Work Text:
***
Once upon a time, Merlin was fucking around in Camelot's library.
He wasn't there to indulge in his hobby of reading. No, he was trying to avoid his duties as the king's servant and he was in too deep to stop now. It started with Arthur being a particular arse that day. He said Merlin looked like a ghost because he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep that night — Lancelot was off on patrol for a few days and he tended to worry, okay?
You're acting like a worried wife, the king remarked among many, many other annoying comments.
Usually, Merlin would be able to handle this. He had nearly seven years of experience after all. But he was working on three hours of sleep and a prayer. So he drew up an ice-cold bath and ran for the hills. Snickering as he heard splashes preceding the muffled yell of his name. The castle's halls made for wonderful acoustics.
Now he was here, hiding in the corner of a library. He got to the section where every other book had a layer of dust on them and he sneezed every few seconds.
It was a start of an unpredictable day, to say the least. Look, he had faced ghouls, monsters, and generally non-magical but terrible people (the last tended to be the worst kind for some reason.)
But he couldn't have expected a book about fairy tales to fall on his head.
"Ow! What the — !"
Even from a few feet away, he could practically hear Geoffrey's deadly glare so he stifled his curses and picked up the ancient-looking scroll. It looked half-torn, missing quite a few pages, but color him intrigued. Or concussed. Either way, he wasn't sure what drew him towards the book but he found himself opening it.
Its scrawl was bizarre but legible. It was difficult to describe. Imagine ancient medieval text, yup, then try to imagine a more primitive form. Or squiggly lines with little line knives striking through them at odd angles. That worked too.
The most bizarre aspect was that the words started to move.
(Am I concussed? He asked himself. No, answered his magic. But he was starting not to believe it because hearing voices in your head was definitely cause for concern.)
He couldn't worry too much about it when the words started bleeding. The room grew frigid and he swore someone blew out the candle.
Not someone. Something.
His gut was screaming at him, a primal yell into the void. Images of animal shifters, and ancient druids transforming into bears and wolves, flood his mind. His magic was trying to give him weapons against a threat he had never encountered in his life. Fear leaped through his veins, like that of a cornered animal. There was some sort of magic at play here. But it wasn't familiar.
It didn't feel like summer days and the blooms of roses meeting frost. It was old. And despite all caution, he turned the page of the scary book because he had no impulse control.
Rapunzel, it read. Then it changed to a name he couldn't decipher. Perc… Pars… Pearette?
Though the title was different, it was similar to the tale he heard before. Then his brows knotted together in confusion as he continued reading. There were changes he didn't expect this time around. For one thing, he hadn't heard of the prince falling onto thorns and wandering, blind.
He hadn't realized night had fallen until it became too dark for him to read. When he scanned the rest of the library, he realized even Geoffrey had turned in for the night.
There's a voice that came from behind. It croaked: I'm here.
It didn't so much as speak as it resonated within his skull. A cold breeze flew past him and he threw his arms around himself. His magic was yelling at him to run. There was something wrong in the air.
"He—hello?" His voice wavered and he pretended the world's unfunniest voice crack had not occurred. (He swears he can hear the ghost laughing at him.)
I'm here.
"Excuse me, who's here?"
I'm... heee...reee...
"Arthur, if you’re trying to prank me, let me tell you this is a very shit job!" He turned around but there was no one. (Was it deaf or something? Not that that was bad. He was just pretty sure ghosts could hear. Or was that narrow-minded? Sorry, ghosts and other non-corporeal beings, Merlin didn't have much first-hand experience being dead.)
Some kind of supernatural force must have heard his thoughts and must've been pissed off because he felt something grasp his shoulder.
He yelped and prepared for death. (He didn't even get to say goodbye to Lancelot! This would be the worst way to die—)
"—I'm here, Merlin, sorry for surprising you, it's just me." A very familiar and very missed voice said, "Are you alright? What are you still doing here?"
"Oh, gods, thank the gods, it's you." Relief washed over the wizard as he ran into the knight's chest. He thanked every god he knew and some ghosts. "You came back from patrol so early!"
"I've been here for a while." Lancelot raised an eyebrow in quiet concern but wrapped the cloak around him. "You're shivering and you've been missing for hours. I've been looking for you since sunset."
