#minimercelotweek2021

He murmurs a spell of his own creation and the scrap of fabric, crumpled and pinned to generally resemble a mask, became something gorgeous before his eyes. The fabric was thinner, almost like lace in weight, but stayed stiff in his hand like it had been over starched. The pins had become fine, metallic dots over the eye holes, and the ribbon he’d use to secure it was almost silk like.

It was beautiful, but Merlin could feel the tenuous nature of the spell. It wouldn’t last forever. It might not even last the night. He could feel the threads of magic holding it delicately in this shape, but ready to break apart at any moment.

Well, he’d just have to make his trip to the party short so he wouldn’t risk being found out. These things usually went so far into the night it became morning, but he’d probably have until midnight before the spell wore off and risked exposing him.

If anyone found out a Servant was mingling with these Nobles, he’d be in the stocks for a week. Maybe worse.

Guinevere, who is his dearest friend and closest confidant, has agreed to help him with his hair for tonight, so he sneaks off to Morgana’s rooms, the lady already down at the party, to get her help, mask already in place, just in case anyone should see him.

The palace feels different when he walks around in clothes that belong to a nobleman. The servants he passes bow respectfully, and it makes him uneasy. How can people stand this? He felt so terrible, watching people avert their eyes and how their heads like he or anyone else had any right to their humility.

In Morgana’s rooms, Gwen adjusts his coat and combs his hair back in a way he didn’t think would suit him, but he ends up liking. He tries once more to convince her to come with him, to just steal one of Morgana’s old dresses and wear a veil, but she’s convinced she’ll be found out, and isn’t willing to risk it.

Merlin has no such qualms, and has vowed to take her involvement with this little scheme to the grave. Or the stocks.

“You look wonderful,” She says when she finally lays her brush down. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Haha, Guinevere. I just want to see how the other half lives for a night. You’re sure you won’t come?”

And now she rolls her eyes. “The lady Morgan and I are much closer than you and Arthur. She’d notice me, even with a mask. Maybe the next one.”

He smiles softly at her. “Definitely the next one. Besides, you’ll still be there. You’ll just have to endure less of the idle dithering of nobles.”

She giggles, “Merlin, you can’t talk about them like that.”

“I can talk about them however I like dressed like this,” He tugged his collar a bit to show off and that set her off again. She covered her mouth to keep their presence hidden and swatted at him.

“Okay, you’ve made your point. Now go, before it’s over.”

“Love you,” he kissed her cheek and she returned the gesture.

“Please don’t get yourself killed.” Which was as good as an I love you too from Gwen.

“No promises. I did try to fight the prince my first day here.”

—-

Merlin takes a second glass of mead in less than half an hour from a passing try. He knows this will be a terrible idea, but he cannot, to save his own life, stand this lot while sober any longer.

Occasionally one of the nobles will smile and greet him, ask him who he is, but for the most part, people are interested in socializing with those they already know, and the few who approach him are obviously uninterested in him as much as they are interested in the connections he might be able to make them.

“I’m dying out here,” he murmurs to Gwen when she’s pauses briefly to grab another tray to pass around lady Morgana’s table.

“I’m so sorry. You poor dear.” She smirks and he smiles back at her.

“Your turn next.”

“Mhmm, after all the fun you’re having, I can’t wait.”

He laughed as she left and his spirits were lifted for the first time all night. He took a final sip of his mead and left it on a table, deciding to try his luck on the dance floor at the same moment that a set of deep brown eyes caught him from across the room.

“Caught” was not an exaggeration. The smoldering, desirous look in the eyes that looked like they might have been looking at him for a while held him like a man entranced. His breath caught in his throat as the man started to make his way toward him.

He was in chain mail, a knight in a cloak that was unmistakably Camelot red. It wasn’t unlike the cloak he’d cut his mask from.

At the reminder, Merlin focused briefly on his mask, whose transformed state was tenuous. It would last a while longer, maybe an hour, maybe longer.

The determined way the knight walked toward him, through the onlookers, partygoers and celebrators was almost overwhelming. No one tonight had looked so intently upon him. He wasn’t sure how to handle it.

His feet seemed to decide how to handle it for him. Thick dark hair that begged to be tugged at and a mouth made for kissing, it drew him in like so few things ever had. Even with the black mask obscuring his face, Merlin can tell he must be beautiful. The cut of his jaw is too perfect for him not to be.

Merlin is stunned by the time they meet, standing obnoxiously still in the middle of the dance floor. The knight bows to him, and while servants bowing to him had made him uncomfortable, this feels formal, and somehow honorable. He holds out his hand when the knight starts to stand, thinking they might shake, but instead Lancelot takes the offered hand and kisses the back of it, eyes trained on Merlin the entire time.

