AN: Yeah so, remember how I said my life was hectic before? I lied. We've finally got the new VP, (still working on the CEO) but when words like "fraud" and "embezzlement" begin to apply to former people who shall not be named, life gets worse. We're mainly a community service organization people. Get over yourselves.
I'm moving into/ remodeling a new apartment. We just got insulation. Squeal.
You know the drill, I do not own Merlin, it is property of BBC. I do not own any recognizable song lyrics or characters. I only own this crappy laptop and an original Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers Poster.
The answer to last week's question was Gloria Gaynor's "I will survive".
I know I promised an explanation for Uther's treatment of Merlin and It is coming, but it's giving me more trouble than I originally thought. Blame Arthur, his POV is less informed and more narrow sighted.
To make reading this easier, keep in mind that Italics are descriptions of the dream.
Now for the main attraction:
Chapter 3
"Let your soul and spirit fly"
The dryw shot up. Bedclothes were soaked from perspiration and hair was matted to the seer's brow. There had been so much pain, so much evil. It left so many scars. The grey fog of death haunted the prophet's memories but did not afford any genuine recollections. It was as if the clairvoyant's mind placed a protective shield against whatever malevolent insight the gift offered. If only remembrance were possible.
It had never been like this before. There were always feelings. An idea of what should be, an impression of what should be done, a sense of foreboding, a perception of wonder; these were the outcomes of the birthright. Deemed wise, and the counsel of the youth was much sought after, because the superstitious confused suspicion with precognition. Only the generous king could comprehend that intuition could often be nothing more than fantastical whims, and should be taken with caution. But somehow, these dreams that were almost forgettable were more significant. Their comprehension was necessary for the future of the land. But how was one to perceive a warning if no words are used?
The fog needed to clear. Eyes closed, the dryw pushed at the barrier and continued to move the meta-cognitive mist even in the presence of debilitating pain. Only when it felt as if all hope was lost did the pictures so desperately sought emerge…
The child of dragons, surrendering to sheep.
Y Ddraig Goch and YDdraig Pen. Separated.
No the bond must remain. Retie the golden threads between you.
The child now a man with no love and no reprieve from anguish.
Necessary.
Boy becomes child becomes man becomes bird becomes spirit becomes babe becomes elderly becomes boy, all slathered in the blood of a thousand iniquities
A future.
Golden light to be projected. Shade. Dangerous night.
Destiny is rewritten.
Flowers in winter. Snowflakes in summer.
Emrys
The hag, Cyoeraeth, stepped from the mist with a fretful wail. The fabric of the world shattered at her voice.
Banshee.
Now she was the Morrígan, the beautiful goddess of war, thirsty for blood and revenge of old.
Yet there she was a crow laughing and circling. Circling and plummeting to earth to pluck out the eyes of warrior kings. A delightful morning breakfast for those that gorge themselves on misery.
The tails of dragons had lashed the back of their master and once again the tower was crumbling, crumbling, crumbling. It should never have been built.
Darkness and light swirled together with vague bits of lucidity.
Falling, falling, falling, into nothingness; into the ether.
Death. Despair. Desolation.
Nothingness.
…
…
…
Pain.
Pain, red hot in the vessel's abdomen as if seared by a fiery hot spear. If only the crow could come now for this anguish. The mighty mercenary turned fortune-teller could not bear any more.
And then it was over, as quick as it began. Blood coated the bed linens in thick syrupy layers. The long-forgotten beauty and tranquility of slumber was disrupted by the ugly pandemonium of death.
She who was the wrathful daughter denied entrance into Avalon; she who became the impatient Anann of the old religion to the foolish peasants of old, she who was the hag, the crow, the goddess, claimed the debt that was owed her.
The dreamer paid the price.
Any idea who this chapter title came from? Review and you might get a glimspe of APOV (well what I've written on the mobile while in the waiting room of my doctor's office).
Did anyone else think that season 3 shows much more promise in terms of production quality? Anyone?