More thoughts on Merlin 4x09 Lancelot du Lac
I’ve already covered much of this episode here, but somehow I still found more to say:
Foreshadowing. The opening scene, in which Arthur tells his uncle that he’s decided to marry Guinevere, shows our young king’s maturity. His reasons for choosing Gwen speak well of him, as does his foreseeing Agravaine’s objections and informing his uncle privately beforehand that he must accept it.
But a few details foreshadow just how wrong things will go. First, Merlin, whom we know to be the true advisor, isn’t in Arthur’s confidance, but is as shocked by Arthur’s decision as his uncle. The power differential between Agravaine, given a private conference, and Merlin, eavesdropping while doing manual labor, is very clear.
More relevent for the episode, Arthur betrays a small flash of insecurity when he throws in “that is, if she’ll have me.” At this point, Arthur must be the only person in Camelot who would doubt Gwen’s response, but he does.
His insecurity shows up again in the beautiful proposal scene, when Arthur is unable to interpret Guinevere’s wordless joy as an assent. The scene is touching and funny, but shows that Arthur is already too willing to believe Gwen will reject him. Once Lancelot reappears and Morgana’s plan takes effect, his anxiety takes on disastrous shape.
Certainly the sight of Guinevere kisssing Lancelot would have dealt a devastating blow no matter what, but it’s unlikely that Arthur would have exploded in the particular ways he does had it not already been his secret fear. Morgana’s plan succeeds because she knows her brother so well.
Guinevere, Guinevere. Whether she knows Guinevere quite so well is a matter for debate. This episode gives us both Arthur and Morgana describing the future queen, and the differences in their versions-and what they betray about the speakers-are striking.
Arthur argues that Guinevere will be a worthy queen because she provides “good counsel” and “solid support,” and notes that he values her ability to disagree with him. (He has also given some thought to what the people want in a queen.) He characterizes Gwen primarily for her ability to give advice and help him rule.
Morgana, in contrast, dwells on Guinevere’s status as “a serving girl” and “lowly peasant.” (Katie McGrath’s voice trembles when she adds that her friends call her Gwen, subtly evoking their lost friendship; the line also implies that Arthur, who calls her Guinevere, may not be as much of a friend as he seems.) She describes Gwen as “honest and straightforward, a simple soul,” and says that Lancelot was her first love.
All of which Morgana seems to believe. But it’s not an accurate description of the Gwen we’ve seen over the past few series. Guinevere is an admirable character, and often more honest than other residents of Camelot. But her ability to lie and keep secrets has been on display since the first moment she and Morgana shared the screen, when Gwen covered for Merlin after he wandered into Morgana’s chambers while she undressed.
Her relationship with Lancelot has always been connected to impersonation, whether she was helping him pretend to be a nobleman or herself impersonating Lady Morgana in Hengist’s dungeon. Just two episode prior we saw her lie multiple times to Arthur while simultaneously protecting him from the homicidal, possessed Merlin.
Moreover, even if Morgana doesn’t know all these details, she should remember their own relationship. Gwen successfully hid her love for Arthur from Morgana for years, kept secrets as she grew suspicious of her former friend and uncovered her magic, swore false loyalty to Morgana to save her own skin and outright betrayed her to rescue Sir Leon.
For Morgana to describe her as “honest and straightforward” now boggles the mind. It suggests a deep-rooted inability on Morgana’s part to recognize the truth of who Gwen is and particularly how she has changed and matured as she has grown into a future queen.
Willfully or not, Morgana has mentally frozen Gwen into an inaccurately-perceived version of her series-1 persona. Perhaps acknowledge that Gwen is more complicated would stir up unwanted echoes of Morgana’s own transformation-or her role in Gwen’s-and awaken her own guilt.
But the fact remains that Gwen isn’t candid so much as trustworthy; notably her lies have almost always involved protecting someone, not always herself, and have often been linked to suriviving the deep-seated class injustices of Uther’s rule. Despite the knowledge of Gwen’s secrets Morgans claims, Arthur clearly knows her far better.
Morgana’s second claim about Gwen-that Lancelot was her first love-is equally dubious. Many people have wondered how exactly Morgana knew about Guinevere’s affections, and have posited a sharing of confidances after the events of “Lancelot and Guinevere.”
