Author's Note:

Never thought the show did justice to Merlin's grief over Freya. I feel like they just sort of threw her in when it pleased them and just forgot about her most of the time. Ugh. Made me mad. Merlin's love life is important! (: Anyway this started as a drabble about his grief and then, well, something unexpected happened with Merlin's strawberry bushes! This is a possible reveal fic and I think we've all got room for a little Merlin BAMF!ness and some Arwen, perhaps, and of course, some Gaius and Gwaine and the rest of our lovely knights of Camelot. Um, time frame is sort of unknown. Arthur's king, Lancelot is deceased):, but none of our other round table knights are dead, and I'm not yet sure if Morgana will be featured or not, but that's assuming I continue. I may decide to leave it as a oneshot, or like a two-shot or three-shot or something. We'll see.

Oh, right. Guess who doesn't own Merlin?

Me.

And he's not making me any money either.

On with the fic, then:

Merlin had a patch of strawberries. It was a small patch, right in front of the queen's flower garden. Gwen had generously donated the little piece of dirt when he'd asked her in private, and they'd planted the bushes together one summer morning, queen and manservant on their hands and knees in the dirt with spades. Somehow Gwen had seemed to know that it was important to Merlin, and they had worked in silence; she hadn't raised a single question as to the oddness of the request. The strawberries were beautiful, perfect. The servant tended lovingly to them every morning. At first the knights, and Arthur, had teased him about it. But it quickly became understood that Merlin's strawberries were off limits. No one touched them, and no one joked about them. They were just there: bright, luscious red fruit tucked inside a neat little picket fence. And everyone knew that they were strawberry bushes of the king's manservant and that they were off limits. And that was that.

…

Merlin shivered. Drawing the ragged blanket closer to him, he rolled over on his cot. Laying on his side, he stared straight ahead at the wall, focusing on a shining strand of web from which a spider swung precariously. He counted in his head, recited the alphabet twice, then the alphabet of the Old Tongue, five times. He blinked at the spider. For maybe twelve seconds they stared at each other. Then Merlin's head hit the pillow. His will dissolved and he decomposed into sobs that wracked his whole body.

Gaius was up after the first wave of sunlight hit the window of the physician's chambers. As the second and third assaults of the dawn continued, throwing beams of light on the various instruments and tomes that cluttered the shelves and tables of his quarters, he stood outside his ward's room. The door was slightly ajar, and the sodden, shuddering mass on the cot was clearly visible. The old man watched Merlin cry, his heart aching as if the boy's pain were his own. He felt impossibly old, then, much older than he was - and he was very old.

He hesitated in the doorway; he couldn't bear to see his boy, his young, cheerful boy in such pain, in the throes of such grief, yet crossing the threshold seemed, somehow, like a violation. He felt helpless. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, nothing that could ease the pain.

As a physician, there had been countless times when a patient was beyond saving, when nothing he could give, no remedy, no potion, could ward off the fingers of death. The hardest part was putting on a brave face and looking into the eyes of the wife or the father or the lover and telling them the truth, watching as the hope in their eyes died, pasting on a hollow smile for the dying man, squeezing his hand and telling him he'd been so brave. It was that feeling he felt now.

Gaius was empty, hollow, and his heart was breaking in melancholy harmony with his ward's.

The boy moaned from his bed and the pain in his voice was so thick, so heartrending that Gaius's knees felt weak. He grabbed the side of the doorframe to steady himself, and tears leaked silently from his own eyes. "Oh Merlin," he whispered. "Oh my boy, my dear, brave boy."

Muffled from underneath the blanket, a weak voice answered him: "Gaius. Gaius, she's gone. She's gone. It's been- it's been five years. So why, why does it still hurt so bad?"

His answer was inadequate, and he felt it keenly, but he crossed the room and seated himself at the foot of Merlin's bed. "Some days are worse than others, but you've been so brave," he soothed, his wrinkled hand finding Merlin's raven-tufted head. He stroked the boy's hair with a sturdy gentleness, but his other hand, resting on his own lap, trembled. "Look at you, look at you, my boy. Standing strong, fighting by Arthur's side. You've done so much. Look how you've grown, look how you've changed, look at all that you've done. You bear a great burden, and I wish you didn't have to, but you've been so remarkably brave. I couldn't possibly be more proud of you." Gaius hesitated. "And I think," he added softly, "that she couldn't possibly be more proud of you either."

