It was becoming a nightly habit, this waking while it was still dark and being too troubled by bad dreams to sleep again. Arthur stared toward the ceiling for a while, listening to the wind rattle the windows before finally giving up on sleep. He donned yesterday's clothes, shoved his feet into a pair of shoes and headed out into the hallways. Perhaps a long walk through the quiet would set his mind at ease. "Not likely," his contrarian self declared.

He let his mind wander along with his feet, hardly noticing the path he took, nodding to the guards and servants he passed. No one stopped to talk to him- the servants wouldn't dream of it; only the nobility had the gall to do so, begging him for a bit of time to discuss some triviality or try to win his favor. There were days Arthur would rather sit and listen to a stonemason than a highborn lord. His nobles would surely be scandalized by such a declaration. Arthur smirked, "Perhaps this spring, I'll do just that."

The view out a window gave him pause. A layer of fresh snow over Camelot added an extra glow to the already shimmering city, though it did little to dim the brightness of the stars. He watched the sky for a while, letting its beauty wash away the last vestiges of his dreams as he traced the lines of the constellations and picked out the brighter stars. He had no idea what their names were. One of these days, he would have to get Merlin to teach him. . .

"No." His hands tightened into fists. No, he wouldn't. Couldn't. In the two days since Merlin had first woken up, his vision had shown no signs of returning. Gaius feared the loss was permanent. And Merlin. . . Merlin was afraid.

It did not take a great stretch of imagination to figure out what Merlin's captors had done to him. The story of those days was written across his body- in his mangled right arm, now straightened and splinted; carved into his chest and back, the layers of closed cuts and scrapes now pink with healing skin. Bruises, faded and nearly gone. The marks where he had clawed at his own throat to try to rid himself of that horrid collar; the burns and unfocused eyes. What do you remember? Arthur had asked him.

"There were stars. I remember there were stars . . ."

He had smiled at the memory, a beatific smile full of light and dizzy joy before darkness fell. Arthur didn't know if he should bless or curse Merlin's gods for granting him one last sight of the stars before they let him burn. Before they let him forget that, once, he had been fearless.

The previous night had passed badly. Twice, Merlin had woken, screaming, from nightmares that would not let go of him even when his sightless eyes flared open. Awake, but still caught in a dream. Guinevere had calmed the second time, gathering him in her arms and rocking him back to sleep with a wordless lullaby, her voice soft and strong despite the tears coursing down her face. Arthur had fallen asleep in his chair long before she did and woke to find her innocently curled up next to Merlin, deep in sleep with her hand resting over his heart, still maintaining her watch. He hadn't the heart to wake her, and simply watched them sleep as his own thoughts whirled about until morning came and duty called him away.

Arthur shied at blow at the window ledge, scraping his knuckles before turning away to continue his walk, heedless of where he went until his found himself at Gaius's door again. Only a faint light shone under it. Inside it was as quiet as it should have been. He lifted the latch and let himself in, picking his way toward the screened-off bed where Merlin slept. Guinevere was there again, wrapped in blankets and slumped in a chair, her face relaxed in sleep. Arthur knelt at the bedside, watching the gentle rise and fall of Merlin's chest for a while before turning to Guinevere. The candlelight smoothed away the lines of worry the past few days had etched around her eyes. A curling lock of hair had escaped its ribbon, trailing over the bridge of her nose and marring the soft line of her jaw with uneven shadows. Arthur brushed it away, tucking the silky strand behind her ear. It was enough to wake her.

Guinevere sighed and shifted in the chair. Her dark eyes fluttered open and focused on him. She smiled, the simple expression shining a bit of light into the darkness. "What?" she whispered when he said nothing.

He shrugged and traced her cheek with a finger. "You're beautiful."

"And you're very sweet when you want to be," she whispered, catching his hand before he could withdraw it. "Why are you awake?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk and ended up here. Have you been here all night?"