He is grateful for the cover of the mask, with the way that he can feel the blush forming high on his cheek. He wouldn’t want to embarrass himself in front of a knight.

“Hello, My Lord. I am Sir Lancelot.”

Lancelot. He’s heard Arthur speak of him, in passing. An excellent fighter, perhaps as good as the Prince himself. As he stands, Sir Lancelot smiles at him, and Merlin about melts as his stomach flutters and he stands tall, just about eye level with him.

“Hello, Sir Lancelot.” The words are breathier than he means to be, and if Lancelot notices, he gives no indication.

With the slightest bow he asks, “May I have this dance?”

Merlin had been about to dance on his own anyway. Only, Merlin’s never danced any of these formal noble dances, only remembers celebrations in Ealdor, and in the lower town. He isn’t sure of the steps, but Lancelot still hasn’t dropped his hand, and his mouth seems to speak with the same ungiven authority his feet had moved him with.

“Certainly.”

Lancelot takes Merlin’s other hand to place it on his shoulder, and takes Merlin at the waist. It’s what everyone else seems to be doing, and he’s grateful that Lancelot says nothing when they’re pulled so close their chests are nearly flush.

Lancelot starts to move, but Merlin can’t keep time, keeps stumbling over his feet, and Lancelot’s. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer.” Merlin laughs, afraid Lancelot will simply leave, but the man’s returning smile tells another story.

“That’s alright. Just stop thinking so hard about it. I’ll lead.” He pauses briefly to adjust his grip on Merlin’s waist and then Merlin feels the gentle push of the hand there, urging him to move back, forth, left, right, turn, in time with the music. Between Lancelot’s easy leading, and the way his eyes seem to never leave Merlin’s, it’s easy to feel like they are the only two people here, the only ones that matter.

Merlin finds the rhythm eventually, and the gentle coaxing on his hip becomes obsolete. He still misses the feel of Lancelot’s hand in his when they’re suddenly unclasped and grabbing Merlin by the waist, to spin him around with the flourish as the dance came to an end. He laughs, and the answering twinkle in Lancelot’s eyes speaks volumes for how he’s enjoyed himself.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Lancelot asked, and Merlin smiles, letting the knight take his hand and kiss it again.

“I’d say it was the best dance I’ve ever had. Thank you, Sir Lancelot.”

“I aim to please.” Another song started up, and Lancelot raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid this one is a group dance. Unless you fancy a half dozen partners and more steps than you can count, we might sit this one out.”

Merlin laughed, “I certainly don’t want that. Get a drink with me?” Merlin doesn’t need another drink, but he is parched.

When Lancelot offers his elbow to Merlin, he almost rolls his eyes, but can’t help the grin it illicits. “Such a gentleman.” He smiles, and Lancelot returns it. They take a seat at a nearby table, long since unoccupied in favor of the dancing.

Lancelot serves him mead before a servant can, highly unusual for a knight, as Merlin is well aware. “Thank you,” he waits for Lancelot to serve his own glass and clinks them together before taking a healthy sip from his. The warmth of the joy of Lancelot and the mead mix together, leaving him feeling heady and relaxed.

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name. Is that terrible?” Lancelot asked, and Merlin laughed in response.

“Few would. I’m hardly a common attendee of these sorts of things. I’m Emerys of Ealdor.”

“Such a beautiful name, for a beautiful man,” Lancelot gestured for a servant to bring the tray they were holding, and thanked him graciously as he served both Merlin and himself honey cakes. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Ealdor. Is it far from here?”

“Yes. I don’t see it much, anymore. It’s in Essetir, and it is not exactly safe to pass between the two lands. I haven’t been home in many years.”

Lancelot frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I too can not return home. I know how lonely that can be.”

Merlin smiled sadly. “Yes. But I do make friends wherever I go, and that helps.”

“I hope perhaps I may one day be counted among them?” Lancelot raies and eyebrow and Merlin’s besotted.

“Easily. So you do not come from Camelot?”

“No. I was a wonderer for a long time, learning sword craft to become a knight of Camelot, one of the noblest lands I know of.”

“One of?” Merlin asked, and he’s honestly curious. He’s used to the way the knights talk about Camelot, like it is perfect, the most wonderful place to live with the most impressive king.

“The King is very noble. He has a heart for the people not all Kings can boast.”

“But?” Merlin pushes, and Lancelot smiles uneasily.

“But not all of the people of Camelot belong in the King’s heart. It is not always my desire to carry out the laws against magic users, if they’ve done no wrong. But I am always loyal to my king.” He took a sip of his mead, pulling gently on the collar of his shirt.