I disagree; I think the knowledge Morgana claims is an allusion to the end of “Lancelot,” the one time the two women discussed Gwen’s feelings for him on screen. In that scene, Morgana catches Gwen gazing out the window at the departing Lancelot. Gwen doesn’t respond to her first inquiry (“Gwen?”), and Morgana has to use the full “Guinevere?” to get her attention-moving from friendship to formality.
At that point the two women were still close, so Gwen responds to Morgana’s gentle inquiry (“Lancelot?") with a shy “Yes.” But instantly Morgana’s demeanor changes. Her faces closes, and she says, “Come, Gwen. Busy day ahead.” It’s a quiet but definite reprimand that she not stand around daydreaming when she should be attending to Morgana’s needs.
Morgana is clearly displeased with Gwen showing attention to someone other than herself, and her high-handed way of recalling her to work reinforces the class difference between them, their respective roles as noblewoman and servant. Gwen’s response, “Yes, my lady,” contrasts with her earlier, friendlier admission, and shows the class divide that Lancelot disrupted is back in full force.
(This scene is one of many in series 1 that underlined that the fractures beneath Morgana and Gwen’s close relationship existed from the beginning; despite their affection, as employer and employee, they did not share a relationship of equals.)
Given what we’ve seen since, it’s in character for Morgana to remember Lancelot, who was, however briefly, a threat to Guinevere’s devotion to herself. (I find this more likely that the fiercely private Guinevere, in the midst of her own confusion about Arthur, telling Morgana she kissed Lancelot in Hengist’s fort, but Morgana may well have guessed once she learned Lancelot was on the scene.) She then accurately projects those feelings onto Arthur, who has his own reasons to feel threatened by Lancelot.
But those of us in the audience know that Guinevere’s first love was actually Merlin, and Lancelot at his first appearance couldn’t win out against that unrequited crush. The fact that Morgana was Gwen’s confidante about her feelings for Merlin but conveniently forgets them here is yet another example of just how badly Morgana misreads and misremembers Guinevere.
At the very least, it shows Morgana’s ability to re-interpret the people around her according to her own desires and schemes, rather than reality. For some time now, Gwen, like “Emrys,” has been a bogeyman to Morgana, the unwanted spectre of her failure to secure the queenship, and the reality of Gwen-including her formidability as a rival-seems to have faded in the face of what she would like Gwen to be.
The one detail she has utterly right is the one that pertains to Arthur, who “trusts her entirely.”
About the bracelet. I went into this episode only partially spoiled and bit concerned that the plot would involve Guinevere acting out-of-character. While her attraction to Lancelot had been clearly demonstrated, so too had his inability to compete with other objects of her affections.
At his first appearance, Gwen was still too enamored of Merlin to realize Lancelot was interested in her until it was too late; at his second, her affection for him took root not only in extreme circumstances, but in the fact that connecting with Arthur seemed hopeless at the time.
When things with Arthur went well, however, in the series 3 finale and opening of series 4, Guinevere seemed to have moved on. Given what we learned about the lingering scars of her brother Elyan disappearing, it seems that Gwen does not take being left lightly, and Lancelot permanently ruined his suit by taking off after the escape from Hengist.
The show did lay some interesting groundwork for Gwen’s affections being revived with her tremendous guilt over Lancelot’s death at the beginning of the series, and with Arthur’s decision to dump Guinevere later. Had the breakup plot been better developed and lasted for more than an episode, it might have provided the fissures in which a believable affair with Lancelot might have grown.
But its resolution was implausibly tidy, and Arthur’s proposal-proof of his commitment, and a powerful counter to Gwen’s greatest doubt about their relationship-eliminated any believable reason for Gwen to stray.
Much to my surprise, the show makes a point of demonstrating Gwen’s devotion to Arthur and imperviousness to Lancelot’s charms before bringing the magic bracelet into play. Obviously I was worried about the wrong thing.
So as a plot device, the bracelet troubles me less than most (I am a sucker for a medieval literary reference), though I can completely see why it might upset others. Narratively, it’s a bit of a cheat, and it unquestionably lessens Guinevere’s agency. She is clearly not the queen conflicted by her love for two very different men, as she is in some versions.
