A sea of red velvet, embroidered cushions scratching at him but he didn't care. Arthur was touching him, scraping teeth across his throat, his hand wrapped around Merlin, squeezing, pulling, drawing him back into ecstasy. Smells heavy with sweat and outdoors and Arthur's own scent and there were groans as Merlin dug his face deeper into him, licking at the pulse under his mouth, feeling it race, his own thundering loud enough for all of Camelot to hear. Pleasure intense and spilling over as red merged into white bliss, lust and love and a thousand things he wanted and all of them Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

Beyond the candles burst into flame and there was a thump as something fell off the table and Arthur was laughing, the sheer joy of what they were sharing and his voice roughened into moans and then silence as he shuddered out his release.

Of course, he collapsed on top of Merlin and he had to nudge him off, chuckling as he did. Arthur just lay there, too sated to do anything else, the cabbage head. But rather than the lazybones king prattling on about it, Merlin reached up, using a pulse of magic to grab one of Arthur's shirts and began to wipe them both. And, nuzzling against Merlin's skin, Arthur laughed, sounding so content and relaxed, as if he hadn't a kingdom to run, and….

Merlin woke to disorientation. His lights were on; he supposed Gaius had come in during the night to examine him and forgotten to turn them off again. But his torn shirt was in his hands and smelling of sex and although still aching from his run-in with Valiant, he felt boneless, as if he'd just had the best shag of his life. Considering the dream, perhaps he had.

With the other nightmares, he'd wanted to rid himself of them quickly, pouring them all into his computer as fast as his fingers could fly across the keyboard. But this time, he savoured it: the sound of Arthur's laughter, the smell of skin and sex and love, skin sliding across his, Arthur moaning into him as if he wanted to bury himself in Merlin and never come out again.

He knew it wouldn't happen in real life but still he smiled at the memory. Then exhausted, sleep dragging him down, he lay back, and without thought, with a wave of his hand, he turned out the lights.

He'd write about it in the morning.

Gaius denied ever turning the lights on but it didn't matter. Much as Merlin did not want to think about the hospital, he didn't really have much choice. The bruises were worse and he could see that his uncle was concerned. So reluctantly, very reluctantly, Merlin agreed to go for x-rays and treatment.

It took hours but it was relatively good news. One of his ribs was badly cracked and there was a hairline fracture in his cheekbone; although the bruises were severe and his lower leg sprained, they didn't seem to be life-threatening. Gaius's actions with his dislocated shoulder had proved effective and while there was pain, it was okay, even if the sling to keep his shoulder from getting worse made it difficult to do anything but look pathetic.

Of course, his uncle would have to monitor him in case any of his symptoms changed. He came out of A&E with pain killers, stitches on his leg and face and embarrassment. At least they didn't hound him this time about the nightmares.

After that, Gaius insisted that they talk with the police, something that Merlin adamantly refused to do. He'd already had run-ins with them and they weren't likely to believe him anyway, not with his history. Besides, Valiant would be even more likely to take revenge if he did.

So it was with silent glares and old-man frowns that they returned to the flat. Merlin iced his shoulder, drank some disgusting soup that Gaius heated up and waited for Arthur to keep his promise to visit.

And waited and waited and waited.

Until it was dark and noisy outside with drunks and music and still no Arthur and then quiet again as the hours passed.

Gaius didn't say anything but it was clear from his worried looks and careful avoidance of any mention of Arthur that he thought he wasn't coming.

The arse hadn't even called. There were no messages on the answering machine.

He kept trying to find excuses but in the end, Merlin gave up. He knew that he'd never fit into Arthur's posh lifestyle but still it hurt - almost as much as that horrible day when he'd found out about Merlin's magic and tried to kill him for it.

But… but… Merlin shook his head.

That memory, no matter how vivid, didn't make sense. Arthur had certainly not tried to kill him and besides, there was no magic.

Magic was a fairy story made up to entertain small, impressionable minds until they realized that their parents had been lying to them all along. Yes, there were magicians on the telly doing tricks for money and fame but magic, real magic was just a myth.

