In a village as small as Ealdor rumours spread quickly, suspicion is as difficult to deal with as the petty gossip. People are as quick to protect as they are to ostracise.
Merlin has learnt this the hard way.
Yet through all of it there has been Will and Lance. His closest friends. Without them Merlin is sure he would have never become the person he is, without their encouragement and their friendship and compassion.
Lancelot, certainly, is the kindest and noblest man Merlin knows. While Will has always been more cynical, cautious, guarded -- Lance is open, wears his heart on his sleeve. They've been in endless trouble together, because it isn't just that Lance does not fear Merlin's gifts. More than that, he accepts and encourages them. Merlin well knows there is danger in that, that not everyone thinks the way Lance does, but when Lance smiles at him tells him things are fine Merlin can't do anything but believe it is true.
He feels safe around the man, and Merlin things anyone would have trouble not to.
Such things cannot last forever, though.
He sighs as he pulls up another stray weed from the grass, frowning down at Ealdor below them. Merlin knew he never really belonged here, felt it in his bones, but the idea of leaving is still a difficult one. Ealdor is still his home.
"Do you think I'll make friends there? In Camelot."
Part of him is curious, almost excited, but Camelot feels so big and so far away and he can't help but doubt a little. What if he doesn't? What if everyone hates him? What if he messes up and gets in trouble?
Lancelot, he feels, hasn't been very different at all. He can survive well enough. Farming and hunting and all that. He can barely fight. There's hardly been much reason in Ealdor, save for some punches exchanged as they grew. He wants to make himself better. He wants to be able to protect people like Merlin and Will and his mother no matter what might try to hurt them. He wants to stand for nobility and honor.
He wants to be a knight.
And he can't be one in Ealdor.
And he doesn't have a plan.
Merlin's got the right idea. Go to a neighboring kingdom. Step out of this place to see what you can really accomplish. The thought of joining him has been bouncing around in his mind for days. He still, probably, wouldn't be much use as a man without so much as a dagger.
Lancelot, laying next to Merlin and looking at nothing in particular, smiles at the very thought. "You can make friends with any one, any where. You'll have them charmed within a week."
Merlin huffs at that, squirms to elbow Lancelot a little.
"Flatterer," he chides, then rolls onto his side properly to face his friend -- expression pulled into a frown. "I won't make any as good as you. I couldn't."
Nobody as kind or generous. Nobody as loyal or just. It aches in his chest how much he'll miss his friend.
Lancelot does his lazy best to hit Merlin back. He knows he's probably not going to get much but a touch to his friend's arm. Lancelot himself only turns his head so he can look into those blue eyes. The ones that shine bright gold and do amazing things. How anyone could hate him for a gift so beautiful he will never know.
"It's not the last time we'll see each other. At least I'll know where you are."
Can't be that bad! He will have to visit. He'd miss the sense of familiarity and peace that always comes with Merlin around.
"Will you visit?" He settles a little more comfortably onto his side, holding Lancelot's gaze in a mixture of hope and curiosity. "While I'm there, I mean. Will you come see me? I know it's a long way, but... I'll miss you. You're the best friend I've ever had, and I know you'll be great. Honestly, you'll be amazing at whatever you do. I just know it."
Lancelot's own is ... He's not even sure. Part of him cannot wait for the adventure, the chance to finally become what he knows he should be. He should be a knight to be able to defend anyone that needs it.
But... Merlin's still got a lot of needed protecting. There's no denying Lancelot will miss everything from his terrible jokes to his perfect ability to get in trouble.
"I'll miss you too much not to visit you." Maybe they should focus on the positive instead. Merlin's got a lot of faith in him. Lancelot should return the favor. "What do you think you'll do when you get there? Not like you can farm anymore."
Merlin sighs at that and rolls under his back again, lips twitching ruefully.
"I don't know. Magic's the only thing I've ever been good at." He mulls it over a moment, watching the clouds. "I'll find something. Maybe I can do jobs Gaius until I do. He's the Court Physician there, he was friends with my mother once. A long time ago. She thinks he'll help me."
