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The Time Has Come

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The Time Has Come is the thirteenth episode of the fifth season and the 89th overall episode of Private Practice. The Time Has Come is a song by The Dresden Dolls. It was late at night in Farna Castle. The last remnants of dinner were being cleared away by the servants. The halls were quiet and the lights in the barracks outside were all but out. In the master bedroom sat Lord Marcus Scott. He was sipping on a one hundred year whiskey that had cost the same as a whole year’s wages for one of the castle guards. Marcus rarely did anything lately…He didn’t have to. He had secured Farna and many of the other smaller villages in his region through the use of his cronies. He started to undress to retire when there was a knock at the chamber door.

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Fable: The Axe and Scottman

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The Time Has Come

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2012-02-02

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Sheldon talks to his patient, a soldier who was raped by his superior.

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Season 5, episode 13

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The Time Has Come

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The Time Has Come is a song by The Dresden Dolls. The Time Has Come is the thirteenth episode of the fifth season and the 89th overall episode of Private Practice. It was late at night in Farna Castle. The last remnants of dinner were being cleared away by the servants. The halls were quiet and the lights in the barracks outside were all but out. In the master bedroom sat Lord Marcus Scott. He was sipping on a one hundred year whiskey that had cost the same as a whole year’s wages for one of the castle guards. Marcus rarely did anything lately…He didn’t have to. He had secured Farna and many of the other smaller villages in his region through the use of his cronies. There were often squabbles over boundaries with the Fairfax’s of Bowerstone. But he knew how to keep them sweet. He smelt the aroma of the whiskey. A full smelling aroma that had notes of plum. He took a moment to look about his grand bedroom. The fire burned strong and provided ample light and warmth to the grand four poster bed and works of art hung about the room. As he sat in his chair he looked up at his favourite piece of art. It was portrait of a man stood outside Farna Castle. The gold framed painting had a name at the bottom. His pose was stood tall, chest out. Many people said it looked like he was standing proud. Marcus always thought that the smirk that his brother had in the painting was that of a nervous one. He knew that he was weak. He Knew that he would eventually fail as lord of this house. “Oh brother. How proud of me you would have been…my little empire is thriving.” He held up the class of whisky and made a toast to the brother he had murdered decades before. He stood up, his legs were heavy, it could have been the whiskey or the fact that now in his fifties he wasn’t the young man he once was. He started to undress to retire when there was a knock at the chamber door. He opened the large wooden chamber door. His personal door guard stood there looking worried he had disturbed the lord. “Well, What is it Boy? And be quick.” “Sir Fredrick m’lord he needs to speak with you right away.” the guard look flustered. “Can it not wait until the morning?” “I don’t think so m’lord.” “Okay send him in.” Marcus withdraw back to his chair and poured himself another glass of whisky. This better be good otherwise. There was a hurried knock at the door. “Enter” his lordship shouted. Sir Fredrick Pennyton entered. It had been many weeks since the last time Marcus had seen Sir Fredrick. He has gotten fatter and those will lines were getting deeper and more prominent. “You need to cover those will lines sir and stop eating pies. It’s only a matter of time before the heroes guild discover….” Marcus was interrupted. “My Lord I’m sorry I have news, I thought you needed to know right away.” He patted down his red and yellow official Farna Guard uniform over his tubby frame. “Proceed.” Marcus returned intrigued. “My Lord I’m not sure how to tell you this. You see there appears to be…well there is man who….how can I put this.” He rubbed his face. “Sir. You have one more chance before I cut off a hand. My patience is warring thin.” Marcus stood up and approached the Mage guard Captain. “Okay sorry My lord. Its…its….well There is man calling himself Kingsley Scott…and he’s a Hero of the guild…..but it cant be your nephew can it?” Marcus stood still and stared at the large man. He felt the sweat from his forehead start to accumulate into droplets. He suddenly had an itchy head. He scratched it. “The boy escaped sure. But he must of died in the woods filled with Hobbes, Balverines and giant beetles he was only a child…..It can’t be the same one we would have known sooner.” He walked over to the fire to warm up. He suddenly felt cold. An emotional mix of anger and annoyance with a hint of uncertainty. “If it’s him he could lay claim to lordship of this house.” He said into the fire. “He would have to get past a Century of guards first to unseat you my lord. The people of Farna are too scared to oppose you I have made sure of that. Only last week I hung a woman in the street for…” “Silence. Where did you get this information?” “It was from our own guards, five separate eye witnesses saw a huge man wielding a giant axe obliterate a group of bandits in Bowerstone. He was asked after who he was. And he shouted and he screamed in the streets. It could be heard all around the city it was that powerful. He screamed his name loud and clear for all to hear. Kingsley Scott.” Marcus mopped the sweat from his brow. “He wanted us to know he was still alive. He must have been using a different name and alias before. The guild will always protect their heroes. Especially ones that want to keep secrets” It suddenly dawned on him. “He must have the strength like my father did? We need to….we need. Just get all the men ready to defend the castle. NOW!” “But my lord, we don’t even know where he is.” The Sir Fredrick said. “I do….He will already be on his way. Go now and make preparations.” The large man quickly hurried off. The anger bubbled up inside he smashed the glass of whisky in the fire. A plume of flame rose inside the fireplace. Lord Marcus Scott looked up at the portrait of his brother. His brother’s expression had now seemed to change for him like he was seeing it from a different perspective. That smirk wasn’t a nervous smirk anymore.

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