Merlin listened to the soothing cracking sound of the fire as he lay awake in his makeshift bed on the forest floor. He hadn't dared to close his eyes, afraid that he would fall into a sleep too deep and miss his opportunity; no, he thought. He must stay awake. At least until Gwaine took watch.
Soon after midnight, the blessed act finally occurred. Elyan finally rose to wake Gwaine from his slumber, telling him it was his turn to take watch. Gwaine mumbled and complained, as he always did, but eventually he got up and took his position as Elyan closed his eyes for the night.
Soon, however, Gwaine had closed his own eyes and had fallen back into what Merlin assumed to be a deep sleep. The warlock was slightly annoyed by his friend's obvious lack of concern that something dreadful could happen, but at the same time he was terribly grateful: now was his chance.
Rising carefully, Merlin extricated himself from the leaves and blankets currently occupying where he was "sleeping", and began to walk slowly and dutifully in the direction of the lake.
He was so concentrated on not crunching too many leaves under his boots, that he didn't sense the pair of suddenly alert brown eyes staring at him with an unreadable expression.
Once he was sure he was out of sight and hearing distance, he bolted.
.
.
.
Contrary to popular belief, Gwaine was not stupid.
He sensed his friend's recent melancholy and sullen attitude. He noticed the dark circles under his eyes, his fake smiles and empty assurances of being "fine."
He wasn't quite sure how to approach his friend past the occasional "everything alright, Merlin?" (to which his friend would given an overly-cherry response of "of course" before turning away, his smile, slipping).
Before Merlin came and wormed his way into his heart, Gwaine hadn't a friend in the world. He had never been truly faced with the responsibility of caring for anyone other than himself. The sudden pressure he felt towards helping Merlin was therefore foreign, new, and frankly, frightening. Seeing the man he considered to be the greatest in all of Camelot have a haunted look in his eyes, made his heart clench in the need to help. That, coupled with his absolute inability to help was starting to drive the good knight mad.
In the end, he had comforted himself with the knowledge that Merlin would pull through; he always did. Eventually, he thought, the smiles would return and the familiar banter the boy shared with Arthur would be restored to its former cheerfulness. Eventually.
But the days had turned into weeks, the weeks into months….and, if anything, the haunted look had only grown.
So, that night, when it was his turn to take watch, Gwaine decided enough was enough. Once they got back to Camelot, he would find out what the hell was plaguing his Merlin, and what exactly was eating away at the friend he missed.
He had closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to think of what exactly he would say, when he suddenly heard the soft crunching of leaves to his left. Eyes immediately opened, he scanned the area, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, only to find that it was…Merlin.
The man was slowly rising, obviously trying not to wake any of the knights. Gwaine wondered where he could possibly be going, and was about to call out to him, but something within himself told him not to. Truth be told, he was curious to Merlin's secrecy.
The man in question was walking further and further away from camp, and still Gwaine did not call. There was something in the way that he moved, in the way that all of his steps seemed to be so sure and purposeful that caused the knight to think that Merlin had a particular destination in mind. A destination he was obviously not willing to share with anyone.
Gwaine rose and, using all his skills as a Knight of Camelot, began to stealthily stalk Merlin's wake. But then he stopped.
I can't just leave the others unprotected, he thought, looking back on the sleeping forms of the other knights. I need to go back to my post….
But he thought, turning his head to look back at Merlin's retreating form, I can't leave Merlin unprotected either.
He let out a small growl of frustration before making his decision.
.
.
.
To say that Arthur Pendragon was annoyed at Gwaine's sleeping patterns would be an understatement.
The man could stay up all night in a tavern, even after any normal man would pass out from the alcohol consumption, but when the responsibility of keeping the knights and Merlin alive was his only reason for staying awake, the man slept. The man slept!
So when Gwaine began shaking his shoulder to wake him, Arthur was anything but complying.
"Gwaine," he growled out dangerously without opening his eyes, "if you're trying to get out of watch duty again, you're not going t-"
"Merlin's gone."
That made the King's eyes shoot open.
"What?" He breathed. Surely he had heard wrong.
"I'm going to go after him," Gwaine said hurriedly, his voice edged with something akin to panic. "I need someone to keep watch until I come back with him."
The knight was already straightening himself up, not waiting for his King's response before he turned and began walking quickly in the direction he had seen Merlin disappear.
Arthur wasn't quite sure how to react as he saw Gwaine's retreating form begin to recede and finally disappear. Merlin…had left?
