The draught worked. The first night he took it, the dreams stopped. Not just his nightmares, all his dreams. He slept a full night. And then another. In the morning Merlin woke him with new zeal in his smile.

He regained strength, continued to excel in training. Allowing glances towards Merlin as he polished the dormant weaponry on the sidelines. Feeling the warmth of content at the smirk he receives in return.

Allowing glances at Merlin as he served breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Allowing glances at Merlin as he cleaned and puttered and hesitated until he felt the glances become something more like a steady, continuous gaze.

And he forces himself to stop.

It was almost a talent. Giving the glances as little thought as possible while also consciously tapering them.

He forced himself to stop and instead pick up the movements and hesitations out of the corner of his eye.

He felt a constant battle in himself, only made even more complicated by the lack of consideration. The hurricane of emotions. Things he knew he should feel.

Simple fondness. The smallest amount of appreciation. Maybe even an inkling of loyalty.

Things he did feel.

Things he didn't want to feel. Or acknowledge or say because they were just too… complicated.

All the while growing closer. Drawn in. Unable or unwilling to stop it as his manservant became his friend became his confidante.

And life went on. He drank the draught, slept. Woke to Merlin. Trained. Ate with Merlin. Talked to Merlin.

The man was by his side almost perpetually.

Routine, and nearly a month without a single dream.

But then, of course it didn't last. He started to feel a cloud of unrest hanging over his head when he woke. Started to feel just glimpses of fear as he slept, his eyelids flickering and his eyes darting beneath them.

And all at once, it was back. The terror consuming him, intensified. The sights even more horrible.

Everything was so much realer.

He felt himself try and try.

There was Merlin, he was right there.

And he tried to reach him.

For all of his trying, Merlin still fell.

Merlin, he finally reached him. Finally caught him. Finally in his arms.

But too late.

As his fingers raked through thick, dark hair. Fumbled over a lanky, almost scrawny torso. Searching for something, anything.

Looking into the eyes, so real.

So, so, real, as the light faded from them and the body in his arms went limp.

And no matter how loud he yelled or how hard he shook, he couldn't rouse him.

He couldn't bring him back, he was alone again, now.

And the agony, like a sword between his shoulder blades, was irreparable.

There was noting left.

Nothing but kneeling and clutching Merlins still body and shaking as his own sobs racked him.

No, that wasn't his sobs shaking him…

Merlins lifeless form slipped away and he opened his eyes, still shaking. He recognized his chambers in the dark, and the shadowed figure standing over him, horror etched into every line of his angular face.

The relief seized Arthur like nothing he had ever felt before, running warm and then cold in his blood. A strangled cry falling from his lips before it could be stopped.

And then, similarly, "Merlin."

The word tasted sweet in his mouth, felt like a gift.

He felt the hands, still clutching his arms, saw the eyes, heard the breathing.

He raised his hands to Merlins chest, reassuring himself. Trailing along the rest of him as he continued to look worried. His blue eyes searched Arthurs pale and sweaty face. He let Arthur take his jaw between his hands.

"Arthur," Merlin breathed. The sound was loud in the silence. "What's- why are you yelling?" The dark haired man stopped as Arthur shook his head, his hands still clutching Merlin, almost on his neck.

"I can't- Merlin, I can't- Why can't I sleep?" he felt the tears welling, fought to gain control of himself.

Merlins brow furrowed, "I don't know, Arthur."

And he couldn't control it. Merlin in front of him, the shadows weighing on him, so fresh. Exhausted and terrified, a sob escaped. And he admitted.

"I can't watch you die anymore, Merlin. I can't do it again."

And the tears fell without permission as surprise and something else flashed across Merlins face. Concern, care, confusion, tenderness.

Carefully, he sat, facing the blond-haired man, "Arthur." He breathed again.

And Arthur wished he'd stopped saying his name.

He simply liked it too much.

He let his hands fall to Merlins chest, tangled them in the fabric there. Closed his eyes and focused on the steady heartbeat under his palm. Timed his own breathing to the even rise and fall of Merlins. Waited as the terror subsided and left only exhaustion.

He understood, somewhere, that this was different, this was wrong. This was too far and the boundary lay somewhere forgotten behind them.

But fatigue clouded his mind and he lay with his hands on Merlins chest until he grew too tired and they dropped.

He barely felt as fingers intertwined with his own.

He slipped away from consciousness holding hands with his manservant.

i don't remember this being such a well of slashiness when i wrote it.
yeah i posted twice in one night
i felt so bad that the last chapter was so shit
i couldn't leave you like that, darling and loyal readers.
i hope you enjoyed.