AN: …. Yeah…. Sorry… I'll fix it! Don't worry! So not how that was supposed to go, but I had the Outlander Music & Ambience video going in the background and… yeah… my fingers just kinda did their thing. Believe me; I was as surprised as you. So… I fix it now…

MERLIN101010101010MERLIN

Arthur hovered outside the door, unable to quite bring himself to go in. He remembered clearly the last time he'd done this, lingered outside a door when he knew in his heart that what he was about to do was wrong. Not for the first time, he wished Gaius was still here, was likely to be the one on the other side. He could use his counsel now. Much like last time, he had given his word to go through with this. It cut him to the core that he knew it wouldn't work out nearly so well.

He lifted his fist, banging, sweeping angrily into the room when it opened. He found once he was moving, he couldn't stop.

"Arthur," Princess Mithian greeted. She had paled a little at seeing him. He wasn't surprised, given their encounter yesterday. Not only had he frightened her, but apparently Merlin had used a little magic against her. "About yesterday, I'm so sorry."

Arthur nodded, staying quiet as he paced. He didn't care that he was frightening her. He gave her a grudging respect when she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, bracing herself, waiting patiently for whatever he had come to say. She was no coward, he would give her that.

"I'll do it," he ground out.

The breath she had drawn in came out of her in a rush. "Oh, Arthur, thank you!"

"Don't thank me!" Arthur spat at her in disgust. "Merlin was right to get you out yesterday. I would have killed you. I still want to kill you. This whole thing sickens me to my core. Do you know why?" She shook her head, her eyes sad. "Do you know how much suffering you've caused?"

The fact that she looked genuinely surprised did nothing to soothe his anger. "That you would ask me in front of him, your friend, knowing our relationship, our devotion to each other, and then turn to him for help in convincing me to go along? How could you not think that would devastate him?"

"I had no choice, Arthur, but to ask you. I didn't want to hide my intent from Merlin. He's my friend. I wanted him to know I wasn't asking for you as a man, just as a King of a powerful Kingdom."

"It was selfish, Mithian," Arthur growled at her, slicing his hand through the air to cut off her justifications. That may have played a part, but it wasn't the real reason. "Now I've had a lot of respect for you over the years, and I will admit, selfish was never a word I would have applied to you before yesterday. The right thing to do would have been to come to me first, privately, and you know it. But you couldn't do that, could you? And we both know why."

Mithian closed her eyes, tears coming to them. There was no point in denying it. He clearly did know. "I knew you'd say no. I needed Merlin to make you say yes."

"Now does that not sound just a little selfish to you?"

"Arthur, I'm so sorry…"

"Your apologies are wasted on me, Mithian. Any fondness I may have once felt for you is gone. You asked for a King, and that's what you'll get. Congratulations. You've now sacrificed two friendships for Nemeth. Welcome to being a Queen," he cut her off coldly, bowing to her.

"Arthur, I truly never meant to hurt him," she sobbed. "Or you."

"Do you understand you'll never be Queen of Camelot? And I will never be a present King of Nemeth? This marriage will be by Law only. It will secure the alliance you need with Camelot, but I will never grace this castle again."

"Yes. I understand." she answered quietly.

"There is a price. It's a steep one, Merlin insists I tell you."

"I thought there might be," she answered steadily, gathering her strength and courage. This is what she had wanted, after all. If the friendships were lost, and if Arthur wanted to treat it like a contract, then she would. She listened as he explained the truth of the price that they would all have to pay for this marriage.

By the time Arthur was done, she was sitting in a chair with a hand over her mouth. Suddenly she understood his fury better, and couldn't find it in her heart to blame him for hit. Not that she had before. What she'd done was manipulative, she knew that, had known it at the time. But she'd been desperate as more and more proposals can come her way with the visiting dignitaries.

But this… she remembered Merlin's whisper to her the day of the battle. That he still had hope to offer her. He was keeping that promise, it seemed, at a great cost.

"I… I didn't know, Arthur," she whispered, shaking her head.

"I know," Arthur acknowledged. "And in time, I believe Merlin will forgive you. I think a part of him already has, the fool. But you need to know, Princess, that I never will. He's doing this to ensure our futures, to meet our duties to our Kingdoms- ours, Mithian, not his! We were born with these responsibilities, raised to know what our duties would be. For all his titles now, for however great his destiny, he was born a farmer. Despite that, it's him making the ultimate sacrifice in this, not us. And it's crushed a part of his soul to offer it. For that… I can't forgive, Princess. And a part of me is truly sorry for that, for what we once shared."