She nodded, "Gwaine was here. I made him leave a few hours ago. He hadn't eaten all day." She looked back at Merlin, briefly resting a hand on his forehead to check for fever. "I think he sleeps better when he knows someone's near. It reminds him he's not alone." Her brow furrowed. Tears welled up in her eyes as she ran her fingers over his newly cropped hair, smoothing down the bits sticking up at odd angles. She had trimmed the singed ends the day before, and the close cropping added to the gauntness in his face. Against white bandages and white sheets, he looked like he had been woven out of moonlight and shadows. Guinevere sniffed and reached down to straighten the coverlet to hide it. "What they did to him, Arthur. . . Why. . . ?" She bit her lip, her dark eyes pleading for answers when she looked up at last.

"Because the Sarrum thought him no better than an animal. Because Morgana hates us. Because cruel men see a man of peace and call him weak." He did not give voice to any of those thoughts, though. He stood instead and pulled Guinevere toward him, holding her close until she mastered herself and swallowed the last of her tears. "He'll be all right. I promise. He's going to be all right."

"How can you promise that?"

"I'm the King. I can make whatever promises I want," he teased, giving her a lopsided grin until she returned it with a watery smile of her own. "I don't know how I know it, but I know it. In time, he's going to be all right."

"I believe you, then," she whispered, nestling against his chest. The lavender scent of her hair tickled his nose. They stood silently for a time, listening to the rasp of Merlin's breathing and the quiet snap of embers in the hearth as the fire burned low. Guinevere swayed, dizzy with sleep.

"You should go back to your chambers and sleep in a real bed. Drusilla's going to miss you sometime."

"Drusilla gave me leave to take as long as I needed to help Merlin. Gaius can't do it alone, and he needs someone here while-" she yawned then, interrupting herself and sabotaging her own cause.

"I'll stay. I doubt I'd sleep any better in my own bed tonight. Not with the wind rattling my shutters the way it is." Arthur pulled the shawl back over her shoulders. It wasn't his first sleepless night since this ordeal began, nor would it be the last. "Come on. Merlin needs you healthy, not so tired you start mixing up those horrid smelling concoctions Gaius keeps giving him. Go on." He took her hands and brushed his lips over her fingers. "You'll be the first one I send for if anything happens, all right?"

He watched her resolve slowly crack and crumble. "All right. But if anything- anything- happens. . . Call for me, Arthur. I couldn't bear it if-" She tore her eyes away from his and watched Merlin for a moment. "Just. . . " She looked back up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears again. "Keep your promise."

"I will," he assured her, "No go on. Get some sleep. I'll be here until Gaius wakes up. Maybe longer."

She gave him a tired smile before turning and slipping out of the circle of candlelight into the darkened room. The latch rattled softly behind her. Arthur sighed and straightened the blankets in the chair before dropping into it, staring at the hearth's glowing embers as he tried to come up with a solution to his quandary. He had made a promise to Merlin- and now to Guinevere- that the sorcerer would be all right, that he would make sure everything turned out for the best, but the question remained- how? He could not heal Merlin's damaged eyes, couldn't ensure that the pain he had endured was for some greater cause, nor could he give the sorcerer his strength back or take away his fears. He was a King, yes, but still just a man and no less fallible than the next one.

Time passed, leaving Arthur no closer to an answer than before. A candle guttered. A thin trail of smoke drifted through the air. He watched until it dissipated, leaving only the waxy scent of its smoke behind.

A faint whimper from his charge brought Arthur's thoughts back to the present. Behind closed lids, Merlin's eyes flicked back and forth in a dream- a bad one. His breathing was shallow and fast. Arthur thought he heard words on Merlin's lips and leaned closer to hear. "No. . ." it sounded like he said. "Please, no. . . "

"It's all right, Merlin. You're home. You're safe now," Arthur murmured. He rested a hand on the sorcerer's forehead- no fever this time- then wrapped his fingers around Merlin's unbroken hand; it was cold, despite the blankets. "Everything's all right. We all made it home," he continued the litany, though it hardly seemed to do any good. The sorcerer's breathing turned to labored pants. The dream- nightmare- would not let go so easily. "Merlin, wake up," Arthur noticed a tremor in his own voice, "it's just a dream."

Merlin's eyes snapped open. He jerked his arm out of Arthur's grip, frantically scrabbling at the blankets, managing only to tangle himself further. His eyes widened, darting about, trying to focus, to see anything but darkness.

Arthur gently took his arm. "Merlin. It's all right. You're home. It was just a dream."

