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The candles in Merlin's chambers had long since guttered out, leaving only the dying embers in the hearth to cast dancing shadows across the stone walls. Exhausted from a day of tending to Arthur's endless demands — polishing armor, mucking out stables, and dodging flying goblets when the prince's temper flared — Merlin had collapsed onto his narrow bed fully clothed.
Sleep claimed him instantly, but his magic... his magic had other plans.
It stirred restlessly beneath his skin, golden threads of power seeking, searching, drawn by something it recognized. Like calls to like, and in the tower above, Arthur Pendragon slept fitfully, his own dreams troubled by thoughts he dared not examine in waking hours.
The magic found him.
Arthur stood in a meadow that shouldn't exist — wildflowers swaying in a breeze that carried the scent of rain and something indefinably magical. The grass was too green, the sky too blue, and everything shimmered with an otherworldly quality that made him feel like he was seeing the world through water.
"You're here," came a familiar voice, soft with wonder.
He turned to find Merlin approaching through the flowers, but not the Merlin of daylight hours with his worn jacket and knowing smirks. This Merlin moved with an unconscious grace, his dark hair catching light that came from everywhere and nowhere. His eyes held flecks of gold that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat.
"Where is here?" Arthur asked, though part of him didn't care. Here, wherever it was, felt right in a way that nothing had for months.
"I don't know," Merlin admitted, stopping just close enough that Arthur could see the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. "But I've been having this dream for weeks. You're always in it."
Arthur's breath caught. "You dream of me?"
The confession hung between them, too honest for the waking world. In dreams, it seemed, they were both braver.
"Every night," Merlin whispered. "Do you... do you dream of me?"
"Always." The word escaped before Arthur could think to stop it. "God help me, Merlin, always."
The meadow around them pulsed with golden light, responding to emotions too raw for daylight. Neither of them questioned it — dreams, after all, were allowed to be impossible.
"I can't stop thinking about you," Arthur continued, the words pouring out like water through a broken dam. "During councils, during training, during every bloody moment of every day. I watch you polish my armor and wonder what your hands would feel like on my skin. I listen to you make jokes at my expense and want to kiss the smirk right off your face."
Merlin stepped closer, close enough that Arthur could feel the warmth radiating from him. "Arthur..."
"I know I shouldn't. I know what it would mean — what it would cost. A prince can't..." Arthur's voice cracked. "But in here, maybe I can just be — "
"Just be Arthur," Merlin finished softly. "Not the prince. Not the future king. Just... you."
"Just me," Arthur agreed, and something in his chest loosened for the first time in years.
The golden light around them intensified as Merlin reached up to cup Arthur's face in his hands. "I have magic," he said simply, as if confessing the color of the sky. "I was born with it. I've been hiding it, lying to you every day, and I hate myself for it. But I can't stop — won't stop — protecting you."
Arthur leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. In the waking world, such words would mean death. Here, they felt like salvation. "I know," he breathed.
Merlin's hands stilled. "You know?"
"Some part of me has always known. The way you look at me sometimes, like you're seeing something I can't. The impossible coincidences, the way you always know exactly where to be when I need you most." Arthur opened his eyes, meeting Merlin's startled gaze. "I should turn you in. I should have you executed. But the thought of losing you..." He shook his head. "I'd rather live with the secret than live without you."
Tears gathered in Merlin's eyes, making the gold flecks shimmer. "Arthur..."
"I love you," Arthur said, the words torn from the deepest part of his soul. "I love your terrible jokes and your insubordination and the way you make me feel like I might actually be worthy of the crown someday. I love that you see me — really see me — not just the prince everyone else wants me to be."
"I love you too," Merlin whispered, thumb stroking across Arthur's cheekbone. "I've loved you since the first day I met you and you were being an ass to a servant in the marketplace. I saw through the arrogance to the man underneath, the one who wants to be good, who wants to protect his people. I saw you, and I was lost."
The meadow around them bloomed brighter, flowers opening in impossible colors as their confessions fed the magic weaving through the dream. Neither of them noticed — they were lost in each other's eyes, in the freedom of finally speaking truth.
"Kiss me," Arthur breathed. "Please. Just once, let me know what it feels like."
Merlin didn't hesitate. He rose up on his toes and pressed their lips together, soft and sweet and desperate all at once. Arthur's arms came around him instantly, pulling him closer as he poured years of longing into the kiss. It tasted like honey and summer storms and coming home.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Arthur rested his forehead against Merlin's. "This feels so real," he murmured.
"More real than anything else in my life," Merlin agreed.
They held each other as the dream-meadow swayed around them, golden magic humming through the air like a lullaby. Here, in this impossible place, they were just Arthur and Merlin. No crowns, no secrets, no fear — just love, pure and simple and true.
Arthur woke with the taste of honey on his lips and tears on his cheeks. The dream clung to him like morning mist, too vivid to dismiss, too precious to examine too closely. He touched his mouth wonderingly, still feeling the ghost of Merlin's kiss.
Three floors below, Merlin stirred in his own bed, magic settling back beneath his skin like a satisfied cat. He blinked in the gray pre-dawn light, Arthur's name on his lips and the phantom warmth of strong arms around him.
Neither of them understood what had happened. Neither questioned it too deeply.
But that morning, when Merlin brought Arthur his breakfast, their eyes met and held a beat too long. Arthur's fingers brushed Merlin's as he took the tray, and something electric passed between them.
"Strange dreams last night?" Merlin asked quietly, his cheeks pink.
Arthur's smile was small and secret. "The strangest. You?"
"The best kind of strange."
And if they stood closer than usual, if their conversations carried new undertones of tenderness, if Arthur found excuses to touch Merlin's shoulder or hand throughout the day — well, dreams had a way of bleeding into reality, especially when they were woven from magic and longing in equal measure.
The night couldn't come fast enough.