He Welcomed Each Scar
As he dressed for another day Merlin stared at the scars that littered his body. They ran the gamut from long healed, faded, white scars to pinkish scars that were still healing and angry red scars that had yet to begin to truly heal even with the aid of Gaius’ treatments or Merlin’s magic. To the aesthetic eye he was sure they were considered ugly. To him, they were ugly; they were misshapen, lumpy, skin. They were ugly and he welcomed every single one of them.
He welcomed each scar. Each scar was a reminder that he’d succeeded. Each scar meant that Camelot was safe. The people he considered his own were safe. Most importantly, Arthur was safe.
He welcomed each scar. Each scar was a reminder of the pain, be it physical, mental or emotional pain, that the battle that caused the scar caused him.
He welcomed each scar. They were a disfiguring penance. A constant reminder of the pain, be it physical, mental or emotional, that he caused others.
He welcomed each scar. The scars held onto the pieces of his heart and soul that were left after both had been shattered so many times and in so many ways. Some of those ways were his own doing. Others were not.
He welcomed each scar. Each new scar was a reminder of another piece of his heart or soul was now missing.
He welcomed each scar because he knew even now that one day everything and everyone he loved would be gone. The life that was no longer only his would be gone and the scars would be all he had left.