Arthur couldn't remember the first dream, only the feeling it left when he awoke. He was already a young man then, 13 or 14, but the way his heart had hammered in his chest and his lungs had constricted painfully left him feeling more vulnerable and exposed than ever before. His yells had summoned a chambermaid from the corridor, and as he dismissed her, he made a decision. No one was to see him like this. It was undignified and… humiliating.

He was a future king.

That was the day he'd barred anyone from entering his room after dark without precise orders.

The dreams continued as he got older, shadows of terror haunting him at least once a month. He never sought comforts from his father, Gaius, or anyone else. And no one sought to comfort him as his cries echoed in his lonely room.

The dreams were never the same. Every time, his senses were assaulted with a new onslaught of visions, feelings, sounds. Always just as horrifying as the last and the next. And in the morning, he could never remember anything but a vague sense of who and what it had been this time.

And then there came Merlin, with the bright blue eyes and short dark hair and a kindness that set him apart from everyone Arthur had ever known. The monsters in his head seemed to subside, receding to the back of his mind.

He forgot about them most days, sometimes for days on end. Instead there was Merlin.

Merlin in a whirlwind of chatter, of flashing blue eyes, of laughter. Arthur didn't realize as it happened, as someone manoeuvred their way around the carefully built walls, blatantly and purposefully disregarding protocol and boundaries. He didn't realize as he let this man draw closer than any person before him. And, Arthur feared, any person after.

He couldn't understand how the simple servant could surpass Morgana, Gwen, everyone, people he'd known his entire life, and who knew everything about him, and reach a part of him no one else could. A part of him he hadn't even known existed.

So he couldn't help but wanting Merlin around. Having him by his side felt natural. Felt right. and even if the dreams hadn't stopped completely, they were forgotten in the morning as the hands roused him and the eyes danced mischievously while fond, bite-less banter bounced between them.

Then, all at once, the dreams changed completely. More vivid, longer. Realer.

And every night, he was confronted with Merlin. Merlin broken, Merlin bloodied, Merlin unresponsive. Watching as the light faded from his eyes. Feeling him go limp. Holding him in his arms as the life fled him and blood soaked his clothes.

Every night he woke, face drenched in sweat and -tears? And his heart constricted impossibly. Every single night he calmed himself, freeing himself from his prison of bedding, and fought to slow his breathing, fought to slow the irregular hammering in his chest.

Every night he fought the urge to flee his chambers, the dark shadows of his mind. Flee to somewhere inviting. Warm. Flee to Merlin. Reassure himself that the nimble hands, slight torso and lopsided smile were indeed untouched, full of life, and free of blood.

But princes don't flee. Especially not the proud Prince Arthur. And especially not to their manservant. So proud Crown Prince Arthur, instead, rose every night in a panic, soothed his heart and calmed his breathing, and receded to the seat before the fire. Forcefully awake. Painfully awake. And every morning as the sun crept over the horizon, he readied himself, waiting.

And even if he tried, he could never stop the flood of relief through his veins and even if he never thought it or acknowledged it, he knew his heart didn't truly unclench until he heard the regular, light steps he knew belonged to one and only one.