"I hope so." The worry is impossible to hide. He wouldn't bother anyway. They don't really know who this Gaius is, if he'll help. But, no one could argue with Hunith. Wisest woman you could ever meet and Lancelot is all the more thankful for it.
"I'm.. sure it will be fine," he adds to convince himself and Merlin. "You're better at a lot more than you realize."
Lancelot has to stare up at the sky long and hard.
And stare.
"You can..."
Most of it is just for show, but some of it was honest. Not that Lancelot could to any better. "Well you're not dead yet," he offers with a shrug and jutted out bottom lip.
Finally he turns to his friend, "At least you aren't trying to be a knight with no fighting skills. Besides rescuing you and Will.."
"You aren't useless," He reassures with what can only be a desperate plea of sincerity. "You'll find what you're good at in no time at all."
That's the thing about Merlin: he's clever. He's clumsy but he's capable of doing anything he tries. Maybe it's the magic working in a different way. Lancelot finally sits up to properly look at his friend and another wave of longing hits him.
Merlin sighs and rolls over onto his stomach, picking at the grass miserably. He probably will be fine, he knows that really, but that doesn't mean he has to enjoy it.
"I wish I had your confidence. You always seem to just... know."
Lancelot takes this opportunity to use Merlin as a bed by laying perpendicular to him on his back. Oh yes, much better than the ground this is.
"It's not really about knowing, at least for me. It's about deciding." He looks to his fr-- well, the back of his friend's head. "I do know about you."
"Oh?" Merlin prompts, half turning his head even though he can't quite turning enough to see Lancelot. "And what do you know about me, then? Other than the fact that I have no useful skills to speak of."
Lancelot doesn't pause. The compliments, the sincerity, it all comes right out. It's not only to make Merlin feel better, it's to tell him something that Lancelot can't quite figure out what it is. He just knows it's important to say, so he will.
"I know that you're the kindest and smartest person I've ever met. I know you have a difficult time giving up. And I know you've got more power than... anyone."
Who needed a sword when you could have Merlin's magic? Sure, it wasn't much yet, but that glow was unmistakable. There is power there. A power that inspires hope in him, while others might cower in fear.
Merlin's tone is equal parts fond and chiding, pleased by the sweet words but slightly embarrassed all the same. At least Lancelot can keep his feet under him. How is it he's got so much good luck? Kind and handsome and coordinated and brave? Merlin finds this painfully unfair.
"I don't think it counts as flattery if it's the truth."
At last, he moves himself off of Merlin. The day is only getting shorter. They have chores to finish up before planning and packing. Probably the last things they'll ever do in Ealdor. It makes moving from their hill that much harder. This might be the last time he ever sees those ridiculous ears.
What can he say that hasn't already been said? Eyes soften and don't trail too far from the best friend he's ever had.
"Merlin."
He should have planned past getting his attention...
"Mmmm?" He pushes up a little, blinks curiously at Lancelot -- then lets his expression dip into a frown. "Don't say goodbye. Please."
Merlin doesn't want it to be goodbye. Doesn't want to admit he might never see his friend again. Doesn't want to think about it right now, while they still have each other's company.
Lancelot doesn't want it to be goodbye either. Goodbyes are too final. Goodbyes mean that you might not see each other no matter how badly you want it to be. He bites his bottom lip, eyes still wide with worry and heartache and-- everything.
"I won't say anything, so you'll have to see me again."
Merlin thinks about this, studying Lancelot's face, then nods. It makes sense, to him. No goodbyes.
"All right. Then you have to. Come see me, I mean. You can tell me everything you've been doing, everything I've missed, and I'll tell you all about Camelot."
He holds up a scolding finger. "Don't leave until I find you." If he managed to miss Merlin... Well, he supposes his new quest would be to find him, wouldn't it? He can't imagine spending the rest of his life without seeing that ridiculous face ever again.
And, because he knows it's coming anyway, Lancelot holds his arms open for one final hug.
Lancelot almost falls over from Merlin rushing to him. Partially an exaggeration. He doesn't really care either way. Every part of him is telling him not to let go. "I promise I'll come find you."