Obviously, Merlin had had a harder knock on his head than even Gaius had realized - or it could be the pain killers. He'd been warned about hallucinations.

Staring up into the darkness, he tried not to think about any of it. There was no magic, Arthur wasn't interested, and no matter how much Merlin might want it otherwise, he needed to accept that this was his life now.

Bugger it all.

He lost his job at the club. After all, he couldn't carry tubs of dishes and even working at the bar or kitchen was impossible with his arm in a sling. But that gave him more time to write and even though he steadfastly refused to jot down the dreams of him and Arthur - which were occurring all too frequently for Merlin's peace of mind, he was able to finish a couple more stories and send them off.

However, the hallucinations still continued. He'd find odd things in odder places: his clock on top of his wardrobe, boots that he hadn't known he owned at the foot of his bed, red cloth looking very much like a neckerchief draped over his computer, a book written in what he thought was gibberish but later found to be old English lying open on his chair. When he woke in the morning, even the lights that he knew he'd turned off were still on.

There was only one explanation. He must be sleep-walking.

He didn't dare tell Gaius; it would only worry his uncle or else start him on another tirade about magic and destinies, or worse, force Merlin back to the mental ward.

It did take his mind off Arthur, though, at least for a little while.

And so it went on for days and days. The sling came off, physical therapy started and the stitches were removed. The bruising faded into purples and pinks and things were settling down at last.

Gorlois Publishing was in London's West End, one of the many buildings full of business and bustle, certain to crush lesser beings who might have the gall to try and enter its aristocratic halls.

Merlin was understandably nervous, of course. They emailed him, wanting to discuss his latest stories with him in person. That was odd in and of itself; they'd never asked to see him before, only sent him a cheque if they wanted to publish something or a rejection letter if they didn't.

Annoyingly, Gaius was thrilled and kept giving him pep talks, all the while criticizing his choice of clothing, his hair, the way he slumped as he sat and anything else that came to mind. The old man meant well but the last few weeks had been hard on them both.

Ever since he'd got the email, Merlin felt off-kilter as though something was about to change and he wasn't sure if he knew how to deal with it or even why he felt that way. And he couldn't tell Gaius.

The meeting, whatever it was about, at least got him out of the flat.

On the top floor, looking out over a small green square, the offices for an M. Gorlois, the person he had the appointment with, were as posh as any he'd seen. Chandeliers, wood panelling, shiny tile floors that Merlin ached to slide across were just part of the package. The people there were dressed well, button-down shirts and more suits than he'd seen anywhere. His clean trousers and grey jumper were shabby by comparison.

The office door was closed but the personal assistant told him to wait there, and that Ms. Gorlois would be with him shortly. He tried to remember everything Gaius had told him but it was all lost somewhere back in Dalston. He shifted uneasily, wishing for a drink or two or ten, and when the door started to open, he stumbled back a bit, hitting the chair behind him. Grunting in pain, he turned to look down and see what he'd done to his leg this time.

Then, impossibly, just on the other side of the door, he heard Arthur's voice, sounding guilt-touched as if he didn't believe what he was saying but saying it anyway. "I don't care what you think, Morgana. Father said that his uncle killed my mother. It doesn't matter what I feel or could feel for him, it's not going to work."

Not wanting to be caught spying even if he wasn't doing it on purpose, Merlin pushed himself backwards, away from the door. Bumping his bloody leg again, muffling a curse as he did so, he wondered who Arthur could be talking about. His mother killed and yet he felt something for the nephew of the man who did it? No wonder Arthur seemed upset.

But it was none of his business; it was probably some posh git that Arthur hung around with. It certainly wasn't Merlin. It had been weeks since his beating and Arthur had never contacted him. Besides, Gaius was no murderer; the very idea was absurd.

"So you are just going to mope. That's not like you."

