airbaths | BRAVEST AND MOST NOBLE • merlot post

"I suppose that depends on the ribbon," he says with a grin of his own for his husband.

They remain lost in their own little world of ribbons and teasing and worry the entire trip. Merlin, as always, is patient and talkative with every question that Lancelot could have. He's also very good at keeping up conversation... with himself. Oddly, it's never a bother. It is just as calming as total quiet. So much so that by the time they arrive, Lancelot had forgotten all of the silly things he'd been worrying about. It's a different thing entirely when they're there. His eyes go wide with curiosity more than shock. And, of course, he keeps his hand tangled with Merlin's.

The fires are big as they always are, and the drum-beats heavy already. Merlin hangs on to Lancelot's hand as he negotiates the crowd, smiling to a few people he recognises but carrying on past them. He's here with Lancelot, and his husband has his full attention.

"Do you see those two fires, closer together?" He draws Lance closer gestures over and smiles as a girl runs between them and giggles raucously. "That's the thing to do if you want to ensure your fertility. Run between the fires. It's meant to cleanse you too, protect you from disease. That sort of thing. Sometimes people jump over the fires for the same reason, and for good luck, and as couples to pledge to each other and all that. Have to be good at jumping, though, and not scared of fire I suppose."

Full attention on the fires now, he can't help but feel a minor bit of panic at the child running between them. His heroic instincts want to keep the little ones as far away from it as possible. But, they seem to know what they're doing.

"Does that mean if I run between them we'll get a baby on our doorstep?"

He's... only partially joking. Maybe. Sort of.

Talk of jumping over them? He really hopes the kids avoid that at least... He's not exactly scared of it. Only what might happen if you failed. "So much for fertility if you miss."

"That's why you don't -- and, no, sorry. Doesn't work like that. No sex changes by fire." Merlin finally brings them to a stop nearer the fire, tugging Lancelot until their hips touch and hooking an arm around him. "Don't worry, the fires they jump over are the smaller ones. Bit easier. We're not quite in the ritualistic death era any more. Be a bit grim of we let people burn horribly every year. Also, not very good advertising."

In turn, and just as easily, Lancelot wraps an arm around Merlin's shoulders. Normally he wouldn't have much of a problem with affection anyway.

"If you could jump over that, I'd wonder just how good your herbs are."

His eye pulls away from the fire to take in the rest of their surroundings. Here he can't help but notice that no one cares at all he's got an arm around his husband. Not even giggles or encouragement. Nothing. As if it's completely normal. He feels himself relax just a little bit more. "Why didn't you wait for our handfasting to be now?"

Merlin drops his eyes at that, fingers curling into the fabric of Lancelot's shirt.

"I thought about it." Just like that his tone is more serious all of a sudden, humour dropped in favour of the question. Merlin frowns a little at the fire, then turns to regard Lancelot. "But... I didn't want to pressure you in public. I didn't want you to feel you had to say yes, and... I wanted you to know I was asking because I wanted to. Not for tradition, not because it's the done thing at this time of year, just... because I wanted to. Because it feels right. I wanted it to be about what we want, not anyone or anything else."

The drop in tone is more of a surprise than anything else they've encountered so far. And that includes a few more people running between fires. Lancelot turns to look at his better half as he explains why. He'd given it a lot of thought...

Well, of course he should have. It had to do with the rest of their lives, a promise to be together. Funny enough how he thought it perfectly reasonable for Merlin to dwell on it so long, but Lancelot himself took not even a second to say yes. He's smiling before he even knows it and gives Merlin a squeeze.

"I would have said yes no matter how you asked."

His smile flicks back at that, and Merlin squeezes Lancelot in turn.

"I know," he admits, "but I wanted to do things right." Looking around he sighs for a second in contentment, enjoying the smell of the fire and open air mixed with Lancelot's closeness. "There might be a parade later. Sometimes they do them, parades based on --"

"You came!" Merlin blinks and turns towards the voice, eyes fixing on a shock of black hair and wide, excited eyes rushing toward them. Mordred grins at him brightly, as if Merlin's presence alone is some sort of miracle. "I was not sure you would, but now you're here."

"Oh, come on, you know I don't miss the chance for a good bonfire. Um, Lance? This is Mordred. Mordred, Lance."

The blink with which Mordred turns to focus on Lancelot implies he hadn't really been aware of his presence until it was pointed out.

Lancelot isn't sure why he wasn't expecting anyone to talk to them. Of course Merlin would know people here. It's like any other social gathering. Eventually you're going to bump into someone you've met before.

He doesn't mind or notice how Mordred only focuses on Merlin. What does throw him off is how very obvious it is Mordred doesn't seem to notice them. Lancelot still gives a sincere grin. "Pleasure to meet you, Mordred."

Mordred looks between them curiously, tilts his head at Merlin as if silently asking something. As if in response Merlin links a hand through Lancelot's and raises them.