Mithian sniffled. "It doesn't sound like this could have ended any other way. That's why he was so quiet that day, why he hasn't wanted to see me since he woke up. This was fated to be. He knew."

"Of course he knew," Arthur growled. "He always knows. And he does it anyway, without hesitation or pause for thought as to what it might do to him, because all that matters to him is what's right, in the end. There is nothing he won't lay on that altar, Mithian, nothing. I've spent years trying to come to terms with that part of him, trying to protect him from it, and I've failed each time. I hope you have greater success- and I tell you now, it's a Hell of a burden to live with."

"Arthur, I…. "She wanted to withdraw the request. She wanted to run away and pretend none of this had happened. But she couldn't. Hope, Merlin had offered her, and found a way to deliver it, even at such a terrible price. Hope for the one thing she wanted more than anything else. Her only hope. Lost friendships yes, but a child to hold in her arms, to secure her future. And a strong alliance to the man who would be High King. She couldn't take it back, even knowing. Her Father's mind was all but gone, despite Merlin's best efforts to Heal him. Soon, she would be Queen in full. This had to be done, no matter the cost.

For just a moment, he softened. "I can see how much you wish you could change it, Mithian. But he's also never wrong, irritating as that is. This is your only chance for a child. Without Merlin, no seed will ever come full term in your womb."

"Hope, he offered me, instead of saying good-bye. Did he know, even then? Could I have prevented this by not using the charm? Would this have happened at all if I had lost it? If, perhaps, we could have somehow found a way to defeat the Saxons on our own?"

"If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that you don't ever want to know the answers to those questions. It carries a curse all of its own, and it will drive you mad. My wedding gift to you, Princess, is the advice to stop asking them."

Mithian looked into his gold crowned steel blue eyes and in them saw the wealth of pain, loss, experience, and wisdom driving those words. She saw sympathy in them too, but there was no love, no affection. He'd said it, but now she believed it. He knew it had to happen, but he would forgive neither her, nor himself, ever, for what they were about to do.

It's why he had come by himself, she realized. He was angry, feeling trapped. And he had no patience to be friendly about it. At first she had assumed Merlin had refused to confront her, but she could see now. Realized Arthur had likely forbidden it. He was protecting his Consort from realizing that this was not a thing of friends, merely a contract. Shielding him, as little as he could, from the cold harshness of their reality- protecting the little pieces of him even as he gave the greater of himself.

She firmed her resolve. She owed him no less than that same protection. She looked again to those cold eyes, and saw a flash of appreciation in them as her own reflected her oath.

"A Kingship, and one night together under the special circumstances you described. A child that will be raised between the two Kingdoms," she confirmed the terms. "A husband and King of Nemeth in name only, and I will be wife by law only. The child will inherit both crowns."

"I'll have my counselors draw up the contract once we return to Camelot, excluding the details of the ritual, of course. As with anything to do with magic, there are... conditions... that must be right. You'll come to Camelot for the wedding, and the ritual. Also, the child will be raised in Camelot if you fail to bring about a positive attitude toward magic before it's born. And believe me, the person I send for such an inspection will be very thorough."

She nodded, accepting. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I truly do appreciate you doing this for me."

"I'm not doing it for you. I was perfectly prepared and content to let the future- and you- go to Hell. This grace, you owe to Merlin, and only him. You'll never know how deeply it cut him to ask this of me, to access a power he has never used this way before to manipulate me into it."

She sighed regretfully. "His sacrifices keep adding up, don't they? How do you do it? How can you stand to love him so?"

"Because I don't know how not to. I don't think I ever will."

MERLIN10101010101010101MERLIN

"Ian, stop fussing!"

"Your Highness, please!"

"It's fine! And stop calling me that!"

Arthur sighed, hearing yet another argument as he approached the door to his chambers, but couldn't help the smile that came to him. For a moment, he suddenly had a sense of what he and Merlin had sounded like to outsiders for years. Ian was trying so hard to make Merlin present himself as was due his titles. At least as long as they were in Nemeth surrounded by representatives of other Kingdoms. The warlock, however, was completely recovered from his battle, full of energy he didn't know what to do with, and was bored.

