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Alice Spills the Tea: The Tale of Merlin - A Wizard's Woes
Alice tapped her teacup, swirling the liquid inside as her eyes glinted with mischief. “Merlin,” she whispered, her voice carrying a note of mockery. “Now that’s a story,” she continued, her smile widening into something almost wicked, “A tale as old as time itself - *and yet somehow still so twisted."
She leaned in, the steam from her tea curling around her like a cloak of secrets. “Let’s start with the man himself. Merlin, the great wizard - but don’t get too cozy, darling, because the magic’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Oh, sure, he could summon storms, talk to dragons, and pull rabbits out of hats... but was he ever really in control of his own story? Ha! Hardly.”
Her fingers drummed against the side of her cup, the noise like the ticking of a clock. “You see, Merlin, for all his power, was shackled by a curse. A curse he couldn’t escape. Not because he didn’t try, darling, oh no. He fought with every spell, every incantation. But the universe, much like that irritating tick of a clock, has a way of spinning things into chaos.” Alice’s lips twisted as she continued, “For all of his wisdom, Merlin’s life was the ultimate joke. A man who could peer into the future, but was powerless to change it. A man who could mold the world, but couldn’t escape the chains of his own fate.”
She took a slow sip, savoring the taste before leaning back and continuing, her voice turning almost conspiratorial. “And let’s not forget about his little relationship with King Arthur. Oh, what a tangled web, darling! Merlin, the old man with the long beard, teaching the young, idealistic Arthur about leadership, destiny, and the sword in the stone.” Alice paused, her grin stretching wider. “Now, I don’t know about you, but something about an ancient, all-knowing wizard helping a young boy pull a sword out of a rock just doesn’t sit right.”
She tapped her teacup again, the sound echoing like a countdown to chaos. “You see, Arthur thought he was the chosen one - the once and future king, destined for greatness. But here’s the twist, darling - Merlin knew that Arthur would fail. Oh yes, Arthur was just another pawn in the great game of destiny. Poor boy had no idea that the crown he so desperately desired would only bring him misery. What did Merlin do, you ask? Did he warn him? No, darling. He let Arthur chase that dream, knowing all along that the weight of it would crush him in the end.”
Alice’s laughter bubbled up from deep within, soft at first, then building into a wicked, mocking sound. “But wait, there’s more! Merlin’s great love - ah yes, his greatest weakness. The beautiful, enigmatic Morgana. Oh, how they danced around each other, didn’t they? Love, hate, betrayal, and magic all swirling in one tangled mess. And did Merlin, wise Merlin, see through her deception? Of course not, darling. He was too busy being a fool. For in Morgana, he saw what he wanted to see - a woman of power, a heart torn by grief, a soul lost to darkness. But little did he know, Morgana was playing a different game entirely.”
Her fingers brushed the edge of her teacup, her eyes narrowing. “Morgana, in all her twisted glory, had a plan - one that would bring the mighty Camelot to its knees. But was Merlin ever prepared for that betrayal? Not in the slightest. No. He was too busy being the wise, all-knowing sorcerer, thinking he could control the threads of fate. Foolish man.” Alice’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Merlin had no idea what he was really up against, did he? He thought he was the master of the magic, when in reality, it was magic that was controlling him.”
She paused, taking another sip, as if savoring the last of her twisted tale. “And Arthur, well, he did indeed pull that sword from the stone. He led Camelot to glory... until he didn’t. All that greatness crumbled to dust. Why? Because Merlin’s dream, just like Arthur’s, was destined to fail. They were caught in the same web of magic and fate that they thought they could control.”
Alice’s eyes twinkled with something darker now. “And poor Merlin, doomed to live out his days as a broken wizard, trapped in a cave, an old man who could no longer even look into the future. His greatest fear, you see, wasn’t dying - it was that he would be forgotten.” She chuckled darkly. “But in the end, darling, he was. He faded into the mists of legend, a mere footnote in history. And Morgana? Well, she got exactly what she wanted - absolute power.”
Alice’s smile was twisted and sharp as she set her cup down with a soft clink. “Ah, yes. Merlin, the great and mighty wizard. But at the end of the day, even he couldn’t escape the real magic of the world: the magic of being utterly powerless against the forces of fate, no matter how hard you try to change it.”
She gave a slow, mocking bow to her empty teacup. “And so, darling, the lesson here is simple: no one - not even Merlin - can cheat destiny. It’s a game that can only be played once. And then, poof. Gone.”
✒ Pip’s Editorial Note
A quick clearing of the teacups before anyone starts throwing them.
What Alice has just delivered is a theatrical retelling, not a stitched-together “definitive” Merlin. The Arthurian tradition is famously messy. Merlin’s origins, powers, loves, and end shift wildly depending on which medieval source you consult.
Geoffrey of Monmouth, the Vulgate Cycle, the Post-Vulgate, Welsh tradition, later romances - none agree for long, and all contradict each other with enthusiasm.
A few things to keep straight for the record:
Merlin is not consistently cursed in all versions, though prophecy without agency is a recurring theme.
Morgana’s relationship with Merlin varies from pupil, rival, seducer, jailer, or barely connected at all. In some tellings, Nimue or Viviane is the one who ultimately traps him.
Arthur’s failure is not universally foreknown by Merlin in every source, though tragedy is baked into the mythos early and often.
Merlin being sealed, bound, or entombed is common. Being forgotten entirely is more poetic license than medieval consensus.
Alice leans into fatalism, irony, and side-eye because that is her role here. She performs the legend. She does not correct the manuscripts.
So sip wisely, dear reader. This is myth through a teacup lens, not a scholarly footnote parade.
- Pip, Editorial Desk, Alice’s Mad Tea Party
