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"What's Merlin doing?" asked Percival as he came in with the basilisk head slung over his shoulder.
Leon glanced over and shrugged. "Gwaine came back from the tavern and breathed in his face."
"Drunk on fumes again? All right." Percival swung the basilisk head to the ground and stretched his sore arms and shoulders. "But what's Arthur's excuse?"
They watched as Merlin giggled and nearly slid off the chair leaning too far, then straightened himself and adjusted Arthur on his lap. Arthur kept an arm slung over Merlin's shoulder and his leg hooked over the chair's arm to keep himself in place, but looked otherwise unperturbed.
"No idea," said Leon. "But who's going to ask him?"