Gwaine woke to the sound of rain, the smell of ale, and the feel of someone shifting beside him. As he floated out of his dream and into wakefulness, he reached for the someone, expecting the woman in his dream to be there with her gentle smile and soft hair. The woman who greeted him when he opened his eyes, however, was not this woman. He startled at the sight of her.

She was pretty enough, with dark hair and rich green eyes, but if he'd stood her next to the woman in the dream, she'd not have stood a chance. He tried to recall her name, this woman in his bed.

"Aldith," she said.

She was smiling, which was a good sign. He was trying to muddle how he'd ended up in her bed, but the dreams of the woman were mingling with the memory, and he was having a hard time untangling them.

"Who is she?" Aldith said.

"Who?"

"The woman you were talking to in your sleep. Your wife?"

"No," Gwaine said, unsure how he could explain to anyone the other life he seemed to live in sleep. She couldn't even be real, this dream woman, but she felt more real to him than almost anyone he'd met in the waking world. "No, she's…someone I've lost."

He almost regretted the lie—no matter how true it felt, somehow—when Aldith's face fell into pity. She didn't press, and he was grateful.

Gwaine watched Aldith brush her hair and began to unpick the night before from his dream. The night before he'd met a pretty woman, a young widow, at the tavern. She'd paid for his drinks and invited him to bed, and what fool would turn down an offer like that?

In the dream, the young woman and he were in a ruin of a castle. He had the distinct impression that there were others they were hiding from, and they had made love in the castle, and she was clearly inexperienced. He woke from the dream as the woman was curling her fingers in his hair and gasping his name. He'd not had that dream before, but it was one of his new favorites. He hoped to have it again soon.

Aldith made breakfast, simple but filling. She was still pretty in her average dress, but the sheen of her prettiness had gone flat after the dream.

"You know, when I lost my husband," Aldith said while he ate, "I ran from myself."

"What does that mean?" Gwaine said.

Her face was softer when she smiled, and she cleared away her own meager breakfast, washing the plate and fork while he watched.

"It's not a physical thing, or it wasn't for me. I hid from myself in ale and company. And no," she teased, "I'm not still doing it. It took a very good friend reminding me that I wasn't making myself happen, and that Will would want me to be happy. Are you happy, Gwaine?"

He smiled, but he didn't actually know. He did feel like he was chasing something, although he didn't know what he was chasing, or where it existed. While he didn't feel unhappy, he had a feeling that wasn't the same as being happy.

Aldith did not press further. He offered to help fix a few things around her house to earn his keep for another night, while he decided where to go. Aldith joked that there were other ways to earn his keep, but Gwaine fully intended to be useful.

He plugged a few leaks in the roof, re-hinged her door, and made his best attempt to re-balance her table—though she eventually asked him to leave-off that one out of fear he'd made it worse. By the time she served him dinner, he was exhausted.

"How did you meet her?" Aldith said.

Gwaine looked at his bread and frowned at it. He tried to remember some point of some dream where he was first meeting the woman, but none of the dreams felt like a beginning, more of a middle. None of the places in the dream were even familiar, something he could blend into a story. He picked a place he'd never been out of the air.

"We met in Camelot," he said. "In a crowd."

"You saw her, and you fell in love?"

Aldith's voice was half-teasing, gentle, but the words felt truer than she could have realized.

"Yes," he whispered. "Call me foolish—"

"It's never foolish to love," Aldith said firmly. "Oh, many called me foolish for falling in love with a man who was already lame and ailing. But I've always thought that a thing doomed to end is all the more beautiful while it lasts. And we all end, anyway."

"That we do," Gwaine said.

Without any hesitance or reluctance from either of them, Aldith did bring him to bed again that night. Gwaine felt guilty this time, making love to this woman in the waking world and all the while hoping to dream of another woman, but guilt didn't stop him. Aldith knew what she was doing, and Gwaine let her take control, let her take her pleasure, and then succumbed to sleep.

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In the morning, Gwaine packed up his few things and decided not to gather provisions. His plan was to leave before Aldith woke, but she was a lighter sleeper than he'd anticipated, and she came out of the bedroom while he was pulling on his boots.

"You should take some bread, at least," she said, crossing her arms over the loose chest of her nightgown.

Gwaine didn't dare look up at her. He was keeping his guilt at bay, but he wasn't sure he would leave if he looked her in the eye. Aldith reminded him of his sister in a little way, and if he hadn't stolen away in the night from home, he'd a feeling he'd never have left her, either.

"I'll be fine," he said.

"I insist."

He wasn't going to fight. If she was going to let him take some bread and leave, he'd better just take the bread.

He opened the newly-fixed door and she said, "Where will you go?"

"Camelot," he said.

It was a long journey, and he had no idea why he said it, but he supposed he might end up there eventually. He'd been most everywhere else.