And yet, part they must. Lancelot stays that way for as long as he can, but eventually they must. Their journeys cannot begin. They can't do what they're meant to do clinging to each other. It's a sad truth. Doesn't make it any less true.
At last, Lancelot pulls away and stands. There are no goodbyes. Only soft smiles and lingering promises. "Stay safe, Merlin." It's an honest partial warning.
He tries, honestly he does. Yet trouble always finds Merlin. He invites it, even when he knows he shouldn't. He can't help making jokes that people don't like, can't bear to stand by and watch a person get hurt. Merlin couldn't explain why he saved Arthur, he only knows that Arthur -- whatever his other crimes -- had done nothing to deserve death right then. He knew that Valiant couldn't be allowed to win by cheating. He knew Nimueh couldn't be allowed to succeed.
He knew that if he had to drink the wine so Arthur would not, well, then he must.
At the very least, though, his life does have some idle points. He misses the quiet of Ealdor at times, with how rushed he is now -- helping Gaius, being manservant to Arthur, saving Camelot -- but simple tasks like picking mushrooms are at least a moment's respite. They were. Until just then.
Merlin startles at the sound of wing-beats, nearly trips backwards and barely rescues his basket of mushrooms as the griffin lands. He's never seen one before, why would he have? Never seen anything like it and he's at once terrified and in awe of it. It's magnificent.
It's also about to rip him apart unless he does something. Like run.
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airbaths2014-05-17 07:31 pm
HERE WE GO
In a village as small as Ealdor rumours spread quickly, suspicion is as difficult to deal with as the petty gossip. People are as quick to protect as they are to ostracise.
Merlin has learnt this the hard way.
Yet through all of it there has been Will and Lance. His closest friends. Without them Merlin is sure he would have never become the person he is, without their encouragement and their friendship and compassion.
Lancelot, certainly, is the kindest and noblest man Merlin knows. While Will has always been more cynical, cautious, guarded -- Lance is open, wears his heart on his sleeve. They've been in endless trouble together, because it isn't just that Lance does not fear Merlin's gifts. More than that, he accepts and encourages them. Merlin well knows there is danger in that, that not everyone thinks the way Lance does, but when Lance smiles at him tells him things are fine Merlin can't do anything but believe it is true.
He feels safe around the man, and Merlin things anyone would have trouble not to.
Such things cannot last forever, though.
He sighs as he pulls up another stray weed from the grass, frowning down at Ealdor below them. Merlin knew he never really belonged here, felt it in his bones, but the idea of leaving is still a difficult one. Ealdor is still his home.
"Do you think I'll make friends there? In Camelot."
Part of him is curious, almost excited, but Camelot feels so big and so far away and he can't help but doubt a little. What if he doesn't? What if everyone hates him? What if he messes up and gets in trouble?
wiggles with happiness
He wants to be a knight.
And he can't be one in Ealdor.
And he doesn't have a plan.
Merlin's got the right idea. Go to a neighboring kingdom. Step out of this place to see what you can really accomplish. The thought of joining him has been bouncing around in his mind for days. He still, probably, wouldn't be much use as a man without so much as a dagger.
Lancelot, laying next to Merlin and looking at nothing in particular, smiles at the very thought. "You can make friends with any one, any where. You'll have them charmed within a week."
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"Flatterer," he chides, then rolls onto his side properly to face his friend -- expression pulled into a frown. "I won't make any as good as you. I couldn't."
Nobody as kind or generous. Nobody as loyal or just. It aches in his chest how much he'll miss his friend.
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"It's not the last time we'll see each other. At least I'll know where you are."
Can't be that bad! He will have to visit. He'd miss the sense of familiarity and peace that always comes with Merlin around.
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But... Merlin's still got a lot of needed protecting. There's no denying Lancelot will miss everything from his terrible jokes to his perfect ability to get in trouble.
"I'll miss you too much not to visit you." Maybe they should focus on the positive instead. Merlin's got a lot of faith in him. Lancelot should return the favor. "What do you think you'll do when you get there? Not like you can farm anymore."
