Camelot felt like a dream now. The city and its occupants hadn't even skipped a beat, sliding easily back into normalcy. It had been several moons since Merlin had been rescued, and the days were now growing colder as the frost began to set in. Still, Arthur thought about the incident with the succubus every day, though he seemed to be the only one. Merlin, unsurprisingly, had carried on as if nothing had ever happened once he had healed. The knights appeared to be doing the same, though they hadn't seen any of the horrid events leading up to Merlin's disappearance. They had no idea how long Merlin had been suffering, and how deeply it had affected Arthur.

Obviously, Arthur had pretended to return to normal as well, for Merlin's sake mostly. The only thing that had really seemed to change was the whole psychic business. While Arthur supposed it made sense, he had a hard time imagining his dim-witted manservant had some kind of heightened ability. The king supposed that it did explain some of Merlin's more abnormal behavior, like his outbursts of wisdom and ability to sense danger. But still, something about it bothered Arthur.

Arthur must've been zoned out, because he didn't even notice that Merlin himself had slipped into his chambers until he abruptly cleared his throat. Arthur jerked back a bit, knocking over his ink bottle and dousing his parchment in the dark liquid.

"Dammit, Merlin," Arthur bit out, scrambling to pick up the bottle before more spilled out.

"Sorry, did I scare you with my quiet demeanor, sire?" Merlin said, smirking smugly, the idiot.

"No, it was your face, actually."

Merlin pretended to pout, but he moved forward and began cleaning up the spill. "What were you working on? The parchment looked blank."

Arthur huffed. "I was trying to write a report, but I couldn't even start it before your disruptive presence destroyed the peaceful atmosphere."

The servant frowned. "You've been in here for an hour, Arthur. I was just coming to tidy things up."

"Well, you've managed to already do the exact opposite," Arthur retorted, sitting back at his desk with a new piece of parchment. "Now, you may stay if you clean quietly."

"Of course, sire."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but directed his focus back to his report. He supposed he had gotten lost in thought earlier and hadn't managed to even write a single thing. However, with Merlin's now quiet presence, he found himself able to compose the report quite efficiently. The king would never admit it out loud, but having Merlin around always helped.

By the time Arthur finally looked up from his work, the room had gotten dark. Somehow, the sun was already setting. Merlin was at the opposite side of the room tending to the fire. The flames cast a glow across the room, bathing everything in a warm orange light. It was delightfully tranquil. Even Merlin seemed to have gone willingly silent. And although Merlin's back was turned towards the fire, Arthur could tell that his shoulders had seemed to lose some tension.

"Merlin, would you mind fetching us some dinner?"

Honestly, Arthur hated to disrupt the calm atmosphere. It seemed as if they rarely got quiet moments like this anymore, what with the chaos of Arthur being king and all. Sometimes it was nice for Arthur to lose himself. When Merlin turned to acknowledge Arthur, the world flipped upside down and the illusion of a peaceful evening instantly evaporated.

There was a trickle of blood dripping from Merlin's nose.

"Merlin—I, you—" Arthur choked on the words in his throat. The world was suddenly just too loud for him. He could hear his heartbeat roaring in his ears, and gods was he shaking? Arthur couldn't tell. All he could seem to think was oh, hell, it's not over, is it? We were fools to think the monster was dead and now it's coming for Merlin and—oh hell—he cannot survive this again—

Arthur barely registered the hands on his shoulders and the frantic voice calling his name. There was something cold and hard hurting his knees and Arthur realized distantly that he was kneeling on the floor. But he didn't care and, lords, was his throat getting smaller? Arthur gasped desperately for air, but almost none of it reached his lungs, leaving them burning and screaming for more. Merlin was talking to Arthur, but it sounded like he was under water. Or maybe Arthur was the one under water—it sure as hell felt like it.

Merlin shook Arthur's shoulders a bit, allowing him to focus on his words. "Arthur, just tell me what's wrong—"

Arthur just reacted without thinking and he touched a hand to Merlin's chin. Merlin looked utterly lost until Arthur showed him the blood—Merlin's blood—running slick and sticky over Arthur's fingers. Then, Merlin must've finally understood.

"Oh, Arthur. It's just a nosebleed, I'm alright."

Arthur shook his head, because what if it wasn't? He could barely breathe now, the thought of Merlin having another fit—helpless, vulnerable, in pain—was just all too much.

"Merlin—" Arthur managed with a choked gasp.

Suddenly Arthur's chin was resting on Merlin's shoulder and Merlin's arms were around him. "Arthur, do you feel me breathing? Try to breathe with me," Merlin whispered gently into his ear.

Arthur breathed, fighting for control over his failing lungs. He knew without a doubt that he was shaking now, he could feel each tremor wracking his frame. But Merlin was steady as a rock, breathing calmly and evenly, and Arthur latched onto that with his entire being. It was only when his breathing had slowed to a more bearable rhythm that Arthur realized the irony of it all—that Arthur was the one shaking in Merlin's arms now.

Arthur sniffed, surprised to find that his eyes felt wet. He leaned back and Merlin pulled away. His eyes were also wet. They sat there for several minutes on the floor, Arthur breathing and Merlin wiping futilely at his nose.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I never thought to ask how the succubus affected you."

Arthur shook his head. "I—I don't know why I reacted like that. If anyone should have freaked out, it should've been you. I had no right after all you went through." Arthur hated the way his voice shook.

Merlin looked shocked, his face contorting into a frown. "You have every right to panic sometimes, Arthur. You were there for me the entire time, of course that took a toll on you. It's just my turn to return the favor."

Arthur was thoughtful for a moment. "Is that what just happened? I panicked?"

Merlin nodded, his eyes full of compassion and understanding. "I believe it was a panic attack. You're only human, Arthur. Even high-and-mighty royal prats can freak out from time-to-time."

Arthur scoffed at the light jab. "If you tell anyone, I'll put you in the stocks for a week." Arthur hadn't sent Merlin to the stocks since before he had become king, but Merlin didn't mention that. Instead, he delivered a lopsided smile. It was then that Arthur realized his tremors had stopped.

"Now, help your king up off the floor and clean up all the blood you've managed to smear the floor with. Not to mention all that blood on your face. Honestly, Merlin, if you ever get a nosebleed again... " Arthur trailed off.

Merlin quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

"Just, don't scare me like that again. I don't fancy having another panic attack ever again."

Merlin smiled, and Arthur felt himself smiling back despite himself.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sire."

And that's a wrap! I'm actually kind of sad to say goodbye to this fic—I had a great time writing it, and I hope you all had a great time reading it! Thank you so much for reading and responding to this story. XOXO