"Spring," he says simply, and the frown Mordred's expression had taken on smooths out in surprise for a moment.

He flicks a faint smile, but somehow it doesn't seem entirely natural.

"Congratulations," he offers, and Merlin beams at him as if he doesn't notice anything off about the reaction.

"Thanks. I thought it was time. Do you know if there's going to be a parade this year? Oh," and he turns to include Lance, "sometimes they do a parade. You know, all a bit symbolic and fancy. May Queen and Oak King, romance and passion and more things on fire."

The frown then incredibly false smile... They do not sit well with Lancelot. He's not entirely sure why yet. The congratulations is awfully flat, as well. Merlin - always being Merlin - doesn't pay it any mind. Perhaps Lancelot shouldn't either.

Yet, there's something. Something in those little looks that are telling him to put an arm back around Merlin's waist now that they're finished explaining their marriage.

"Thank you," he tries for his own sincerity. It works! Oh, but Merlin is talking. Thus, Lancelot is listening. "Is fire always a common element to these things?"

"Any excuse for a good fire," Merlin says by way of an answer. He settles against Lance as the arm slides around him, slips a hand into Lance's back pocket to secure them together and offers him an amused smile.

"There is a parade," Mordred answers finally. "Which you would know, if you had attended the meetings." His tone is mild, but disapproving all the same. As if he's disappointed rather than angry, like Merlin has let him down in some way.

"Bit busy," he explains, and wrinkles his nose before looking over at Lance again. "You know, newlywed stuff."

There are meetings for these sor-- Well, of course there would be. At least he managed to catch himself before actually asking. Lancelot is trying so hard not to eye Mordred suspiciously. It's probably just his imagination. He could hardly be blamed for admiring Merlin, really.

"Yet, still have to go on that honeymoon."

Merlin's proposal and ceremony was so short notice they didn't really have time to plan any sort of holiday, even one to stay at home.

"Will you be in the parade, Mordred?"

It's a potential stupid question he hopes can be forgiven.

Mordred blinks around at Lancelot again, eyebrows raising, and lets out an oddly surprised laugh -- tilting his head in a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"No, I will not." He shoots a look at Merlin again, who smirks a little as if sharing a private joke, then lets out a breath awkwardly and forces another smile. "I should go check on things. Perhaps I will... see you later?"

Merlin nods and grins at Mordred, releases Lance long enough to step forward and clasp him by the arm. He hesitates as Mordred leans forward and whispers something to him, expression slipping to a frown that he keeps even as his friend releases him and starts off back into the crowd. It vanishes instantly as he turns back to Lancelot, expression painting quickly into a perfect everything is fine smile as he loops an arm around him again.

"Right! Where were we, food?"

Oh... Well, yes. He knew that was going to be a stupid question. Lancelot has learned a long time ago to pick his battles. He'll keep quiet about Mordred for now.

Or, he would have. The face Merlin had when Mordred whispered to him isn't anything like Lancelot's seen in a while from his better half. He also knows exactly how to read that placating grin of his.

He gives Merlin a wide eyed look, more curious than anything else. Merlin made it very clear they were together and he did leave.

"What was that all about?"

"Umm. Nothing?" Which is perhaps the most transparent lie Merlin has ever told. He seems to realise this after a moment, wrinkles his nose a little and shrugs. "Druid things?" he offers, which is partially an answer at least, even if he's formed it as a question. Am I going to get away with just saying this? He squirms a little, clearly unsure how to deal with this crossover of Lancelot and... everything else. "Bit complicated," he adds awkwardly after a moment. "Might be a bit weird, too."

As if Merlin is a stranger to weird in some way, and this may come as a surprise.

It certainly wasn't nothing. Anyone could have seen that. Druid things might have been an answer, but it wasn't a very good one. He's asked for every elaboration he can think of. What's to stop from this one? Especially with Mordred... Acting odd like that.

Eyebrows raised, Lancelot gives Merlin a look. "People are running between fires. It's already a bit weird."

For him is the silent implication.

Right. There is that.

Merlin hesitates a moment, then drops his arm from around Lance to take his hand -- knits their fingers together and tugs gently.

"Come with me," he says, and flicks a small smile as he starts to weave through the crowd. He catches Mordred's eye for a moment, watching them, but just blinks and carries on -- leading them away from the huddle of people to a quiet area a little way away from the fires and stalls. It's dark here, the light from the festivities not quite reaching, but the moonlight offers them a little to see by and Merlin doesn't seem bothered. He drops to sit on the grass, pulling at Lancelot as if he expects him to do the same.

For a second he just fidgets, twisting his fingers together, then he finally blurts something.

"Don't freak out? Please?"

Which is always a brilliant way to start a conversation.

This seems odd. Are there really super secret sex orgy rituals and Merlin had been wanting to keep it from him until now? Something worse? He can't see Merlin having anything to do with something that might cause harm to another living and thinking thing. He didn't like picked flowers, for god's sake.