"I'll tell the King!" Ian threatened. Arthur considered that at least Ian had the decency to keep these arguments private. In public, he was the picture of the perfect manservant. Merlin had rarely ever made that distinction.

"I doubt he'd care," Merlin threw back. "And that is the most childish threat you've thrown at me yet."

"And what is it I don't care about?" Arthur asked as he entered the room, noting the way Merlin immediately pulled down his shirt as he faced him, spinning like a guilty child caught. He suspected he already knew what this was about, but was curious to see if his lover would actually tell him.

"Arthur!" the younger man squeaked out. "I thought you were going to be busy with the dignitaries all afternoon," he covered smoothly, smiling.

The King threw down the paperwork he'd been carrying, giving it a disgusted glare as it joined an ever increasing pile on the desk. "I needed a break. So, what don't I care about?"

"It's nothing, Arthur-"

"Ian?" the King interrupted, flinging the question to the servant. For all his threats, Arthur gave the man credit for his loyalty when the manservant looked at the floor, shaking his head, indicating his intention to remain silent. He sighed. "Does this have anything to do with Merlin's little escapade in the square this morning?"

Merlin shot a look at Ian, who minutely shook his head, his eyes wide. He hadn't told! "It wasn't an escapade, Arthur," Merlin explained coolly. "There are some rumors going around, and Gwaine thought it was best that I quell them, that's all."

'Quelling' those rumors had drawn a quite the crowd. Gwen had pulled Arthur out of a meeting to observe from a balcony overlooking the square. At first he'd thought her concern had been the amount of Camelot red that had been involved, shouting and exchanging money. Then she'd pointed out the cause in the middle.

"So completely trouncing one of the Lothian Knights with your long daggers was your version of de-escalating a politically delicate and sensitive situation?" Arthur asked sardonically. "You do remember you're a Prince? Not to mention of member of rank of Camelot nobility. There are proper behaviors to observe."

"You fought me when we first met. You were a Prince. A real one. I wasn't even a soldier."

"Yes, and it's taken you ten years to show me the error of those ways. I'm disappointed, Merlin. You know better than to let Gwaine pull you into this kind of thing. And you certainly know better than to let yourself be goaded into something as ridiculous as a street fight."

"See? Ten years of work and now you even sound like a real King. You should be thanking me, really." Merlin teased, and Arthur shivered when he saw the old spark of amusement in them again. Then his expression fell. "Is Knight Dougal very upset? I will, of course, apologize to him as publically as possible, to make amends."

Arthur grinned. "As publically as you humiliated him, you mean." He laughed when Merlin merely nodded, unabashed about his victory. "No, he's not upset, not really. Gwaine's already soothed his pride with a few tankards of ale. Come on then, let me see how bad it is."

Arthur walked over to his lover, lifting his shirt. There, on his left shoulder blade, was a small but rather deep cut. He'd taken the tip of the sword, it seemed. He'd seen its like many times on the training grounds. Thankfully, the scar tissue underneath had protected the shoulder well. It wouldn't need stitches. "Well, not as bad as you deserve. Taking on a twenty year veteran and sword master with nothing but your blades was foolish, no matter what Gwaine said or how much he wagered." He lifted Merlin's bare wrist. "You weren't even wearing your cuffs," he admonished.

"They were damaged in the fight with Morgana," Merlin replied quietly, and Arthur detected a tone of regret and sadness. They were the first ones Arthur had given him, and they were special to him, the King knew. He gave the uninjured shoulder a squeeze of reassurance and understanding, receiving an accepting smile in return.

"You shouldn't be using them anyway. We'll have to get some proper vambraces made for you if you're going to continue insisting on using those blades. I'm surprised no one has mentioned it before now."

Though he had to admit, after watching the fight this morning, he'd been impressed, if not a little shocked. Merlin was terrible with a sword, but the dual wielding seemed to come perfectly naturally to him. They were much better suited to the younger man's smaller frame, and left him able to take advantage of his natural speed and reflexes. It had taken the warlock very little time to disarm, down, and kneel on the older Knights chest, blades pressed to his throat in such as way they could have removed his head once he'd decided to finally go for the win. Apparently, however, Merlin had toyed with the Knight for a while before doing so- that had been the majority of what Gwaine was having to soothe over.

