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Chapter Text

Magic pirouetted through the air, laughing and playing; its spangles fluttering through the light breeze that ruffled Merlin’s hair as it passed through him, brightening his aura and sending tingles of warmth throughout his body.

It skittered around, watching the group of knights trotting through the forest for a hunt.

They probably couldn’t feel it, but Merlin closed his eyes and let the feel of the magic in the air seep into his skin.

It was everywhere. Sprinkled on the snowbells, irises, pansies and morning glories on the side paths. Strewn across in patches on the green bushes and branches and leaves. Sitting daintily on the grass, catching on the horses’ hooves as they trotted through.

It was… ineffable. Breathtakingly ineffable.

Merlin kept his eyes closed, soaking in the tranquil, trusting his steed to follow and keep up with the rest of the group.

In the eigengrau of his closed eyes, he could see sparkles and flashes of colors of the forest magic capering and prancing through the air. He didn’t often get to experience this. Just the beauty of magic. Its playfulness and the swelling happiness it brought.

“Quit dozing off, Merlin, evening hasn’t fallen yet.”

Merlin snapped his eyes open to glare at Arthur.

The stupid king just laughed and urged his horse forward to the front of the group.

Merlin made a rude gesture behind his back, earning a snort from Gwaine and Percival, before going back to closing his eyes and soaking up the magic.

Then he felt someone else’s presence beside him. He opened his eyes once more to see Lancelot riding alongside him, tilting his head with a puzzled expression.

Merlin raised an eyebrow in question.

“You’re doing a magic thing, aren’t you?” Lancelot said quietly. “Are you looking for danger?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, I’m just… basking.”

“Basking?”

“Yeah. Like…” Merlin fumbled around for words, but there were no words to describe this.

Then he got an idea.

“Can I show you?” he asked in a whisper, keeping his eyes on the knights joking around in front of him.

“How?” Lancelot whispered back.

Merlin concentrated on his magic. He could feel it inside him, and he could feel the hover of the magic in the air too.

He plucked a bit of his own power to make the hovering magic descend on Lancelot, getting past his non-magical aura and letting him feel its presence.

Lancelot let out a gasp. It was filled with awe and wonder, making Merlin grin brightly and his heart hum delightedly at having someone else feel it and appreciate magic for once.

“Wow,” Lancelot breathed. “That’s…”

“You like it?” Merlin prompted.

Lancelot nodded. “I do. It feels… well, magical.”

Merlin laughed. Softly, so as not to draw attention. Lancelot laughed along with him.

He didn’t need to control the magic to let it hug Lancelot. He only created an opening in Lancelot’s non-magical aura and the magic simply seeped through it. He let the opening stay until they moved on from the magic-potent patch of the forest.

“Where did it go?” Lancelot asked. “I don’t feel it anymore.”

“We’ve passed it,” Merlin replied. “That was a rare patch of untouched and unburned magic ground. Very few of those are left so I enjoy it whenever possible.” It hinted at the past—at how Camelot must have been like before Uther trampled the ground, burning it. It must have been a utopia. And someday, Camelot would regain its magical beauty again.

Lancelot gave him a knowing look. “Is that why you haven’t complained on the hunt so far? Because you knew that we were going to pass that place?”

Merlin just grinned in reply.

“What are you two whispering about?” Gwaine called from ahead.

“Nothing,” Merlin and Lancelot replied at the same time. They shared a look and burst into laughter.

“You two are very confusing at times,” Elyan shook his head.

“Not as much as Arthur and Merlin are,” Lancelot shot back.

“Stay alert, men,” Arthur ordered. “We’re nearing the place where the stag was last spotted and I’m determined to hunt the beauty down if it’s the last thing I do.”

----------------------------------------------------

Merlin picked up the flint and stone for show. The others were gathering firewood, tending to the horses or unpacking their sleep things.

Merlin tweaked the circle of stones around the campfire just as Lancelot deposited the firewood beside him.

Merlin glanced at Lancelot before looking around to see if anyone was watching.

No, they were too far or too distracted by Gwaine removing his boots and filling the air with the stench of smelly socks.

