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    Summary

    “Lancelot,” Merlin whispered, taking care not to disturb any of the other knights, all of whom were sleeping around the slowly dying fire. “Are you awake?”

    “Yes,” Lancelot whispered back, shuffling around on his bedroll to turn and face Merlin. His eyes shone like beacons in the darkness of the forest.

    Merlin cleared his throat. “Are you, um, warm enough?”

    Lancelot smiled. “Are you?”

    “Me? I’m fine. Toasty, even,” Merlin protested.

    “You’re shivering,” Lancelot pointed out.

    “Maybe a bit.” Merlin smiled sheepishly. It was a mild enough night, but he didn’t have the benefit of the layers the knights wore: the thick wool gambesons or the heavy velvet cloaks.

    He picked at the frayed edge of the scratchy linen blanket he had packed, hardly warm enough to protect him from the chill.“Would you— uh, that is, I was wondering—”

    “Merlin,” Lancelot interrupted, not unkindly.

    “Could I, maybe—”

    “If you’re asking me whether we can share warmth, the answer is yes, Merlin.”

    ~

    Or: Merlin and Lancelot huddle for warmth.

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