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"I can't believe it!" Arthur exclaimed in the resulting quiet. "You've known him for what — a day, two?" he pointed accusingly at Lancelot.
The knight ducked his head and feigned eating. It was in vain; they could still see his flaming red ears.
"What can I say," Merlin was unapologetic. He stoked the fire of their camp, his expression perfectly composed except for the corners of his mouth, which tried to run off into a smirk. "One look at Lancelot's doe eyes, and I vowed to move heaven and earth for him. A little forgery was nothing."
"This! You can't just— do capital crimes for people you hardly know!"
"But it's alright for the person I do? Noted."
Gwaine guffawed in the midst of drinking and spilled his wine everywhere. "If I had a chance to do Lancelot, I'd probably break a law too."
Lancelot choked on his stew. Merlin's smirk finally broke free into a delighted laugh.
"Gwaine!" Arthur barked at him, exasperated, before turning back to Merlin. "What I mean is that you can't risk a chopping block just because—" he threw his hand in the direction of still recovering Lancelot, "a pretty face looks at you!"
Lancelot caught Merlin's gaze, and there was something strange and fond in his eyes. Merlin's laughter died down as he had a sinking realization that he wasn't the only guilty party. After all, Lancelot had committed to harboring a sorcerer that fateful day when they had killed the griffin. Merlin wouldn't have thought Lancelot did it only because "a pretty face looked at him", but... It fit, didn't it?
Lancelot looked at him, and then he opened his mouth.
"If I may, Sire," Lancelot called for everyone's attention. "I am also guilty of the same crime."
Merlin gaped at him. Lancelot's face was solemn, his posture properly downcast. Either he spoke the truth, or he spectacularly had them on. In Merlin's honest opinion, he was this good with theatrics only when he was doing it for a lark, and usually lost all his skill when they had to deceive someone, or explain away a sudden miracle; his only saving grace being his wonderful doe eyes.
Lancelot's soft voice struck a cord in everyone's heart. He looked at them with earnest doe eyes. They had no chance.
"You accuse Merlin of forgery for a stranger, but it was my decision to deceive you about my origin. I shared my dream of becoming a knight with him, and when he returned with a seal... I was indeed a stranger to him, but he chose to believe in me. He looked at me and saw someone worthy of honor, worthy of being a knight of Camelot. He spoke to my heart, and I found myself... enchanted. I agreed, perhaps too easily, in the face of that belief, but I hoped— wanted to live up to it. I still do."
By the end of his speech, Lancelot adorned a pretty blush, the heat of his words spreading onto his cheeks. The corners of his mouth were hiding a shy smile, and his eyes shined beautifully with the same hope from years past.
He looked at his audience. The audience was silent.
Arthur was the first to avert his gaze, the light of the campfire gracing his cheeks with reddish warmth. "I suppose we can make an exception for Lancelot," he mumbled to the side.
"We should have sent him to Nemeth, Sire," whispered Leon.
"They would have eaten him alive. We can't send him anywhere," heatedly disputed the prince.
"I am never looking into Lancelot's eyes when he's trying to persuade me. Never," Elyan whispered to Gwaine. Gwaine hummed noncommittally in response, still caught in a daze.
As the knights slowly came to their senses, Percival was the only one not surprised. After all, a year ago, when all seemed lost, when the immortal army terrorized the land, he agreed to follow that doe-eyed stranger into Camelot to save his dear bird-friend.
He exchanged an understanding glance with Merlin. Mischief hid amidst the fire's golden sparks in his eyes, and they shared a wide smile at their friend's revealed talent.
Lancelot could only stare in confusion at his brothers-in-arms. Once again, their attention was caught by something irrelevant, and they didn't recognize Merlin's obvious power over him, over all of them. Merlin was much more than a pretty face — he was inspiring words; he was a beautiful, bleeding heart; he was belief, and he was bravery. Lancelot saw no treason in following him and harboring his secrets, even if it often meant claiming his deeds and distracting others with his presence.
Everyone's attention was once again on him instead of on Merlin, and Lancelot huffed at seeing Merlin's pleased, mischievous smile.
It was alright. He will hide Merlin behind himself for as long as he has need of him. As it appeared, this group was particularly vulnerable to his doe eyes.