Dying, Dreaming of You

While watching the episode, I got not one but two fanfic ideas. This one is the short one, the other would be much longer if I had the time to write it. And I'm just now realizing that I have so many WIPs already :D We'll see when I have the time to write it :D

Anyway, prepare for hugs and kisses and some tears and enjoy!

. . .

DYING, DREAMING OF YOU

. . .

Being unconscious was always confusing.

Arthur never knew what was real and what was only a dream. Usually, when it seemed too pleasant to be true, he assumed it was a dream. For example, the last time he was unconscious, he was sure he could see Merlin bringing flowers to his chambers.

Daisies and bluebells. They were beautiful.

It was a nice dream. And a dream it must have been. Because Arthur knew that Merlin would never bring him flowers. The gesture seemed too romantic, and Arthur had always known the painful truth.

. . . that such things between them could only happen in his dreams.

This time, being unconscious felt different though. He was in pain, and he was convinced he was dying. He vaguely remembered the Questing Beast's sharp claw digging into his side, his body landing on hard rocks, and if he concentrated hard enough on the memory, he could even recall his sword flying up from the ground, enveloped in blue flames, and Merlin's nonsensical words commanding it to kill the Beast.

He knew the Beast was dead. He wasn't sure how it had died—if the burning sword was just another figment of his imagination, a mere wish, or whether one of his men had slain it.

But he knew it was dead.

And soon, he would follow.

The next time he sort of regained consciousness was to Merlin shouting more strange words at him. He vaguely felt someone carrying him.

Then all movement stopped and he was sure he was in his own bed, the pain in his side ever-present.

He had no sense of time. Sometimes, he was dreaming and everything felt fine, next, he felt someone's hands stroking his forehead and removing a wet cloth from it, replacing it with a fresh one, a colder one.

"Arthur, I'm sorry."

He heard Merlin's words.

Arthur decided that this was not a dream because he could hear sadness in Merlin's voice. And in his dreams, Merlin was never sad.

"I should have paid more attention to Morgana's dream, I should have been expecting it, and I should have stopped it."

Arthur listened, his mind slowly slipping back into the darkness, only to be pulled back by Merlin's next words.

"But I'm fixing it. You're not going to die, Arthur, I'm telling you. Because we haven't done all the things we're meant to do. Because I know that one day, you will be a king. A greater king than your father could ever be . . . It's what keeps me going."

Merlin paused and Arthur thought about what he'd said. Did Merlin really mean it? Was he not dying? His wound throbbed with pain, but he wanted to believe Merlin.

"You're a royal prat, you know that?" Merlin chuckled. "When I first met you, I didn't understand how anyone could like you. How anyone could one day fall in love with you when you were acting the way you were."