By the time the party was in full swing, Merlin was - well, he was drunk. Or at least very spirited. He was happily making a fool of himself, playing little wandless magic tricks that were certainly nothing spectacular, but might've been entertaining at best. He flitted from group to group, happy and more at ease than he had been for quite some time in the village.
"Come, dance with me!" he cried, grabbing the nearest woman and spinning her with surprising grace and agility, considering how much he had had to drink. "The fire can be our melody, and the waves can be our rhythm."