He snapped his head towards the windows, brows furrowed. But to his surprise, Lancelot was telling the truth. It was dark outside. How could that be? (He had only been there for a few minutes. An hour at most. He didn't read that slowly.)
"Really? Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. I guess I just got absorbed in this book."
The knight gave him a smile that warmed Merlin enough to calm down. His shoulders fell and he laughed a little at himself. Lancelot wrapped an arm around his shoulders and said, "Tell me all about it when we get back to your quarters."
"That's probably for the best." If either of them noticed how closely Merlin snuggled against Lancelot, they didn't care to point it out. Bhey made it back to his quarters without incident but he tugged hard at the knight's chainmail sleeve. His eyes shone in the torchlight. Pleading with a question that didn’t need an answer anymore.
They shut the door behind them and the exhausted servant plopped onto his bed. It was rickety and rather hardy, but he would have rather jumped headfirst into his rockhard mattress than stay a second outside.
“So,” Lancelot leaned against the door. “What was that about?”
“Rapunzel’s a ghost and she’s haunting the castle.”
The knight’s brows furrowed and he almost heard his stomach audibly drop. If his best, closest friend in the world couldn’t trust him then what hope did he have? He did have to admit: Lancelot had a cute pout, especially when he seemed confused.
“Who is Rapunzel?”
"Come on, you must have heard about Rapunzel." Merlin laughed. "Wait, really?"
Lancelot shrugged shyly. "I heard lots of tales traveling from place to place, but I can't recall a story about that, no."
He couldn't help but feel sad. Lancelot didn't quite have a childhood and anywhere he could stay long enough to form roots. But he couldn't go back in the past and change it (or at least, probably not. Maybe there was a spell for that…), they could only change the present.
"Well... let me tell you a story then."
"By all means, go ahead."
Merlin opened the book and was about to open his mouth but closed it suddenly. His eyes were nearly as big as the moon.
"Did something—?" Lancelot took a look and stopped.
The words moved into new positions, weaving an entirely new story. "The book is magical?"
"I didn't know. Er, wait. I guess I knew because moving letters isn't normal." Merlin said, "But this story, it's different."
"How is it supposed to go?"
"The story is supposed to be Rapunzel but this one,”
Suddenly, the bed shifted in weight. Lancelot nearly hopped from his bed with a revelation. He peered deep into the book and his hair smelled like lavender. “—is about Persinette, Wait. I've heard of this one."
"What?"
"The lady stuck in the tower."
"That sounds just like Rapunzel." Then it struck him. The moving words! It was this story. "Wow, that... then what I saw earlier must've been a spirit."
"What did you see?"
"There had been someone saying I'm here. Her voice was so close and sounded so — old isn't the right word. Hoarse? It felt like she was breathing right against my neck but when I turned around, no one was there."
"What else did she say?"
"Nothing, it just kept repeating over and over." Merlin paused and slowly drawled, "Like a call... a call for help."
"So there's a spirit out there asking for help."
"Or something."
"Or something…" He scanned Merlin up and down, inspecting for scars. But he couldn't help but feel something stir in his gut because of it. "Keep yourself safe please."
"I will, I will." Merlin smiled. "Thank you for being concerned."
They discussed the story in more detail until their eyes couldn't stay open any longer. Lancelot yawned in the dying firelight. "I should head to my room."
"You should," He hummed. "if it were regular circumstances. With the threat of a maybe-vengeful spirit looming over, however..."
Lancelot smiled as if Merlin had read his mind. "Alright then, now go to bed. I can see your eyes drooping all the way here."
The knight cuddling Merlin to sleep was something that occurred more often than not. Merlin couldn't help the nightmares but it lessened with Lance's presence.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. It's a privilege to be with you, my friend," Merlin's eyes were closed but he smiled as he felt the pillow dip with Lance's weight and arms tucked along his midriff.
The last thing on his mind before falling asleep was an odd observation he made. Wasn't the story missing a page?
***
As Lancelot walked alongside Merlin on a hidden forest path, he spoke in jest, "You never ended up telling me the story of Rapunzel."
"Huh?" He's startled from his trip down memory lane to the night before, that vague but unsettling voice crept down from his head to drop to his gut. A shiver passed through him. He almost tripped over a rock had he not been leaning on Lancelot so closely. "Oh, I thought you already heard of it by a different name."
