#this... is technically a lancelot lives au as my tagging system keeps recommending now that I think about it

[koalas-koalas-everywhere]

Let's get the timeline right. On March 27 of 2023 I mentioned this longfic I was writing in the tags of a tangentially related post. I posted a bunch of sneak peeks for Mercelot Week during June of the same year (all together in AO3, you can find the individual posts on my blog on the #wlwaaod or #When Love Was an Act of Defiance tags). On August, I posted another advance (although this one was spur of the moment so it wasn't as polished. Not that I didn't find like 100 typos the moment I posted the others, so) — I also displayed the bad handle I have on months by saying that June had been one month ago. Lastly, I posted this playlist. You were the ones supposed to figure out its purpose on your own.

Now, a little over a year and 205k+ words later, I've started the last chapter, alternate The Sword in the Stone. Unlike the other chapters, I haven't quite nailed down its title. That's the trouble with endings, I guess. The plan now is to, you know, finish it, then go over it once, then start a posting schedule that will give me time to review each chapter again before. I've decided to celebrate this milestone by posting a short fic I wrote around New Years and planned to post back then, but, you know, didn't happen. It had absolutely nothing to do with WLWAAOD, except that it's also mercelot. I hope you enjoy it!

Lancelot was braced with his forearms on the battlements, senses focused on the sting of the cold wind on his cheeks. He had a scarf, but he’d pulled it off and wrapped it around his wrist, eager for the chill that had seeped into the kingdom. Winter had arrived that very day. That very night. 

He’d chosen that spot because it faced the wide fields and the forest outside of Camelot instead of its busy inner streets, where people had gathered to celebrate Samhain. For Lancelot, the date had run too close together as of late, though. Which wasn’t to say that some sort of dreadful remembrance had chased him away. Or, perhaps, it had. The fires seemed brighter that night, blinding; their heat so scalding that even the cold’s burn was preferable. At least it brought fresh air with it. The smoke, the breaths, the sweat of other people had just stuck in his throat until he couldn’t breathe. He’d needed solitude to mind his own lungs, the call of the earth with its breezes, its babbling brooks, the few remaining animals willing to brave the winter. However, they soon became too enthralling, the open night too open. He felt like he could let go of the ground beneath his feet, and he’d fly away.

“There you are.” Merlin’s voice jarred Lancelot’s soul back into his body and he almost stumbled, almost lost his grip.

“Here I am,” he agreed, breathless. “Just needed some air.”

“You disappeared before the festivities started, though.” He was suspicious. He often was, these days. That was perhaps one of the most startling changes to greet Lancelot when he’d come back. The same man who, as a boy, had picked him up bleeding from the forest floor and taken him to his home had then held everyone back when they’d rushed to welcome him, had not rested until every test had been done, almost wanting the proof that he wasn’t really their dead friend. 

Still, some things remained the same — now that they were past all that, Lancelot knew this wasn’t the same suspicion he aimed at the rest of the world. For it, Merlin had built up walls to protect himself, while he was prodding the knight not to close himself off from him. It had never been a problem before, but, that night, it might not have been an unreasonable fear.

“In the castle,” Lancelot corrected him. “Everyone else started earlier. Even in the palace, the staff has been running around all day.”

“All week.” Merlin came closer, leant on the same gap as him. “It doesn’t usually bother you.”

“No, it’s just today,” Lancelot conceded at last. “I’ve been feeling odd.”

“Happy anniversary,” Merlin offered like a question.

“I’ve been telling myself it wasn’t that, but what do I know? Maybe it is that I died last Samhain. My last Samhain,” he amended.

“Your Samhain before last.”

“I made it through at midnight, so I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count,” Lancelot laughed.

“No, it does,” Merlin said, his eyes suddenly carving into Lancelot’s. “That Samhain, you chose death. The last one, you chose life. It’s trying to get you to choose death again. Even the score in a way that the tally’s still on the left side.”

He was babbling the way he sometimes did, as though he didn’t know what he was saying, but he’d never felt more certain in his life.

“All right,” Lancelot said, trusting every word, and Merlin grabbed his face.

“You must choose life again, Lancelot.”

He kissed him. Lips chapped, even sticky from dried spit, but they’d been covered by his scarf before he’d gone to talk to Lancelot, so they were warm. Scalding warm, hotter than the fires he’d been trying to avoid, and just as painful. Still, Lancelot pressed into them to escape the cold. They moved, just a little, again, and again, until their lips were the same temperature. Lancelot lifted his hands from where they’d been clutching Merlin’s sleeves, now seeking the warmth of skin. His fingers dipped inside his scarf, brushing then latching onto the pulse beating on Merlin’s neck as though that was what they’d wanted from the start.

His cold hands made the sorcerer shiver and the kiss ended as quickly as it had started. Lancelot didn’t regret having taken off his gloves, though.

“Sorry, was that weird?” Merlin asked after a few moments gasping into each other’s mouths. “I’m thinking back on it and I realise I was putting off a weird mood, before. I’m sorry.”

“You were fine,” Lancelot assured him.

“I don’t want you to think that was me being weird. Even if I was being weird. That is to say—“ Merlin licked his lips. It occurred to Lancelot that they wouldn’t be sticky now, although that would change if too much time passed. “That wasn’t a magic thing or anything.”

“You were fine,” Lancelot repeated and kissed him again.