AN: I had so much fun writing this. I'm really proud of it! I hope you like it!
"Help me! Please, help me!"
Merlin froze at attention and stood prepared for anything. As he glanced around the familiar forest, the tall, dark trees in the compact grove seemed to form an unbreakable wall and to block out all light. Acting on instinct, his right hand went to the hilt of the sword in his belt while his left rose to shoulder height, ready to summon magic. The feeble cry came again, and Merlin's stomach did a small flip in recognition. He moved toward the voice, grip tightening around his sword, magic building and crackling between his fingertips.
As he walked, the call became farther and farther away. He turned around unsure, but then continued in the same direction. It felt like he was walking for hours. All the while, the call became more and more distressed. His discomfort and fear mounting, Merlin's pace quickened. The next time he heard the call, it was loud, near, and incredibly desperate. Merlin broke into a run, fighting to find the edge of the forest. When the trees finally broke, he stumbled onto a beach – the beach he most hated. In the distance, against the backdrop of gray water, endless mist, and a mysterious far-off island, he could see two figures: one tall and masculine, the other short and feminine; neither seemed distressed. Cautious now, Merlin approached them with sinking dread. He knew who the figures were, but refused to believe it. Still yards away, Merlin felt the tears welling in his eyes.
"No," he choked.
"It's alright, Merlin," Arthur said, turning to him. "Freya has helped me. I understand now."
His king was standing beside Merlin's one love with a perfectly calm, almost happy expression. He was wearing his riding breeches, loose blue shirt, and leather jacket. Merlin almost thought he was just the carefree prince he had once been, taking a walk along the shore. But that couldn't be right. Arthur knew nothing of the Lake of Avalon, and he had not been a prince, much less carefree, for a long time. Freya, too, looked peaceful. She was dressed in a simple blue gown with her hair gently tugged away from her face. To Merlin she was as beautiful as ever. She never said anything, but she didn't have to; to him, her countenance spoke volumes.
Arthur continued, "I understand now. I must go, must rest. As must you, Merlin. For you will not be alone for long. Soon, our time will come again."
He finished, and the two slowly walked back into the water, hand-in-hand. Merlin shouted, then cried, for them to come back, but neither turned or even missed a step. The water slowly submersed them as they walked farther until Merlin could no longer see them, only the placid waves and the horizon. He let out a strangled cry and collapsed onto the sand. He felt pangs of loneliness once more, accompanied by pain and resignation. He was also surprised to feel jealousy, though what he was jealous of he was not sure – that Arthur was holding hands with his love, the woman he only knew for two days and was cruelly separated from, or that Freya was spending time with his king, his one true friend who was taken from him much too soon.
Whatever the cause, the feelings were too much to bear. He dragged himself into the water, with the intentions of following Arthur and staying with Freya. If he couldn't be with them again, he did not want to leave the water. His new intention was to keep his head below the surface and not to breathe deeply before going under. But before the sting of drowning settled in, strong talons grasped him around the stomach and heaved him into the air.
From above him, he heard Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, say, "Now is not your time, Merlin. Leave him be; for it was his. He will return soon, but not until his kingdom needs him once more."