In his dream, Merlin was in a lower room of the castle, washing laundry. Freya nonchalantly approached and knelt beside him, dipping shimmering gold cloth into the water beside him and scrubbing it on a washboard, just as he was scrubbing Arthur's shirt.
He was dreaming, and Freya's presence seemed natural. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
"I think I've spent half of the last ten years washing Arthur's clothes," he quipped.
Freya smiled but looked seriously into his eyes. "Merlin, I want to tell you something. Are you listening?"
"Yes Freya, I'm listening."
"I want you to listen, and to remember."
"OK. What is it, Freya?"
"Listen, Merlin. Are you listening?"
He nodded.
"When you wake, you must remember what I am going to tell you."
"I will, Freya."
She put her wet hands on his arms, dampening the sleeves of his shirt.
"Merlin, this is your last year. Your time here is drawing to a close. Are you listening? You have done well for a long time. Now, time grows short. Try to do your best." Her eyes peered up into his own with utter earnestness. "Remember this, Merlin. "
Then, with the feel of her hands still clutching his arms, the laundry room in his dream swirled around him and the shimmering gold in the water consumed his vision for a moment. Then all became still and dim and quiet.
And then he felt warmth on his face. He heard a rooster in the distance. He heard a dog bark outside in the upper town. He heard the dairyman call to his usual customers. Merlin opened his eyes. He was in his bed. It was morning. The sun streamed through the window.
He sat up. He stretched. His mind was hazy. He noticed that the sleeves (and only the sleeves) of his nightshirt felt damp. How odd.
And then, slowly, he remembered.