He looked back at Lancelot who was watching Gwaine with amusement.

“Do you want to see how I light a fire?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Lancelot turned to him, remembering what Merlin had shared at that magical forest patch, he nodded, eyes wide and eager.

Merlin smiled. He really was lucky to have a friend like Lancelot accept and appreciate his gifts. Maybe one day he would be able to do this with Arthur and the others too.

Merlin bent his head down, pulling at his magic again. He prodded at the opening he had created in Lancelot’s aura and used his magic to reach out and hook itself in the opening.

Lancelot watched him expectantly.

With a smile, Merlin flitted his eyes over at the firewood. Reaching in to collect a small spark of his power, he ignited the wood.

Lancelot gasped again as he did the spell.

Merlin faced him to see his lips slowly lift upward with delight.

“How does it feel?” Merlin asked eagerly.

“It feels…” Lancelot thought on it. “Warm,” he finally decided. “Warmer than a fire even.”

His smile widened and so did Merlin’s.

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Despite Merlin's attempts to keep it from getting caught, they managed to shoot down the stag. Maybe his attempts were too subtle since the stag had only moved twice and Arthur had only snapped at him once.

He cast a light mournful glance at the stag’s corpse they had hoisted on Merlin's horse.

"It could have had a family," Merlin said again, if only for the sake of argument.

"For heaven's sake— you won't be complaining when you eat it." Arthur rolled his eyes.

Merlin smirked. "Does that mean I get to take part in the feast instead of just serving wine?"

Arthur snorted. "No. But seeing how you snag things off my plate anyway, I doubt it matters whether you have a chair or not. Hey, how come you never steal from anyone else's plates? Gwaine leaves his completely unguarded like he wants you to steal from him."

"That's because Gwaine isn't the one who should be watching his weight."

Merlin didn't know where Arthur had gotten the pinecone while atop a horse, but it hit him square in the forehead and Merlin's thoughts were now focused on plotting revenge to be enacted at the feast.

Suddenly, a feeling of uneasiness fell on him, his magic prickling and warning him of danger.

He let himself fall to the back of the group under the pretense of pettily ignoring Arthur for throwing a pinecone at him, but as soon as any attention towards him was directed elsewhere, he used his magic to get a feel of any intruders nearby.

Lancelot noticed and slowed down beside him. "What's the matter?" he asked, ever aware.

"I have a funny feeling."

"Is it… a magical feeling?"

Merlin nodded.

"Can I…?" Lancelot gestured vaguely.

Merlin understood and let a small smile slip.

He hooked his magic to Lancelot again and let him feel the prickling.

"Whoa," Lancelot commented. "I feel… really uneasy. Alert."

"Useful, isn't it?" Merlin said grimly. "Or, well, it would be if His Royal Arrogant Head listened."

He handed the reigns of his horse with the stag to Lancelot and jogged alongside Arthur's horse.

"Arthur!" he called.

"What is it, Merlin"

Merlin took a moment to silently sigh before saying, "I have a funny feeling about this. Maybe we should choose a different path to Camelot."

Arthur gave a weary sigh. "Merlin, this is the fastest path. If we go from somewhere else, the stag won't be as fresh."

Merlin gritted his teeth. "Yes, but—"

"But nothing, Merlin. Go cuddle your comfort blanket if you're not feeling good."

Merlin mentally pictured himself throttling Arthur before going back to trail the group again. Gwaine offered a sympathetic smile as he passed.

"Didn't listen?" Lancelot guessed.

Merlin grunted.

"Maybe I can—" Before he could finish the sentence, a group of bandits suddenly jumped them.

The horses reared in fright, but fortunately recovered. The knights unsheathed their swords and charged. The clashing of metal on metal and steel slicing flesh filled the air along with the immediate stench of blood.

Nothing Merlin wasn’t used to sadly.

Elyan was the first to forcefully dismount, being pulled off his horse by three bandits. He managed to dodge a sword, getting a shallow slice on his cheek as the three advanced on him together.

