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Lancelot breathed in the crisp air of newly changed winter to spring. The frost had melted just weeks before, and Merlin had been sent to one of the outer villages to receive a package for Gaius. Arthur, even if he tried to act like he hated Merlin, was as protective as always and had ordered one of the knights to go with him. He had volunteered and hid a victorious smile as Gwaine whined about not being told about it sooner. And the next day, they were off.
Although, at this point, Lancelot was wondering if it would’ve been better for Merlin to have gone with someone else. Since whenever he looked at the man with the wildflower field around them and his content smile his heart grew too big for his chest. Not Gwaine, their little rivalry was too much fun to let him have the honor instead. Maybe Percival; the man was quiet but he always made sure to keep the raven-haired warlock safe. But when Merlin turned to look at him from his horse, that wonderful smile of his as he went on about how this was the first time he’d gone out of the castle without Arthur for weeks, he couldn’t bring himself to want the boy to have gone on the little quest with anyone else.
Lancelot swallowed the thumping in his throat and brought his horse, Dáithí, up to ride alongside Merlin. And Merlin, ever the considerate, slowed just enough for the two of them to ride at the same speed.
“So, what’s the package?” He asked, studying Merlin’s profile.
Merlin shrugged, “Some new vials, I think. Gaius said to be careful with it.”
Lancelot snorted and leaned over to gently shove the thinner man’s arm, “So I’ll be the one handling it?”
Merlin burst out in a fit of laughter that left Lancelot struck like a deer at the end of a crossbow and said, “Well that was rude, Lancelot. You haven’t been enchanted, have you?” His tone teasing.
Lancelot rolled his eyes, hardly enchanted by anything other than Merlin at that point, “Please, if I’d been enchanted you would have noticed by now, Emrys .” And Merlin’s name, his title really, felt like a prayer on his lips as he watched Merlin’s cheeks flush the slightest shade of pink.
“Oh hush, Sir Lancelot, knight of the round table.” And Lancelot merely shook his head, fearing his voice would betray his embarrassment if he tried to speak.
He swallowed once, twice, and looked to the skies. The sun had grown tired, lazing down in the sky, and he’s sure that if they were in Camelot the sky would’ve already begun to turn pinkish-orange. And he had to shake the thought of how lovely Merlin would look in that, his high cheekbones catching the light.
“The sun will be setting soon, Merlin.” He pointed out, and the warlock nodded.
“Well, we should hurry then, I’d like to sleep in a real bed if I can.” He joked, and gently kicked Éimín’s side, and he was speeding off ahead.
Lancelot gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts, and calm his heart, before bringing his own horse to a gallop to catch up with the mesmerizing man.
Regrettably, they hadn’t made it to a town before sundown. Merlin grumbled about it as he collected firewood, and Lancelot simply smiled at the background noise as he went to the nearby river to see if there were any fish.
Just as he got to the bank of it, Merlin suddenly appeared at his side. Lancelot glanced at him and smiled just a bit.
“What is it?” He asked.
“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to tell you I’ve got a little bit of bread and dried meats before you got yourself wet for no reason.” Keeping his eyes on the rushing river, and as Lancelot dragged his own towards Merlin’s pale face, he saw the spark of something mischievous in the young man’s features as they stood there.
“And you didn’t tell me this sooner because..?”
“Oh, well you just seemed very set on it. Figured I’d let you have it for a moment.”
Lancelot simply laughed and grabbed Merlin’s shoulder and gently shook him, “Well come on then, I’m hungry and would like to get the fire started before night falls.”
Merlin smiled and nodded and together they made it back to their camp.
Lancelot, once again, found himself wishing he hadn’t volunteered to go with Merlin as they sat at the campfire. Their legs were pressed together and Merlin had his head on his shoulder. Their horses were standing somewhere behind them, and truth be told Lancelot was at a loss for words. He didn’t know what to say, Gwaine would know what to do in this situation, but Lancelot, for all his nobility, had nothing.
“Lancelot, can I ask you something?”
The brunet blinked and glanced down at the head of black hair on his shoulder, “What is it?”
“Do you still love Guinivere?”
Lancelot swallowed and let his eyes fall on the fire, which was reaching up for the stars, “I’d say I do. I know it was never meant to be, though. She loves Arthur, and he loves her. And if she’s happy with him, I will be content.”
Merlin nodded and shifted away from him, and Lancelot felt the cold seep into his arm even through his linen shirt and chainmail. He looked over at the noirette and searched his eyes, and only saw nervousness. His brow furrowed as he watched the warlock shift and tap at the log they sat on.
“Well… In that case, would you ever love anyone else?” Lancelot’s heart leaped into his throat like an overexcited frog at the question, hope seizing his lungs and stealing the air from them.
“I think I will.” He murmured and watched as Merlin turned his head to him. His eyes landed on his lips, and Lancelot closed his eyes and let his heart lead the way instead.
The knight’s hand gently landed on the young man’s jaw, as if he were made of glass, and kissed him. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears he almost didn’t hear the relieved sigh Merlin let out as he melted into the kiss, and Lancelot thought he could fly.
After a few moments, Merlin pulled away, and for a moment Lancelot worried he had messed up somehow, that he had scared or hurt him, but all he saw when he searched his face was trust and something the knight was terrified to put a name to. He looked as if Lancelot had just hung the moon and stars just for him. And he’s struck by the realization that he would, if he had the ability he’d do it ten times over, and that was a truly terrifying thought.
Lancelot swallowed his heart back into his chest and whispered, gently, as if he were still scared of making the blue-eyed man regret everything that had just happened, “Can I kiss you again, Merlin?”
And before he could start to worry he had a set of lips once again pressed to his, and he was swallowing the end tails of a happy little laugh. And Lancelot managed a shaky smile too, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s surprisingly delicate frame.
And even with Morgana still on the loose, and the ever-present danger lurking around every corner maybe, just maybe, Lancelot could allow himself this rare slice of happiness. Just this once.