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***
Come here.
The lady beside Lancelot was not of this world. Her face was too beautiful. It did not look real, ethereal, an ideal. He could not stand to look at her for even a second despite her melodious voice seeming to be the only thing saving him from certain death. But he could not look at the creature either, lest his ears ring and his heart palpitate with the force of his fear.
He could only stand to look at Lancelot. Their eyes met and his heartbeat slowed. Breathe in. Look within Lancelot's eyes. Breathe out.
In the dead of night, the silence was deafening. But the moon? It was so very clear. A pale fullness amongst the dark blue blanket littered by small sparks of stars. He needed the energy to do something, anything.
He reached within himself for a source of motivation. He looked up to the moon again. It reminded him of a far more relaxed midnight meeting from another time.
A meeting with his sanctuary.
***
Weak. Pathetic. Those words were spat at him from deep within in a voice that sounded like his own.
He tossed and turned the entire night, groaning in frustration until he found himself at the door to a certain knight's room. He felt stupid. But Lancelot opened the door anyway when stilted, shaking hands knocked.
He didn’t have to say anything at all. Perhaps it was his kicked puppy expression or some unintelligible language only the two of them shared. Nonetheless, strong but oh-so-gentle arms wrapped around him and he was finally home.
"What is it that you wish to say?" asked Lancelot.
"Not here," Merlin mumbled into his built shoulders. "There's a room I found."
"Lead the way."
The night was unusually quiet and everyone must have been asleep. There were no more busy servants nor annoying princes to bother them. He and Lancelot decided to take advantage of that.
Earlier, Merlin had stumbled upon another hidden room in the castle while he was cleaning. He recalled which wall that secret lever had been attached to — near Lady Morgana's quarters — and they eventually entered the room of the famous princess: Cinderella. He made sure to lock the lever in place while they stayed.
He hadn't even realized the old tale herself was from Camelot. He was sure no one else did, even Arthur, because when he asked said king about it, he only furrowed his brow at him like Merlin had gone insane.
"Do you want to talk about what's keeping you up?"
"I don't even know what it is. I just… can't sleep." He looked around the room. "I'm sorry I brought you he—"
Lancelot didn't even let him finish that sentence before handing him a broom and pointing to a dead rat. "May the souls of Cinderella's friends rest in peace."
The wizard gave a small smile as he understood the knight's purposeful change of subject.
They did indeed go through the rest of the room, nearly coughing upon the piles of dust and dank air. Cleaning and the simple act of organizing cleared Merlin's foggy mind. Eventually, they come across a few chests. Made of high-quality material intended to survive time eternal, it was in miraculous condition for aomething at least a century old.
In there, they find memories of Cinderella who isn't a ghost this time. Neither of them could be any more grateful than they were then. She had married one of Camelot's past kings amd been lucky not to be trapped within an maliciously-created fairytale book made by the court magicians of ancient Camelot
That's the thing Merlin couldn't quite get. Magic used to be a staple and even necessary part of Camelot in history. Lancelot replied, saying it still is. "You're Arthur's Fairy Godmother."
"Oh, shut up!" He pulled out a sketchbook (how did the paper even survive this long—?) filled to the brim with ancient clothing designs.
Lancelot remarked, “She drew quite well. And she was a dressmaker, wasn’t she?”
“That's true.” Merlin said. After a moment lingered, he off-handedly added, “I can draw too.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Could I see?”
“I left my drawings back in Ealdor but…” He felt himself grow shy. “I could draw for you right now?”
“Thank you, Merlin. But are you sure you could draw when it's this dim—"
He snapped his fingers and a bright orb of light floated among his palm. "That would be lovely.” Lancelot smiled softly.
They found a few blank sheets and Merlin took his time. He let the pencil fly and flow by itself, just like how he did when he used his magic. Before he knew it, a familiar face was staring at him from the paper.
“Is that me?” Lancelot said in a hushed voice. He seemed stunned into silence.
The illustration was the knight. It depicted a scene with him reading a book, slightly biting his lip in concentration as he leaned over. He was nearly a hunchbank with his enrapture posture. Merlin drew it because it was the easiest to remember – the first time he had brought him to the library. Lancelot didn't have many chances to read due to his nomadic lifestyle and that was a shame because he seemed to truly love it. His gaze was intense, nearly piercing. Even when he wasn't smiling, he looked warm and kind. Lancelot couldn't never stop being kind. Merlin knew that. His beauty wasn't as unbelieveable as the princess but it was so earthly Merlin could look at him forever.
But If he had magic, seconds under his glare would have turned that book into ashes into ashes.
Merlin had kept that picturistic memory with him, going back over it when his mind strayed a little too far at night. He didn't want to admit it before but it was too late for that now. The proof was in his hands. Without anything more eloquent he simply replied, “Yeah,”
The gorgeous smile he got in return was worth it. "Thank you again, Merlin, I have no words—”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just made it because you’re my latest inspiration.”
Lancelot looked surprised. As if he hadn’t deserved it. (Merlin wanted so badly to take the knight's hands and tell him how he deserved it more than any other being in the world.)
“I’ll treasure it.”
“Damn right, you will.”
Merlin hadn’t been fully honest. Lancelot did inspire him, that was true. But that wasn’t why he drew him. He drew Lancelot because he was the only thing he could think about nowadays even when he was doing his best to get him off his mind.