Merlin tripped one of them and Elyan took the chance and immediately knocked him out. Knowing that Elyan could handle two by himself, he turned his attention to Arthur and found that he was doing well enough on his own, having killed two men already.

The other knights were doing well too. All in all, it looked like they might gain the upper hand. So Merlin guided his horse and the dead stag near some trees, watching with a careful eye and throwing stones with his magic at any bandits who neared him.

Just then, the air changed again and the hair at the back of his neck prickled as did his magic.

There was a sorcerer nearby.

Despite Merlin’s wishes that they would ignore the clashing and go away, he knew it wouldn’t be the case.

That was proven when a figure wearing a dim, faded blue cloak stood between two thick trees and yelled a spell which made Arthur and the rest of the knights fall off their horses.

Merlin clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to hurt the sorcerer. He was one of his kind. But he was a danger to Arthur and his friends and needed to be disposed of. Soon.

Merlin whispered a few words and the invisible blast from his hand hit the sorcerer square in the chest, making him fly backwards and disappear in the thicket.

He turned his attention back to the fight. After tripping a bandit, loosening another’s belt and dropping a convenient branch on another, the fight stopped and they won.

The knights went around tying the bandits who were unconscious and determining which ones were dead and which ones were not.

Merlin made sure his horse was tied securely before going to check on the sorcerer who, thankfully, no one had noticed.

He exchanged a nod with Arthur, who also rolled his eyes to mask his relief, and went to the far side of the path as if to check on the bandit lying there. After a glance around to make sure no one was watching, he disappeared into the thicket where the sorcerer had been thrown back.

Rounding the bush, he came to the sight and froze.

The blast he sent was too hard.

The sorcerer was on his back, an alarmingly large pool of blood on the ground trailing from where the rock met his head. Blood as bright and red as roses dripped and spread. Staining the grass and soaking in the mud.

A wave of guilt so strong washed over him that Merlin fell to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to—”

The sorcerer didn’t reply, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his bearded face showing that he was too deep in agony and too close to death to hear anything.

A tear slipped down Merlin’s cheek. He hadn’t meant to do this. He hadn’t meant to kill. He just wanted to disable him for a while, knock him out, he— he couldn’t control his power. This was his fault.

He reached out to the sorcerer’s power, weak and fast slipping. He wouldn’t know he was here, but he would still feel the presence of someone with him through his dying magic. He would know he wasn’t alone and the comfort present in Merlin’s magic eased him slightly.

So Merlin let his magic reach out and hold him as life slowly slipped out of his twitching and bleeding body.

Someone put a hand on his shoulder and Merlin flinched, startled, until he realized it was Lancelot.

Lancelot was clutching his chest, face betraying pain, but he still squeezed his shoulder in comfort, seeing the sight in front of him and realizing what had happened.

“We musn’t tell Arthur who he was,” Merlin pleaded as another tear fell.

Lancelot nodded in agreement, still holding his chest.

Arthur decided that they would send a few people here once they arrived in Camelot to bury the bodies and hold a trial for the rest of them. He was a good king like that, allowing even the bandits the decency of a burial.

The pain and the feeling of the sorcerer’s diminishing magic stayed with Merlin throughout the rest of their quiet trip.

After he tended to all the immediate chores that needed his attention, he staggered straight to his room in Gaius’ chambers, giving the old physician a soft “hello” before shutting the door behind him and burying his face in his pillow.

That was when he finally broke into tears.

He had killed. He had killed a sorcerer. He had killed someone like him, someone who lived in fear of being discovered. He had killed instead of just knocking him out. This wasn’t an assassin bent on killing the king. He didn’t even get to have a chance to repent. Merlin took it from him.

“Merlin?” Gaius asked, his voice coming out a little muffled through the door.

“Not in the mood, Gaius,” he replied, relieved to find his voice more steady than shaky.

“There’s some here to see you.”

Merlin didn’t answer, too tired and emotional to get up.

Then the door opened and footsteps he recognized as Lancelot’s neared him.

Merlin suddenly remembered, “You were injured.” He sat up, examining his friend’s chest where he previously had been clutching it painfully.

He was still in the same armor, not having changed, but there was no hole or blood present. “I’m not injured, Merlin,” he said quietly.