Merlin didn’t know what it felt like to fall in love, but he thought perhaps this might be it. Like falling and being overwhelmed, and wanting nothing more to steal away with someone who appeared perfect in every way.

“I must say I agree.” He said, and Lancelot visibly relaxed. “But like you, I have no ill will toward the King. He does what he believes to be right, and that is all any man can be asked to do.” And perhaps one day he would see that he was not right. Merlin could only hope.

“Yes. Will you be in Camelot long, after the festival?” The question is so obviously probing that Merlin feels a bit of glee at it, even as his heart sinks, because he can’t have this man. Lancelot is a knight of Camelot, and Merlin is a servant.

“I’m afraid not. I leave tonight,” Merlin smiled wanly, and Lancelot’s face mirrors him.

“There’s no possibility of your plans being changed?”

“No. I’m expected somewhere tomorrow. We’ll have to ride through the night to get there.” This is the first true lie Merlin has told all night, and it aches to say. Lancelot cares for magic users, and he’s kind, and he didn’t ask Merlin what connections he had or how he might be helpful to him. He just wanted to have a dance and talk.

He looks away and meets Gwen’s eyes, somewhere over Lancelot’s shoulders. She looks so sad, and he knows he must look the same.

“When might you be back? In Camelot, I mean?”

“I can’t say. It’s only coincidence that brought me here tonight.” This at least, is true. Merlin never could’ve come to this party if not for Gwen coincidentally finding the discarded clothing in the closer of a long disgraced nobleman. The fact that they happened to fit Merlin was also happenstance, and if not for that, he’d never be here. With an hour of Gwen’s help, she’d been able to tailor them nearly to perfect, and he was loathe to admit he looked quite good.

“That is a shame. We must enjoy tonight then.”

“Yes, we must.”

The song changed and Merlin took as delicate a bite as he could manage of his honey cake before taking Lancelot’s hand. “Teach me to dance some more, you’re fantastic at it.”

This brought a smile to Lancelot’s face. “It would be an honor, my lord.”

They take to the dance floor. This dance, whatever it is, is far more complicated than the last one, and Lancelot also stumbles through it occasionally, which makes Merlin feel just a bit better.

“We’ve nearly got it!” Merlin laughed when the music ended, and Lancelot bowed to him again. Merlin is about to ask him for another one when a tall figure suddenly approaches them.

“Mind if I cut in?” Says another knight of Camelot, this one completely disregarding the dresscode and lacking a mask. His long hair came to his shoulder and Merlin would’ve found him incredibly attractive if it weren’t for the fact Lancelot was already the center of his night.

Merlin bows goodbye to Lancelot, thinking this knight has come for his equal, he certainly wouldn’t be the only knight to do so, but then he sees the hard edge of Lancelot’s eyes and is a bit confused.

“My Lord.” The new knight says, and takes Merlin’s hand, sweeping him away from Lancelot without waiting for so much as a “by your leave.”

“I’m Sir Gwaine. You’re a pretty thing,” the knight says, and Merlin doesn’t find this compliment as positive as Lancelot’s.

“I’m sorry if I have no desire to be called an object.” He said stiffly, and Gwaine laughed.

“You’ve got nerve. Lancelot must like that.” Merlin was swept up and turned, his hands barley having time to grip Gwaine’s shoulders and stabilize himself as he was lifted into the air. “I’m sorry to intrude. Sir Lancelot is one of my dearest friends, and a bit of teasing always does him good. Can you see him?” He leaned in to whisper these last words in his ear and Merlin’s eyes start searching the floor for Lancelot.

He’s not on the dance floor, but is watching them with a deep intensity from the spot where they’d sat and ate the song before. “You’ve upset him.”

“Well, you didn’t have to accept.” The man smiled, and Merlin scowled.

“I thought you were asking for Lancelot, not me. Besides, you didn’t give me time to either accept or deny. Just carried me off like some sort of brute.”

“My apologies.” But nothing about his tone seemed apologetic. “However, when Lancelot gets his hands back on you, I think you might just thank me for my little intervention.”

Merlin’s barely following along with whatever steps, but he’s starting to fume. “What is this? Some sort of joke? Do you find that appropriate?”

“I meant no harm,” He smiled, “I swear.” They turned and for a second his eyes focused over Merlin’s shoulder and he grimaced. “But I’m afraid I may have gone too far. I’m going to get it in training tomorrow.” He focused on Merlin again to grin. “But I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it.” The song ended and Merlin just barely put up with a peck on his hand. Before he can pull away, Gwaine holds his hand tight, and Merlin freezes. “Lancelot hasn’t looked this happy for a very long time. I hope you don’t mean to dash his heart.”