Instead, she’s the equivalent to Merlin in “The Servant of Two Masters,” forced by Morgana’s magic to use her body according to another’s aims. (It says a great deal about both characters’ roles-not to mention gender dynamics-that Merlin’s enchantment is about killing and Gwen’s about sex.)
Guinevere enchanted. The spell on Gwen is much more subtle, and draws on her own past feelings for fuel. The creepy scene in the False Lancelot’s tent before the joust, when he asks her why she isn’t wishing her future husband luck, drives this home in her response: “I do. I have. I will.” The magic seems to work partly by confusing Gwen as to her own position in time.
But although it slowly overwhelms her will, the bracelet doesn’t complete end Gwen’s agency. She fights it, and her own goal-to support Arthur-is discernable throughout.
In fact, the entire episode is a demonstration of Gwen’s devotion to Arthur. She can’t be tempted by natural means; her famous love affair is the result of a spell; and even while enchanted, she is constantly, though unwittingly, fighting the magic.
To his credit, the False Lancelot grasps this at once, when Gwen clearly but very politely signals her lack of interest by thanking him for saving Arthur’s life. Clearly, this is what most matters to her now about Lancelot. While the imposter uses her susceptibility to flattery to coax her into wearing the bracelet, her greater weakness is Arthur.
And the False Lancelot immediate moves to exploit it, understanding that paradoxically has has to use Gwen’s affection for Arthur to inspiring any amorous affection for himself. In the jousting scene that follows, he re-enacts exactly what she mourned before-his saving of Arthur-and only then does she want Lancelot enough to succumb.
Later, at the height of the spell, Guinevere prevents Arthur from killing the False Lancelot by throwing herself in between them. My interpretation is that her action has as much to do with her care for Arthur-whom she has always loved for his potential to uphold justice-as it does for Lancelot, whom she clearly also loves at the moment.
Yes, she certainly wants to save the False Lancelot’s life, but I believe Gwen also wants to prevent Arthur from killing one of his knights, which would forever taint him and the kingdom he hopes to build.
The scene is too closely parallel to the one in which Merlin prevents Arthur from killing Uther (likewise a guilty party); in each case, someone dear to Arthur sacrifices their own hopes (being Arthur’s queen, the dream of magic restored) to prevent him from compromising himself. Even the throne room setting is the same.
Finally, once Arthur has caught her and Lancelot together, Guinevere removes the bracelet herself. That is a startingly act of agency for someone under a powerful spell. No matter how strong the enchantment, once faced with the consequences to Arthur and herself, Guinevere wants no part in Lancelot.
Removing the bracelet conveniently destroys evidence of the spell, but the very fact that she’s able to do so shows that her true feelings are stronger than the ones Morgana has recreated. In a sense, she’s already broken the False Lancelot’s spell.
Adultery in noble families. We have a very interesting scene in which Agravaine reminds Arthur that in his father’s day, “adultery in noble families” was punishable by death. This evokes those versions of the legend in which Arthur sentences Guinevere to death for treachery, and Lancelot saves her from being burnt at the stake.
But within Merlin’s world-building, the phrase has some curious implications. For the first part, we know that Uther himself was guilty of adultery, as he begot Morgana when both he and her mother, Vivian, were married to other people.
On the one hand, it makes Uther even more of a hypocrite, upholding the death penalty for a crime of which he himself was guilty-exactly parallel, in fact, to his attitude toward magic. On the other, it provides some context for why he kept her true parentage a secret; presumably it would have incriminated and endangered both her mother and himself, and at the very least publically revealed his hypocrisy in not changing the law.
Secondly, it’s interesting that these words are proposed by Agravaine. Obviously he’s trying to permanently end the threat Guinevere poses to both his influence and Morgana’s power by having her killed. But given all the speculation about his as-yet-unrevealed motives, and how they might be connected to Uther’s betrayal of Ygrain or Morgana’s mother Vivian, it’s tempting to wonder if he’s thinking of the previous generation as well.
