He watched the sunlight glint off of her hair and face, bathing her in the morning glory. She offered a hesitant half-smile, clearly uncomfortable in the prolonged silence and under the intensity of his gaze. When he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers, he didn’t know who was more surprised. He supposed that he had intended it as a thank you, for the token and her honesty and faith and laughter and just being Gwen.
Speculation on how the inevitable conversation/confrontation could go.
“I am not my father.” The words burst out of Arthur, angry, full of betrayal and grief and fear.
“I know you’re not.” Merlin’s reply is quiet, thrumming with the underlying confidence and faith and trust that has always been there, even when the words are prat, and arrogant,
Sometimes Bradley doesn’t know where the line between fantasy and reality is. He’ll go through his routine–makeup, costuming, etc–and warm up with some practice run-throughs of the action sequences he’ll be doing later. And that’s normal, and familiar. But then the cameras come on, the audience goes quiet, and the director yells, “action” and it all changes. Suddenly he’s not Bradley James, playing the role of Prince Arthur;