Merlin is shocked at the insinuation. “I’ve only just met him. There are no hearts involved.”

“Mmm, you haven’t known Lancelot as long as I have. I assure you, there are.” He made Merlin take his arm and lead him back to the table where Lancelot was sitting. There was a blond knight standing beside him now, leaning in and murmuring something in his ear. “He falls so quick it’s a marvel he’s ever on his feet. But he’s loyal. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea if you mean to disappear.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, stiffening, and Gwaine shrugged.

“I’ve never seen you before. Neither has anyone else I’ve asked. You’re passing through. Who’s to say how you got an invitation, but you’re not likely to return if you’re making no move to introduce yourself to everyone here. I’ve been a wanderer, I know the signs of someone who only intends to stay one night. If you’ve no intention to stay, I wish you’d leave him be.”

“It’s complicated,” Merlin said voice still tense.

“Everything is. My word stands.” They arrive at the table and Lancelot stands, pulling out Merlin’s chair for him, glaring at Gwaine.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I couldn’t get enough of our new friend. But he’s all yours now, Lancelot.”

Merlin takes a seat and is relieved for Gwaine to go. Lancelot looks him over like he’s afraid he might’ve been mauled. “Are you alright? I know Gwaine tends to be a bit… forward.”

Merlin laughed, a bit uncomfortable now after what Gwaine’d said. “I’m alright. He wasn’t too forward. Just a bit blunt.”

“Yes, he’s like that.” Merlin followed Lancelot’s gaze to Gwaine, and hoped that Lancelot did beat Gwaine on the training field tomorrow.

The honey cake he’d left is still there, and so he takes another bite. Things like this were so rarely afforded to him he had to force himself not to scarf it down. The cake was soft and crumbled easily in his mouth, giving way to a sweet, delicate flavor. The soft sigh of pleasure from the taste of it all drew Lancelot’s gaze briefly to his lips, and Merlin felt his face heat. “I don’t usually indulge.” He said, as way of explanation, and Lancelot smiled.

“I’m glad you’ve given yourself the pleasure tonight. Camelot’s kitchens are famous.”

“I can see why.” He says, taking another bite of the delicious cake.

“Perhaps they might entice you back.” Lancelot says with a hopeful look, and Merlin swallows.

“Perhaps.” He’s starting to think that maybe this is no good anymore. He’s playing with this man’s heart, pretending to be someone he is not. As much fun as this is, and much as he’s possibly developing a crushing love for Lancelot, this is wrong. They could never be, simply by the virtue of Merlin’s station.

A clock, somewhere far off, strikes and he jumpsin his seat. He checks the magic holding his mask and finds it worryingly close to breaking. He can’t let his face be seen here.

Luckily, he has a readymade excuse.

“Hell.” He murmurs, putting down the cake and being careful to use the napkin to clean his fingers. Had to keep up this act of nobility, no matter how much he’d rather lick the crumbs from his fingers. “I have to go.” He drops the napkin down and pushes his chair back, throwing Lancelot an apologetic look that is more genuine that Merlin meant it to be.

“What? It’s only midnight. Please.” He takes Merlin’s hand as he stands, stopping him from going any further.

“I have to go. My carriage will be waiting. I was suppose to be there ten minutes ago.” Merlin tugs on his hand, but Lancelot holds it, doesn’t let it go.

“Please, I can’t- It’s too soon.” His pleading hurts Merlin, but now that his anxiety has taken over, he knows it’s just a matter of time before the mask becomes a scrap of cloth and falls from his face.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” He pulls his hand out of Lancelot’s and rushes as much as he dares to the door.

Sir Gwaine blocks his path just as he gets to the door. “Leaving so soon? Can’t I tempt you for another dance?” Merlin can’t read his face, is too worried to even think about trying.

When he looks behind him and sees Lancelot coming for them, he starts to truly panic. He can’t afford a delay.

He turns his face away from Gwaine and mutters a spell to drop a nearby server’s tray. This distracts Gwaine just long enough for Merlin to slip past him and out of the great hall.

He can hear Lancelot coming, calling after him, but he dare not look back. He mutters a second spell to slam the ballroom doors. This will serve both to slow Lancelot’s progress and hide which way Merlin goes goes.

And considering he’s going deeper into, rather than out of, the castle, it’s very important no one sees his retreat.

He slips through the halls, hearing Lancelot’s cries echo and then disappear as he goes toward the castle door, looking for him.

He’ll never find him.

Merlin swipes uselessly at his prickling eyes. He hadn’t wanted to leave Lancelot, but after what Gwaine had said, he couldn’t stay in good conscience. He swallowed hard to try and keep himself collected, and finally ducked into Gaius’ rooms, gracefully empty.