“Then what—”

“You left the spell open. The one that let me feel your magic. I felt you do everything during the attack.”

Merlin stiffened.

“And yes, that means I felt you holding that sorcerer’s magic too.”

Fresh tears sprung to his eyes and Merlin looked away, wiping them swiftly.

Lancelot sat on the edge of his bed. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice full of genuine sympathy.

“Me too.” Merlin rubbed his face tiredly. “It was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Lancelot said firmly. “At least not completely. I could feel your magic as you helped us against the bandits. I could feel that you were panicked and your magic was too. The presence of the sorcerer threw you off. You couldn’t have known that he was going to land on that rock, Merlin, and you can’t blame your magic for putting a little too much force than usual in its panicked state.”

“It’s my magic, Lancelot.”

“You didn’t have full control of it. You were thrown off by the element of surprise, as were we. anyone would miscalculate the strength of their blow during a time like that.”

Merlin pressed his lips together tightly.

“If it were up to us and our full wits, we wouldn’t have landed killing blows with our swords either. We struck and fought to survive and protect. You did too.”

Merlin rubbed his eyes and stayed silent.

The two sat together, just soaking each other’s presence and seeking comfort.

“That must have hurt for you.” Merlin broke the silence. “Feeling the magic lose life and diminish into nothingness.”

“Yes…” Lancelot looked pained again. “It was horrid. Vile.”

Merlin chuckled darkly. “I feel everyone’s dying magic,” he said. “Every sorcerer that was killed, every magic-user who was burnt or executed. I held them through their magic, for it was the only comfort I could provide.”

Lancelot winced. “That must be torture.”

“It is.” Merlin squeezed his hands into fists. “But I got used to it. Somewhat. It doesn’t hurt that much now.”

Lancelot eyed him. “At least physically,” he added.

Merlin gave him a bittersweet smile. Then he asked, “Do you want me to end the, uh, spell on you now? It will stop the hurt.”

“What about you?” His forehead creased in worry.

Merlin smiled, though it was flat. “As I said, I’m used to it. It’ll go away soon enough.” He reached out and untethered his magic’s hook from Lancelot. Immediately, he could see his shoulders sag with relief.

“Thank you,” Merlin said. “For checking in on me.”

“Anytime.” Lancelot smiled.

Merlin didn’t need magic to know that Lancelot meant it.

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Since then, Lancelot frequently asked to feel how magic worked. And each time, Merlin was eager to show him.

“It feels… tangy somehow,” Lancelot said when Merlin filled a mug with ale. He snorted and bumped his mug with Lance’s and downed it.

“That feels strong, and quite intimidating if I’m being honest,” Lancelot said with wide eyes as Merlin caused a rockfall to escape a few enemy soldiers chasing the group. Merlin smirked.

“It feels… satisfying and— and set.” Lancelot shook his head then looked up from his now not-broken arm. “Healing magic is useful.” Merlin beamed.

“I… I can feel the smell.” Lancelot nodded at the flower grown in Merlin’s hand. “The smell of the flower,” he clarified. Merlin let a smile slip as he planted the flower, twisting to keep it hidden from the other knights on patrol.

“It feels cold and foamy.” Lancelot raised an eyebrow when Merlin surprised him by hooking his magic to him while he magicked away a stain on Arthur’s shirt. Merlin flashed a grin before running off.

“That feels… odd. I have no other words, sorry,” Lancelot sighed as Merlin turned Arthur’s hair orange for the whole night as revenge. Merlin grinned.

As time went on, Merlin felt more comfortable doing little bits of magic when Lancelot was around. In fact, he was eager. Every time he cast a spell, Lancelot always did a little gasp of wonder and his eyes shone with excitement. It made Merlin beam with pride.

But then the Dorocha happened.

And Lancelot stepped through the Veil.

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Sludge. Merlin felt like he was walking through sludge. Stiff and numb movements pushing through an invisible thick.

Lonely. He felt lonely. He was back to feeling lonely.

No one to share his magic with, no one to appreciate it with, no one to comment about it and talk about its many feelings and colors. Gaius always discouraged it, too paranoid.