Merlin jerked away again, a panicked cry on his lips. He struggled to free himself from the blankets, flailing about until he reached the edge of the bed and fell to the floor. A pain-filled moan reached Arthur's ears, rising in pitch until a word formed in it. "Adwæscan!" he choked light in the room went out at once, candles and fire alike. Somewhere past the screen Gaius called out, but Arthur hardly heard him.

In the darkness he climbed across the bed, carefully placing his feet so he would not step on Merlin. Without light, he used his ears and followed the gasps to find his wounded friend. "Merlin," he said as calmly as before, "Listen to me, Merlin. It's Arthur. You're safe." His hand found the sorcerer's shoulder, slid past the frantically pounding beat in his throat to the back of his neck. He lifted Merlin off the floor, trapping his broken arm between them so he wouldn't hurt it further and wrapped his own arm around Merlin's narrow shoulders. He continued his litany of reassurances, repeating them like a prayer, hoping that his voice could penetrate the fog of panic before his friend's heart gave out.

Hours seemed to pass before Merlin's breathing finally slowed to something like normal. Some of the tension bled out of his body, and he sagged against Arthur. He raised his hand, his fingers finding Arthur's neck, then his face and stopped, butterfly-soft against his skin. The King closed his eyes as his friend traced the planes of his face, brushing over eyelids and across his cheekbone, sketching the line of his jaw from ear to chin before his hand dropped back to his side. "Arthur. ." he whispered, "You're real?"

Arthur's jaw clenched. "Yes, Merlin. I'm real. We're home again. In Camelot."

"I thought- I smelled smoke. . . I thought there was fire" he gasped, "I thought I was back. . there, at Blackheath. They left me. . . in the dark. It's still so dark." Merlin curled in on himself, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, Arthur thought he might launch into another coughing fit, but the hitch turned to a whimper, then to sobs. Not knowing what else to do, Arthur held him close, silent, shielding him against the horrors that had brought him to this, the way a boy protects his little brother from the terrors of the world. Except Merlin's nightmares had come true. He had faced them- alone, and nearly been destroyed by them. And now, there was no light that could penetrate the darkness to assure him his ordeal was over.

"I'll be damned if he faces the rest of this alone," Arthur promised himself, willing his own resolve to Merlin, for whatever good it would do. Cradling the sorcerer like a child, he looked up at Gaius, their gazes sharing equal measures of worry in the fresh candlelight.

Merlin's weeping finally quieted. He wilted against Arthur as though asleep again until his eyes fluttered open. "Sorry. . . I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Merlin. Nothing at all. Do you understand me?" he said fiercely. "You've survived something that would have destroyed anyone else. You are not weak. You're stronger than any dozen men combined, but now you need to rest. You're not alone anymore, do you hear me?"

"Yes," Merlin breathed, his voice nearly lost in the fabric of Arthur's tunic. His weight shifted as though he were trying to sit up or stand, but was too weak to do more. In the King's arms, he felt like he was made of glass, as though all they needed to do to break the sorcerer was breath harshly or talk too loudly.

Gaius knelt beside them and rested a hand on Merlin's forehead. "His fever's come back. Let's get you back into bed, Merlin. You need to sleep." He pressed two fingers against Merlin's throat and frowned at what he felt.

"Don't want to sleep," the sorcerer murmured, turning his face away from Gaius and burying it in Arthur's shoulder. It was the strongest protest he could manage.

"Merlin, you can't stay here on the floor. You've a fever again and your heartbeat is too fast for my liking. You need to rest," Gaius said.

"No."

"Why don't you want to sleep?" Arthur asked.

Merlin sucked in a ragged breath. "Don't want to dream." A chill raced through him and turned into shivers. Whatever color was left in his face leeched out, leaving him pale as a corpse. A sheen of sweat glistened on his cheeks.

Arthur gently shifted the sorcerer closer to himself to keep him warm. "Surely there's something you can give him to help, Gaius. He can't keep on like this for long." He felt Merlin's head loll against his shoulder, but weak fingers plucked at his tunic. Apparently, he was going to fight sleep as resolutely as anything else, no matter the cost.

