He'd only been resting for a while when he was startled awake by something - he wasn't quite sure what - but he knew it was something. Heart pounding, breathing quickened, he glanced quickly around the room.
Nothing here. Nothing but shadows.
But something had woken him.
He sat up slowly, eyes still scanning the room even though he knew there was nothing there.
He could feel panic threatening to rise, throat becoming tight, tears beginning to burn his eyes.
He wouldn't close his eyes. He wasn't that stupid.
The next thing he felt was a cold hand touching his cheek gently, a mockery of Arthur's touch - and he gritted his teeth.
"Ah, my dear knight." Whispered. Trick of the wind? His eyes widened. A little afraid, are we? Afraid Artorius will come back and find you didn't keep your promise? Find you'd died whilst he was away? A cruel laugh that sent chills up his spine. Where would the fun be in that? Better for him to see you broken, dear, *sweet* knight - Artorius' heart.
"What sort of sick game are you playing at?" He whispered, fear making his voice tremble slightly. That invisible hand was resting on his thigh, drawing circles of cold fire there.
He was so cold.
The hand trailed upwards, and Lancelot let out a small whimper before strengthening his resolve. He wasn't a plaything. He wouldn't be used to hurt Arthur - not like this.
"I will not break. For Arthur - I won't break."
You are already broken. The hand went even higher, rubbed against his wound, making him curl reflexively, tears falling. Already broken, dear knight - dear Lancelot.
"No," he hissed, willing his mind to remember Arthur - think only of Arthur. "I won't be used against him. I won't be used to hurt him." He shook his head vigorously. "Now I know - I won't stay broken."
It laughed again - that same cold, chilling laugh. We'll see.
A sob escaped his throat as a pair of cold lips brush over his forehead and - he started, eyes snapping open, jolting upright, alert.
A dream. It was only a nightmare. It must have been.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the clinging fear the nightmare had brought with it, snuggling back down in the covers and closing his eyes again.
Arthur'll be back soon.