A/N: this was written some time ago for a figt exchange, using the prompt "Lanterns". It's my first time writing Escanor and Merlin, and since I find them both quite complex characters I hope I didn't mess up! But at least it was interesting to write.

Enjoy!

Under the light of the lanterns

The longer he walks away from the festival, the darker it gets, until the cobblestones under his feet become almost indiscernible - but he can still feel them, cold and hard, through the soles of his shoes. Escanor holds the parchments tighter to his chest, his eyes wide open as he ventures into the darkness. The roads are barely lit by the scarce torches that have been left burning. There is no need of much light, here, almost all the city has gathered in the main squares and streets, leaving the outskirts like a dark, empty shell, at least for a few more hours. Even the clamour and the laughter, with the warm light of the fires, abate, leaving him alone in the blackness, yet he doesn't stop, nor he looks back.

He could, of course. He could stop and turn around and join the celebrations again, let loose and join his comrades and more of that, finally enjoying the festival the city organized for Samhain night. Isn't this something he has always desired? He sighs and closes his eyes, his pace slowing down; he remembers the last time he had fully celebrated the end of Summer, back then when he was still a prince and he was free, when his biggest problems were his brother's vexations. He was so young, his memories are a bit hazy, yet he can't forget the way the light of hundreds of lanterns illuminated the capital. He was still a child and couldn't join the celebrations in the streets, but he had watched the crowd from the window of his room, mesmerized by its chaotic movements and twists - it looked, he had thought, like an enormous swarm of ants, gathering on the top of the anthill. He had wanted so much to be part of it - and he would have had, Rosa had promised him that night. Once grown-up no one would have been able to stop him to go there and join his people, not even Diamond. And Escanor had fallen asleep with a smile on his lips, hoping that that day, the day he would have been part of something so alive and beautiful, would have been soon.

Then ... then there had been his curse. And Diamond's screams, his parents' cries, the sound of the guards' footsteps on the stone. Then there had been Rosa's last words and her tears and the roar of the waves as they hit the barrel, the cold water soaking his clothes.

And then, there had been the solitude, the constant wandering, escaping from the path of destruction that his other self seemed to leave behind him. During those years, he had seen more than once the fires lightening up in distant villager during the nights of Samhain. He remembers observing them from afar, his heart pounding and his hands wringing, torn by the desire to join the people, to not be alone anymore and the fear of what would have happened if he had - would have they rejected him, a vagabond with no money, no family, nothing but his bones and soul? Maybe they would have. Maybe if he left before dawn, before the curse could grasp him with its claws … maybe it would have been alright. One day, he always told to himself, one day, he would have cast aside the fear and walked in one of the cities of Britannia, and he would have spent there the night, dancing and singing and simply living , until the sun would have started to lighten the night sky - only then, he would have left.

He never did.

But tonight - tonight is different. King Bartra himself gave him and his comrades the permission to enjoy the festival - though they had to promise not to mess up, he added, glaring at Meliodas, who simply smiled and thanked. Of course, they have taken advantage of the offer. Escanor saw Meliodas and Ban engaged in a very competitive drinking contest that they both very well knew how would have ended - yet, the fact wasn't stopping Ban from gulping down something that looked like half of a barrel of ale. King had observed curiously the celebrations around him, then had spent all the time chatting with Diane, floating some feet from her head and eventually leaving only to grab her some food or drink. And Gowther - Escanor saw him as he left, sitting not far from Meliodas, with a book in his hands. He nodded when Escanor passed by his chair, yet he didn't ask where he was going. Escanor was grateful because he is not sure he would have been able to tell him where he was headed, let alone why he was leaving.

It's difficult, even for him, to wrap his head around the knot of feelings that weights at the base of his throat like an iron ring. For once in his life, he knows he could stay. He has comrades - friends - with whom he could spend the night, he doesn't have to fear the rejection from the people, and more than that, he has found someone who can stop him, even when the sun is high and energy courses through his veins like molten gold. He still doesn't fully understand his Captain, and he doubts he ever will, but he trusts Meliodas, and he knows that he will do what's necessary if things go wrong.

