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A Song That Sings of Death

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You went quietly; perhaps that is why no one had noticed, not before it was too late anyway.

But that is the crux of the matter: it was the most logical solution. The Great Dragon called you the most noble and brave of them all. This is not about that. Though in your heart of hearts, you hope that you have deserved a shard of such esteem. Probably not.

It is about Gwen. Nothing to dispute that with. About her quiet despair and her pleading. The near-tears in her eyes. How could you not help her when she came to you, as a friend in desperate need, for your help?

But it is not only that.

Part of that is about Camelot. The second coming of your home, back when you had no notion of ever having one again, when the first idea behind the word was burnt and ravaged, was left behind dead as you roamed forward. The one that meant hope when you were exiled from it, once again damned to be free. Hope that, one day, you might return when you have proven yourself worthy of it. You were a knight of Camelot. Embrace that, now.

That is not all, either.

There is Arthur, who is a prince. Arthur, who wanted you as his knight even when no one else would, when you shamed yourself with disgrace. An honourable Arthur. Arthur who believes in things. Arthur who fights for them (for you, all of you). Arthur is the king you wanted to serve.

It is not quite that.

It is the vow. You know it is; you said, “With my life, I’ll protect him.”

– and so it was done.

In the end, it is because you are a knight, and you know what it means. In the end, it is because all of it, weaved together in a person that is you, that you know you are.

–and it was done.