The first time it happens is in the woods. Somehow Arthur and Merlin got separated from the rest of the Knights on the hunting trip, which happens often enough that it's no longer a surprise. So the two carry on as normal, Arthur killing animals and Merlin seeming to do his best to distract him.

By nightfall the King has killed two deer and over a dozen smaller animals, plenty to add to Camelot's storage. As the moon rises, Arthur and Merlin set up camp in a small clearing, satisfied with the fruits of the day's labor.

They tie up their horses and sit on the ground, joking and trading lighthearted insults. Finally, Merlin takes one too many jibes at the increasing size of Arthur's stomach, and in a fit of irritation the king sends his servant to go collect firewood. Merlin saunters into the darkness, smirking.

After Merlin disappears between the trees, Arthur rubs a hand self-consciously against the chain mail covering his belly. He sniffs, deciding that Merlin must have been dropped on his head as a child, and settles on a log to wait for Merlin to return and light the fire.

For a few moments he sits, listening to the trees rustling and crickets chirping. The air is cool and wet, the smell of rain fresh and clinging to the ground, filling Arthur's senses with a pleasant, earthy smell. Then the tranquil evening sounds are startled by a loud shout.

"Arthur! ARTHUR!"

Arthur jerks his head up at the sound of Merlin's voice, worry immediately at the terror and desperation in his friend's call. He takes off running, unsheathing his sword as he goes, crashing through the trees in Merlin's direction.

"Merlin!" He calls, "Merlin!" There's no reply, which spurs him on faster.

Suddenly, a dark figure appears in his path. In the darkness, he can only make out a hunched silhouette with gleaming yellow eyes. Arthur's stomach churns when he realizes that the dark substance dripping from the sharp teeth must be blood. A wolf, he concludes. Driven with dread, he slashes his sword and keeps running, not bothering to look behind him to check what became of the animal.

Finally he stumbles to a halt when he sees a dark lump on the forest floor. In the moonlight, it doesn't take long to know what he's looking at.

Merlin lies sprawled on his back, his arms spread wide. His eyes stare up at the sky, glassy and cold. His jaw is slack, a thick trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.

Arthur drops to his knees, too weak to stand. He stares, taking in Merlin's clothes – torn and hanging limp from his body, exposing the mutilated torso beneath. Distantly, Arthur is glad that the darkness hides the organs, but the dark blood is unmistakable against Merlin's too-pale skin.

He shakes his head numbly in denial, refusing it to be true. He crawls to Merlin's lifeless body and reaches out, his hand hovering above the torn flesh. Hot tears spring from his eyes and all he can do is stare down at the broken body of his best friend. A short distance away, Arthur sees a small pile of wood, dropped in the attack. A harsh reminder that it was Arthur who sent Merlin into the woods to collect the firewood, at night, without Arthur there to protect him.

"I did this," He whispers hoarsely, "It's my fault." His voice breaks. "I'm sorry, I'm so-"

"Oh, so now you're apologizing?"

The unmistakable sound of Merlin's voice startles Arthur, jerking his hand away from the body as though on fire. He stares down before he realizes that the voice came from behind him, and he whirls around to see Merlin standing there.

He jumps to his feet, shock coursing through him as he takes in the sight before him. Merlin is standing there with his arms full of firewood, clothes intact, not ripped nor stained with blood. His eyes are alive and looking at Arthur, brows wrinkled in confusion.

"Arthur? What happened, why are you crying?"

"Merlin," Arthur stammers, "Y-you're...you're..."

"I'm what?" Merlin prompts. Arthur twists to look down at where Merlin's bloodied form lay moments ago, only to see the body absent from the forest ground. He turns to gape at Merlin standing, miraculously, alive.

"You're okay," He says dumbly.

"No, I've been working for you all day," Merlin replies smoothly. "Why're you out here?"

"I thought...I thought I heard..." Arthur struggles to find the words to explain what had just happened, despite the fact that he barely knows himself. "The wolf, didn't you see it?"

"A wolf?" Merlin repeats, "There aren't any wolves in the Camelot woods, you know that better than I do. Are you feeling alright?"

No, Arthur wants to scream, I thought you were dead. Instead, he regains his composure and says, "Yes, of course I'm alright, why wouldn't I be? You must have hit your head on a tree or something. Come on, let's go back to camp and you can cook dinner."

Merlin makes a face, following it up with a warm grin. Arthur waits to make sure Merlin is with him before walking briskly back through the woods.

On the walk back to camp, Arthur keeps unusually close to his servant, allowing their shoulders to brush. He looks over at Merlin more times than strictly necessary, studying him curiously, and Merlin looks confused, but says nothing. The casual banter has died between them, replaced with a loud, awkward silence. Merlin seems calm, Arthur notes, if a bit worried about Arthur's mental state. However Merlin is not displaying the kind of trauma one normally would after getting eaten by a wolf. There is no evidence whatsoever that he had been in any kind of danger tonight.

Arthur stares hard at Merlin with wide eyes as Merlin lights the fire and cooks their dinner. Arthur accepts his bowl with a tiny nod of thanks and watches as Merlin helps himself and settles across from him.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He says around a mouthful of stew, "You're really quiet. You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Long day," Arthur replies halfheartedly, "Shut up and eat." Merlin shrugs and they finish their meal in silence. They keep their eyes on each other, Arthur looking fearfully at a suspicious and confused Merlin.

When the food is finished, they lay out their sleeping mats, and a strange jolt of paranoia courses through Arthur when he sees Merlin set up his sleeping mat a few yards away.

"No," He says suddenly, before he knows what he's doing, "Over here." He gestures to the empty space on the ground next to him.

"What for?" Merlin asks.

"Does there need to be a reason?" Arthur snaps. "Just do as I say."