Thirdly, it should be obvious that this horrific and misogynistic law does not apply to Guinevere, who is a commoner. Nor has she committed adultery, because she and Arthur aren’t yet married. The explosive end of their relationship is certainly humiliating, but it’s not a crime or matter of state, even under these very dubious terms.
The Pendragon curse. Unfortunately, by this point, it’s become clear that Guinevere was not Morgana’s only target. Her plan succeeded because it relies upon Arthur acting toward Gwen as his father, Uther, did-both in casting her in prison and in banishing her (ironically, exactly the act Arthur was so keen to prevent before).
In fact, Morgana succeeds in doing the one thing Uther, despite his efforts, never quite succeeded in-molding Arthur into his image. In both cases the king’s worst behavior comes from a mix of his own sense of unworthiness and his feelings for the woman he loves-though the circumstances are (to Arthur’s credit) otherwise very different.
Arthur certainly has every reason to be hurt and angry given the depths and audacity of Gwen’s apparent betrayal. It’s in character for him to explode into violence immediately and attack the emotional devastation with his sword.
But throwing Gwen into prison is a far more disturbing act. There is some justification, however weak, for imprisoning the False Lancelot; he has just drawn a weapon on the king, albeit in self-defence. Gwen’s only crime is hurting Arthur’s feelings, and while it’s a devastating blow, for Arthur to respond by using his public authority against her is an abuse of power.
Also to Arthur’s credit, he insists on having a honest conversation in private. Their poignant confrontation in the throne room shows Gwen continuing to try to fight for her love for Arthur, though this time her opposition is her almost paralyzing shame and his loss of faith, rather than a magic bracelet and a reanimated corpse.
She is scrupulously honest with Arthur, asks his forgiveness, and expresses her desire to work through things. Her line, “I still want to be your queen,” is unbearably poignant.
It’s the “still” that gets me, even now. It’s so Guinevere to want to persevere, to hold fast to hope. Arthur’s refusal to embrace, even in a limited way, that possibility is a renunciation of their entire relationship, in which she has repeatedly urged him to believe and hope.
No one could blame Arthur for calling off the wedding at this point, and ending their relationship is understandable if heart-breaking. But banishing her-after he himself has previously argued that Gwen has no resources outsider Camelot, and that such a sentence would be disproportionately devastating-is retaliatory and yet another abuse of power.
It’s disappointing backsliding for a character we have watched grow into maturity this series. Unlike his earlier missteps, Arthur clearly makes this mistake on his own, refusing to listen to either his uncle, who wants him to kill Guinevere, or Merlin, who wants him to forgive her.
The one counter to his father’s image is that Arthur does not punish anyone outside Gwen for her apparent lapse. We never find out what he might have done with the False Lancelot, but he’s careful not to retaliate at Merlin, the only person to speak up in Guinevere’s defense.
And that is far from a foregone conclusion, given the very public way he has just lashed out at Gwen, who was previously in his confidance. Arthur himself tells Merlin that he’s “brave to speak out,” a reminder of the power differential between them. Merlin had clearly thought he was speaking as a friend, not an employee, and his reaction shows that that’s the moment at which he realizes Arthur is going to refuse his request.
Arthur goes on to explain that he will certainly someday forgive Gwen, but that in his view, a breach of trust cannot be repaired. This certainly lays the groundwork for a future reconciliation, but betrays a fairly stunted view of relationships, which will certainly have to change. And this is important, as Arthur's ideas about trust will have to weather revelations about both Agravaine and Merlin in the future.
Onlooker and friend. Merlin’s role throughout this episode is very much a subsidiary one. From the beginning, he is introduced as an onlooker to the Arthur/Gwen relationship. His position is remarkably similar to those of us in the audience: he perceives more than the other characters, but is powerless to stop the chain of events.
I have a theory that a major theme of series 4 is Merlin learning to accept his limitations, and this episode only strengthens it. Over and over Merlin has faced situations where he can’t save the day (“The Darkest Hour,” “Lamia”), only makes things worse (“The Wicked Day,”), or is himself the cause of trouble (“The Servant of Two Masters,” “The Secret Sharer”). Increasingly he faces problems he can’t simply solve with magic.
