[fic] all my luck
Title: All My Luck
Pairing: Lancelot/Merlin
Rating: PG
Summary: A moment before battle.
Notes: Written for kinkme_merlin for this prompt: Lancelot/Merlin, Merlin gives Lancelot his neckerchief for luck before a battle/tournament.
Lancelot is draped in amour, the metal slung over his shoulders, dazzling in Merlin's eyes as it catches the light.
Merlin has just been watching Lancelot prepare for the fight, silly little rituals like tying his right boot before his left, using a double knot for his shirt, sheathing and unsheathing his sword while upright every five minutes (just to make sure it hasn't disappeared at the hilt or something). All the minute details, the things that will seem so insignificant when this is over; Merlin knows they won't remember the fingerprint marks along the sword when Lancelot returns with it smeared in somebody else's blood. If he returns.
He tries not to think about it.
He's ready, Merlin can tell by the hardening of his features, strength and virtue stiffening his stature. He asks anyway.
"Are you ready?" Merlin aims for light and breezy in his tone, he's sure Lancelot already feels pressure upon him, no point in plying on his own concerns.
"Just about," he replies, matching light with like, a genuine smile not tainted by nerves and Merlin knows it's for his benefit.
Their eyes meet and Merlin knows that it happens for too long because his mouth is already gaping open and closed, waiting for words to come out and the ever gracious Lancelot lets him have his moment of stupidity. Upon his gaze, Merlin can feel himself heating up from the neck, warmth of embarrassment creeping up to his face insisting that he says something. He brings a hand up to the front of his neckerchief, has his fingers clutch at it, while his other hand fiddles at the knot, it comes away loose and limp in his hand, "I know I'm not a maiden or anything but here, you know, for luck."
"Thank you," Lancelot takes the neckerchief, which now seems like such a stupid form of a token, from Merlin's hand. "I will definitely return it."
Trying to brush it off, Merlin shrugs his shoulders, a quiet nonchalant 'no big deal' escaping his lips but Lancelot places a bare hand on Merlin's shoulder, his thumb pressed gently on his exposed collarbone and says to him in all seriousness, "I promise I will."
Merlin nods absently while he watches Lancelot tuck the red material within armour, close to his heart, even with the difficulty of rigid metal over his arms. He clears his throat and helps Lancelot secure on gloves, snug and tight over fingers, aware of all the last things that could be Lancelot's occurring in the moment.
He sighs out all the inappropriate things he wants to say, things like 'you'll get hurt' and 'don't go' but Merlin knows it's no use, Lancelot will go because he has sworn his duty to fight the good fight, defend those who are defenceless and other such deeds that make him the noble man he is.
"Take care," Merlin says, so fleetingly as Lancelot turns to leave, a slight curve of the lips feigning a smile that things will be all right. He's gone in a moment.
Now all Merlin can do is wait.
Pairing: Lancelot/Merlin
Rating: PG
Summary: A moment before battle.
Notes: Written for kinkme_merlin for this prompt: Lancelot/Merlin, Merlin gives Lancelot his neckerchief for luck before a battle/tournament.
Lancelot is draped in amour, the metal slung over his shoulders, dazzling in Merlin's eyes as it catches the light.
Merlin has just been watching Lancelot prepare for the fight, silly little rituals like tying his right boot before his left, using a double knot for his shirt, sheathing and unsheathing his sword while upright every five minutes (just to make sure it hasn't disappeared at the hilt or something). All the minute details, the things that will seem so insignificant when this is over; Merlin knows they won't remember the fingerprint marks along the sword when Lancelot returns with it smeared in somebody else's blood. If he returns.
He tries not to think about it.
He's ready, Merlin can tell by the hardening of his features, strength and virtue stiffening his stature. He asks anyway.
"Are you ready?" Merlin aims for light and breezy in his tone, he's sure Lancelot already feels pressure upon him, no point in plying on his own concerns.
"Just about," he replies, matching light with like, a genuine smile not tainted by nerves and Merlin knows it's for his benefit.
Their eyes meet and Merlin knows that it happens for too long because his mouth is already gaping open and closed, waiting for words to come out and the ever gracious Lancelot lets him have his moment of stupidity. Upon his gaze, Merlin can feel himself heating up from the neck, warmth of embarrassment creeping up to his face insisting that he says something. He brings a hand up to the front of his neckerchief, has his fingers clutch at it, while his other hand fiddles at the knot, it comes away loose and limp in his hand, "I know I'm not a maiden or anything but here, you know, for luck."
"Thank you," Lancelot takes the neckerchief, which now seems like such a stupid form of a token, from Merlin's hand. "I will definitely return it."
Trying to brush it off, Merlin shrugs his shoulders, a quiet nonchalant 'no big deal' escaping his lips but Lancelot places a bare hand on Merlin's shoulder, his thumb pressed gently on his exposed collarbone and says to him in all seriousness, "I promise I will."
Merlin nods absently while he watches Lancelot tuck the red material within armour, close to his heart, even with the difficulty of rigid metal over his arms. He clears his throat and helps Lancelot secure on gloves, snug and tight over fingers, aware of all the last things that could be Lancelot's occurring in the moment.
He sighs out all the inappropriate things he wants to say, things like 'you'll get hurt' and 'don't go' but Merlin knows it's no use, Lancelot will go because he has sworn his duty to fight the good fight, defend those who are defenceless and other such deeds that make him the noble man he is.
"Take care," Merlin says, so fleetingly as Lancelot turns to leave, a slight curve of the lips feigning a smile that things will be all right. He's gone in a moment.
Now all Merlin can do is wait.