"I'm sorry," he whispers, sitting at the edge of the water with his fingertips brushing the surface. Ripples spread across the lake, half-stop, and are sent back in gentle waves.
Merlin often sneaks out of Camelot when he can, coming to sit by the water. It's never day, though, he can never see her lake in sunlight; he has been forced into the role of a lover stealing away moments with his beloved. He doesn't mind much. It's worth it to be able to talk and sense the magic that means she's still there.
"It's unfair," he continues, tracing small circles in the black sky-water. "We're never going to be able to live the life we ought to have had, are we? No farms, no strawberries... we got the lake at least, though that's not really what we intended..."
The water moves slightly, like someone underneath it is sighing. The stars tremble.
"King's servant and a druid girl, an immortal and one who died too soon, and all we wanted was to grow old together," he murmurs, faint smile fading until it disappears. "Like the universe would allow two innocent - mostly innocent, at least, it wasn't your fault - two decent people half a chance at love."
Merlin's bitter tone grows soft, and he admits, "I miss you, Freya. There's been no one but you. I love you."
He keeps his eyes on the moon's quivering reflection, a few tears dripping down his nose and into the lake. His own pale reflection is distorted almost beyond recognition.
"I've got to go, but I'll be back when I can," he promises, standing reluctantly and gazing into the lake for a few more moments, trying to find some trace of her in the hum of magic. Merlin feels her presence, just beneath the surface, and sighs a quiet, regretful sigh before turning back to Camelot.