He's not sure what to expect anymore, honestly. Movies have lead him completely wrong as far as druids are concerned. He trusts Merlin.

Or at least, he thinks he does. Loves the man to death, but he has a tendency to fumble here and there. Definitely nothing to do with crazy rituals. They're all alone. (All alone, Mordred.)

Lancelot does as he's expected and sits. Yes, wonderful way to begin a conversation. He offers a casual and warm smile, a laugh hinted throughout his words. They're married. What does he think is going to happen? "Depends on what you're going to do."

He lets out a slightly nervous huff of laughter.

"All right," he starts, and takes a deep breath. He can do this. He can have this conversation. They can get through this. "I'm an Ovate. Um. Okay, backtrack. There are different... types of druidry. Grades. Druid, Ovate and Bard. A bard deals with... mundane skills. Artistic talent and academics. A regular druid deals with ceremony, culture, ritual. An ovate deals with... magic. Divination and healing and... stuff. I know it sounds..." Merlin takes a deep breath, looks skyward as if to draw strength and drops his shoulders forcibly. "There haven't been proper ovate teachers for a long time. It's a... dying art. Mordred thinks I should do more with it, thinks I should be helping the druids be something more, but..."

But Merlin doesn't want destiny. Doesn't want to be bound to the fate of the world, doesn't want to fight. He parts his twisted together fingers and plays with the grass, whispers to it half under his breath. His eyes glow for a second in the dark, then white flowers start to snake their way up from the ground and bloom in the moonlight.

All this sounds fairly standard. Weird druid words explained in a way that Lancelot can understand them. Merlin babbling on, And oh, he might be very important. Lancelot is impressed. He's almost ready to comment or ask why Merlin's never mentioned it and taken up the responsibility. It seems like a great honor to him.

And then.

There's a flash of yellow. His mind instinctively thinks: ember? No. They're too far from the fire. They were too perfectly round. Just as quickly as they flash, as Merlin whispers, they're surrounded by something he'd never imagined possible without a green screen and computers or lights or tricks or-- this has to be a trick. It-- There's no other explanation???

If it is, it's the most beautiful trick he's ever laid eyes on. He finds himself smiling in awe as much as shock. He reaches out to touch one. They feel real. "This... this is amazing. How are you doing this?"

Come on, there has to be a secret somewhere.

"Magic?" he repeats, and his expression is lined with nerves as he toys with one of the blooms. "Please don't freak out?" he adds, voice a little higher than is natural for him, and there's something akin to a note of fear now. Lancelot loves him, he knows that, loves him more than anything but that doesn't mean he wants to deal with this. Doesn't mean he wants the burden of destiny and prophecy and unnatural skill that Merlin carries around even when he's just trying to earn enough money to live on top of all that. Just trying to be normal instead of whatever people would ask of him. "Please?" he repeats, and takes Lancelot's hand, breaths in and gently squeezes it -- as much to reassure himself as Lancelot.

Magic? No really, what is it?

He looks to Merlin's face, expecting some sort of elaboration. He may even expect a grin. Merlin's always been terrible at playing tricks like this. That isn't what he finds. He finds fear and worry. His face falls.

Merlin's serious. Magic exists and his husband is the one (or one of the ones?) who carries it. Perhaps it's growing up in a society where the hope of magic existing saturates nearly every story, especially for children. Films, comics, books, everything. He grew up with stories about knights and elves and wizards. But who would actually expect it to be real? It's the best news he's ever heard.

He squeezes his hand in return, confusion shifting to concern. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" Maybe before the wedding.

"I was always taught to hide it." Merlin shrugs a little miserably, shuffles closer to Lancelot for comfort. "The druids -- they thing I'm going to fulfil this great prophecy, do all these great things, return magic to the land but... My mother, she was always scared about what would happen if people found out. That people would take me away from her. I thought, maybe I could just... keep hiding it. Maybe then I could be normal, could do what I wanted to do instead of what people expected."

Which is the crux of it. Merlin loves magic, loves the incredible feel of being alive it gives him but the burden that comes with it -- the pressure of destiny, the fear of reprisal? That he hates more than anything.

As always, he listens very carefully. More importantly, he watches to see Merlin's expression. So much of exactly what he's thinking is written all over him. How he kept a secret like this for so long is impossible to fathom for Lancelot. He's the worst liar on the planet, his Merlin.

He brings his free hand up to caress Merlin's cheek, thumb on one of those intensely sharp cheekbones. "You didn't think this was important to mention before the wedding night?"

Lancelot should be freaking out. Magic is real, his husband has it, and he kept that from him all this time. But he isn't. Probably because it's so difficult to ever be angry at Merlin. Plus, wasn't this the plot of nearly every superhero movie? You keep it quiet to protect the ones you love, yourself, everyone.

"You never had to keep anything from me, Merlin." His tone is much more gentle now, as is his expression.

BRAVEST AND MOST NOBLE • merlot post

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