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"I don't know. Magic's the only thing I've ever been good at." He mulls it over a moment, watching the clouds. "I'll find something. Maybe I can do jobs Gaius until I do. He's the Court Physician there, he was friends with my mother once. A long time ago. She thinks he'll help me."
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"I'm.. sure it will be fine," he adds to convince himself and Merlin. "You're better at a lot more than you realize."
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"Like what?"
Merlin doesn't think eating a lot of food counts as an actual skill.
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And stare.
"You can..."
Most of it is just for show, but some of it was honest. Not that Lancelot could to any better. "Well you're not dead yet," he offers with a shrug and jutted out bottom lip.
Finally he turns to his friend, "At least you aren't trying to be a knight with no fighting skills. Besides rescuing you and Will.."
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Merlin doesn't even know what he should start learning. He suspects he'd be a terrible physician. Panic and do something wrong.
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That's the thing about Merlin: he's clever. He's clumsy but he's capable of doing anything he tries. Maybe it's the magic working in a different way. Lancelot finally sits up to properly look at his friend and another wave of longing hits him.
"You'll be fine."
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"I wish I had your confidence. You always seem to just... know."
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"It's not really about knowing, at least for me. It's about deciding." He looks to his fr-- well, the back of his friend's head. "I do know about you."
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"I know that you're the kindest and smartest person I've ever met. I know you have a difficult time giving up. And I know you've got more power than... anyone."
Who needed a sword when you could have Merlin's magic? Sure, it wasn't much yet, but that glow was unmistakable. There is power there. A power that inspires hope in him, while others might cower in fear.
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Merlin's tone is equal parts fond and chiding, pleased by the sweet words but slightly embarrassed all the same. At least Lancelot can keep his feet under him. How is it he's got so much good luck? Kind and handsome and coordinated and brave? Merlin finds this painfully unfair.
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At last, he moves himself off of Merlin. The day is only getting shorter. They have chores to finish up before planning and packing. Probably the last things they'll ever do in Ealdor. It makes moving from their hill that much harder. This might be the last time he ever sees those ridiculous ears.
What can he say that hasn't already been said? Eyes soften and don't trail too far from the best friend he's ever had.
"Merlin."
He should have planned past getting his attention...
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Merlin doesn't want it to be goodbye. Doesn't want to admit he might never see his friend again. Doesn't want to think about it right now, while they still have each other's company.
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"I won't say anything, so you'll have to see me again."
That works, right?
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"All right. Then you have to. Come see me, I mean. You can tell me everything you've been doing, everything I've missed, and I'll tell you all about Camelot."
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And, because he knows it's coming anyway, Lancelot holds his arms open for one final hug.
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"I won't go anywhere, I promise. I'll wait until you come find me. As long as I need to."
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And yet, part they must. Lancelot stays that way for as long as he can, but eventually they must. Their journeys cannot begin. They can't do what they're meant to do clinging to each other. It's a sad truth. Doesn't make it any less true.
At last, Lancelot pulls away and stands. There are no goodbyes. Only soft smiles and lingering promises. "Stay safe, Merlin." It's an honest partial warning.
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He tries, honestly he does. Yet trouble always finds Merlin. He invites it, even when he knows he shouldn't. He can't help making jokes that people don't like, can't bear to stand by and watch a person get hurt. Merlin couldn't explain why he saved Arthur, he only knows that Arthur -- whatever his other crimes -- had done nothing to deserve death right then. He knew that Valiant couldn't be allowed to win by cheating. He knew Nimueh couldn't be allowed to succeed.
He knew that if he had to drink the wine so Arthur would not, well, then he must.
At the very least, though, his life does have some idle points. He misses the quiet of Ealdor at times, with how rushed he is now -- helping Gaius, being manservant to Arthur, saving Camelot -- but simple tasks like picking mushrooms are at least a moment's respite. They were. Until just then.
Merlin startles at the sound of wing-beats, nearly trips backwards and barely rescues his basket of mushrooms as the griffin lands. He's never seen one before, why would he have? Never seen anything like it and he's at once terrified and in awe of it. It's magnificent.
It's also about to rip him apart unless he does something. Like run.
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