Once permitted to practice openly, the boys' clumsiness had quickly disappeared, obvious to all as merely another façade to hide behind. Still, he hadn't quite believed his second in command when he'd first found out about the 'special training' the warlock had been doing for over a year. He'd dismissed it without much thought, months ago. Merlin spent a great deal of his time in the Garden, and preferred to do it alone. He showed up for the sword training with the other Knights as was required of him, but for the majority, preferred the solitude of the training area Arthur had built for him. A little over a year... if the warlock had spent even half his hours in the Garden working with the blades, it would explain the skill level. According to Gwaine, Merlin had dedicated much more than half. Arthur had rarely intruded on it, assuming it was purely Magic Merlin had been focusing on. Perhaps he should have been watching more closely.

"They have mentioned it, but the ones in the armory slow me down. They're too heavy."

"Yes, I can imagine fighting with a missing arm would be much lighter," Arthur deadpanned.

Merlin rolled his eyes at his lover's lack of surprise. "Which one told you- Ian, Leon or Gwaine?" He ignored the little grunt of insult from his manservant.

"Leon, of course," Arthur replied with a grin, throwing a wink to Ian. "Gwaine and Ian would take any secret of yours to their graves. Leon, however, is a terrible liar, especially when he's caught boasting of your learning curve to other knights. Has Artemis seen to this?"

"Arthur, I've looked after your training wounds often enough to treat a scratch like this." He rolled his shoulder. "It doesn't even need stitches."

Arthur nodded, accepting, moving toward his desk. "Ian, would you excuse us? There are some matters I need to go over with the Prince. And please bring our dinner here tonight. I've had about as much as I can take of the dignitaries for today."

Ian nodded, bowing. "As you wish, Sire." He stood in front of Merlin, his hand out. "Your Highness, your tunic, if you would? I'll see if I can get the blood out and repair it before the Queen sees it."

"Is there anyone you're not going to threaten me with today, Ian?" Merlin growled as he slipped off the shirt, handing it over. "And stop calling me that!" Ian merely arched an eyebrow at him, bowed, and left.

"He's not wrong, you know," Arthur pointed out as he looked through the pile. "There is a reason I changed before a training session, had a specific wardrobe for just that."

"Really? I always thought it was just to create more work for me," Merlin threw back at him with a grin. It felt good, honestly, to slide back into some of their banter. There had been tension between them since he'd forced Arthur to agree to marrying Mithian three days ago.

That tension was made worse by Arthur's mental exhaustion in dealing with the dignitaries. They couldn't agree on anything themselves, and now that Arthur was once again available- and no longer insane from his exposure to deep magics as the rumors told it- they were taking up nearly every minute of his time. Mostly, from Merlin had heard, with petty arguments amongst themselves.

Arthur grinned at him, nodding. "There may have been a bit of that, too." Then he looked back to the scroll in front of him, and his smile died off. Merlin felt his heart go with it, and he found he had to shrug off the irritation that followed it. A part of him whispered that these moods of his were becoming unstable, but he pushed it off, instead focusing on the expression on his King's face.

"Are you very angry about this morning?" Merlin dared to ask, ducking his head. "I really didn't mean to cause you more problems. I know you've got better things to care about."

Arthur sighed, leaning back in his chair, watching his lover carefully, folding his hands, as though in prayer, and bringing his joined fingertips up to his lips. He considered how to answer the younger man's question. He'd barely had a chance to spend any time with the warlock, and he knew Merlin thought he was deliberately avoiding him. Was he? He'd always made time for them before. And it had been easier to deal with politics than the guilty look that was a constant in his Consort's expression these days, the way he refused to meet Arthur's eyes the few moments they were together. Even sleeping in the same chambers, one of them was always to bed late, and up with the sun in the morning.

He took a deep breath, and decided that honesty was going to be the best policy. Avoidance, whether consciously done or not, wasn't getting them anywhere. "I'm not angry, Merlin, I'm worried."

Immediately agitated, Merlin snorted at him, getting up to retrieve another shirt. He didn't even look at it, just tossed on the first one he grabbed. "You said it yourself, it's just a scratch."