"Careful." The knight's voice was fond as he kicked the rock away. "And well, if the name has changed, the events might have too."
They entered an alcove of bush and spring green leaves. It looked like an impenetrable wall but when you pushed it, it gave way to a hidden path. Few footprints littered the ground, and piles of leaves and gravel made their entrance quite loud.
"It's kind of silly. A pregnant woman craves cabbage, but not just any kind of cabbage, it's cabbage owned by a witch! Instead of asking, her husband steals it and witch takes her child as its price, raises child in a tower, child is miraculously found by prince, they fall in love, blah-blah, they escape and kiss, hooray!"
Lancelot chuckled. "You would make for a wonderful bard."
"Oh, absolutely. I can juggle and sing very well."
"And dancing?"
"Still a pesky bugger."
They both chuckled at that. "I could always teach you if you wished."
"I'd love that." Merlin turned red — not at the thought of Lancelot's arms around him. Absolutely not, it was just a bit cold, that's all! He grinned as his eyes lit up with ideas, Lancelot prepared himself for the worst. "Would you be the circus's dancer?"
"I wasn't aware it was going to be a circus."
"Well, let's say it is. What tricks do you have up your sleeve?"
"Not much, just some sword-swinging abilities."
"Shut it, I've seen you in action and it's far beyond sword-swinging." Merlin turned to the knight admonishingly. "Perhaps you'd be the circus's muse."
Lancelot's face barely changed but it did twitch, which was a win in Merlin's book. "It would certainly be a fulfilling life. I wouldn't have to chase after griffins and lie to kings, I'd just sit around and that would be enough work."
Merlin sighed at the thought of a peaceful life. "If only, if only.
"But it'd be a shame though. You're a great dancer. Much better than Arthur, and I think that's why I disliked the story so much. Princes are overrated."
Lancelot grinned as he set up a cheap but durable orange cloth across the ground. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, noble and far more handsome knights are my preference."
"Preference?"
Lancelot was really close to Merlin now. The wizard placed his arms around the other's neck and butterflies coiled rapidly in their stomachs.
"You know you're my preferred knight. My favorite actually."
"And you, my favorite wizard."
They grinned at each other, Lance's arms coming up under Merlin's and they held each other. Basking in the peace of a quiet forest without the sound of yelling kings and immature knights. He could hear the birds chirping away in the trees alongside the whistling of leaves. It formed nature's hauntingly beautiful harmony.
Until Merlin's stomach growled.
"I suppose I'll have to feed my favorite hungry wizard now."
He tried not to let himself show how happy being called his made him, but he was as red as his scarf. Merlin's eyes glowed gold for a millisecond and a subsequent rumble followed. Coming from Lancelot.
"Did you just make my stomach growl using magic?"
"Depends, are you going to tell on me?"
They laughed and playfully wrestled each other to the ground. Although he was fully capable of rendering the wizard motionless on the ground (something he did not dwell on, he swears!), he was gentle enough to keep from hurting Merlin. When Merlin attempted a botched trick he saw the knights do, Lancelot maneuvered him onto his back with a hand cradling the back of his head seconds before hitting the ground. It stopped the impact that would've stung harder than those slaps Arthur gave.
"I'd rather you're still alive to be told on, Merlin," Lancelot said with a knowing glint in his eye. "If you wanted to learn how to actually grapple correctly, I can teach you."
"Lance, it's your day off, why are you spoiling me?" He was joking around but honestly, he was genuinely wondering that as well. Even though it had been years, he couldn't wrap his head around how kind Lancelot was to him.
"Humor me please."
Merlin couldn't stop the grin that crawled onto his face. "You're too good for this world."
"I think you're describing yourself," Lancelot says, his voice too tender for Merlin to handle as he's looked at with utter devotion. Like he was some sort of benevolent god, and the other his most devoted follower. He shivered. "You're the one saving Albion."
"Mhmm, and you're feeding Albion's savior strawberries."
"Consider it my destiny fulfilled." Merlin laughed.
They were sprawled all over their picnic cloth and Lancelot had a basket of the freshest, most exquisite strawberry known to man. Or just Merlin, he didn't have that many chances to taste strawberries or many other foods besides cabbage and mutton stews the few times they managed to catch game.
“They were still better than Gaius’s soups though.” He fake-gagged. “I swear he makes them horrible on purpose.”