No one to truly be himself around.

No one to accept him as a whole.

No one to just be friends, with no lies or restrictions.

Lancelot… was gone.

Merlin tried growing a flower, but it wilted as soon as it grew, the spell turning wrong when memories of Lancelot flooded him.

Merlin stopped drinking ale, as each sip brought the word tangy in his head in Lancelot’s voice.

Merlin’s healing spells got even worse at their purpose, he had only ever often used them on Lancelot.

But Lancelot was gone.

Just as he arrived, heroically and bravely facing a griffin, he disappeared, stepping into the Veil and greeting death with a smile and open arms.

I look at you and wonder about myself. Could I knowingly give up my life for something?

He had given up so much. He had given himself.

Lancelot was much worthier than him. He was the one who was supposed to live. He was just a knight who got roped into this world of sacrifice and grief because he befriended Merlin.

Merlin the sorcerer.

Merlin the curse.

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He was back.

A bit conservative and quiet, with his appearance ruffled and covered with grime that signaled months of roaming, but he was back.

Lancelot was back. But Merlin couldn't accept it.

There was something fishy about him. It wasn't just the fact that his smile didn't feel like him, it wasn't just the fact that he didn't get half the inside jokes his friends threw at him, nor the fact that he seemed to be even more secretly smitten with Gwen…

It was something else. Some different invisible stench that surrounded his once familiar aura. A magical stench.

But he had been through the Veil. And Merlin didn't really know the properties of that place and its influences on people. He might just be overthinking it, his paranoia had spiked ever since his death.

But still, Merlin knew something was definitely wrong. He was still standing at the crossroads between denial and acceptance. He needed to choose a path. There was no harm in poking and prodding a little bit, was there?

He approached his room where Lancelot was currently residing. The servants were cleaning up his old one where all his things were left as it is for months because no one could bear moving it, even Arthur. So Merlin offered his room. Nostalgia wrapped around his insides when he thought about how the first time Lancelot had slept in his room too. A full circle.

Pushing away the feelings for now, he entered his room without knocking since the door was ajar.

His… friend-not-friend was standing in front of the window, looking outside.

"Merlin," he greeted.

"Lancelot," Merlin smiled back, hoping his expression wasn't visibly stiff.

Lancelot took a deep breath as he continued staring out. "The view always takes the breath away from my lungs," he said reminiscently. "I forgot how beautiful Camelot can be."

That definitely sounded like something Lancelot would say. Merlin nearly abandoned the reason he came here for.

This was Lancelot. At least his body and face. Shouldn't he be able to enjoy the second chance at having his friend back? A second chance at not being lonely? A second chance at setting things right?

Merlin chewed on his lip.

Then Morgana's face flashed past his vision and he picked his resolve back up.

He joined Lancelot at the window, pretending to enjoy the view with him, then released small tendrils of his magic. Finding the old hole in Lancelot's aura, they immediately seeped in.

The magic was subtle enough that he wouldn't notice unless Lancelot was paying attention like he usually did. So Merlin tensed slightly, preparing himself for the question, then said, "How does it feel?"

"Hm?"

"How does it feel?" Merlin repeated. Hope was starting to blossom in his chest. Growing and blooming like a night poppy. He watched Lancelot with barely shielded hope as the man parted his lips to answer and…

"How does what feel?"

Merlin blinked.

Then the weight of disappointment crashed down on him like a rockfall. It took all Merlin had to not buckle his knees and collapse.

Lancelot— no, fake Lancelot was still watching him with slight confusion.

"Just… asking about the temperature," Merlin chuckled mirthlessly. "It has been getting pretty hot lately."

Fake-Lancelot hummed. "Yes, I suppose it has."

Merlin eyed the imposter. He looked so much like Lancelot. So much like his friend.

He turned and left to find Gaius.

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It was a disaster.

A disaster cooked up by Morgana and Agravaine. Merlin made a promise to never forgive them for tainting his friend—his brave, noble, selfless and accepting friend—and his reputation this way. For tainting Gwen's reputation this way.