Although her tone was gentle, Arthur seemed to be in no mood for it. His laugh was glass-sharp, bitter. "No, usually I go out and find someone else to shag but he's… I tried to forget him, Morgs, I did but there is just something about him."

There was movement, the door beginning to swing open, then stopping as Morgana said, "Then do something about it. At least find out if there is anything there or if it's just because you rescued him and got to feel like a hero."

Hero? Rescue?

It couldn't be. They couldn't be talking about him. Even as his brain was catching up to the possibility of it, Merlin realized how it would look for him to be there, just outside, listening to them. It would be bad, really bad.

But he was trapped by a line of chairs and a desk beyond. He'd have to vault over the bloody things to get away without being seen. And there were people going back and forth and they'd see him running away, even if he did manage it. Fucking hell, he was in for it.

"It's not… Father would never forgive me." The door was swinging open, Arthur still looking into the office.

But it was already too late. Merlin could see Morgana recognizing him, her eyes widening in shock and then her gaze flicked up to Arthur again. "You won't know until you try."

Arthur shook his head, said, "It's just not possible." He shoved the door wide, started to turn and Merlin was floundering back, dropping down into the leather chair nearest him, gaping up at him.

For just an instant, Arthur seemed happy to see him, his eyes lighting up but then he quickly turned cold, saying sharply, "What are you doing here?"

It killed him to see Arthur like that, so suspicious of why he was there, probably thinking that he was spying on him or trying to push some kind of agenda. And for a moment, he couldn't think of anything to say, too embarrassed and horrified at meeting him again like that to try and explain.

Finally, he stammered out, "I'm here to see my… publisher, Ms. Gorlois."

Arthur shot a look back at Morgana, frowning at them both, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Your publi… you write?"

The way Arthur said it made Merlin furious. He might be poor but he wasn't an idiot. He shoved himself out of the chair, scowling at the git. "Yes, I write, if it's any of your business. It's not like we had time to exchange life stories or that you'd even want to hear it, not the way you…," He stopped, realizing that Morgana was listening to every word and while he wanted to yell at Arthur for being an arse, it wasn't a good idea to do that in front of someone who wanted to buy his stories. With a quick glare at Arthur, he turned to Morgana and said, "Sorry, Ms. Gorlois, if I've done anything wrong. It… it wasn't intentional."

It would seem Morgana wasn't pleased with Arthur as well. Sending a frown in his direction, she turned back to Merlin and smiled. "You must be M.E. Ambrose, my four o'clock."

Taking a deep breath, he said, "It's my pseudonym." He was steadfastly not looking at Arthur. He wasn't going to let the idiot muck up his appointment, more than he already had. It was bad enough as it was. "I'm Merlin Emrys. I want to thank you for seeing me."

"Thank you for coming in." Gesturing him into her office, her smile turned sharp as Arthur started to follow. "Arthur, why don't you run along now? I'm sure you have lots to do and we wouldn't want Uther sending his toadies to find you."

If looks could kill, Morgana would have turned to ash in that moment. But with a quick speculative glance toward Merlin, Arthur turned and stalked down the hallway, muttering to himself about harpies who should keep their mouths shut. Then Morgana closed the door and Merlin couldn't hear anything else.

As he sat down, perched uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, everything Gaius had told him about interviews flew out of his head. "I didn't know… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to listen but the door was open and I… sorry."

She seemed more amused by his muddled apology than annoyed. "My step-brother is confused but I'm sure he'll come around eventually."

"Some people can't wait that long." His chest hurt and not just from the broken rib. His feelings for Arthur were muddled, dreams of soft kisses and gentle touches all jumbled up with the reality of the bloody arse. Even after weeks of silence, he'd still hoped for something more. But it was not to be and the sooner he accepted it, the better. "Sorry, Ms. Gorlois, it's none of my business. If you want, I can leave. I wouldn't want there to be trouble."

"Nonsense. Just because my step-brother is being a pillock about it all doesn't mean that I don't want to talk to you about a project I have in mind. And call me Morgana." As she was talking, she opened a folder, and spread out the documents across her desk.