"There is something," Gaius reached out and brushed a drop of sweat from Merlin's cheek, "But using it is like walking on a razor's edge, Arthur." Reluctantly, he rose and disappeared behind the screen. There was the shuffling of books and papers and the rattling of glass bottles, and the healer returned with a small, oddly-shaped vial. He knelt next to Arthur and took Merlin's hand, pressing the bottle against his palm and closing his fingers around it. "Do you know which one this is?"

"Yes," Merlin sighed, "Tears of the poppy." He turned his head toward Gaius, though his glassy gaze ended up on the ceiling. "Will I dream?"

"No, my boy," Gaius took the vial back, his hand closing over Merlin's fingers. "Not tonight."

His trembling subsided. "All right, then."

Gaius squeezed his fingers and pushed himself up. "I'll be back in a moment." He disappeared behind the screen, and with more rusting and clattering, reappeared with a cup of water. Arthur assumed the drug was mixed in with it. "Raise his head up, Arthur," the physician ordered. The King did as he was told so Gaius could tilt the cup to Merlin's lips, draining it sip by sip.

Merlin grimaced when Gaius took the cup away. "That's awful."

"I know," the healer chuckled and ran a hand over Merlin's hair, "It's meant to be that way."

"Figures." He fell silent then. Arthur held him, still, waiting for the dead weight of sleep to fall over his friend. It didn't take long. Between his own exhaustion and the potion's effects, Merlin's head soon lolled against Arthur's shoulder. The short rasps of breath slowed and lengthened. Gaius checked the pulse in his throat again, satisfied at the new result.

"Come on, then," Gaius motioned for Arthur to move Merlin back to the bed. He gathered the bird-boned sorcerer up in his arms and set him back into the nest of blankets, being careful of the splint on his arm and the layers of bandages elsewhere. Despite their fussing, Merlin neither moved nor reacted, sleeping through it all with a look of peace on his face for the first time since the knights had pulled him out of that cold courtyard in Blackheath.

Arthur dropped back into the chair he had vacated earlier. "Now what?" he asked Gaius as the healer settled into his own seat across from him. "If he can't find peace in sleep, how is he ever going to get better? I take it that whatever you gave him- Tears of the Poppy?- it's not something you can keep giving him?"

"No, Arthur, it's not. It's a rare and powerful drug. I gave him the very smallest dose to ease his pain and keep the nightmares at bay this time. The fever and the speed of his heartbeat in addition to everything else had me worried enough." Gaius tugged the edge of a blanket to Merlin's chin and smoothed it over his chest. "But I can't keep giving it to him. If I did that, he would come to need it more than anything else, and that need would destroy him. I won't let him come this far, only to watch him be defeated by a drug meant to help him."

"Then what do we do, Gaius?" He took Merlin's unbroken hand in his own. Tears welled in his eyes but did not spill over. For once he was not ashamed of them. "I'm the King. I'm supposed to know how to help my people, but I don't know how to fix this. He's so lost. . ."

"There was a time not so terribly long ago when you were lost, Arthur, and a clumsy peasant boy helped you find your way." The ghost of a smile spread across the healer's face. "I have no doubt you'll think of something."

Arthur rubbed his temples to ward off a building headache. "I appreciate your confidence. At least one of us has some." He sighed. "You should go back to bed. You look like you're about to fall over. I'll stay with him. I doubt I'll be able to sleep anymore tonight, and one of us should get some rest." Gaius opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it when he saw the stubborn look on Arthur's face.

"Very well, Sire. I'll be right over there if you need anything."

"Thank you." He watched the healer go, then settled back in his chair to wait. When he was sure Gaius had gone back to sleep, he stood and pinched the candles out to keep the smoke at bay. Then he knelt at the bedside and gently took Merlin's hand between his own. In the scant moonlight, the sorcerer looked unearthly, a spirit sent to the mortal realm to teach a foolish King how to be a good man. "I owe you so much, Merlin, and while I know this doesn't mean as much coming from me as it would from you, I'm going to say it anyway," Arthur said, his voice low and rough, "I'm going to make sure you come out of this again. I don't know how, or by what means, but someday soon, you're going to be all right. I swear it on my life."

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read, favorited/followed, and commented on this story. I'm proud of how it turned out, and your support truly has helped keep me going! Look for the first part of the next story, 'The Wind in the Trees' sometime this weekend.