"It's not the cut, Merlin. It's the fact that you were fighting at all. And while this was the first one I saw, from what I've been told, it's not the first one you've been in. Since when do you go looking for a fight?"

That was the first concern. The second was that according to reports, Merlin was reckless in them. He never wore armor, never wore anything to protect himself, often leaving himself wide open. Worse even still was the little it seemed to take to goad him into one. The warlock seemed to be quite skilled, indeed, to have avoided any damage before today. According to many accounts, it was nearly a miracle by itself.

He'd tried talking to Gwaine about it, but as he'd said, the Knight's first loyalties were to Merlin. His only answer had been that Merlin had energy to burn. Arthur had the distinct impression, however, that the Knight was worried too. He was sticking close to his friend, always a willing accomplice but also always making sure the boy didn't put himself in any real danger. Looking at his lover now, Arthur had a better idea of what the Knight had been talking about. The boy practically hummed with unused energy, and his moods flashed exceptionally quickly from one to another. It wasn't like him at all.

"I don't go looking, Arthur. But I'm not going to back down. It's just a bit of fun."

"See that, right there," Arthur pointed at him. "That's not like you. You've never backed down from a battle, Merlin, something I've always respected about you. But you've never considered them 'fun'. In fact, I remember years of you making disparaging comments on how 'thick' knights were to enjoy such things."

"I still think that," Merlin argued distantly. "Throw the First Knight of Albion title around all you want, I'm no Knight."

"Then why are you acting like one?" That was another problem. Of late, Merlin seemed increasingly disparaging of his titles, quickly becoming irritated with anyone who used them, or addressed him with one. Arthur had no clue where that little problem was coming from, but he suspected it was connected with Eliam's insistence on treating him like a religious icon. Durstan had, mercifully, taken care of it by sending the Battle Master home to report to the Queen. "You have nothing to prove to any of them, you know. Most of the soldiers are already hailing you as a Battle Mage of the highest rank, though I'd give dearly to know who started that one."

"I'm not! Arthur, really! A couple of fights is nothing. Gwaine's been with me each time. The soldiers are bored, that's all, still feeling the battle blood. I'm... obliging," Merlin answered. "And the last thing I need is another bloody empty title, so they can keep their Battle Mage honorific to themselves. I'll take off the head of the next person who calls me that just to prove it."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. Cursing and threats? "Are you hearing yourself?"

Why did the younger man not realize the titles he had, he had earned? Either through blood, sacrifice or hardship. That was the way of the nobility, after all, how they'd all gotten started, no matter how much they liked to believe it came down to bloodlines and natural selection of superiority. The only title Merlin carried that he didn't have the scars to back up was that of Prince Consort- and even that, he'd recently learned, had come with internal scars that would never heal.

Arthur watched in concern as the younger man looked around for something to do, some reason to move. He saw the muscles begin to quiver with the need, watched as Merlin rolled his neck from shoulder to shoulder, as though impatient, and then lacking anything better to do, begin to pace the room. He kept glancing at the door, like he was waiting for a way out.

"What do you care, anyway?" his lover asked, clearly aggravated with the entire discussion. "I haven't seriously injured anyone, and they've always started it so they shouldn't really come complaining to you. I'll make sure in the future they understand they can't go running to you because I've dented their pride. That should solve your problem."

"Merlin…" Arthur whispered, closing his eyes. That was thrice the younger man had indicated Arthur didn't care about him, or anything he did beyond the political ramifications. Opening his eyes again, he could see that nothing he said right now would penetrate. The younger man's pacing was becoming violent, though he seemed to be carefully moderating his expression.

"What was it you wanted to go over with me?" Merlin asked, diverting the conversation. He was beginning to feel like the room, which wasn't small by any measure, was closing in on him. Add to that the tension coming from his lover, and he wanted out of it. He wanted to go find Gwaine. The Knight's presence was a soothing balm these days, and he liked the fun they got into. Maybe go to the practice yard. There were always plenty of soldiers around willing to go a round or two. He shuddered as the itching crawling of his skin that was becoming all too familiar these days worked through. Too small. He needed to be out. He wished Arthur would hurry up and get to the point.

Arthur swallowed, glancing at the scroll in his hands, then nodded, putting it down. If Merlin wanted to act like a Knight, he'd treat him like one. "Your… talents… have been noticed. Someone's issued an official challenge. Their sword and shield against your daggers, no magic. It's been set for tomorrow morning, in the jousting ring. It will, unfortunately, likely be a rather public affair. The gossip from this morning is already making rounds."