She would never—

He would never—

Merlin watched him, he saw how he used to send wistful looks towards her and Arthur but never pursued it because he was honorable and hated lying and—

And he was dead.

Again.

Just when Merlin thought that fate had reached its limit of cruelty towards him, it brought back his best friend who knew the true him from the dead only to kill him again.

Only to make him kill himself.

The real Lancelot would never do that.

The real Lancelot would never do all that he had done these past few days.

The real Lancelot was dead.

But Merlin was desperate. He combed through his book, going so far as to visit the hidden part of the library and find spells and information there too until… until he finally found something.

It would only give him a few seconds, a few seconds of meeting his real Lancelot. A few seconds, no more. But Merlin was desperate. He would take all he could get.

He wanted to meet Lancelot. To apologize to him for real. To say everything he never got to say. To hear his real voice for the last time.

When the time came and his corpse was on the boat, ready to be set out and burned, he put his hand on his forehead and whispered the spell.

He startled when the body breathed, not expecting the spell to work so fast.

Then Lancelot turned to him. "Merlin."

And Merlin froze. He forgot the words he had rehearsed. He forgot all he wanted to say.

But Lancelot looked at him, his eyes meeting his and all the years of friendship, secrets, whispers and laughter flashed through his mind. And he knew what to do.

He hooked his magic once more to Lancelot, just like he had with the sorcerer the first time, and he could see the familiar, familiar, spark of awe in his friend's eyes.

"Thank you," Lancelot said, before he was still once more.

Merlin watched him for a few seconds.

His aura was gone. Truly gone. The time to meet him one more time had slipped by quicker than sand slipping through fingers. Merlin had done all he could do. And Lancelot had said all he wanted to say.

Thank you.

Sir Lancelot, Knight of Camelot, ally of Emrys, the bravest and most noble of them all.

A friend.

Merlin smiled.

Chapter Text

"Ready?"

"Get onto it already, Merlin. We don't have all night."

Merlin gave Arthur an unamused look.

"Ignore him, Merlin," Gwaine clapped a hand on his shoulder. "He's just jealous of you."

Arthur made a rather unkingly indignant squawk. "I am not! Why would I be jealous of him?"

"Quit stalling," Elyan said impatiently. "I want to see Merlin's magic."

Merlin caught Lancelot's eye from opposite sides of the campfire and the two exchanged smiles.

The knights and Arthur and Merlin were out on another hunting trip, sitting around the campfire. It was their first one after the ban on magic had been repealed. Leon, now curious to learn about magic and its properties since he was allowed to, had asked how doing magic felt.

Lancelot then jumped in and recalled when Merlin used to share the feel of his magic while doing it with him. "It felt…" Lancelot gestured wildly, trying to find the words to describe it. "Ineffable," he ended.

Arthur, not the one to be left out, had demanded Merlin "share" his magic with the others and stop being stingy.

Merlin snorted at his choice of words but was secretly bursting with happiness at the request. He had longed for this day when he could indeed let his magic flow freely and share its charm with others.

So now they had set up camp in one of the few magic-potent patches of the forest left. It was a perfect painting of calm and peace: a campfire burning heartily, sparks and wafts of gentle smoke rising from it upwards to the star-strewn sky, the knights and Merlin laughing and teasing each other, Merlin refilling the wineskin that was being passed around with his magic.

"So how does this work?" Percival asked.

Merlin cleared his throat to explain. "First, I reach around for your non-magical auras, then I make an opening or a hole in it for the magic to seep in."

"Does it have any side effects?"

Merlin looked at Lancelot. "I don't believe so," the knight shook his head. "You just… feel it, that's all."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Leon remarked.

"Yes, then hurry up," Gwaine groused impatiently. "Stop leaving us in suspense."

Merlin laughed, happiness squeezing his chest at the demand for his magic.

He closed his eyes and let his magic flow, reaching everyone then gently carving a hole in their non-magic glows. Merlin did the same thing he had with Lancelot before and simply guided the free magic of the forest and the air into the openings.

As soon as the magic got the cue, it rushed to spread itself and consume every bit that wasn't touched by it. All around him, the knights gasped.

