So I'm finally doing it! -Writing a story about the Dark Kings' last moments together. Darkest Mercy hit me hard when I read those particular scenes (even though there were too few IMO), and I especially wanted to read more about how they spent their time in the dreamscape as Irial struggled through his illness. So as a result, I've chosen to write what I think happened (or at least a possibility).

I give a special thanks to the anonymous poster who suggested the idea in his/her review for Unending Night! I don't know how long this will be, but I don't expect it to exceed 5 chapters, if that. It's Niall's POV at the moment.

I don't own Wicked Lovely, Melissa Marr does!

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It had only been a couple of days since Bannanach attacked Irial, and Niall could already see signs of illness overcoming his former King. Irial was now bedridden, for any attempt to walk had proved futile; several times Niall had rushed into the room to find Irial collapsed on the ground, attempting to feign wellness, even in such a weak state. Since then, Niall decided that he would be by Irial's side the entire time, never letting him out of his sight.

Though it pained Niall deeply to have see Irial that way, suffering slowly. Alone. With Niall unable to prevent it. And able to taste his pain as it happens. No amount of fear instilled in healers gave Niall the answer he was hoping to hear: good health and longevity.

Time was Niall's enemy, not the poison that coursed through Irial's dark veins. It frightened Niall above all else, made him believe in a concept fey never once considered; mortality. And God did Niall feel selfish for having wasted it. Regrets flooded him every waking hour, thoughts of have-nots and should-haves and nostalgia for the past. Why did I push him away all these years? Why now? Why must I lose him now? What have I done?

And every time fear overwhelmed him, Niall would fight the urge to break down in tears and weep, the anxiety in the pit of his stomach weighing him down. But he wouldn't cry- not in front of Iri. He needed to be strong for him, strong for both of them. And for the Court. Despite his martyred state, Irial tried his best not to show weakness, refused to give Niall a clear indication that he was ill. His strength was a testament to his will, and Niall admired him for it. And if Irial hadn't yet given up hope, then Niall wouldn't either.

Niall glanced over at his advisor for the umpteenth time today, his stomach churning with sadness. Irial's breathing was even, despite its slow irregularity, and he appeared to be sleeping, his long, black lashes brushing his cheeks. If not for the eerie pallor cloaking his skin that betrayed his illness, one might assume he were at ease. Niall, on the other hand, knew better. He'd been dealing with the aftereffects of Bannanach's poison for days now, and he knew what it was intended to do.

Take him from me.

Niall turned his head away from Irial, unwilling to think about that. Instead, he tried to focus on the their world outside of the madness, the dreamscape they'd conjured for themselves where no one feared uncertain death or loneliness, but pleasure and companionship. In their world, Niall was free of everything that plagued him, and he spent that freedom with the only faery he ever loved, the faery who Niall would now care for in sickness and in health.

Niall stepped away from the wall he'd been leaning against and quietly approached the former Dark King's bed. His fingers trembled as he ran a thumb along Irial's graceful mouth and along his cheek. When Irial's once-brilliant-but-now dull eyes lazily opened, dread formed in the pit of Niall's chest.

"Gancanagh", Irial whispered, his voice hoarse. A smiled tugged at his lips.

Niall attempted to smile back at him, his eyes trying hard not to focus on how unwell Irial appeared.

"What did you dream of?" Niall asked quietly, taking his seat beside his King on the bed. It was a question he asked everyday, and despite its repetitiveness, he deemed necessary to ask. I don't want to miss a single moment with him.

"I dreamt of you." Irial's black gaze was direct and filled with affection as he spoke. "I always dream of you."

Niall stroked his cheek, his eyes softening "I know." Then he asked the question he dreaded the most, the question he'd asked for days despite knowing the answer: "How are you feeling?"

Irial's smile faltered, the expression not touching his eyes. Niall tasted fear and bitter sadness. Irial shook his head and sighed. "Niall, don't-"

"Please", Niall bit out, his voice harsher than he intended. "Tell me."

Irial's black gaze met his directly, his voice unwavering despite his appearance. "You already know, love."

Niall's throat felt thick, his body numb, his eyes blurry. He reached for Irial's hand, enclosing it with his palm, intertwining their fingers. Irial smiled back at him, his eyes aglow with affection.

As if seeing the affect his words had on Niall's port, Irial tried to make amends. He always does. "Don't worry, Gancanagh", he murmured. "I'm still here. Always."

The truth in his words made Niall forget how to speak for the time being. Instead, he leaned in and brushed his lips over Irial's and stroked his sweat-slick hair back from his face. Then Niall touched foreheads with his advisor, inhaling his scent. Tears misted his eyes.

"I know."

We have now, Niall thought quietly, his hand tightening on Irial's. And we have our dreams. Nothing will take him from me.

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