Chapter Six

Bad dreams made Arthur nervous. Enemy armies and fire-breathing monsters barely affected him – at least outwardly – but nightmares, horrors designed by his own mind specifically to get past all of his defenses, could send him into a cyclone of fear. It perhaps made sense, considering the fact that he'd grown up with Morgana, whose nightmares sometimes sent her flying down the steps, screaming out warnings like a batty old woman, completely ignored…

Despite how often those warnings came to pass.

And then the woman who had been besieged by terrors in the night betrayed them.

Yes, Arthur hated bad dreams.

So when he found himself in what he could only assume to be one, he tried to escape, but to no avail.

The fog surrounded him like a cocoon, keeping the real world from him no matter how he tried to push past. All seemed peaceful—it always did, until something jumped out of the smoky surroundings and attacked. Arthur tried to stay alert, glancing around and on the lookout for danger.

What was that?

"Merlin."

Did someone just say his manservant's name? No, there was no sound… Yet Arthur had thought of Merlin, almost seen his face. It was as thought the curtain of the mist had fluttered just for a brief second, showing Merlin standing on the other side.

So this nightmare was going to be about Merlin? He didn't recall if he'd ever had one of those before.

"Trouble."

Another word that wasn't spoken, but still seemed to press on his eardrums. Images flickered in Arthur's mind; memories he remembered well. Merlin declaring himself a sorcerer, Merlin drinking poison, a monster attacking, a group of angry thugs. Merlin, you idiot, he could see himself saying.

"Lies."

The curtain flickered some more. Merlin hiding his tears. Merlin insisting nothing was wrong even though dark clouds seemed to hover above him. Merlin collapsing in his room, passed out. Arthur, I need to tell you, I want to say… never mind.

Dream-Arthur furrowed his brow. What were the not-words about? If this was a nightmare, where was the monster, the carnage?

"Merlin. Trouble. Lies."

What?

"Needs help."

More memories in the place of the words that he could've sworn had been spoken… Though there was still no sound. Merlin leaving for Ealdor. Arthur "alone" on his quest. Arthur asking his friend to lie to the king for him.

He still didn't get it, but the gray covering was pressing in on him and he didn't like it. He was just beginning to feel claustrophobic and forget all about the flashbacks when he felt some strange emotion hit him. It wasn't his feelings, not his emotion, but he could place it easily; irritation, pointed at the prince. It didn't really have words or gestures, but if he had to assign some to the wave of feeling, he'd say it went with fingernails tapping impatiently against a surface and a voice barking, "Come on! Think!"

"Put it together."

Right. Merlin was in trouble in this nightmare. Was that all? Wasn't he usually? How was that significant?

Another wave, this one carrying a different type of exasperation. He thought of a mother ordering her son to stop being difficult and cooperate.

He was getting a little annoyed by this dream. It didn't make sense. If Merlin was in trouble within the nightmare, then where was he? He couldn't just NOT be there. That didn't follow the rules of dreams.

Now, if it were real life, he could be wherever…

But it isn't real. Right?

More annoyance that wasn't his. A little like a friend giving a shove and barking, "Just go check on him!"

Arthur awoke.

Xyla was snapped out of her shared dream with the suddenness of a slingshot releasing. She hadn't the time to process the fact that her head ached like it had been bashed against a wall or the realization that close contact with the mind of her hated enemy hadn't been so bad, if a bit vexing. She hadn't the time because she immediately passed out.

As she faded, she wondered if it even worked.

Dreams did not reflect what happened in real life. They simply did not work that way, and Arthur wasn't about to believe otherwise.

No. Just no. Dreams, even ones comprised entirely of memories, were not sufficient reasons to get out of his perfectly warm bed in the middle of the night.

Arthur tossed off the covers, gasping as the chilly air crashed against his torso. He ignored the shudder that went through him and stood up.

Besides, just because Morgana's dreams were – dare he think it? – prophetic, and just because Merlin had given in much too easily to being denied his so-called "important" vacation, that didn't mean that the manservant needed to be checked upon. It didn't mean that Merlin's silly idea was important, not at all. Because it was highly unlikely that it was so critical for Merlin to go.

Arthur crossed the room in two hurried steps, grabbing his shirt from a drawer and slipping it over his head. Now where was his sword? Ah—in the corner. He began to fumble with the belt.

After all, insisted the side of his mind that he had christened his Father-voice, checking on a servant in the middle of the night was hardly appropriate. Trust Father-voice to come up with the most prat-like reasons.

Then, without knowing why – but it had something to do with the not-words "Needs help" – he grabbed up his saddlebags, tossed into the corner of the room where they should not be, and stuffed some coins and a change of clothes into it. His actions made no sense, he decided, but was in too much of a dream-induced daze to think it through.

Arthur then spared a moment to wish he could put on armor or chainmail single-handedly and that he wasn't in such of a hurry. Thinking of food, he grabbed his bow. Still informing himself that only an idiot would even consider doing the bidding of a dream, Arthur slipped out of his room and down the hall.

The castle looked very different at night, Arthur decided after a while. Without the sun pouring in windows, everything looked blue-tinted and lifeless, and it was so silent that Arthur could almost think he'd gone deaf. Luckily he could hear his own feet gently touching the ground as he walked, and so knew he hadn't.

There should be some guards keeping watch around here.

Arthur made a mental note to see to it. Other than a few guards, which he saw out a window or as they passed by in a neighboring hall, he hadn't seen any of Camelot's men. It wouldn't be hard to sneak into the prince's room at all, be the night visitor a sorcerer or a dangerous criminal. Was it this easy to get to the King's room? Arthur would have to check sometime. In the King's state, he wouldn't be able to fight off a threat. He was more likely to freeze up or disintegrate under the pressure.