“Maybe he’s trying to poison you,” Lancelot said casually as he chomped down on sour bread. Merlin attempts to steal a bite which leads to fumbling, well-meaning threats, the topic of mortality, then back to threats once again.
The conversation drifts like a pebble rolling into a river that leads to a waterfall that breaks a dam. He’s not quite sure what that metaphor means but it fits. Somehow, it leads to discussing their childhood. Hunith was a caring and so, so, so very patient mother. She had gone through a lot because of raising Albion’s greatest hope’s greatest hope. Some of his memories were funny, like when he used his magic to make their neighbor, Mrs. Reedsworth’s panties fly off the laundry line. She had chased him and Will into a ditch until she decided to chase the spectacular case of escaping underwear.
“So you were always a troublemaker?”
He giggled. It was only half past three o’clock but the wine had mellowed him out. Lancelot pulled the bottle away from him and plugged it close, causing the wizard to whine. “No more wine for you.”
“But whyyy?” He whined.
“You might start magick my pants off.”
He burst out laughing so hard he nearly shakes Lancelot to the ground who murmurs something about the wizard not having to use magic for that.
“Fine, if I can’t have wine, could you tell me about your childhood?”
Lancelot nodded and proceeded to talk about faint memories of a home near a river. And his mother, the lady in a lake.
Merlin blinked and sobered up rather quickly. "Wait, what?"
"She hadn’t always been my mother. She didn’t give birth to me, but I can’t remember much about my hometown except when it was sieged. A lady in a lake raised me for most of my childhood. Her name was Lady Elaine. Is. If she’s still alive that is. We parted ways when I needed to find my own path.”
“You were raised … by a lady in a lake?”
"You sound surprised.”
“Of course I am!” Merlin scoffed and thought back to a certain other lady in a lake. “You must’ve been raised by some kind of fae! Or magical being!”
“Hmm.” He ruminated on the thought for only a few seconds before nodding. “That makes sense.”
“Excuse me? You’re just casually accepting that your adoptive mother might have been a faery that lived in a bloody lake!”
Lancelot couldn’t help himself from smiling. It looked like fondness incarnate turned into a work of art: Lancelot’s face. Which was normal. Hey, he was Lancelot’s friend but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate attractive people! (It’s just that… it almost seemed he found Merlin attractive too, but that was insane. They were friends. Shut up, internal dialogue, nobody wants you here.)
It was unfair. Why did the Gods favor Lancelot (although Merlin would’ve done the same if he were them to be fair) and not only made him handsome but so incredibly controlled? The wizard was on the brink of insanity and the knight was just smiling his stupid, warm, breathtaking smile.
“Magic is not as rare as it is here in Camelot, Merlin. When I traveled, there were magic-using troupes and fellow mercenaries that could sweep up the earth from beneath their opponent’s feet as they swung. None of them were as impressive as you.”
He was definitely the color of his scarf by now. “Stop. Stop saying things like that you,” he attempted to seem convincing but couldn’t help but grin. “This is not fair.”
“Fate wasn’t very fair in bringing you here either.” Chocolate eyes grew as warm as the sun’s rays hit them. He almost forgot they were outside because he fell deaf to everything except the man in front of him. Because he just dropped a childhood bomb on him, of course. Nothing else.
“So that’s why you weren’t surprised when I used magic.”
“Not really, no,” The knight had been looking down.
"How did you even live under a lake?"
"She parted the water every time I need to enter our underground cave."
"Lance, I have so many questions and — WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT?"
In the distance stood a bloody figure too maimed to call a person, though it vaguely resembled a woman. There were holes where eyes used to be and old, dark blood oozed from her half-eaten, mangled skull face down to torn rags.
If anyone asked him, Merlin did not scream. He absolutely did not. But he did dig his nails into Lancelot’s elbow as he attempted to run away like any sane human being. However, instead of dashing back to Camelot, he was stuck in place. Lancelot dug his heels into the ground like a very annoying, borderline insane rock.
“Lancelot, what are you doing?” he hissed.
“I don’t think it’s going to attack us.”
“What? We’ve—”
“You go ahead, but I need to stay. Look, she’s singing.”
He paused and Lancelot was right. The ghost was humming a tune. It's haunting and sounds like the croak of a dry frog. Yet Lancelot steps forward and Merlin lets his hand fall away.