"I… thank you, Ms… Morgana?" He kept glancing down at the printed sheets, trying to read what was written there. "Project? I'm not sure…."

She waited a second, watching him carefully and then leaning back, said, "My company is always on the lookout for new talent. You've submitted several stories, three of which we've bought and the latest one shows great promise for something more." Flattening her hands over the papers, she looked at him squarely. "However, with the current publication field, short stories aren't selling all that well."

So it wasn't about Arthur or buying more stories but reneging on the sale. She wanted her money back. As if he still had it.

"Oh, okay, I guess…." His mind was already trying to figure out what to do next when she leaned forward, gazed at him steadily.

"No, I think you misunderstood. I'd like you to consider writing a book, possibly a series. Singles don't tend to make money but series are quite profitable."

Merlin was stunned. He had enough material for several books but still, the thought of writing a novel was intimidating to say the least. He could do it. The thought of making more than a tiny pittance with his stories was breathtaking but still, it would be hard work and long nights.

"But I… I didn't think you'd want books on King Arthur. There are tons out there already."

"True enough but yours is an interesting take on the legends." She pushed one of the documents over to him and he picked it up, not really seeing it, other than it was legalese and what looked like a timeline. "Take this home with you. Look it over. It gives you more detail on what we are looking for. I'd like you to submit a detailed outline for the first book, a somewhat less detailed outline for the next two, plus ten pages of the first chapter. If it shows as much promise as your shorter pieces, we may have a long and fruitful relationship."

For a moment, he just sat there, mouth open. Then realizing that she was waiting for him, he said, "I'm overwhelmed, Ms…. Morgana. Thank you."

With that, she smiled, a real smile that lit up her eyes. "Good. Now that that's finished, how are you doing? Last time I saw you, you looked pretty bad."

He didn't want to bore her with tales of stitches and pain and bruises that still ached in spots. So instead, he shrugged it off and smiled back at her. "I… well, I broke a few things, and I'm in therapy for my shoulder. Looked worse than it was."

"Ah, modest, too, I see. Well, I'll let you go. Feel free to call or email me with any questions and I hope to see your first book published before long."

And with that, his life seemed to have got a whole lot better.

Of course, that feeling lasted about ten minutes, just enough time for Arthur to ambush him as he came out of the lift.

"Do you always listen in on conversations that don't concern you?"

He hadn't expected Arthur to be there, hadn't really expected Arthur at all. Merlin thought that he'd never see him again except in his dreams and instead he got clot Arthur being a complete arse about something that wasn't his fault.

"The door was open," he said sharply, trying to get away from him as fast as his bloody legs would carry him. "I wasn't listening on purpose. I'd hurt my leg on your fucking chair and I… never mind." He jostled past someone, escaped through the doors and out of the building, but Arthur managed to catch up, even got in front of him and forced him to stop. "It doesn't matter, anyhow."

His voice still sharp, half-wary, Arthur said, "If I misjudged you, then I'm sorry. It's just that…," He seemed to think better of whatever else he was going to say, shaking his head and frowning a bit. "So you were really there to see Morgana?"

That just pissed him off even more. Did Arthur really think that Merlin was following him around or making up meetings so he could see him, like some kind of nutter?

Then again, he didn't really know Arthur; he had this image in his head from those bloody dreams or visions or memories or whatever the hell they were and it wasn't real, couldn't be real. Maybe Arthur didn't think, just jumped into fights, tried to look like some fucking gorgeous superhero and then sped off into the night never to be seen again.

"Ask Morgana since you obviously won't believe me." Merlin guessed that ordinary people didn't talk to Arthur like that, because he had this stupid astonished look on his face. But Merlin wasn't about to stay there and argue with the arse. It was just making him furious.

He stepped around Arthur, trying to get away, but of course the entitled idiot grabbed at him, jostling his shoulder. "Ow! Fuck, that hurt."

