Prompt from anon: 'the boys getting a late night snack and just chatting while they're both on the verge of collapsing'

"You've worked through dinner, haven't you?"

Arthur's hand stilled, halfway through another decree or response to a decree that he could barely remember reading or drafting in the first place. His eyes read the word 'grain' about five times over as his mind was jolted from a place of absolute focus, and his hand and back cramped up, finally feeling the effects of all that work.

Had it been hours? It felt like hours. The room was dark, so it must have been hours. A hand lifted his face, and Arthur winced at the stab of pain that went through his stressed shoulder muscles.

Lancelot was there. Definitely hours, then.

His knight pushed up his visor, his eyes dull from exhaustion, and Arthur tried to recall what he had been up to that day. A protection mission? Overseeing the construction or implementation of a new landmark or feature, which he himself perhaps had agreed to on another night such as this? Had he fought a champion, further cementing himself as the greatest knight of the Round Table?

"Answer my question."

Arthur blinked. He couldn't remember the question.

Lancelot sighed, his hand running through blue spines, and Arthur's eyelids drooped as his stomach gave a loud growl. The king didn't have to reopen his eyes to know that Lancelot was frowning at him.

"You must take better care of yourself, Arthur. Your love, care, and dedication to your people is incredible, but it should never come at your own expense."

Arthur's ear flicked in response. Lancelot had such a nice voice...

He heard a sigh, then felt an arm wrap around his waist, and the next thing he knew, Lancelot was pulling him out of his chair and away from his desk. "Come on," he murmured, his nice voice tickling Arthur's ear. "At least a small bit of food will be better than none."

"You're so strong," Arthur mumbled, leaning more onto his knight, and he heard and felt the sharp intake of breath from the other. It made him grin in his half-asleep state, but it morphed into a frown when Lancelot said nothing more after that. "What time's it?" he asked, wanting to hear that voice again, to have it replace the jumble of words that filled his mind, the words of work and decisions and stress and-

"Late," the knight replied tersely, and Arthur frowned at his failure to initiate conversation. He should have guessed as much; Arthur had always been the more wordy of the two.

Yet right about then, he could scarcely put one foot in front of the other.

He wondered if Lancelot would be willing to carry him.

The thought sent a small thrill through him.

But his mouth opened, and only a yawn escaped, and by the time it was finished, Arthur had already forgotten what he had been thinking about.

They passed by the dining hall; there would be nothing in there at this hour. They passed by the kitchens; powerful and authoritative as they were, no one disturbed the chefs' workplace. Lancelot steered Arthur toward the pantry and helped him keep his balance against a wall. The knight covered his mouth, stifling a yawn of his own, and Arthur wondered if either of them would make it to bed that night, or if they would simply pass out in the pantry to be found the next morning.

The other knights would have a grand old laugh at that...

"Here." A quarter loaf of bread was shoved into his hands a moment later, its twin resting in Lancelot's grasp. "I think we could get away with half a loaf without too much trouble."

Arthur frowned, lifting the plain bread to his face, nose twitching at the yeasty smell that it gave off. "Could I have something else?" he asked, yet it sounded more like a whine. "Like some butter or jam?"

"Butter is not kept in the pantry," Lancelot replied firmly. "And jam would keep you up all night."

Arthur groaned, but took a bite of bread, but just one bite was enough to make him realize how hungry he really was. The next bite happened before he had finished his first, and he was wolfing down the bread before he knew it, absolutely ravenous, feeling as though his guts were a void of emptiness that would never be filled.

Arthur was staring, unfocused, at the crumbs on his hands, wondering if he should eat them as well, until the other part of the loaf was resting in them. The king looked up in surprise, while Lancelot pushed his visor back down, looking away.

"Go on," he urged quietly. "I'm not very hungry."

Arthur frowned, contemplating his dilemma. His gut still ached for more food, but Lancelot surely needed something as well, right?

He reached over, stubbornly lifting Lancelot's visor, and put the bread in front of his face. "You need to eat, too."

"I told you, I am not hungry."

"I can tell you're lying, Lance," Arthur replied softly, watching as Lancelot's eyes shifted away in shame. "Tired as I am, hiding your face is an obvious sign."

The knight heaved another sigh, and Arthur could practically feel his exhaustion paint the small room they were in. "Arthur, you need it more, it is really not-"

"Do I need to feed you myself?" Arthur snapped, tiredness getting the better of him, and the look on Lancelot's face would have been priceless if he had been in any state of mind to enjoy it. "Just eat. You're too important to go hungry as well."

There was a look on Lancelot's face, one that Arthur couldn't quite decipher, but the knight took his offering and the king relaxed, mollified. "Your importance outweighs my own," Lancelot murmured, though he obeyed and took a hungry bite from his portion.

"Not to me," Arthur replied, eyes already starting to close as the food started to find its mark and quell the aching in his stomach, coaxing him into sleep's embrace. He heard an odd intake of air, but was too far gone to question it.

When he woke up the next morning, he was lying on his bed, still fully-clothed, and with a sense that he had missed something important.