I’m here, it sang, I’m here.
“Persinette,” Lancelot sang back, “let down your hair.”
His voice, though he sang for only a moment, echoed the silent forest beautifully. Merlin wished he could hear it in better circumstances. It was stable and whole despite the setting. And it seemed to be as natural as breathing. It comforted Merlin even as the ghost smiled.
Teeth peeked through holes in the skull, it should’ve been unsettling but it wasn't. It just looked sad, akin to a kicked puppy. Okay, that wasn’t a very good metaphor but fear moved aside to make room for pity.
"Where is it going?" he whispered as the spirit began to walk — or float? — towards the ruins of a tower that hadn't been there before. Odd.
"It's heading for the tower."
"Did know there was a tower there?"
Lancelot shook his head. They stood there in silence, not knowing what to do next.
"Something weird happens to me when I'm around you."
Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Weird feelings."
"...as in—”
"I have stupidity where there should be caution. Let's climb that bloody tower!"
They couldn’t find a staircase, but the ghost peered down from the window with a solution to their problem. It let down a rope made out of hair. The pair climbed up and with one final pull, Merlin hopped onto a dusty floor.
The ghost tried to speak, but no sound comes out even as its mouth opens. To their horror, Persinette didn’t seem to have a tongue.
Rapunzel. Persinette. You know me by many names. My real one cannot be spoken for it is in the language of the dead. I was cursed by that wretched court witch to linger in a tower forevermore, as a ghost serving her until the end of time, or until I was released from that cursed totem. You were not the last person to come here. There was a court magician from this kingdom who had found his way up here, but he only coveted what wasn’t his.”
“How do we release you?”
“By finding the fragment that ties me to this Earth.”
With that, she was gone. As if she had never been there.
“What the hell did she mean by that?”
“A curse…” Lancelot’s suddenly widened.
“What?”
“Her hair. The witch needed to come up to the tower still without Rapunzel, she took her hair.’
“How did you know that?”
“My mother told me.”
“The lady in the lake?"
Lancelot nodded. “Let’s find what’s left of Rapunzel.”
“Okay, but you have to introduce me to your mother one day.”
“One day.” They scoured the tower but aside from dead rodents, cobwebs with huge spiders, and mountains of dust — there was not a shred of hair.
Hurry, you are looking in the wrong place.
Before sunrise.
“You could’ve told us about the deadline before." He grumbled and shook a spider out of his hair. Lancelot helped take it out and let it into the wilderness calmly. Merlin couldn't help but find his attentiveness so cute.
"Merlin, look."
He turned to where Lancelot was pointing at the sunset. "Oh, it's pretty."
The knight chuckled. "That's true but not my point. The light is passing through a tower in the castle. Have you ever seen a staircase leading up to it?"
"Oh, Lancelot, you're a genius!." He was tempted to kiss the man but they had only a few hours before dooming a spirit into eternal damnation. It didn't deter him actually but Lancelot was halfway down the tower before his brain loaded.
He isn't sure how he didn't notice the tower before. But he was really grateful for Lancelot's presence.
As they sprinted through the citadel, he said, "We make a good team, don't we?"
They made it to the steps of the castle and Lancelot nodded with a small smile as he held the door open for him. "We do. I don't know if anyone else would save the spirit of a century-old fairytale."
"Or be as handsome as a partner as you."
Lancelot coughed and ran faster through the empty halls. Merlin picked the perfect path to avoid running into anyone, and he was glad he did. Besides making it a quicker journey, he was happy to be the only one to see the knight's adorable bashful grin.
(Focus on the weird ghost in the tower, Merlin.)
"Okay, fine."
Lancelot turned at the sudden words. Merlin just shook his head.
They made it to the wall nearest to the tower. There wasn't a staircase. Or it seemed like there wasn't. Merlin felt around for a loose brick.
"Now you're the genius."
He winked at Lancelot and when he pulled the brick, a section of the wall opened up to dusty stairs. "Ooh, cool!"
Persinette picked that particular moment to let cold tendrils like fingers on his shoulder curl into his collar and whisper, Hurry.
"Oh, yeah, ghost." He scrunched his nose up at the smell of the dead. "Not cool."
Lancelot grabbed a torch and led the way up. It seemed to draw on for hours (an exaggeration but Merlin already did his fair share of walking and running after stupid princes, couldn't he just have a normal day for once?) until he found himself panting atop a very high, and unexpectedly breezy floor.
