✕    Violet hues were intently watching the white haired woman, blinking only every now and then. The legend in the Caster’s ---- no, was she even a real Servant? Brynhildr saw no death in her heart... she saw other things... she saw many things that caught her attention... The Valkyrie was inspired... 

... so much so that she got up and approached the mage, a rare action on part of Brynhildr, who typically secluded herself from others. Her hands were linked together in front of herself by laced fingers, her voice soft as a dove’s coo as she offered gently, “... Merlin?”

...Ummm.

UMMM.

why would u put yourself through that hell of a movie shi

I don’t know tribal. I just don’t know. All I’ve done is whisper, “this is all wrong,” the whole time. Everything is just wrong why did they think this movie was a good idea. I never saw this movie from the beginning and nothing else was on tv so thought why the hell not let’s test fate today.

ancientbled: -Ozymandias watching the God.s of Egypt movie-:...

Me with all films about the Greek gods tbh

@axphodel

No matter what they looked like, Morgan always recognized Merlin. Merlin who Morgan had known practically her entire life. The man who had been by her father’s side, advising him, helping him, smiling down at her and sharing with her the old traditions and wisdom of long gone ages. That Morgan had admired and loved Merlin. He was entirely different from the other men who surrounded Morgan’s father Uther. Which made his betrayal of her all the more bitter. In hindsight Morgan could say that it was Merlin who started her down this path. If he hadn’t abandoned her, what would she be like? No matter. Such thoughts didn’t matter. What was done was done. Nothing could change it. 

However this wasn’t her Merlin. She had heard enough though that this Merlin was exactly the same as the one she had known. 

//Some quick sketches of a few Round Table members. Probably most likely going to do more of these style drawings soon. As for who belongs to who...

Arthur Pendragon was a man of little fear. It’s not that he had some sort of ability to be without, but simply that almost everything in the world a man in his position may fear, he had thoroughly risen above. No manner of unearthly beast, villain or dragon had ever crossed him and survived, after all, and the blade he held was specifically endowed to be able to conquer even a force that could erase this world.

The point of saying all this is, if something could ever bring Arthur to tremble, it was of monumental consequence. Which is precisely why it was such a shock beyond belief that the ghost before his eyes brought his knees to buckle.

Excalibur clatters to the ground loudly, Arthur nearly falling as his stumbling step backwards brings him to trip clumsily over his feet.

“M...Merlin...?!” Arthur should his head incredulously, “...How...? I thought that...?”

Perhaps Artoria had grown callous and indifferent with the curse of her position, but Arthur’s heart had never hardened so. Though a perspective outside emotional bias could perhaps have let him understand his lifelong manipulation, he had only ever seen Merlin as a mentor and dear friend besides. Sure, she’d been hard on him, pushed his body and spirit to the point of breaking time and again...but his position demanded he work harder than any other man who’d lived, right?

The fall of Camelot. Mordred’s cruel revolt against him. The heartless and petty manipulation of Morgan le Fay that had brought their end to fruition -- at the time of the battle, he couldn’t find her...

“I apologize, Merlin. I fear this is the end for me...” Perhaps the heat was driving him mad, but the opportunity to mess with Merlin was too good to pass up. Feigning exhaustion, Viviane sat slumped on the floor, pretending to drift towards unconsciousness. “Mon ange, leave me and escape. Upon your return, tell the knights...”