Some in awe, some in wonder, some in delight.

Lancelot just sighed contently, closing his eyes.

Merlin grinned at his friends around him. Half of them had their eyes closed, basking in the feeling of serenity and joy. Arthur was staring at the ground, eyes wide in wonder.

Merlin couldn't help it, he laughed.

"I can get addicted to this," Gwaine mumbled happily.

"Me too," Leon—yes, Leon—agreed.

"If this is how you feel all the time, I can see why you're so annoyingly cheery," Arthur said, trying to sound stand-offish, but failing and making the statement sound like a compliment.

Merlin's eyes twinkled with joy. "Well, I don't feel like this all the time. Different spells have different feelings."

"Sometimes you can feel their colors too," Lancelot added.

"How can you feel a color?" Elyan questioned with genuine curiosity.

Merlin extinguished the campfire, encasing them in soft darkness, then hooked his own magic to his friends.

"Leoht," he whispered and a ball of blue light, swirling with different shades of blue formed above the extinguished campfire, illuminating the small space.

"Woah," Gwaine remarked, eyes wide and nearly popping. "That felt…"

"Blue," Arthur finished the sentence. "That doesn't make sense. How can anything feel blue?"

"Not just blue," Lancelot intercepted. "There are other feelings along with it. Calmness like waves."

"Excitement like a spark from a flintstone," Leon nodded.

"A bubbly feeling like felicity," Elyan added.

"Like magic," Percival finished, smiling at Merlin. "Thanks for showing us this, Merlin."

Merlin glowed with pride.

He let the light and magic stay as they went back to chatting and teasing and joking around with one another.

Only because Merlin was sitting beside him could he hear Arthur's quiet words, "Magic is wonderful."

Merlin pretended not to hear because Percival had dodged the wineskin from Elyan's hands and threw it to Arthur who caught it with a grin, but he felt tears prickling in his eyes.

He turned away a little and blinked rapidly, trying to rid them, but one slipped out.

So he got up and invisibly slipped into the forest, staying near the group, but out of earshot.

He leaned against the tree, away from their view, and started sobbing silently.

A few moments later, he heard someone nearing him. He quickly wiped the tears off his face and turned to face the newcomer.

Lancelot stepped into his line of vision. "Hey, Merlin."

Merlin smiled and nodded in greeting.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. What makes you say that?"

Lancelot leaned against another tree, also folding his arms. "The others don't have the experience I do in knowing the emotions present in your magic. I felt little undertones of upset, so I came to check up on you."

"Thanks." Merlin sniffed and wiped his nose.

They stayed in silence for a while, letting the familiar feeling of magic dart around them.

Then Merlin spoke, "I have waited so long for this to happen, so long for Arthur to see that magic can be good… now that it has, I don't— I don't know how to feel." He stared blankly into the forest space. "I still can't believe it. I've spent my whole life hiding and fearing that every moment something was going to go wrong… I never pictured myself sharing magic like this. I never… I could never picture myself being safe."

Merlin turned to Lancelot. "The closest I had ever come to was with you, since you knew my secret."

Lancelot watched him with understanding. "It only makes sense that you'll feel a little lost at first, Merlin. But you have friends now to remind you that you're safe and that you can be yourself around them."

Merlin smiled. "Friends like you. I really would be lost without you, Lancelot."

"I know."

The two laughed softly.

Lancelot put a hand on his shoulder and gave a squeeze. "As for trying to figure out how you should feel, maybe try to let yourself feel whatever you can. Grief, anger… happiness. Don't hold back."

He left Merlin with that advice, approaching the camp again. Merlin watched him catch the wineskin from where Elyan was throwing it to Percival to tease Gwaine, then drink the whole pouch for himself, much to the amusement of the knights.

Merlin knew he only had a few moment before he was missed and demanded for the wineskin to be refilled.

So he took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes and letting the magic wrap him in a hug.

And just because he could, he let his eyes flash gold as he stepped towards the camp, his magic skittering out and joining the magic in the air.

Happiness. Right now, he was letting himself feel happiness.