He looked around and noticed the walls were missing some bricks. Oh, and there was a skeleton sitting in a chair.
"What is that?" Lancelot whispered.
"I'm pretty sure it's dead. You don't need to whisper. I don't think it can hear you." he whispered back.
The knight rolled his eyes but the tips of his mouth were tilted upwards. He'd admit he found Merlin's stupid jokes funny one day. He just had to keep trying until then.
"There's the hair." He pointed to the roll of wheat-like fibers. "What do we do with it now?"
"Burn it?"
Yessss.
"Alright then, that should be easy." Merlin said and took a step forward. That turned out to be the worst decision he could've made. Like ever.
Because the skeleton reanimated back to life, bones cracking into place, and in the other hand not holding the hair, he was holding a fucking sword. It bellowed out in a voice with too much bass for someone whose ribage was nearly see-through.
WHO DARES TO FREE
THE SOULS CURSED BY THEE?
"A rhyming skeleton?" He said, unimpressed. He swore he saw the ghost's spirit die down for a second before it jabbed up defensively.
I AM NOT JUST A RHYMING SKELETON
I AM LORD RIVERTON
OF THE COURT OF CAMELOT
Lancelot even joined in as he narrowed his eyes over the sword he had drawn. "You won't find a word that rhymes with Camelot?"
WHAT ARE YOU TWO FOOLS SAYING?
"He's not even attempting to rhyme now. I mean, if you're gonna do it once, do it the whole way you know?"
"Like that sword of yours. You can't hold it one-handed unless you're lazy."
WHO DARES TO CALL ME LAZY?
Its voice thundered at Lancelot's words and he dropped the pile of hair to grip the sword. He lunged forward but the knight was quicker. Merlin shuffled to the side and reached for hair.
"You're not only lazy, you're not agile either."
ONE IS NOT AGILE AFTER A CENTURY
I WAS NOT A PART OF THE CAVALRY
I WAS THE FOURTH KING'S ADVISER
NO MAN OF CAMELOT ANY WISER
"Cavalry is a horrible rhyme!" Merlin said from behind him. That made the skeleton snap its head around.
YOU ABSOLUTE FOOL
I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN FROM WHERE YOU STAND, WHERE—
Lancelot took advantage of the distraction and dislocated its sword-wielding arm. "That doesn't rhyme." And his skull.
GRAAAAAAAaaahhhhhhh— it fell off the tower, rolling off from the force from which Lance struck. The advisor's voice echoed until they heard a ceremonious crash into the courtyard below.
Merlin looked up at Lancelot with a big smile. "Very impressive."
The knight was too humble to agree but he smiled. "Now, the burning?"
"Oh!" The wizard put the pile of hair on the ground and whispered a spell that set it ablaze. "Finally, it can rest."
(And so can we, his mind reminded him. It must have been early morning by this point.)
They sat in a rejuvenating silence as the blaze simmered down into only ash. Merlin picked it up and blew it into the wind. There was a faint hum in the breeze that sounded an awful lot like a thanks.
"I've had enough of ghosts. That skeleton scared me half-to-death."
Boo.
Okay, this time around Merlin would finally concede that he screamed. Only because it was loud enough to be heard throughout the entire castle and impossible to deny. But you'd have to torture the fact he passed out out of him.
Lancelot caught him and couldn't stifle his laughter as he saw Persinette wink before disappearing. It was a little weird to see an eyeless socket wink at him but he was so tired he was nearly delirious. So he carried Merlin bridal-style all the way back to bed.
"What happened?" Gaius asked, one hand on his hip and the other on his nightcap.
His mouth drew into a tight line. "It's a long story."
The old physician narrowed his eyes. "It's better if I don't know, isn't it."
Lancelot nodded and Gaius looked at the limp body in his grasp. "Ah. Well, I suppose Merlin will be needing company then."
He thanked the tired elder and headed to their quarters quickly. Wait, that wasn't quite right. It was Merlin's quarters. Gods, he was exhausted.
(If Merlin was awake and not limply at home in the arms of a strong man, he would've pointed out Lancelot nearly slept there as much as Merlin did.)
Away from the two oblivious men, Gaius sighed. He shook his head while muttering, "They don't have a single clue."