Arthur too had noticed Merlin's secrecy and (dare he say it?) depression these past couple of weeks. The words "Merlin" and "depression" did not seem to fit in any sense, and yet he couldn't ignore the obvious, especially once the toll was taken on Merlin's physical appearance. The man was becoming even more malnourished as of late (though he was the ward of a physician, Arthur thought bitterly), he was quite and reserved (when had he last called Arthur a dollop-head?) and would only half-heartedly answer Arthur's usual playful banter.
He would see glimpses of the old Merlin from time to time, and his worry would vanish for a moment. But soon, this new Merlin would come back and the sadness that hung over him would as well.
So when Gwaine had, quite earnestly it seemed, told him that Merlin had simply got up and left without a word, Arthur was not utterly surprised. He had disregarded Merlin's secrecy for far too long; tonight, he was determined to find the source of Merlin's melancholy.
And after waking Sir Leon and instructing him to keep watch until he returned with a "missing" Merlin and Gwaine, Arthur took off after them.
.
.
.
Gwaine had been able to pick up Merlin's trail rather quickly, but it was minutes before he finally caught a glimpse of his friend's back, and nearly half an hour later before he finally reached Merlin's "destination." Somewhere in between that time he sensed a third presence and turned to find Arthur jogging closely behind him. He wasn't totally surprised that the Princess—er, Queen—had decided to join him in his mission; he knew that, no matter how much the two hated to admit it, Arthur and Merlin were tied closely by threads of friendship.
He simply nodded to Arthur before setting his sights back on Merlin, who was now practically running as if the devil were on his heels.
When Merlin finally stopped to catch his breath, he was at the edges of a lake. Gwaine realized that this must be where Merlin had intended to go, so he simply hid himself in the thicket of the trees. Arthur seemed to come to the same conclusion, and he too found a sufficient hiding place that allowed him to see without being seen.
With Merlin's back turned to them, they didn't see the warlock's eyes flash gold, nor did they see his lips move in the tongue of the Old Religion.
All they saw was Merlin. Facing a lake. And nothing else for what seemed like an eternity.
After a few moments, Arthur shot a glance at Gwaine, who responded with a shrug. Perhaps it's nothing, he thought. Maybe all Merlin wanted was some time alone…?
Then he heard Merlin let out a cry of frustration, and the man began pacing the shoreline, running a hand through his hair.
He didn't have much time to ponder this outburst before the water of the lake started to tremble and the ground beneath him began quacking in response. Arthur looked as if he was ready to bolt through the tree lines to grab Merlin and run, especially when the servant only moved closer to the shoreline, to the point that the waves were crashing against his small frame.
"He can't be that much of an idiot," Arthur whispered, already shifting from his crouched position to a standing posture, looking determinedly at his friend's back. "I'm going to drag him back to camp, and make sure he understands what it means to leave without so much as a wor-!"
Arthur suddenly ceased his rant at the sight that suddenly presented itself.
A woman wearing a light purple gown quite literally appeared out of the air itself, a sad smile on her otherwise beautiful face; she hovered inches above the waters of the lake, an aura of power exuding from her that made even the great King of Camelot hesitate to respond.
"Magic," Gwaine breathed, a sense of awe mingled with fear in his voice.
That broke the paralysis of shock.
Arthur took a step forward, his hand griping the hilt of his sword, determined to get Merlin, his friend, his idiot away from this sorcerer, and if they got out of this one alive, Arthur was sure as hell going to kill him after asking him what the hell he was playing at, sneaking away in the night and getting caught by magicians and then he would—
"It's good to see you, Merlin."
The shock of hearing her (a sorcereress!) speak without menace or threat, but rather a caring and almost motherly tone shocked Arthur almost as much as hearing her address his friend by name. Gwaine too was eyeing the scene with an expression between shock and confusion, his frame leaning forward to catch Merlin's next words.
"Freya," Merlin said with a voice laced with reverence, familiarity, and….love?
As both Gwaine and Arthur tried to dissect the conversation taking place before them, Merlin slowly reached out his hand towards this Freya, perhaps to touch her own hand, but his passed right through hers as if she were made of mist.
Perhaps she was.
He drew his hand back and hung his head, a small sigh escaping his lips.
"I had hoped…." He began, but stopped, unable to find the words.
"I can't explain everything now, Merlin," the woman (evidently named Freya) answered gently. "I promise to tell you one day; but for now, we don't have much time."
Merlin gave no response and only continued to stare at the image of the woman he loved.
Freya inclined her head slightly. "Ask your question."
Merlin wasn't entirely surprised that she knew what was on his mind; the last time they'd met she seemed to have as much knowledge of his destiny as the Great Dragon himself.
