"Freya!"

In an instant I am awake, and I immediately regret calling out. The sound of my own voice is what pulled me from the dream, dashing away the last image of Freya's dark eyes, lost forever beneath the waters of my memory. I lie still, breathing hard, and try to calm my thoughts. It's been months since I've dreamed of her. I wonder absently what's brought it on this time. The sounds of the forest and the contented crackling of the fire fill the silence, and I pull myself back to the present and banish the last lingering vision of Freya's face.

"Merlin?"

I open my eyes, starting. Arthur is watching me from across the fire, half-propped up on his elbows from where he had been lying on his bedroll. The shadows on his face make his expression hard to read, but I can tell he's waiting for my answer to decide how irritated he should be.

"Just a dream," I say quickly. "Sorry to wake you."

I start to turn over, but Arthur asks, "Who's Freya?"

At the sound of her name, my heart convulses and freezes, like a rabbit that twitches and then holds itself still until the threat of danger is past. Nobody but Gaius knew her name, and to hear it spoken out loud by someone other than myself makes me feel odd. It is almost as if she really was just a dream. It seems so long ago.

"No one," I answer. "Just a girl I knew."

Arthur's tone is knowing, which annoys me. "Your girlfriend, was she?" When I am silent, he adds, "Don't bother denying it, Merlin; it can't just be any girl, to make you react like that."

My expression is sulky; I can feel it. I roll to my side and stare at the grass in front of my face, folding my arms as if to keep warm. "Yes," I murmur finally, half-hoping he doesn't hear.

But the silence between us means he has heard. I can tell he wants to ask me questions, but he either can't decide what to say or he's trying to figure out how to word it to ensure I answer. I wait, wondering how much I'm willing to confess, until he asks simply, "What happened to her?"

I failed to protect her, my mind answers immediately. You killed her. "She died," I tell him curtly, hoping he will accept that without further explanation.

Another short-lived pause stretches over us, broken when Arthur sighs quietly. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." I say automatically. We both know it isn't.

After a moment, Arthur ventures, "Who was she?"

I don't answer. Telling him the truth is out of the question, but I've kept her to myself for so long that I want to say something. For once, Arthur waits patiently, giving me the time to decide whether or not I want to respond. I battle with myself for a moment, warring over my secrets and my destiny and the simple, honest desire to confide in a friend.

"She was just a girl." I can give him that much. My voice is so quiet that I'm not sure it can be heard over the fire, but Arthur's silence invites me to go on. "She was…" I pause, searching for the right word and then abandoning the thought altogether. "Her family had been killed. She was all alone."

"That must have been hard," Arthur admits in a low voice.

"When I found her," I continue slowly. "She was so scared- of me, of everything. And she had a right to be. She was… sick." Sick is probably a better word than cursed, I decide, but it can hardly encompass everything she went through. "But she was beautiful. She worried that she was causing problems for me." I laugh quietly, bitterly. My eyes start to sting, but I blink until they're clear again.

When I stop speaking, Arthur prompts hesitantly, "She died from this sickness?"

I nod, then remember that my back is to him. It takes me a moment to make my voice strong enough to be heard, and then my words sound thick in the cold air. "Yes. I couldn't help her."

"I'm sorry," Arthur says again.

This time I don't answer. I'm not sure what else to add, and Arthur doesn't seem to have any more questions. The sound of the fire burns up the silence, and I wait to see if he'll say anything else. There isn't much more I can tell him without lying. I close my eyes; maybe I can fall asleep before he decides to talk again.

"She was lucky." Arthur intones suddenly. I roll to my back and turn my head so I can see him, but I have no more luck in reading his expression than before. He's lying down again, staring up at the undersides of the leaves and the stars that shine beyond them. "To have you there, at the end. She wasn't alone anymore."

I stare at him, surprised. He turns his head to meet my eyes and makes a face. "Don't look at me like that. She's a special case, obviously- I certainly wouldn't want you around if I was dying." He rolls heavily to his side, away from me, and makes a show of settling into his blanket. "Now get some sleep, Merlin," he orders through a yawn. "We have a long journey ahead of us."

I let my lack of a reply answer for me, and he accepts it without another word. It's late, and I turn to my side once more and conjure up the memory of Freya's eyes, closing for the last time. She had been smiling, then, and in the darkness I feel my lips mirroring hers before I fall back asleep.