A guard caught sight of him – finally – but upon realizing the man wondering about was the prince, the guard just nodded and stepped back.

Okay, so maybe the average murderer would run into a spot of trouble making this trek. A sorcerer would have none.

After a bit, Arthur found himself in the courtyard—somehow a very short distance from his most irresponsible knight, Sir Gwaine. Remembering the guard, Arthur stepped forward and called his friend's name.

"Gwaine!" he hissed.

Gwaine grinned and walked over to Arthur, brushing his hair from his face like he always did. "Ah! Arthur."

"What are you up to, Gwaine?"

"Me? Nothing. Not yet, anyway… Are you going on a trip, too?" He gestured towards the saddlebags.

"'Too'?" On a hunch, Arthur asked, "Does that mean you've seen Merlin tonight?"

Gwaine grinned again, but then Gwaine usually was grinning. It didn't really mean anything. "I might've seen him, but I was busy today. Why?"

Arthur sighed. "Because if he's not staying in his room like I ordered him to, then whatever he's doing is probably stupid and liable to get him hurt. He's ill and I told him to stay put, but he won't listen to me." His eyebrows drew together. "Merlin never does."

Gwaine regarded Arthur for a moment before he spoke, something like curiosity on his face. "Maybe he has good reasons for not listening sometimes? You never really know what Merlin's up to. He's a secretive one, sneaky." The way he said the words made them sound more fond than insulting.

"Yes, he is," Arthur agreed. "And it gets him into trouble. If he would just ask for help…"

Gwaine shook his head. "You've known him longer than I have, of course, but he doesn't really strike me as the kind to ask for help for himself, just others." In the dark, Arthur could see Gwaine shift his weight and shoot a look towards the stables, but thought nothing of it.

"No, he's not." Gwaine seemed to know Merlin pretty well, Arthur thought. "And it lands him everywhere from poisoned to arrested." Arthur suddenly realized that he had been standing around talking for too long, and couldn't believe he'd let Gwaine side track him. "I'm going to check on Merlin."

He turned towards the physician's chambers, but Gwaine called him back.

"Hey, Princess."

Arthur looked over his shoulder. Gwaine was still standing there, looking surprised, like he was digesting new information. The knowledge that Arthur knew Merlin was a trouble magnet and wanted to help (in his own, Arthur-like way) shocked the knight more than it should have. But then Gwaine really hadn't been around all that long, and it wasn't like anyone could have told him. It was one of those things that everyone left unspoken, because it was better that way.

"What is it? I'm in a hurry."

"You know Merlin's my favorite, so if he asked me not to tell you something, I wouldn't," Gwaine said slowly, uncharacteristically solemn despite the teasing in his words. "But I think you may have a point about him sometimes needing help." His face split into that white smile again and he pointed, very precisely, towards the stables, raising his eyebrows.

Ignoring Gwaine's admission that he would listen to a servant over his prince, Arthur said, "Thanks. And Gwaine?"

"Sire?" He made the word even more insolent than Merlin managed to.

"If my father wants to know where I've gone, and I can't be found… Then I went on a hunting trip."

"Without asking first?"

"Yes."

Ever since Morgana's attack on Camelot, Uther had been easier to handle and more tractable than usual. It was sad for Arthur to see his once strong father falling apart like he was, but the prince knew that it wouldn't be hard to convince him any trip that Arthur might leave on tonight – all for his stupid servant – was just an impromptu hunting trip.

Arthur changed his direction and started for the stables.

Merlin was still chuckling when Gwaine left, having been told all about Lancelot's plan to escape for a few days until he was healed. Gaius would be furious, and if the plan went wrong, several of the knights could end up in a cell, or worse, on the receiving end of an angry Arthur's lecture. And training would inevitably become instantly brutal.

Arthur would certainly have his hands full. Merlin was just sorry he wouldn't be able to see it.

Smiling fondly, Merlin began to saddle the horse he always rode. "We're going on a bit of a quest," he told it. "We're going to save a damsel in distress. Just don't tell her I called her that. It's going to be… an interesting trip."

A creak shut him up, and Merlin's head jerked upwards to meet the sight of Arthur entering the stables, saddlebags slung over his shoulder.

Merlin froze, eyes wide. Oh, hell.

Arthur raised his eyebrows at his manservant. "Going somewhere, Merlin?"

Merlin blanched. "Just… for a bit of a walk."

"Really?"

"Yes… I wasn't feeling well… and my room was so stuffy. So I went… for a walk. Yes—"

"Gwaine pointed me here."

"I can explain."

"You'd just lie anyway. Don't bother." Arthur studied Merlin for a second, shutting the door behind him. He sighed; he was doing that a lot tonight. "Usually right now I'd drag you back to Gaius's…"

Merlin bit his lip. No, he had to save Xyla, and Arthur couldn't get in his way! "Arthur, please…"

Arthur held up a hand to stop him. "But whatever it is you're doing – you said something about a damsel in distress? – seems to be very important to you, because you are completely disregarding your orders and don't seem to want to tell me anything about it. So Merlin, I'm going to trust you" – Merlin bit back a quip about there being a first time for everything – "and do the next best thing, after forcibly knocking you out, that is." Arthur put his hand on his sword and nodded. "I'm going with you."

A/N: Writing Arthur's decision was really hard, because I never know if to write the prat-idiot friendship where Merlin gets the short end of the stick, or the friendship like they sometimes have (like in 3.13) where though Arthur picks on him, he really trusts Merlin and sorta-kinda listens to him. I guess you can see which I decided on. So, please review? Last chapter Naisa, DarkAngel2112, Starts with a D, Vegetables, and Dodo123 reviewed, so thanks!