Merlin grins cheekily. "Sire, there's no shame in admitting you're afraid of the dark."

"I am not afraid of the dark!" Arthur protests indignantly, "I just thought it might be best if we share body heat tonight. It's a bit cold, if you couldn't tell."

Merlin looks at him unconvinced, but doesn't protest. He moves his sleeping mat beside Arthur's, and the two settle in. Merlin falls asleep instantly. Arthur doesn't sleep at all that night.

The next morning comes crisp and cool. Arthur and Merlin find the other Knights and return to the castle with the results of their hunt. On the ride back, Arthur is stony and silent, refusing to speak lest his fears spill out. The others exchange worried glances, but remain quiet, for which Arthur is grateful.

A few tense days pass, the kingdom functioning with the usual routine. Arthur, however, is jumpy, especially around Merlin. He snaps at him constantly, a dull pain festering in his temples each time he is reminded of Merlin's not-death. He wants to apologize to Merlin, because he knows that it isn't his fault, whatever it is that happened back there, but somehow he can't bring himself to say he's sorry without revealing what he saw in the woods. He tells himself that it was just a trick of the mind, not significant enough to share. The people would riot, he imagines, demanding he step down before Camelot falls under his madness. So he continues to yell, and at the end of each day, he sends an increasingly bewildered Merlin from his chambers.

The sun goes down on the fourth day since the incident, and Arthur settles into bed thinking that whatever happened, it's over and done with. Merlin is safe. He's wrong.

The second time it happens, Arthur is out on the fields, training his Knights, sixty seconds into a battle with Percival.

The sunlight beats down, only just able to burn away the morning chill. In his armor, Arthur has worked up a sweat, his blood thrumming with adrenaline as he advances on Percival, swinging and blocking with each clang of the sword.

Then there's a loud shout and Arthur startles, spinning around wildly to find the source of the sound. In his distraction he fails to block a swing, and his arm is grazed by the tip of Percival's sword. Arthur stumbles, but barely notices, for he is transfixed on the scene in front of him.

Merlin lies facedown in the grass, the bloody blade of the sword he was polishing protruding from his back.

"Merlin," Arthur freezes, his eyes glued to Merlin's still form. His breath stutters to a halt in his throat, then returns to him full force, coming in sharp shallow inhales, raw and ragged.

"Sire?" Percival says behind him, and Arthur glances around- why is nobody else staring at Merlin, horrified? Even Gwaine is sitting on the sidelines, chatting easily with Elyan, ignoring his fallen friend.

"Merlin!" Arthur yells in a strangled cry, and takes a shaky step forward, thinking only how? How can Merlin be dead?

"My lord?" He's attracted the attention of the other Knights now, the men turning concerned faces towards their King.

"Do you not see?" Arthur tears his eyes from the ground to spin and face his men. They all have worried expressions, but their attention is only for him.

He gesticulates wildly behind him. Words fail him suddenly, because there's no way, absolutely no way he can make himself say the words. Merlin can't be dead, he can't be, and yet there he is...

"Yes, Arthur?" Arthur whirls around at the sound of the familiar voice, and there's his servant rushing towards him. "Did you need something?"

"But- what..." Arthur sputters, looking around him. The ground is clean and bloodless, and there's a polished sword leaning against a bench, and miraculously, there's Merlin standing in front of him, his body free of wounds and very much alive.

"You..."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Arthur fights the urge to rush forward and grab the other man and cry. Instead he stands there, trembling, and tries not to hyperventilate. "You're...what happened?"

Merlin raises an eyebrow. "I ran out of oil, so I got more."

"You didn't say anything."

"It was just for your sword, calm down!"

"I - I thought - You are not to go wandering off like that!" Arthur snaps.

Merlin raises his eyebrows. "You mean I'm not to attend to my duties if they're not right next to you?"

"Exactly!" Arthur exclaims, "You imbecile! What if I needed something? I shouldn't have to wait around for my useless, idiot of a servant to come meandering back because he decided to take a stroll off to who knows where! From now on you stay, got that? Or do I have to spell it out for you?"

Merlin stares, his mouth slightly agape at Arthur's outburst. His body goes rigid, and his face goes dark. "Yes, sire," He spits.

Arthur can feel the eyes of his Knights burning holes through his armor. When he turns to face them, some look away respectfully, but others continue to stare curiously after the King's outburst. Arthur awkwardly clears his throat and waves his hand, gesturing for Percival to start again.

That night, Merlin is cold as he serves the King. Arthur would have missed their usual playful banter, but he's still reeling from the events of the day. He sits in his chair with his face in his hands, trying to will the image of Merlin's bloody body from his mind. They circulate his thoughts, the two ways he had seen Merlin die already, and as each image comes into focus he shudders and tries unsuccessfully to stop himself from trembling.

"Will there be anything else, sire?"

Looking up to see Merlin looking at him angrily, jaw set, Arthur feels a pang of guilt. He wants to jump up and cling to him, make sure that he's still flesh and blood, and not some kind of spirit. Instead, he just stares at Merlin for a long second, then says, "No, you're dismissed."

Merlin turns on his heel and leaves the room without so much as a nod. Arthur keeps his eyes on the spot where Merlin stood, unable to move from his seat. Fear bubbles up in him- what if Merlin dies again tonight? A series of sickening images flood his mind: Merlin tripping down the stairs, or getting in a bar fight, or falling from the parapets of the palace. Arthur bites his lip until he tastes blood.

His mind returns to Merlin's dead body again, and he has to stop himself from screaming. Sitting rigid in his chair, the memories of Merlin's deaths keep Arthur's eyes wide open. Arthur still hasn't moved when the sun rises.

AN: So, just testing the waters for this fic! I wrote this a while ago and forgot about it, so I thought I'd see what you think! If enough people like it I'll continue it. So, let me know!