We see this when Gaius interrupts his feverish attempts to prove Lancelot is a shade. They’re both right. Merlin’s instincts that Morgana is somehow the cause of the problem are completely on target, but Gaius is also right that the cause of the problem matters less than the emotional devastation caused, and that no matter what Merlin says Arthur’s anger will be directly at Gwen.
So Merlin is unable to make use of his knowledge of the False Lancelot-which, as usual he can’t reveal without betraying his own sorcery. (In an interesting continuity note, the book on necromancy is not the one he found in Agravaine’s room in “The Secret Sharer,” but bound as if it’s in the same series; Agravaine, despite his visible discomfort with magic, must still be holding Morgana’s books and Merlin making use of them.) And his final appeal to Arthur fails-yet another humbling experience.
It’s made worse by the ongoing parallel between Gwen and Merlin. Though Merlin genuinely cares for Gwen as a friend and has cheered her romance on with Arthur at the start, she is also the only role model he’s had for the possibility of integrating in to Camelot society in more honest way.
His reaction to Arthur’s praise of Guinevere in the very first scene makes clear how much she represents his own hope. If Arthur can recognize Gwen’s good counsel and worth despite her servant status make her queen, perhaps he can do the same for Merlin and find a place for him in his court.
Likewise, both Merlin’s silent farewell to Gwen and the ensuing scene in which he argues that Arthur should forgive him are pervaded by the sense that he too needs (or will need) Arthur’s forgiveness. Arthur’s refusal to grant it to Gwen by implication shuts down any chance that he will forgive Merlin’s own breach of trust.
Lancelot lost. And Gwen is not the only friend Merlin loses this episode. The replacing of his loyal friend Lancelot with an imposter is a great blow.
It’s a shame that the first scene between them-the one which originally raised Merlin’s suspicions-was cut, but the choice serves to further underline how very much this episode is not about Merlin. Here’s hoping the scene Merlin alludes to with Gaius-some type of greeting, perhaps Lancelot failing to recognize Merlin because Morgana didn’t consider him important enough to mention?-appears with the other deletions.
As it stands, Merlin is already suspicious when he watches Lancelot tells his tale of survival, and very deliberately traps him with his mention of magic. He’s disappointed but not surprised when the False Lancelot takes the bait.
It’s not only that the False Lancelot proves himself ignorant of Merlin’s secret, but that his response (“If any of us had magic, Merlin, life would be a lot easier”) is careless and callous. It belies the true Lancelot’s understanding of the difficulty Merlin faced hiding his powers from Arthur.
Of course, the entire episode inverts the Lancelot we have known (or assassinates his character). His impatience with tyranny, disdain for deceit, and hatred for causing conflict are all turned inside-out.
When Merlin first met him, Lancelot declared that as a child, after seeing bandits kill his parents, “I vowed that day that never again would I be helpless in the fact of tyranny.” And on the show, we have seen him do just that, whether the oppressor was Hengist, Morgana, the dorocha-or, in a quieter way, Uther and his anti-magic laws.
He also removed himself from the scene rather than cause dissension between Arthur and Uther (“I lied to you both and now there is conflict between you”), and (more dubiously) Arthur and Guinevere. And he deliberately turned his attentions away from Gwen when he rejoined Camelot and saw her real love for Arthur.
Here, Lancelot is not only helpless before tyranny, but allied with it. He brings Morgana a step closer to the throne, moves Arthur toward a more tyrannical mode of kingship, lies to everyone he encounters, fosters conflict, and destroys Guinevere’s happiness. (Of course, from Morgana’s point of view, there’s a sweet irony in using the man who thwarted her plans in “The Darkest Hour” to devastate Camelot again.)
Even worse, Gaius implies that a soul must be tormented in order to be raised as a shade, which suggests that Lancelot has spent all this time suffering on the other side of the veil.
I interpret the spell Merlin casts at Lancelot’s lonely funeral as ending Morgana’s power over the dead Lancelot, recalling and releasing his true self. Presumably such a spell works only because the shade too is dead, and this magic only now lays him to rest, untormented by the Cailleach.
But the thought that the true Lancelot has been trapped in the shade somewhere, observing all that his evil doppelganger has done, is horrifying-almost as awful as the mind-rape Gwen has endured.
