As soon as Arthur gestures for Merlin to go, he is running. More like stumbling, really, down the hill.

To Freya.

As soon as Gwaine brought her to everyone's attention, he knew it was her. It's her, his Freya, and how can 1500 years feel like a single breath now that she's here?

Merlin stops a few feet from the shore; she hasn't noticed him yet. Freya is leaning over, sifting through the water as if looking for something; picking up stone after stone, discarding ones she doesn't like but not according to any kind of standard Merlin understands.

Merlin steps forward, inhales — What if she doesn't recognize me? — exhales, and stops. He lifts his hand — to do what? Wave? She's not even looking at me.

Merlin takes a deep breath and closes his eyes; he flicks his wrist and feels the flow of magic direct itself according to his will, and watches a single rose bloom (a rose?) from the lake.

His hands are shaking.

Freya turns and freezes, shocked by the sudden and unnatural appearance, and it looks like she's about to stand, or back away, and Merlin needs her to know, to remember, so he opens his mouth hoping something smart will come out, or at least —

"It was supposed to be a strawberry," he says truthfully, but dumbly.

Her shoulders relax, ever so slightly. Merlin twitches, wishing he could see her expression, to see her face, just one more time —

And she reaches out to touch the rose. As soon as she touches it, the stalk crumbles into stardust, and the bud lands in her palm, small and delicate and red and magic. "It's the right colour, though."

And she laughs, or sobs, and turns to face him. "Merlin."

"Freya."

"Merlin!" She laughs, lifting her arms to receive his embrace, huffing at the force of it. He spins her round and round and round, not caring that now they're both mostly soaked below the waist. He stops, both of them breathing hard, but neither one willing to let go. Her face is tucked next to his, nose behind his ear and fingers knotted in his hair. His arms are locked around her waist, and he pulls them tighter, willing them even closer, closer still —

And Freya flinches. Barely, but Merlin notices; and now he can feel why; while still petite, there's a roundness to her, pushing against his middle, swelling with life. His heart picks up a staccato rhythm. "Freya."

She doesn't pull back to look at him, and when Merlin tries, she only holds herself tighter to him. "History," she whispers, tears not visible but audible, each one a nail hammered into Merlin's heart, "seems set on repeating itself, love."

I wasn't always like this.

There was a man. He attacked me. I didn't mean to hurt him, but I thought he was going to kill me.

His mother was a sorceress, and when she find out that I'd killed her son, she cursed me to kill forever more.

"Oh, Freya." Merlin puts her down, lowering her slowly. Hurt shines in her eyes for a second, perhaps thinking that her situation might put Merlin off — never — and he takes her hands in his. "It's going to be alright."

She looks down at their hands, a small smile gracing her lips. "You don't know that, Merlin."

"Course I do." He turns to look up the hill, where sure enough the rest of his company are still standing and waiting for him. He feels Freya come closer, hand still held firmly in his own but not stepping forward. Arthur waves his arm and yells, probably something along the lines of are you coming back yet, and he lowers his gaze back to Freya. "Do you want to go and meet them all?"

"I…"

Merlin isn't looking at the group anymore, but he knows that Freya's eyes were probably locked on Arthur. "It's okay, Freya. You don't have to."

She looks down. "I'm sorry. Maybe next time."

"Or the time after that, or the time after that. Anything you want, Freya." He tucks a finger under her chin, making her gaze lift to his own. "Gwaine has just so kindly reminded me that there seems to be no greater plan in the works, no interference from Destiny — just time. Lots of it." He lowered himself slowly, but when Freya doesn't move away, he places a kiss just off centre of her lips, and it makes her smile. "It's going to be alright."

She smiles at him, and cradles his face in her hands. "I believe you, Merlin."

Merlin's heart sings. "Good."

They walk out of the water and over to where Freya left her shoes, Merlin waiting with her in order to help her back up again. "Call me later tonight?"

Freya pats her pockets, looking for her phone. "Oh, but we didn't —"

Merlin chuckles, and when she looks up he knows his eyes are still fading from gold to blue. "It's alright. It's there."

And her smile is smaller, more shy, and there's a slight flush to her cheeks. "Ok. I'll call you, Merlin."

And then she's gone. She makes her way down the path, through the trees and out of sight.

Merlin sighs, and turns to make his way back up the hill. As he gets closer and is able to read the expressions of his friends more, he feels embarrassment creep up his chest. "Ah… well. Sorry about that."

"You didn't bring her to introduce her to us?" Merlin winced at the barely concealed hurt in Gwen's voice, but he had promised Freya whenever you're ready, so there's no backing down now.

"She… was a little overwhelmed, seeing all of you here," he notices Arthur frowning at that, and hopes that he doesn't recognize her, "so I told her that it would be fine to wait a few days, to let it sink in."

Silence, then. I wonder how long they're going to let that fly.

"So," Gwaine clears his throat. "Does your Lady of the Lake have a name, Merlin?"

Damn you, Arthur. Merlin feels his cheeks heat up, but he still can't help the joy bubbling in his chest. "Freya," he smiles. "Her name is Freya."