Before you read, let me warn you; this is possibly the strangest thing I have ever written. It's more dark than horror, but doesn't offer that choice. I'm still trying to figure out what was wrong with me when writing this. I was actually wondering that while I wrote it.

You have been warned. Enjoy... I guess. :P

He was in an unfamiliar corridor, nothing but shadows for company. The strangest part was, he couldn't remember how he got there. His head didn't quite feel right, and he guessed he must have hit it on something. He couldn't remember doing so, but that was the whole point.

Every step was cautious, deliberate. He held a hand out, feeling blindly in the dark; a light flickered just around the corner, if he could only get there...

And when he finally reached the corner, he noticed something. There was a floor. A floor coated in something red that stuck to the bottom of his boots. With a sense of foreboding, he dared to take a look at what lay around the bend.

The answer his eyes found: more red. A giant, drying puddle of deepest crimson and in the center of it all, Merlin, eyes open and staring at nothing.

Arthur backed away, heart hammering wildly, all the feeling quite literally gone from his body. He didn't even feel it when he ran into something - or someone, rather. He didn't notice they were there until they spoke.

"You shouldn't be here."

Breath hitching, Arthur whirled around, relieved but slightly confused to see it was merely Lancelot. "What are you doing here?" he asked. Then he remembered that he was a prince, and wished his tone had sounded more demanding. "What - what happened to Merlin?"

Lancelot's face was void of all emotion, which scared Arthur almost as much as when he said, "I killed him."

The whole world was upside-down now. Merlin, dead, and Lancelot, his murderer, and he, Arthur, alone in a strange place he couldn't even remember coming to. His mind raced to design possibilities. Sorcery, enchantment, what else could explain this? Nothing but magic distorted things so, made things impossible to grasp for too long. But where was this sorcerer controlling his world?

"Why?" whispered Arthur, playing for time.

The look on Lancelot's face did not change. "For Gwen," he replied, a soft lilt to his voice. Arthur's heart dropped. He thought she loved him, but he'd always known she had feelings for Lancelot. But Gwen... she would never have wanted this, would she? "She asked me two favors. First, to be rid of the man standing between us. Next, to be rid of the man who wouldn't let us get away with it."

He took a step closer to Arthur. "I've accidentally started in reverse order."

And then Arthur was looking into Gwen's eyes. Lancelot was gone, and he was no longer in the strange corridor, but rather in a room with no windows or doors.

He blinked. The memory of Lancelot's strange behavior was already beginning to fade. Instead it was Gwen's cold stare that disturbed him. "Why?" he asked, because it seemed an appropriate question. Then he remember he was a prince, and wished that had come out as an order.

"Because it's the only way for my love," she said calmly. Arthur's eyes slid to a dark corner of the room, where an entire lake composed of blood gently lapped at the pale skin of his manservant. His eyes slid back to Gwen.

"Aren't you supposed to kill me as well?" he reminded her, but then he noticed that she had a knife in her hand and was probably about to kill him. Only oddly enough, she was no longer there. His father was in her stead, a foot rested upon Merlin's unmoving body, and it was not a knife but rather a sword. They were outside now, with sun spilling in blinding rays onto the grass beneath them.

"I shall, my son," Uther assured him, swinging the sword upward. Arthur barely felt the slash to his gut; it was hardly more than a prick, and there was no blood, whereas Merlin's completely unmarked body was drenched in the substance.

He felt strangely dizzy, though, and was on his knees suddenly without knowing how he got there. From his knees he fell, seemingly into a pit of darkness, except there was no real bottom. Instead there was whole new place, one more familiar than anything he'd seen so far. And everything he'd seen was fading so quickly he sat up in alarm. That, too, was strange; he hadn't realized he was laying down.

The blankets around him were damp with sweat. Things were getting clearer quickly, and it occurred to him that it was night, he was in bed, and everything he'd just witnessed had been a dream. This was less surprising than he'd anticipated, because come to think of it, little of what he'd just gone through had made sense. Merlin's body couldn't have been everywhere at once, and settings didn't just change around a person in real life.

He kicked off the covers, almost tripped over the limp form of his manservant on the blood-soaked floor, and tried to think of a way to entertain himself until morning came. He doubted he was going to get back to sleep again.

I've kind of been wanting to write a strange dream sequence since I went to see Inception... glad I've got it out of my system. Whatever it is. Opinions are welcome; even if it's just to tell me I need serious help.