Given that not knowing Merlin’s secret gave the False Lancelot away, it’s appropriate that Merlin gives Lancelot the same flaming boat burial he gave Freya; it underlines that he’s saying goodbye to someone who knew his secret.
Another day, another destiny. So much emotional intensity happens in this episode, that arguably the most devastating detail slips by with little fanfare. The ancient Dochraid announces as the beginning of the episode that Morgana Pendragon is destined to bring back the old ways.
This is the first we’ve heard that Morgana too has a destiny, and it doesn’t simply involve teaming up with Mordred to kill Arthur or suffering her doom at Emrys’s hand. She is Merlin’s counterpart for those who followed the blood-soaked Old Religion, and the Dochraid is the first character other than Morgause to evince any enthusiasm for Morgana’s role in restoring it.
It’s interesting that Morgana evinces no surprise at this statement; perhaps she and Morgause already knew it somehow, or learned it during one of the missing years-most likely the one between series 3 and 4. But it would be interesting to know how Morgana feels about this destiny.
Does she, like Merlin, find in destiny a sense of purpose for herself and her magic? Is her focus on the throne a necessary step for what she sees as the greater aim? Does it distract her from her loneliness?
When she speaks to Agravaine about the False Lancelot, she betrays “a curious sadness,” both for how far the once-mighty Lancelot has fallen and for herself, who will miss him when he’s gone. Though she can’t quite admit it, Morgana is terribly lonely, and the False Lancelot’s devotion to her seems to temporarily ease that balm. (Perhaps this loneliness is a factor in her desire to destroy Gwen, her onetime friend.)
But ordering the False Lancelot to kill himself once he’s served his purpose shows her once again sabotaging her own desires for connection. (Besides which, you’d think even if Arthur never trusts him again, a devoted zombie knight would be useful-especially given the difficulty she has attracting and retaining allies.)
Guinevere’s farewell to Camelot. Though incredibly painful to watch, Guinevere’s silent parting from home was a wonderful scene. The fact that she doesn’t own a horse points out her class status, and sharp power divide that separates her from Arthur.
I liked that Merlin was there to witness her leaving. Note that he stands to greet he when she appears, but she’s the one who shuts down any chance at conversation, clearly too immersed in her shame to speak to her old friend. (In fact, after the events of this episode, it appears Guinevere’s guilt over Lancelot in the series opener was meant to foreshadow her guilt over Lancelot now-admittedly not the most clever use of foreshadowing.)
I’ve seen some ire vented on the web jointly at Arthur, Elyan, and Merlin for their treatment of Gwen, which I think misses the very stark power differential between the king and the two he employs. Certainly Arthur has been terribly hurt and his overreaction crosses moral lines; I think we’re meant to understand, but not condone his actions.
Elyan is a trickier case. Unquestionably the show has done a poor job thus far of fleshing out his relationship with his sister, which is a shame. But we have good reason to think that while they love each other and Gwen is (as she showed in “Lamia”) terrified of losing him again, their bond is not a close and unproblematic one.
Given their past estrangement, and Elyan’s genuine devotiong to Arthur for giving him a place and a community, I can just about see him not taking Gwen’s side in the breakup of the century. It helps that Gwen tends to assume he’s always in the wrong; seeing her screw up royally might reasonably prompt a complicated emotional reaction. That said, we still should have had a scene between rather than just a glance, because their relationship is ripe for drama.
As for Merlin, as much as I as a fan wish he and Gwen had spoken before she left, I do think respecting Gwen’s desire not to talk was the morally correct thing to do. Gwen’s signal that she doesn’t want to speak is fairly clear, and forcing her to interact after what she’s been through would only be a further violation. The most important course of action he can take is intervene with Arthur, which he does. That it fails is understandable but disappointing on multiple levels.
In the grander scheme of things, I see plot potential in Gwen leaving Camelot. She has always been indelibly associated not only with the common people, but with Camelot, and if she and Arthur are in fact to rule over Albion itself, experience of the other four kingdoms can only help her.
An even greater hurdle, however, will be wrestling with her own guilt, which is a weakness of Gwen’s even when she’s acted of her own accord.