Gwaine left the town while workers were stirring, and he trudged along the road, ready for a fight at every juncture.

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Leon woke from a surprisingly lurid dream and sat up so quickly, he almost knocked his head on his headboard. He took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm himself, but the images from the dream wouldn't go away. He could almost smell Krysia, her hair, all around him like a sweet, seductive perfume. He had half a mind to go to her now, but the part of him that was fully awake knew this was a horrible idea.

He staggered to splash his face, and he slapped himself a few times for good measure. The images were slipping away now, but the sensation of the weight of her, the smell of her, the smooth of her skin, none of it would leave him.

Leon almost cried out in frustration, but there was a knock on his door, and he took a steadying breath and called for the knocker to enter. A serving boy he hadn't met told him the king had summoned him for a report, and Leon said he would go to the council chambers directly.

He dressed as quickly as he could, and he tried to focus on the matter at hand. The memory of the dream ebbed and flowed, almost like it was taunting him. He opened the door of the council chamber to find the king, Arthur, Gaius, and a few others seated. Krysia was standing in the far corner, waiting to be asked for anything at all, and Leon was embarrassed to freeze for a moment, seeing her in the flesh while his mind still lingered on the dream of her.

He hurried to sit in an empty chair and attempted to focus on his work. The king began the meeting, starting with a discussion of the resolution of recent petitions from the people. Leon dared a glance at Krysia, who was pretending not to listen. He made the mistake of considering the curve of her exposed neck, and the memories floated to the fore again.

Leon continued to waver between focus and distraction through the whole of the briefing, and nearly missed when he was meant to speak. Desperate, Leon followed Gaius as they filtered out of the meeting.

"May I have a private word?" he said.

"Of course," Gaius said.

He followed the physician back to his chambers and sat across from him at a table covered with strange implements.

"What is on your mind, Sir Leon?"

Leon hesitated, uncertain how to ask what was on his mind without potentially putting Krysia in danger.

"I've been having repeating dreams," Leon said slowly. "They're beginning to interfere with my work."

Gaius hummed and said, "What sort of dreams? Nightmares?"

"No," Leon said, and he regretted how quickly he said it. Gaius raised an eyebrow. Leon cleared his throat and said, "No, they are…the sort of dreams one does not share with others."

Gaius seemed to understand, and he went to a shelf full of bottled preparations.

"Not uncommon for a healthy young man," Gaius said, "however if they are interfering with your waking life, that is a problem. Have the dreams increased in intensity or frequency?"

"Both," Leon said.

Gaius hummed.

Leon hesitated, uncertain if he should even say the next part. Anything that might put greater scrutiny on the castle could put Krysia in danger. But if he went on like this and said nothing, he might go mad.

"There's more," Leon whispered. Gaius paused his search. "The sensory elements of the dream, they're lingering. Even when I'm awake, it doesn't seem to go away. Gaius is it possible that…." He bit his lip.

"Are you going to ask me if magic is at work?" Gaius said.

The two men stared at each other for almost too long. Leon desperately didn't want to have this conversation, even with Gaius. And he certainly never wanted the conversation to leave the room.

"Is it possible," Leon said carefully, "for someone to enact magic while sleeping, unconsciously?"

Gaius hesitated.

"It is not impossible," he said, "but it is highly unusual. Typically magic requires conscious effort, either before or during the event. There are a handful of rare gifts of bursts of magic during sleep or moments of primal emotion, but as far as I have read and heard, these bursts typically end with childhood."

The two men lingered longer, still staring at each other. Gaius then turned suddenly and pulled a potion from his shelf.

"Try this," he said. "Two drops behind the ears or one under the tongue before bed. Let me know if it helps." He paused. "While what you suggest is not impossible, Sir Leon, it is so unlikely that I feel what may be occurring is an overactive imagination that has been charged by restless sleep. May I ask, with the understanding that this is never mentioned except between us, about whom these dreams are?"

Leon closed his eyes and closed his fingers around the little bottle. Perhaps Gaius was right, but it seemed too vivid, too real to simply be a matter of his imagination. He could almost taste the smell of her hair, it was that strong.

"Krysia," Leon whispered.

Gaius seemed to be afraid for a moment when Leon opened his eyes, but the expression was gone a moment later. Perhaps his imagination truly was playing tricks on him.

"I see," Gaius said with a small smile. "Then I believe it truly is your imagination, Sir Leon. After all, you see her frequently. This keeps the subconscious and unconscious mind fertile. Try the preparation. Let me know how it goes, but I wouldn't worry about magic."

Leon thanked Gaius, but he left the conversation uncertain that he'd done the right thing.