Yet, Escanor keeps walking. Silence has wrapped its tendrils around him, broken only by the night birds' calls, and the scarce lanterns do little to illuminate his path. It's not that he doesn't want the other Sins' company; even though the thought still amazes him, he knows that none of them would mind having him around, and he does like them, really. They are … so different from him, all of them, and the reason why Meliodas has formed a group of so peculiar people still escapes him, but it's the first time in years that Escanor feels … happy. For real. No, he is not avoiding the company of his friends, and if he is honest with himself, he is aware of what is pushing him away from the lights and the games and the drink. It's - it's the crowd, he thinks. And the deafening noise of the laughs and the yells and the people pushing against him from everywhere and the smell of smoke and food and alcohol blending and getting stuck in his throat, and the expressions of happiness and amusement and innocence on everyone's face. Everything mixing together and clamping his neck and clenching his chest. After years of solitude, it's too much altogether. It's stupid, he knows, but it almost scares him, to be able to finally walk amidst the throng, like a normal person and not a cursed beast, a lion in sheep's clothing. It's reassuring and yet terrifying and it's too much - he needed to get away, at least for a while, after he failed to find an anchor to hold onto.

Maybe … maybe if she was there, he would have stayed, but Merlin made clear that she wasn't interested in the Festival the moment Meliodas had proposed to go all together - she had some experiments going on, she shrugged when the Captain looked at her, brow flinched, and she had all the intentions to work on that night. She is probably still in her lab, her pale skin illuminated by the soft light of the candles, her hands moving in the air as she manipulates her magic - or maybe she is still, lips pursed and barely furrowed brows, thinking about what she has to do next. Escanor swallows at the thought. If he was bold, like his other self, he would grab two pints of ale and some food and join her - by now, he knows the way by heart, every step and turn. He would sit with her and ask her how her work is going, and then he could spend hours listening to her mesmerizing voice as she explains things that he can barely understand - but it doesn't matter, because they make her lips curve in that slight smile and the pyrite of her eyes shine like gold under the sun. Or, if she doesn't want to speak, he would be content just watching her in silence as she works, observing the movements of her hands, listening to her breaths and murmurs.

But the sun has set hours ago, and this Escanor is not bold, nor brave, and surely not worth her time; he would just bother her, and that's the last thing he wants. Yet, he has no intention to return to Liones' castle, where he and the other Sins reside - he knows that now it's most likely teeming with life, steps and laughs echoing in its halls and corridors, and right now, Escanor feels like he needs to be alone. He presses his lips together, uncertain for a moment, and when he raises his head, his eyes meet the dark shape of Merlin's castle, standing solid against the blue of the night sky. He almost stops, but then he takes a deep breath and keeps walking. He is not going to her, of course, but he has grown fond of the garden that surrounds the high ground that hosts the castle. It will be a good place where to stay, waiting for the celebrations to end - or for the unsettling feeling that still weighs down his heart to mitigate.

He doesn't meet anyone in the streets, nor when he finally embarks the path that leads him to the soft grass and the trees of the garden. Even though her castle is huge, Merlin has never had many servants, and she most likely let them go for tonight, leaving her alone with her work. Now though, he can't help but think, she is not alone anymore. He is there too - not actually with her, of course, but - close enough. The thought that he is somehow keeping her company makes his smile, and he finally starts to relax, enjoying the familiar smell of fresh grass and moss. It's even darker here, the moon is crescent and its light is not bright enough to filter through the branches, but he is not afraid. Once, he feared the dark. He remembers spending his first nights in the land of Britannia curled up in the darkness, eyes wide open and body stiffened, jerking for every single creak and whisper that reached his ears, too scared to even move. It took time, to get used to it - but he had to. After all, Escanor is himself - this himself - only in the murk of the night and so with the time, the same blackness that had scared him became familiar, somehow even reassuring, like a shell hiding and protecting him from the outside world. He can't deny that the thought of what can hide there still scares him, but now he is in Liones, and this place is Merlin's home. He is safe, here.

A smile forms on his lips when he catches sight of a stone bench, almost hidden between the trunks, and he picks up the place. Only when he has sat and took a moment to look around, still filling his eyes with the beautiful sight of the trees illuminated by the light of the stars, he finally leans the sheets of paper on his knees. It wasn't difficult to find them at the Festival, he even managed to get a little pencil from a kind old lady, and that's everything he needs right now. After years of solitude, he is used to writing surrounded only by the darkness, and he doesn't even have to look at the pencil as he traces the words on the paper, straight and elegant - exactly how his tutors taught him when he was a child. His first verses are about the night, about the stars shining silently in the sky and the shadows embracing the roots of the trees, then, when his gaze lands on the distant lights of the city, he starts to describe how it felt to be there - the continuous motion of the people and the way the fire illuminates the walls of the houses, and the joy that purs from everyone, and the rumble that surrounds everything and makes it difficult to hear any other sound and -

