Sometimes Merlin wondered how he would ever keep the young Pendragon safe. He questioned fate's decision to have tossed him into the mix, and often recalled people he deemed far more suited for the task he'd been presented with.
Arthur was a bull-headed, impolite, spoiled child who got on Merlin's last nerve too many times to count-and yet, he was becoming a friend. He was a friend, just as Guinevere was, and Morgana, as well.
Arthur was the struggle for Merlin, the difficulty and trials and force that made him doubt his destiny.
Guinevere was the kind reminder that there was good to be found in the world, a kindred spirit.
Morgana was becoming what he thought could be a good friend, someone like him in more ways that she knew, someone with her own secrets and her own past and her own brand of bravery.
And Merlin, for all his quirks and complaints and secrets, sometimes found himself thinking that fate wasn't such a cruel mistress, after all.
All rights go to their respective owners. :3