airbaths | BRAVEST AND MOST NOBLE • merlot post

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.

"I don't know, I just -- I didn't want this to happen. I wanted us to be normal. I didn't want you to be afraid of me, didn't want you to get drawn into all this."

Only he is now, isn't he? Merlin trails fingers over the soft white petals of the flowers, leans more heavily into Lancelot and takes a steadying breath.

"I'm sorry. I am. It's my fault, not you. I trust you, I do, I was just... scared."

"You've never been normal," he blurts out before he realizes. It's sincere as anything he's ever said to Merlin, with some extra devotion thrown in. "You've always been amazing. Even without... this."

Saying the word magic seems weird. You spend you whole life getting over the disappointment that magic isn't real and-- suddenly it is! And his husband has it. As wonderful as it is, Lancelot can see the fear in his eyes. The worry.

"I'll protect you." There's a sense of finality to the words. Doesn't matter to him if Merlin is actually the one with power. He can't argue with this one. Lancelot gives a squeeze to his hand and leans in closer.

Merlin laughs at that, he laughs because you've never been normal is a funny thing to say -- even with the amendment. He laughs because Lancelot wants to protect him, and Merlin doesn't know if he can but he loves that he wants to try.

"Thank you," he says, and squirms to slip over Lancelot's lap -- throws his arms around him and hangs on as if his life depends on it. "Thank you. You've always been amazing too."

He didn't quite mean how it sounded, so he hopes that Merlin will accept it for a compliment anyway. He meant it as one!

Lancelot's own smile brightens as Merlin moves to his lap. The festival could go on the rest of the night without him, as far as he's concerned. They should probably get back to it eventually. When their moment is over. This is important. It doesn't feel earth shattering. The weight of it all probably hasn't settled.

"I love you," he says as a promise, as the truth, as everything it could ever possibly mean. "And I meant it when I said you don't have to keep secrets from me." Please, keep him in the loop from now on.

"I know, I'm sorry. No more secrets." Merlin swallows back guilt, nuzzles at Lancelot's neck affectionately before drawing back to meet his eyes -- reaching to gently stroke his face. "I love you too," he adds, and his eyes flash gold for a second before he smiles slowly, letting the weight of his feelings wash out over Lancelot. Relief, hope, fear faintly underneath, complete and utter adoration for the man in front of him. Everything that he is. Everything between them.

The glow of Merlin's eyes are absolutely beautiful. Before they'd always been a source of near poetry for Lancelot. Now it's more of a source of wonder. Does that always happen when Merlin uses his magic? And how did he not manage to see it before? He must be an expert at hiding it.

He's ready to say something in return when the most bizarre thing happens. He feels something. These are definitely not his own feelings. Relief is a strong one. Fear isn't one he had at all. Love and hope, however, he did. Differently. It's like he knows exactly what Merlin is thinking without hearing any words. It crashes over him like a wave. He's left wide eyed and blinking after as his own mind tries to catch up from it all.

"... Can you do that again?"

He's not sure how much control there is over the emotional part. And, maybe, he'd really like to feel exactly what his husband does a thousand times over.

"Of course," Merlin says, and he bumps their foreheads together before leaning in -- eyes flashing gold again even as they close and he brushes their lips together. His pleasure flows into Lancelot, hope and adoration drowning out the last of his fear until there's none at all left. His fingers cradle the back of Lancelot's neck, and every moment up until now that Merlin thought he could not possibly love the man more pales in comparison to this. To how easily he accepts him, encourages him, is not afraid of what he is at all.

BRAVEST AND MOST NOBLE • merlot post

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