And he swallows, his breath hastening, and has to force himself to look away not to feel overwhelmed by the memory. Soon his eyes find the walls of the near castle and it's almost like his hand moves of its own volition as it writes about the mysterious and beguiling creature who inhabits the place, so beautiful and yet powerful - and so brave that she didn't even flinch in front of him at noon . It's easy, to lose touch with reality in moments like this, when it's just him and his poetry, words flowing in his mind like a river of which he is by now used to riding the waves. After a while he stops for a moment, lips slightly pursed as he tries to find the right word to describe her curiosity towards everything , no matter how dangerous or damaged. The corner of his mouth turns up, and he sets the tip of the pencil of the paper, barely scratching its whiteness and -

"The Festival was not to your liking?"

Escanor jerks, the pencil slips through his fingers and hits the ground before rolling under the bench. He tightens his grip on the sheets of paper as he turns around, his mouth dry when his eyes find her. Merlin stands in the space between two trees, not even six feet from him, her arms crossed and a little smile on her lips. He swallows, and his mind suddenly blanks as he admires her, her skin pale under the dim light of the stars and the obsidian of her hair blending with the blackness of the shadows. He remembers that he should answer only when her brow flinches a little. "I - it's not like that, the festival was, uhm, good," he stutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yes," Merlin nods as she gets closer, her skirt moving slightly around her legs, "it can be said that the citizens of Liones value the night of Samhain. Yet, you are here," she states, stopping right next to the bench, "for quite a while, actually."

"How do you -"

"I sensed you the moment you set foot on the grass," she interrupts him, "I don't like to have unexpected guests."

There are spells all around the castle, Escanor realizes, and he feels his cheeks burning - he should have known, of course. "I didn't want to bother you, I know you are working," he hurries to explain, moving his hand in the air - he is gesticulating, he notices, and he should stop. "I just needed somewhere quiet to write, and I - ah, I love your garden." Oh Goddesses , now he is rambling too. With an effort, he puts his hand on the paper again, his body stiffening on the bench as he looks right in front of him, avoiding her gaze. "I can go away if you want -"

"Escanor." He closes his mouth and dares to look at her, but this is probably a mistake because when he does, she gives him and half-smile that makes his heart jump in his throat. "You didn't bother me." She says softly, "I finished a couple of minutes ago. I was just wondering what were you doing here."

"I was … I was writing poetry." He feels his blush spreading on his ears under her stare, yet now that is looking into her eyes, he realizes that he can't look away.

"That I see," she says, before sitting next to him. Escanor hurries to move away to give her space, but she stops him with a wave of her hand. "But it's the night of Samhain. Shouldn't you be at the Festival with the others? You looked happy when Bartra told us we could go."

"I was! I - I am, it's just …" Escanor pauses, not knowing exactly how to express the strange feeling that lingered in his chest all night.

"You don't own me any explanation," she reassures him, "we can talk about something else."

"But - Ah!" Escanor presses his lips together. He likes to be around Merlin - well, he loves it - but she always makes his heart beat faster and his cheeks burn and his thoughts slow down like flies trapped in honey. Swallowing hard, he forces himself to hold her gaze. He does trust her. She saw him in his most miserable times and still, she is there, with him, and she talks with him and is his friend - and if seeing him miserably crying over his curse and burning with pride and energy under the midday sun didn't change it, this won't make any difference. So, he lets the words spill out of his mouth. "There were so many people and so much noise," he admits, slowly, "everything was so ... so much . And I - I was there, and I could have been part of it, of everything, just another face in the crowd. It felt so weird, to be able to be part of something so big, without none of the people around me knowing who I am, what I am." He stops, chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment, trying to translate the emotions he feels into words. "I have wanted this," he murmurs, "for so very long. To be just a man among others. But I can't forget who I am. Not even now, that I have you - ah, the Captain, and the Sins. And I can't fake it. It's not - it doesn't feel fair. It doesn't feel right." Shily, he finally looks away, his gaze landing on his joined hands. "You'll probably think I am a being silly. Throwing away the occasion to enjoy something I wanted for so long just because I can't bring myself to forget at least for one night."

His heart pounds in his ears and his face burns as he waits quietly. Probably, he mulls, his words weren't clear but there is no way he can think about to make her see what -

"You are not being silly," she whispers, and Escanor blinks in surprise, turning towards her. Merlin is not looking at him anymore, her eyes wandering over the wood though it's obvious her mind is lost somewhere else. She takes a moment before continuing and when she talks, her words are slow and thoughtful. "In the place where I was born, they used to celebrate something similar to Samhain, early in November. When I was a child, I enjoyed observing the preparations, and I desired so much to attend the celebrations and the rites in the city. But I was too young to go alone, and my father hated it. He said it was a waste of time. He took part in the occasions he had to, but no more."

