Greetings! Here is a chapter for all of you peoples! This doesn't advance the plot much, but I sort of like writing introspection over action. Fear not, though, I have a feeling there will be action within the next few chapters. Maybe.

Your reviews are what gives me fuel to write on. Thank you!

Of course Merlin is mine. What on earth makes you think otherwise?

(shifty eyes)

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Destiny happened.

The words sprang to the forefront of Merlin's mind as if they had been waiting patiently to be revealed. After all, they were technically true. It was because of his destiny that he had suffered as much as he did, gave as much as he did, accepted as much as he did.

Except, it wasn't.

It may be why he began to protect Arthur (and, by extension, Camelot), but he would have long ago backed out if that was the sole reason.

Loyalty happened.

That was true as well, more true than destiny. Loyalty was a thing easily pledged and hard to win. It was what motivated hundreds, thousands of people to do things beyond them, out of loyalty to their ideals.

Loyalty, however, wasn't quite the right word for what Merlin did. Undoubtedly, it was there in spades, but he knew that was not the only reason.

Friendship happened.

That was closer. Friendship, something he had never dreamed would happen between him and the infuriating prat in the marketplace. With it, or maybe because of it, Merlin could see the future king for all he could be, because he knew him.

Knew Arthur.

That was really the root of it all.

Arthur happened.

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Arthur finally realized that the world, or maybe just his world, had gone insane.

This much.

The words replayed over and over in his head, slamming into him.

Dozens, at least.

There were wounds on Merlin, so many he had to constantly look at Merlin's face to remind himself that this was actually Merlin.

I've lost count.

It was considered an honor beyond measure to retire from knighthood. It meant that the knight was one of the few that were brave or skilled or simply lucky enough to survive. Arthur had met a few of them when he was younger, grizzled veterans who nodded gravely as he demonstrated his uncanny ability with different types of weapons and muttered to his father that there was a good chance the little prince would be able to retire someday.

They had also shown him a few thick, jagged scars on their legs, arms, faces and warned him that wounds were an inevitability. Unlike others, who had laughed and either declared they wouldn't get wounds, or eagerly awaited what they saw as trophies of valor, Arthur had understood the former knight's meanings, even if he privately did think of the scars as proof of bravery.

Battle was built on warrior's blood. That was understood.

A lot of people have tried to kill me.

Knight's blood.

None of them really succeeded.

Knights were supposed to be the protectors, because they knew and accepted the risks. They were ready, even prepared to die because they knew they were protecting the people they cared for. They knew what to expect, and knew how to deal with it.

How much?

So what happened when the protector...

How much have you been hurt?

was never meant to protect at all?

For me?

What happened...

This much.

to make him do it anyway?