Arthur let go immediately, put his hands up and away to show that he wasn't touching Merlin, and then lowered them slowly. "Stop running away, then."

"I'm not running away. I'm using an exit strategy to remove myself from your presence." It sounded good even as he said it, very posh and scholarly, and he would have been writing it down if Arthur wasn't staring him in the face.

It was also a lie. He was running away but he'd be damned if he'd tell Arthur that.

Arthur didn't look like he believed it, either. His eyes narrowed, a frown twisting his face and he jerked his head to one side, indicating a small doorway nearby, away from the bustle of the evening rush-hour crowd. For a moment, Merlin hesitated.

"Can we at least talk about this?"

Arthur had a point. If nothing else, Merlin should put his confusion about Arthur behind him, and if it took a few minutes talking with him, then so much the better.

Settling against the wall, arms folded, feeling miserable and unbalanced and muddled, Merlin said, "There is nothing to talk about. You rescued me, then vanished into the night and that was that. Thanks, by the way."

He didn't mean to sound like he was ungrateful; he wasn't. He knew that if Arthur hadn't interfered, he'd be dead by now. But it was coming out all wrong and he didn't know how to stop making snide remarks. The damn clot was driving him crazy and Merlin's mouth just kept spewing out shit even while his brain was yelling for him to shut up.

Scowl deepening, Arthur said, "What is your problem?"

"That you thought I wasn't worth bothering with after the fact." Wonderful, he was just digging himself in deeper and deeper, making himself look even more pathetic. Arthur must think him a complete loser. Desperately, he said, "Don't worry about it. Doesn't matter. Not important. Are we done here?"

Wanting to disappear into the pavement and never come out again, nevertheless, Merlin stood his ground, waiting for Arthur to say yes, that they were done, now and forever, and for him to walk away.

But instead, scowl deepening, Arthur stared back at him, looking as if he thought Merlin was out of his mind to be talking to him that way. Finally, he said, "Look, I'm trying to apologize but you are making it very difficult. Are you always like this?"

"No, apparently you bring out the best in me." In another time, long ago, it might have been said with great affection. Now, all Merlin could do was cringe and hope to escape before long.

"If this is your best, I'd hate to see your worst," Arthur said dryly.

"Yeah, well, no one wants to see that. Now, if you don't mind, I have a train to catch." As an afterthought, Merlin looked down at his watch, trying to appear concerned about the time, before glancing up again to see Arthur giving him a look of confused disbelief.

"Merlin, it's the Tube and they leave every ten minutes, you know."

How could Arthur be so nice to him when he'd all but jumped down his throat? He behaved so badly and he still couldn't explain why. All those thoughts muddled up in his head and he didn't know how to deal with them and he knew if Arthur ever found out about him, the real him with the nightmares and the hospitals and everything else, he'd walk away and never look back.

But at least there was one thing he could do to make amends for being such an arse himself.

Taking a deep breath, bracing himself to make sure to get this one thing right and not muck it up, he said, "I… well I want to thank you for what you did. Valiant would have killed me otherwise and it was very…" Arthur was watching him and it made him so nervous but he ploughed on, "Very brave of you. Most people would have just kept going."

"Look, I know I made a mistake. Let me make it up to you. I know an excellent restaurant nearby." When Merlin started to shake his head, unsure of where this was all going, Arthur said, "My treat as payment for being such an arse."

He wanted to say yes, desperately wanted to, but he couldn't let Arthur take him to someplace posh and then pay for it, not when Merlin had behaved like such an utter idiot. "But I don't want to be… well, how about we just find someplace cheap and I'll treat you. You know, for rescuing me." Then giving Arthur an uncertain smile, he said, "Besides, I think I was more of an arse than you."

The grin Arthur sent back was brilliant. "Competition as to who was the worse arse? You're on. And if you are that concerned, we can just split the bill." When he started to protest again, Arthur ignored him, started walking down the street, then waited until Merlin caught up with him. "There's a noodle bar around the corner, cheap and filling and pretty good, too. Come on."