Beauty Of Magic
"Can I see it?"
Lancelot, from where he was sitting at the end of Merlin's bed, asked.
Merlin looked up from the thick, heavy magical spells book in his hands and up at Lancelot as, for a moment, his mind couldn't fully comprehend what his friend meant by that. His eyebrows furrowed in question and his head tilted a bit, silently asking him to elaborate. There could be a lot of things he wanted to see here...
"Your magic, I mean..." Lancelot added quickly, a slight sheepish look on his face at his vagueness.
Realization immediately dawned on Merlin as his chin lifted and his lips formed a small circle shape in understanding, his head bobbing lightly in a small nod.
Then his mouth was slowly overtook by a large and joyful grin at the request, his heart swelling with warmth at his friend's ease and acceptance with his secret powers.
Excitedly, he closed the book and put it aside him, a huge smile on his face as he did so.
The boy was practically bouncing on the bed as he turned back, and Lancelot felt a rush of fondness and affection for his young friend, and a slight bit awed at how Merlin got so happy at the littlest things.
But then a bit of sorrow and pity panged his heart as he realized how lonely and hard it must have been for him to hide his magic from everyone, including all his closest friends (he couldn't even trust his friends!). How many times he must have dreamed to use his powers freely and openly in front of them without having to face being shunned and rejected. This one little moment of freedom and fearlessness was probably a huge thing for him.
Lancelot couldn't help but feel proud of him, just like an older brother would, for still being so good and cheerful and kind even after all that he's been through.
He watched with utmost attention as Merlin, with a grace that was the result of using magic his whole life, closed his azure eyes slowly and held out both of his hands. Lancelot thought he looked the most happiest when he was doing this, using magic in front of a friend who wouldn't shun him or have his head for it.
He made a mental note to make Merlin do this more often, whenever they had a chance.
Merlin allowed the warm, beautiful sensation of magic to build up in his chest, slowly filling his body in a way that felt ethereal and eubillient. The feeling never grew old and trite for him. It always seemed as amazing as the first time he could remember.
He willed his magic to flow from his arms and fill into his palms and fingertips, letting it free as he shaped his power to form what his imagination desired.
After a while, he felt soft, light and cold little pieces fall onto his head and face and palms, some soaking through his clothes and causing him to shiver slightly. And he slowly, peacefully, pulled his eyes open to descry his friend's expression.
Lancelot was watching the diaphonus, lissome snowflakes fall gently from the ceiling with a rapt, delightful smile, his deep and warm brown eyes tender with awe and wonder at the beauty of magic.
And Merlin thought that the fascinated, exuberant look on his friend's face was far more amazing and beautiful than the feeling of his magic.
I posted this before on The Heart of Camelot, but I, uh, forgot to post it here. *sheepish* This was for my very awesome SPN twin, semperfortis! I knew she loved Lancelot very much, and so I thought, "What better way to gift her than to write a story with her most beloved character in it?" Love you! *hugs*
I hope you guys like it!