Merlin tensed. "I won't kill anyone." Arthur was glad to hear the younger man still had that limit, at least.

"It's not Knight's rules. The fight will only continue until someone yields, though blood may be drawn. It's a test of skill, nothing more, nothing less. Amongst themselves, the Knights often refer to this type of challenge as a Brag Fight. They're often used to resolve minor disputes amongst the ranks. In this particular case, the insult is to your weapon selection."

He watched, saddened, when the younger man seemed to hop a little on the ball of his feet, nodding. "Then I accept."

"I thought you might, and I've already confirmed it." He looked back to his desk. "You're dismissed."

His heart ached when there was no retort to that, merely a nod and the younger man practically bolted for the door. As he reached it, Arthur called out to him, continuing to look down at his work as he spoke.

"And, Merlin? I had better see some kind of forearm guard on your wrists tomorrow. Your challenger will likely be in full armor. He has no intention of losing, and intends to see the maximum extension of your skills."

Merlin nodded at him- bowed- and left.

Arthur stared at the closed door, his heart clenching.

His kind, caring, loving, rescuer of bunnies, wouldn't hurt a fly, warlock was so eager for the excuse to fight he hadn't even asked who the challenger was.

MERLIN1010101010101010MERLIN

"My adopted Brother is quite skilled, for one so new to it," Durstan complimented, joining Arthur at the window in the corridor. "My respect to his Teacher. I honestly wouldn't have thought it of him. He's always been brave, but that's a warrior down there."

Arthur snorted. "There have been many to underestimate him, Durstan- far fewer who got to live long enough to regret it."

They were silent a moment more, both focused on the square below. Night had fallen hours ago and it was abandoned save for the lone figure fighting the multiple illusions he had conjured to train with. There was skill, yes, but there was a tone of desperation in it, a fury Arthur had never seen before, even in the heat of battle. While Merlin was reactive, he'd always been calm, cool headed, looking for the mental advantage. There was none of that below. Arthur's heart clenched with each roar of agonized frustration that came with the attacks. A flash of golden eyes and even more assailants appeared- more aggressive than the last. Again. And Again. As quickly as he could take them down, more came, barely interrupting the natural flow of his dance.

Durstan frowned. "This isn't practice for tomorrow, is it?"

"No, I don't think it is." There was a profound sadness to the King's voice as he replied softly.

"Are you sure about what you're doing?" Durstan asked, finally looking at the King who had never taken his eyes off the scene below. "That it's the best way to reach him? You've never needed it before. I don't get the feeling you intend to pull your punches."

"Look at him, Durstan. Really look," Arthur answered. He gave the Prince a moment to do so. "Does that look like a man who can be reached with words?"

"No, Sire. I don't believe it does."

"Violence isn't his way, Durstan. Something is brewing inside of him. Before the battle, I promised him that I would bring him back if he fell into darkness. I thought I'd already kept that oath, but it seems I was wrong. Believe me, all these years side by side- together- it's breaking my heart to be standing across from him. But I don't know what else to do, how else to reach him right now."

"But you are Soul Bound, Sire. Surely you can reach him through that?"

"Not when I think that's part of the problem," Arthur answered with a sigh.

"Arthur, there are additional risks to this. While his loyalties to Camelot will always come first, tomorrow he faces you as my Brother, an Elder Prince of Dumnonia, our champion, since you are the challenger. He doesn't know it, but it must be so in order to avoid speculation of division within Camelot ranks. Given our proposal, the matter is… delicate. Once he steps into that ring, he joins our ranks as a warrior in his own right, win or lose. His value will change in the trade."

"Durstan, you've been a good friend, to me, to Gwen, as well as to Camelot. I appreciate everything you've done, truly, and what you're trying to warn me of. But you know us by now. You know there is nothing I won't risk for him, crowns and thrones be damned!" He turned, taking a calming breath. "Goodnight, Durstan. Thank you for your help in taking care of tomorrow. "

"I would wish you luck in your challenge, Arthur, but I don't believe it's luck you need." He looked back down. "Nor do I think it will be sufficient."

Arthur followed his gaze, and couldn't help but agree.