Gaius looked down. Underneath his hand, Merlin had stilled, the sobbing had stopped. "Merlin?"

There was silence for a second, then the boy sat up. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot and his his face wet and splotchy from crying. He wiped away his tears with the heels of his hands and then took a deep, calming breath. "I'm sorry, Gaius. I don't know why I broke down like that. It hasn't been that bad since...for a while."

Gaius took one pale, thin hand in his own and squeezed it. "Don't be sorry, never be sorry. You deserve a moment every now and then and especially today…" He trailed off, internally cursing himself for reminding Merlin of the date. Today was the anniversary of Freya's death.

Merlin, however, took no notice. Rising to his feet, he shrugged on his jacket, straightened the rumpled neckerchief about his neck - he had slept in his clothes- and, running a hand through his bedhead, hurried to the door. "I'm late!" he panicked. "Arthur'll kill me!"

"Perhaps you should take the day off, Merlin." Gaius got to his feet as well, surprised by the immediate transition in his ward's behavior.

But Merlin shook his head, wiped at his face with his neckerchief, and was at the door in a matter of seconds, his shoe laces undone and his boots on the wrong feet.

"Grab some breakfast at least," Gaius called after him.

Merlin shook his head. "Strawberries today," he said. "I'll grab some on my way to Arthur's." And with that he was out the door and away, leaving Gaius staring worriedly after him.

….

When Merlin arrived at Arthur's chambers, huffing and puffing, with a breakfast tray balanced dubiously in his left hand and a handful of strawberries tucked firmly in his jacket pocket, the king was already seated at his table, digging into another plate of breakfast, Gwen beside him.

At his entrance the king and queen looked up, Gwen smiling and Arthur frowning.

"Book gho 'as binally dfeigmed to bghrace mus bmith 'is gmovious pbhvevemce," Arthur mocked through a mouthful of food, spraying bits of lettuce and cheese as he talked. (Translation: "Look who has finally deigned to grace us with his glorious presence").

"Arthur," Gwen chided, shooting him a disapproving frown and handing him a napkin. She smiled again at Merlin. "Good morning, Merlin. Do come join us; let's not waste a perfectly good breakfast." She indicated the tray in his hand.

Merlin placed the tray on the table, but didn't move to sit down, casting his eyes somewhere, anywhere, but Gwen's face. He struggled with his breaths, his chest heaving. He felt sick, claustrophobic. His neckerchief was suddenly suffocating him, his jacket was too tight. The walls of the room seemed to be pressing in on him from all sides. He could feel his breathing get tighter, catching in his chest.

Gwen studied him intently, a crease forming between her eyebrows as she took in his disheveled appearance, red-rimmed eyes, and labored breathing. "Merlin." She got to her feet, alarm and concern in her voice. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Arthur, who had been pigging out until this point, looked around, noticed his wife, standing, and pushed himself to a standing position as well, hand going to his sword belt. "What? Merlin?" There was a piece of lettuce on his cheek and his lower lip was dripping sauce.

Merlin fought a feeling of panic that took over him, leaving him shaking harder. This was not just grief, this was…

H's knees buckled and he reached drunkenly for the chair in front of him, but he missed completely, and was sent sprawling on the floor. The world swirled above and around him, and faces consumed his vision, scared eyes and frantically working lips. Voices surrounded him, bleeding into each other, rebounding off the insides of his skull. Everything throbbed, his insides felt like they were imploding.

The strawberries spilled out of his pocket and his hand, and one came to a rolling stop directly in front of his eyes. He focused on it, noticing, for the first time, the unnatural shine to it, the sickly sweet, completely inappropriate smell. The red consumed his vision, he was blinded by it, choked by it. The voices were growing louder, the sounds of footsteps and movement echoed in his mind but he could not respond. The too-shiny, too-smelly strawberry filled his eye-sight, and all he could think was

Oh.

And then the strawberry's red, the red of the Pendragon crest, the red of blood, smoldered into the black of night and Merlin's head thumped to the ground.

A/N: No, not a death fic. I'm not that mean(: and I love Merlin as much as you guys. I plan on continuing - I've got some ideas, but it really depends on the response I get. Any reviews are greatly appreciated! If you've got comments, questions, criticisms, ideas for moving along, I'd love to hear all of it. Your feedback is invaluable! Hope to hear from you all! You have no idea how wonderful a review feels - I get all warm and fuzzy inside. Until next time, then!

~~~~~EverThought