Merlin Headcanons

Lancelot

A/N: I don't write much Merlin and Lancelot friendship because . . . Actually, I have no idea why. I love their friendship. I love Lancelot. Unfortunately, he doesn't provide as many opportunities for jokes as Gwaine and Arthur do, and he inspires next to no angst (correction: most of the angst he inspires is romance related and therefore uninteresting, or related to his death and already explored to my satisfaction by better authors than I). Er . . . If any of you write romance related Lancelot angst, I apologize. Your's may be an exception.

*Cough*. Moving on! If you've read my Hunger Games: Fandom Style, you can consider this to be a very short prequel. If you haven't, you can consider this to be what will probably be the only snippet ever written of the S5 do-over/creation of new seasons up to a S11 epic that I've plotted on the end pages of The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf but can't be bothered to write.

Or: This author's note is longer than intended.

. . . . .

Merlin liked Paris.

He liked it more when it wasn't in the middle of a revolution and he wasn't running for his life, but he liked Paris.

He also liked that he'd found a reincarnated Lancelot there and that said Lancelot was not one of the people currently trying to kill him. Instead, they were fleeing the guards - or possibly vampires, Merlin was being chased by both and wasn't sure which group was currently closer - together. It was almost like old times.

The turn from street to alley was a bit sharp at such high speeds, and he banged into the wall of the house as he went. Lancelot grabbed his elbow and pulled him on as he patted the pouch at his waist to make sure the vial was intact. He'd need that if he was going to restore Lancelot's memories of his previous lives.

"There!" someone shouted. The men were close now. Definitely men, not vampires. That was something, at least.

The wall blocking off their alleyway into a dead end was also something, but in a very, very different sense.

Merlin stared at it for a moment, breathing heavily, as their pursuers approached. Lancelot readied his pistol.

The guards had torches, naturally. It was almost midnight. There weren't any pitchforks though. That was good. He didn't need any flashbacks of witch hunts at the moment.

"What are your thoughts on magic?" Merlin asked breathlessly.

Lancelot was used to him by now and only shot him a last stand sort of grin. "I've never been superstitious."

"Glad to hear it." At least the so called "Enlightenment" was good for something. "Astrice!"

The men were blown backward. He grabbed Lancelot's arm and teleported them away to the first place he could think of, the back alley behind the inn where he was staying. "Glad to hear it," he repeated. "What about now?"