"Please," he started, trying to find the words. "…I…I need to know. About Mordred, about Camlann. I need to know if what Kilgharrah and the Druids are saying is true."
Gwaine and Arthur were completely dumbfounded as to how Merlin kept in contact with the Druids, or who this Kilgharrah was, or even what he meant by "Mordred" and "Camlann". The two knights shared a glance, each quietly seeing the confusion in the other's eyes, before turning their full attention back to scene in front of them.
The woman sighed, as if she had known what Merlin would ask but had still clung to the hope that he wouldn't. "You ask too much of me, Merlin…I beseech you to remember what happened the last time the future was revealed to you."
The two men crouched in the thicket of trees saw Merlin flinch at her words. (…..) Merlin sighed.
"Please," Merlin started again, with a desperation seeping into his words. "Arthur is my master, my king…and my friend." He paused, taking a step forward. "I need to know."
There was yet another resounding silence as Freya weighed the consequences of telling Merlin, the man she loved, the news he had been dreading these past ten years. As the silence stretched, Gwaine shot another glance at Arthur. The king didn't look so hell-bent on killing the woman anymore, once he had seen she meant no ill will towards Merlin. He had even resumed his crouched position next to Gwaine, and was staring at the scene with an expression of profound confusion, though Gwaine could see his caution and readiness to attack should anything happen to Merlin.
"Very well," Freya answered at length. With a hesitant wave of her hand the skyline behind her suddenly shifted and instead of the stars and sky, there were now images. Images of carnage and battle, images of the knights Percival, Elyan, Leon, and Gwaine lying dead next to thousands of other perished knights, some clad in the red of Camelot, others in black.
Gwaine gasped at seeing his friends (and himself) lifeless and still, and he wanted nothing more than to turn his face away from the dreadful illusions but couldn't. After a moment he realized that he was trembling and a very concerned Arthur was grasping his shoulder, muttering with a tight sternness that yes, everything was fine and everyone alive and well; these were only images conjured by a witch.
Merlin had also gasped and was now stumbling backwards, his tongue repeating the word "no" in a kind of chant.
The image suddenly shifted and instead of the dead knights, there was Arthur. The King's face was a mix of pain and rage, his sword coming down with fury upon Mordred's shield again and again and again; then, in a blink of an eye, Mordred used his shield to push Arthur back with such force, that the mighty King stumbled a step. And that was all the ex-Druid needed. With a swiftness that made Merlin sure magic was involved, Mordred plunged his sword into Arthur, a mad crackle of hysteria escaping his lips at finally seeing his enemy fall against the blade.
Merlin let out a cry, running towards the image.
Sensing that she had shown too much (far too much), Freya waved her hand quickly through the image. The sight of the fallen king faded instantly and the stars and sky were there once more. Merlin was panting now, a thin sheet of sweat encasing his body as though he had been running for hours. The beating of his heart would make it seem as much. He was running his hand through his hair again, pulling out some strands as he did so.
"I'm sorry, Merlin," Freya said after a moment, that sad look still marring her beautiful features. "I warned you."
"No," Merlin whispered, turning his face away from Freya. Gwaine and Arthur finally had a glimpse of their friend's face, and had a clear view of the tears glistening his eyes and falling shamelessly down his pale cheeks. Arthur's heart clenched at the sight; he wanted nothing more than to rush to his servant, and tell him as he had told Gwaine, that everything was alright, no one was hurt, and that he was alive and well. But he didn't. Something inside of him, told him that he needed to remain where he was.
Then, with a hint of panic, Merlin turned on Freya once more and shouted: "NO! This can't be right! What of Camelot? What of Albion?" What of my destiny?
Freya looked down at the waters, unable to meet her lover's eyes. With dispassion, she answered: "Camelot will perish on that day. Its name will fade and will eventually be forgotten by all." She paused, looking up to meet Merlin's teary eyes. "And Albion….Albion will never unite. Chaos will descend upon the land, and tyrants will rule for centuries. Those with magic will dwindle until finally perishing. They were remembered only as children's stories."
"So it's true then? What they say?…all those deaths, all of the lies, all of these years…have been for nothing?!"
"Remember, Merlin," Freya said, and all three men noticed how her being was quickly beginning to fade into mist. "The future is not set in stone—you, of all people, should know that."
The King and the knight could not quite hear Merlin whisper tell me what I must do, but heard every word of Freya's response.
"You must tell them the truth, my love."
And with that, the final remnants of her apparition faded into the air around her, and the Lady of the Lake disappeared.