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Gwaine settled down for the night in a decent clearing in the woods. He started a small fire, ignored the turning of his stomach from its emptiness, and scouted out the flattest, softest piece of ground to lay on. He laid down on his back beside the warmth of the fire and started to whisper in the darkness.

"If you're real," he said, imagining the face of the woman from his dream, "I want you to know you're messing with my system. I could have stayed a full week with Aldith and felt no guilt about it before you started haunting me."

He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply.

Not that he was complaining, really. The dreams were pleasant, familiar, like he was with someone he'd known and loved forever instead of someone he'd never met. There was a strange quality about them, not like other dreams he'd had, where he felt he had no control over the events in them. He could only live in them or wake from them, and part of him knew that if he could live in them forever and never wake, he'd seriously consider it.

"Maybe you are in Camelot," he said. "Is it nice there? I've heard the king's a bit of an arse, but then, he's a king, so that's a given. I can't imagine meeting a beautiful lady like you and having you look twice at a flea-infested rambler like me, but I suppose that's what the dreams are for."

He continued to talk to the image in his mind's eye until he could not form intelligible words and his eyelids flickered shut. Then he was a slave to the dream world again, this time seducing the woman while she lingered by a window, worrying. In the dream he teased her, toyed with her hair, suckled on her ear, until she was so distracted that she gave n and followed him to bed. Their bed, he knew in the dream, although he would forget it again in waking. Whatever worried her was not as important as the scent of lavender in her hair.

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Krysia was exhausted when she returned to Gaius's quarters. She was already taking her hair down when Gaius greeted her.

"Merlin's already asleep," Gaius said. "Krysia, tell me, have you been having nightmares again?"

Krysia froze, hands in her hair, which was only half down. She'd had nightmares frequently when she was a child, which Gaius had treated her for. Trauma from the loss, he'd told her.

"No," she said.

"But you have been dreaming more frequently," he said. Not a question. He knew, somehow, about her dreams.

She hesitated, because she so enjoyed the dreams that she didn't want to tell him and learn there was some problem with them, but she was also afraid, given his mentioning her childhood nightmares.

"Yes," she said.

He nodded and put a preparation she hadn't taken in years on the table in front of her, and she sat on the bench and steadied herself with her hands on the table.

"Tell me the truth," she whispered.

Gaius sat across from her and whispered back, "You always had an unusual gift for unconscious magic. It's—"

"Why my family was murdered, yes," she said. "But it stopped when I grew up. You'd told me it stopped."

"It had stopped," Gaius said, "but something has triggered a relapse. Vivid dreaming, perhaps even something you're looking forward to dreaming about? Tied to a strong emotional pull."

Krysia said nothing, staring at the bottle, afraid to even think of her dreams of the stranger, for fear that every time she thought of the dreams she was somehow doing unconscious magic. Her throat felt tight.

"I don't want to ask about the dreams," Gaius said, as if this was what kept her silent. "Those are and should be private to you unless you feel I need to know. But you have already done magic while sleeping, and I fear that it is increasing in frequency and potency."

"And if I don't take the preparation?" Krysia whispered.

She was afraid of losing the dreams, but she was almost more afraid of what she might have already done that Gaius knew about them.

"I fear all manner of things would be possible," Gaius said. "Imposing on the dreams and thoughts of others, which could at best cause uncomfortable social interactions and at worst could cause irrational outbursts of behavior from those affected. You also occasionally sleep-walked as a child."

"I did?"

"Yes, you almost walked off a battlement as a child, and if Arthur and Leon hadn't sneaked out to look at the moon that night—"

"They never said," Krysia said, trying to ignore the shiver down her spine.

Gaius said he swore them not to mention it, that she would have been embarrassed. How much of her unusual behavior in childhood had he explained away as the trauma unremembered? How much had he still not told her for her own protection?

Krysia bit her lip and closed her eyes. It was easy, perhaps too easy, to pull the face of the stranger to mind, to smell his scent, to feel his breath on her skin.

"If you don't take this," Gaius whispered, "you risk being exposed, or worse."

"Worse?"

"The result on others who might be effected could be madness," he said. "And I don't imagine you want the death or suffering of others on your conscience again, do you?"

Krysia inhaled deeply, then took the bottle and took a small sip, just like she used to.

"Every night," Gaius warned.

She assured him she would take it every night, and she wished him sweet dreams as she went to her own bed. Her eyes were already prickling with the beginnings of tears as she realized she would never have her sweet dreams again.

A/N:

To the guest reviewer:

Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad you're enjoying it. I often don't like love triangles either. They can be exhausting to read. However, as we all know, attraction in life isn't usually a simple one-to-one phenomenon, and while those complexities can make life frustrating, they're also part of what makes life interesting.

And yes. I'm eager to get Gwaine & Krysia together as well. It's soooo frustrating how far into the show Gwaine shows up.

-C