Escanor blinks, mouth half-open, enraptured by her words. Before tonight, he didn't even know she had a father - well, of course she had one, yet it's the first time she mentions him in his presence. It's the first time she alludes to her life before the Sins as well, and he feels incredibly honoured that she chose to tell him about that.

"I remember clearly the first year I decided I was done waiting and sneaked out one of those nights," she continues, crossing her arms, "and so I remember how incredibly disappointed I felt. The games, the jokes, the recitals, they all felt so frivolous. Even though I had observed it for years, I couldn't mix with the merry crowd. That wasn't my place to be. And so I returned home and stopped waiting for that festival like it was something special. I have never tried to join the celebrations again."

She purses her lips, then turns towards him, her golden irises shining in the darkness. "Sometimes," she says, "things are not how we imagined them - and that can be confusing, scary or even disappointing. But it's part of the process of discovery, and once you have accepted this, it will become easier. And Escanor," she adds, tilting her head, "remember that nothing stays the same forever. Things can change, and one day, you could be able to walk among people and feel like you are just part of the crowd, a face between many. Or you'll be able to accept that you are not. Not because you are less, but because you are more - you are an extraordinary man," she smiles to him, "even though you fail to see it."

Escanor feels like his body is burning and freezing at the same time, but he manages to nod, trying to process everything she just said - she didn't really tell him he is extraordinary, didn't she? That part has to be a dream, a fantasy taking life in his mind. Actually, all this conversation - Merlin trying to comfort him and telling him about her childhood and everything - has to be a dream. Maybe he fell asleep while writing. But the emotions that are overwhelming him feel so real and so the cool of the air and the soft essence she emanates.

"Take your time to think about this," Merlin shrugs, shifting on the bench, probably not fully aware of the storm she caused in his mind. "Do you mind if I stay here for a while?"

Escanor needs a moment to realizes that she is actually asking something. "Yes! I mean, no, I don't mind at all," he moves his hands in front of his face, flushing. "It's your garden after all - you can stay here as long as you want!"

The noise that comes from Merlin sounds surprisingly like a chuckle. "Well, then. It's the case to make this place a bit more illuminated."

She snaps her fingers, and in a moment the wood explodes in lights. Escanor's eyes widen as he looks around, gaze wandering on the lanterns that appeared everywhere around them, their wooden structures hovering in the air. When he finally looks at her again, for a moment he is lost observing the way her lashes shades her cheekbones and her eyes glow, gold nuggets in the dark.

"Would you mind to let me hear it?"

Escanor blinks, not entirely sure he heard her correctly. "Uhm, what?"

"Your poetry," she smirks, "I find it quite enjoyable. Would you like to read it for me?"

"Oh." He swallows, his eyes dropping on the paper again. It wouldn't be the first time he does that, Merlin seems to appreciate his poetry even though he is not quite sure of what she thinks about the verses he wrote about her. He has not even reread what he wrote and surely, it's not his best work, yet ... "Alright. I should still work on it," he admits, glancing at her before. "Night," he begins, "has its tendrils wrapped around the wood ..."

Slowly, his body relaxes and the words leave his mouth steadier and confident. And then ... maybe it's the way dozens of lanterns illuminate the place like fallen stars and the fact that under their light Merlin looks ethereal, almost unreal, like a spirit of fire or an ancient deity. Or maybe he has lost his mind - no, he has definitively lost his mind, because as he reads, his hand finds hers on her bench, and he doesn't move it away - no, he moves it closer, until their fingers are brushing. His cheeks are warm again, and his throat is dry, but he keeps reading, eyes fixed on the paper. He expects Merlin to move away any time, and is surprised when she doesn't - yet she knows, she feels her fingers moving, a so slight shift that it's barely noticeable, but they are not getting away - no, they are getting a bit, just a tiny bit, closer.

He shouldn't read too much into that gesture. Merlin is a mysterious woman and people seem to think that she is distant and cold, but she has always been kind to him - she is probably just being nice, now, because she pities him. Escanor knows that. Bur her skin is warm and her soft breath is like a song to his ears and tonight, under the lights of the lanterns and the sky full of stars, it doesn't matter why she is still here. One day, Escanor will tell her about the feelings that the mere thought of her awakens in his chest, but for now, this is enough for him.