The brightness was too much. Morgana blinked, her heart hammering. A shrill sound that seemed to be emitting from her throat died as it reached her lips, and she blinked again.

Awareness returned. Morgana began to understand the startling whiteness to be daylight, and the softness beneath her to be a mattress. She was sitting, she knew, in her own bed.

And yet, the nightmare was still before her. She could see the faces, even as she gazed at the stained glass of her bedroom window. They were with her, the dead, watching her movements with unseeing eyes, and she could see herself, too, across the field—

'Morgana?'

Like a breaking spell, the threads of her nightmare snapped and fell apart at the sound of her name. Morgana turned, startled, and found a white-faced Arthur standing a safe distance from her bed. A chair lay toppled on the floor in front of him.

'You were screaming,' he breathed, his blue eyes wide.

'I…I was?' Morgana remembered a sound reverberating through her as she woke, but she hadn't thought it was screaming. In her dream…No, no, I mustn't think of that.

Arthur's eyes took the shape of concern. 'I'll get Gaius.' He turned for the door.

'No!' Morgana shouted. The last thing she wanted was the physician questioning her. He would ask what she had dreamed. 'No, Arthur. I'm fine. Really.'

The prince did not look convinced. 'You were trembling,' he told her, 'when you woke. You shouldn't be left alone.'

They looked at each other a moment, silent. I'm not alone, Morgana thought, and she guessed the same conclusion passed through Arthur's mind, for he looked suddenly to the floor, avoiding her eye and running a hand through his golden hair.

He doesn't want to stay with me, Morgana thought. I frightened him. He thinks I'm mad.

After a moment, the prince raised his eyes again, looking at her sidelong, fingers still tangled in his hair. Then, with a sigh, he dropped his arm and strode forward two paces, pulling the chair upright. He dragged it to her bedside and sat down. Arthur seem to hesitate a moment, and then he surprised her by reaching across the mattress and taking her fingers in his own.

It felt a long time since someone had extended her such affections. Morgana swallowed.

She looked up, and blue eyes met hers. 'Tell me what you saw,' he whispered. Never a question, always a demand.

I can't tell you, Morgana thought, you wouldn't understand. If you knew…

Morgana shook her head. 'I don't want to…remember it.'

Arthur shifted to the edge of the chair, leaning closer. 'Morgana,' he insisted. 'There was a time when we never kept secrets from one another.'

'Yes,' she responded stonily. 'But much has changed.' She looked up to see his brows pull together, and something that looked like hurt flickered across his eyes, quick enough that she couldn't be certain. Morgana blinked. Perhaps he is still capable of feelings, after all. She felt guilty despite herself. 'Arthur…it was just a dream. Better left unspoken.'

'I seem to remember being forced into telling you a certain dream, once.'

Morgana smiled half-heartedly. 'The one where the dragon beneath Camelot snuck into the castle and ate everyone while they slept?' Arthur had been terrified of sleeping for a week. 'That's different. That was a long time ago.' A lifetime ago, it seems.

'You told me it would feel less real if I spoke of it aloud,' he insisted.

This is different, Arthur. You don't understand.

'You owe me a nightmare, Morgana.' The determination in his eyes made her certain he wasn't going to leave without some kind of explanation.

Morgana took a steadying breath, wondering how she could tell her nightmare in a way that was true enough as not to lie to him, and fabricated enough that Arthur would still look at her with smiles when she was done.

I shouldn't care for his smiles, she thought, remembering his words from the previous night. She had gained little sleep because of those words, and when she woke that morning, she had looked so poorly that Gwen had fetched Gaius to examine her.

Still, she found it hard to be angry with Arthur while he sat gazing at her with soft blue eyes, his long-fingered hand clasping her own.

Curse you, Arthur Pendragon, she thought, her resolve breaking. You will be my undoing, I swear it.

Morgana looked away as she spoke. 'I dreamed of sightless eyes on pale faces,' she said quietly. 'Thousands. Thousands. They were young men, as young as you and I. Younger, some. And I…I didn't understand why they didn't see as I saw, why they couldn't rise to stand, as I stood. It made no sense. None so young should lie so still.' She turned, looking at Arthur, her voice very quiet. 'I alone was living.'

The prince had a crease between his brows as his eyes searched hers. He had leaned closer, perhaps to better hear her soft voice, and now he was uncomfortable close, his nose almost touching her own. Arthur didn't seem to notice, though. When he spoke, she felt the light touch of his breath on her lips. 'It was a dream,' he whispered.

It didn't feel like a dream, thought Morgana. She had left unsaid the worst parts; the cloaks of Camelot crimson that were pinned to the shoulders of the dead, and that she had seen herself standing at the end of the field, wild hair unbound, lips parted in a smile. There was joy in that smile, and something…more. Something that prickled Morgana's skin to remember.

Arthur drew back and released her hand, as though suddenly aware he was close enough to kiss her. He cleared his throat. 'I uh…I should tell you that what I said last night—It didn't come out as I intended.' He stood from the chair and began to pace the room, avoiding her eyes. He looked uncomfortable.

A rare sight, Morgana reflected. Had it not been for the haunting dream still swimming in her mind, she may have been amused enough to smile.

'You see…years ago,' he started to explain; 'I asked my father if he intended you as my wife. I thought he would want that. I mean, what girl could we trust more than you? But my father was livid with the idea. He said I shouldn't think of you as anything more than a friend.' Arthur looked at her with a crooked smile. 'He was very protective of you.'

Morgana didn't know if she ought to be warmed or offended. 'I don't quite understand,' she admitted.

Arthur shrugged, pausing by the window and folding his arms. 'I suppose my father doesn't want to imagine you in any man's arms, even mine.' He smiled again. 'I fear for the poor soul who wins your heart, Morgana.'

Morgana blinked, surprised. She wouldn't have expected Uther to react so defensively, particularly in response to his own son.

'He told me that my marriage would serve a purpose,' Arthur continued. 'My wife would be from a foreign kingdom, he said, and our union would bring Camelot another ally.' He glanced at Morgana briefly, and then away again. 'So, it couldn't be you.'

'And it's a blessing for Camelot,' Morgana repeated icily.

Arthur frowned, looking at the floor. 'I didn't mean that.'

Then look at me when you say it, thought Morgana. But apparently his apology was over. If it could be called an apology at all.

Arthur cleared his throat. 'I hope you will be well enough to attend my birthday feast the night after next,' he said, his voice returning abruptly to a conversational tone.

Morgana nodded.

Arthur glanced at the door. 'Are you sure you don't want me to find Gaius?'

'No, Gwen will be returning soon.'

'If I see her, I'll tell her to be quick about it,' he promised, turning on his heel.

Morgana watched him leave, a muted sigh on her lips. Why was it, whenever Arthur Pendragon walked away, he left her feeling so alone?

It made no sense.

Or maybe it did.

It was not something Morgana was prepared to understand at that moment.

Pushing the thought from her mind, she lay her head down, closed her eyes, and prayed for dreamless sleep.

If Arthur's birthday feast was to be anything like the previous year, she was sure to need it.