airbaths | BRAVEST AND MOST NOBLE • merlot post

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.

"Flatterer."

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."

That works, right?

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.

He hurls himself forward immediately, sprawling half on top of Lancelot and clinging on to him.

"I won't go anywhere, I promise. I'll wait until you come find me. As long as I need to."

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.

"I will."

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.

Lancelot is not entirely sure how he is alive at this point. He's tried for several sword masters, defending those in bar fights, helping keep away thieves on journeys. He's honestly surprised he's got all of his limbs.

But now. Now that he's got some training, it's time to keep his promise. How long has it been since he last saw the best friend he's ever had? A small part of him swells thinking how proud Merlin will be. How proud he hopes Merlin will be. He's probably seen all sorts of fantastic things in the heart of one of the greatest cities. Everywhere talks of Camelot.

He's so very near to it, so ready for a rest.

There's a scream-- no, a screech. It's unlike any animal or man ever heard before. It sends a chill right down to him. There's a flash of red running followed by something infinitely larger aiming for it. He has to help. Merlin, you will just have to wait.

He drops everything but his sword, no armor to his name. It will have to do. As quick as he can, Lancelot jumps into action.

Merlin is scrambling through the forest by now, basket dropped in favour of running faster. He trips, back-pedals and is quite sure this is the part where his life flashes before his eyes --

and then it must be doing just that, because the person standing between him and the griffin looks so familiar. The utterly ridiculous person wearing not a shred of armour, waving a sword, and he barely manages to start to exclaim his name before he's being hauled to his feet and they're running --

He's always been lucky, but even Merlin can't believe this. Of all the people, of all the times to turn up.

He sits panting for air, waiting to see if the Griffin will wing back and spot them huddled against the log, but they've made it. Somehow, by some impossible means they've made it. He's alive, and Merlin turns to grin at his friend.

"You were almost late."

Lancelot wastes no time. He does not hesitate for a second. If he and his sword are all that can stand between whatever this is and Merlin, he will defend.

That is, until his sword breaks. There's one very important thing he's learned in his short experience travelling: when to run. There is a difference between being brave and being stupid.

They jump behind a log and try to catch their breath as they watch the griffin soar overhead. It's only then that Lancelot realizes he's sustained a wound and his hand rests on it. He does offer a very weak smile to Merlin anyway. "Told you not... to get in trouble."

That little wound has taken more out of him than he knows. The travel right before didn't help he... he just needs to sleep for a while. Let himself catch up. He'll be fine if he closes his eyes, really...

He laughs at that, half relief and half exhaustion, and then his eyes flick down.

They catch on the wound and Merlin pales.

"No, no, no -- Lance! Lance, stay awake, please. Look, it's not far, I can get you to Gaius. He can treat you. Can you stand?"

Then Merlin is on his feet, casting around frantically to check the beast isn't doubling back and trying to help Lancelot up. This can't happen. He can't have met his friend again only to watch him die, like this, after saving his life.

Lancelot can hear Merlin's voice. He sounds worried. What? Oh right, yes, the wound and monster and everything that had happened. He's just so... Tired... And isn't he dreaming? He dreams about Merlin so often it wouldn't be that hard to mistake.

"I can," he answers without realizing he has at all. He makes no movement to actually offer himself up. He can stand after a rest. A good long rest where he'll dream about Merlin some more.

Merlin lets out a miserable moan of distress, struggles to pull Lancelot to his feet with his limited strength.

"Come on," he begs, "please."

If Merlin has to drag Lancelot, though, he will. Camelot is not far, and Merlin is never one to give up on a friend. Especially a friend as dear to him as Lancelot.

Lancelot is bandaged and left to rest in Merlin's bed, Merlin hovering by his side nervously every free minute he has. He can't stand to see him this way, hurt and drawn, and the sacrifice of his own bed is a small one if it means Lancelot will be well again. He ends up falling asleep, arms folded on the side of the bed as he wills Lancelot to be well. To forgive him for getting in trouble and getting him hurt.

Lancelot slowly begins to awake. He doesn't remember last being somewhere with a bed. Actually, he can't remember the last time he had a bed at all. It's been fields and hay and grass for more than a year.

Merlin. Why does Merlin linger in his mind so much stronger than before? Merlin....

"Merlin?" he asks as he wakes and tries to sit up. The pain in his side causes him to wince and wake up much more quickly. The fight, rescuing his friend. He looks and feels relieved, despite the pain, at seeing him safe.

He startles awake at the sound of his name, a red blotch on the side of his face where it had been smushed against the rough fabric of his blanket.

"Lance?" Merlin blinks himself back to consciousness, shakes off the last dredges of sleep and scrambles to his feet -- hands fluttering in the air vaguely over Lancelot as he decides what to do first. "Don't -- don't move, stay still, you'll re-open the wound. Does it hurt? I can get you something for the pain, or, a drink, or, are you hungry? I can get you food, we have food, um, and I should fetch Gaius and --" He trails off, breath hitching awkwardly, then rushes forward the last step again to grab for Lancelot's hand. "I'm sorry, look, this is my fault. You came all this way and then --"

Then Lancelot got hurt, because of him. Merlin feels wretched at the thought of it.

He'd almost forgotten about the wound entirely. At least the pain was there to remind him. It doesn't take much for him to heed a little of Merlin's warning. The pain, which he winces from, keeps him from sitting up too far. he observes the bandage as he clutches it.

And, of course, has to deal with Merlin feeling needlessly guilty. Despite it all, he gives a smile for actually getting to see his friend's face. To see him alive and well. "I didn't know you were bait for a giant monster." Really, how was this in any way Merlin's fault?

"What was that?"

"A griffin." Merlin swallows, draws his chair closer to the bed and sits again -- Lancelot's hand still clutched in his. "It's been attacking nearby villages, but... it isn't taking livestock. It's taking... people."

Which is more than a little disconcerting. First a creature shows up believed to exist only in the pages of myth, then it attacks villages and takes human victims. Where did it even come from? Merlin only hopes there aren't any more. One will be bad enough to deal with.

Lancelot realizes he isn't going anywhere any time soon. If the pain of the wound weren't enough, Merlin's about to grip his hand right off. He looks so guilty, the poor thing. It's not his fault the beast came after him.

"Can magic stop it?"

His sword broke in two from one swing. Lancelot may be strong, but he's nowhere near that. Relaxing might have been a terrible idea. He feels so weak. He can't! Not now. Not when there is a monster out there ready to take up people. What if Merlin needs to be protected again?

"I don't know. Maybe. It's a creature of magic, Gaius thinks magic can fight it, but you saw it! I can't bring down something like that. I don't have magic that powerful."

He eases his grip on Lancelot's hand with a sigh, closes his other hand around it to clasp it between them and frowns sadly.

"Besides, magic is forbidden here. Punishable by death. I have to be careful."

BRAVEST AND MOST NOBLE • merlot post

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject