generate some positive feedback to keep me motivated while I work on Part II. If this actually generates some interest, the rest of Part I just needs some revision, and it will be ready to post. So let me know.

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