That was it – his destiny. What he had been born to do.
He had tried to avoid it – he fought it, and suffered, because he never wanted to be this, a murderer, a betrayer, one that lashes against people he once loved.
As it where, he would be that no matter what.
The lines had been drawn, and his heart was torn, for all sides were his – his home, his life, his loyalty. Had they never parted, he would have grown into a happy man – maybe even an old man.
Fate, though, had other ideas.
If he felt broken and ripped apart, History would never remember that. All they would say was that he was a kingslayer, a false knight, a disgrace to his equals.
They would never understand that Morgana had been the first mother he ever knew – they would never see how she was before, loving and caring, someone ready to risk herself for him even when she barely knew him.
They would never understand that Arthur had been his true savior, the person that had turned him into a man – they would never really know how much it hurt him having to move against his king, they would never understand the size of his mistakes.
They would never understand that Merlin was his heart's desire, they would turn it into lust and sin, never knowing it was something more he craved for – a connection that had no words or boundaries – that he worshiped the ground he walked on and couldn't see him wronged by those who should have loved him.
He loved them all, he hated them all – they had made him better only to twist him from inside.
And now it was his duty to make them burn.