AN: Bonus points if you can spot the Series 5 quote I worked in. Happy reading!

Freya was there. She was warm and real. Her hands, her arms, her perfect face, were was just as Merlin remembered, just as he had dreamed. Though he had fallen asleep by the roadside, he and Freya had woken next to a clear blue lake.

Merlin didn't question it. Not a moment of it. He just listened to Freya talk. Made a crown of flowers for her hair. Fed her wild berries. Drank in every ounce of her.

"I still don't think you understand how remarkable you are," he said.

"Merlin," Freya laughed. "You still hardly know me." She leaned back against his chest as they looked over the water together, bare feet buried in the pebbly sand.

"I know enough," he said, wrapping his arms around her. She nestled in, fitting perfectly beneath his chin. "How many times have you saved my life? You gave us Excalibur. You gave me hope. You're always there when things are darkest."

"Well," Freya said, toying with the folds of his sleeve. "You were there for me in my darkest hour. Caged, cursed, alone. And you showed me love. If the things I've done since then have helped you, it's only because you helped me first."

"I didn't do enough," Merlin sighed. "I should have taken you away that first night. We could have been together. We could have been happy."

"Merlin!" Freya turned to face him, laughing lightly. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

Her smile slipped away as hurt and bewilderment in his eyes.

"Oh, Merlin…"

"I'm fine, Gwen," Arthur sighed. "We knew it wouldn't be easy. We just have to keep trying."

Gwen continued to study her husband. He sat slumped on the side of their bed, elbows braced on his knees, face in his hands. It had been a long day, and they didn't have much to show for it. Arthur had shown remarkable patience, listening, biting his tongue, biding his time. For her, this slow and measured approach was natural, comfortable, but she knew it grated on Arthur. She closed the distance between them until she could cradle his head in her arms. Running her hands through his hair, she tilted his chin up until he met her eyes.

"It's a great thing you're doing here," she said. "I have faith in you. Don't lose faith in yourself. And don't forget that I'm here with you, no matter what. We'll see this through, together."

Her lips met his. When she pulled away, he was smiling a lopsided smile, eyes half-lidded. He looked like a love-drunk idiot. It was adorable.

"I'm going to go see Gaius," she said, smoothing her thumb over his temple. "Get you something for your headache."

"I never said I had a—"

"Please, Arthur," she said, smiling over her shoulder as she stepped lightly away. "I may not be Merlin, but I know you that well at least."

Gwen looked back at Arthur as she reached the door. His eyes had become distant, as she knew they would.

"I'll be back soon," she said, giving him a warm grin that went unseen.

She pulled the door snugly behind her, nodding to the two guards posted just outside. The troubled look on Arthur's face stayed with her as she made her way down the corridor. She was sorry to cause him pain, but she would not allow Merlin's name to be buried. Magic or no, he was her best friend. And Arthur needed him, badly. Deep down, he knew it was true, and Gwen knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Merlin would come back to them, in his own time. In the meantime, Arthur needed to acknowledge his feelings, not push them aside.

Gwen's thoughts were diverted by raucous laughter floating down the hall from the guest wing. Curious, she made her way toward the sound, and finally found herself standing at the door of Gwaine's chamber. A handful of people were gathered around the hearth, sitting or leaning, each with a drink in hand. For a moment, Gwen thought it must be some of Gwaine's friends from among the knights, and her heart lifted. But looking closer she picked out Elena's fair head, tossed back in laughter next to a giggling Vivian. The princess' husband, Ronald, sat nearby. Sir Boris was there as well, his usually stoic face twisted in wry amusement as he traded glances with Mithian, who was rosy-cheeked and chuckling. Even Caedmon was there, relaxed and quietly drinking in the scene with lively eyes.

In the midst of everything, Gwaine and Bearn sat across from each other. Bayard's son looked decidedly smug, while Gwaine, who seemed to be nursing a sore arm, was wearing an expression of friendly mischief as he offered a small bag of coins to the other man. At the last minute, he pulled it back.

"Double or nothing for another go?"

Gwen smirked as she stepped back into the corridor as the two men squared off across the table, not wanting to disturb the tentative camaraderie that seemed to be blossoming. Of course Gwaine would be the one to bring them together, she thought with a faltering smile.

"Your Highness!"

She turned, not terribly surprised to see Mithian hurrying down the hall toward her. Gwen smiled as she paused, allowing the other woman to overtake her. She liked Mithian. Despite some blurred and highly unpleasant memories, she felt relaxed around the young woman in a way she didn't with most nobles.

"I thought I saw you there," the princess smiled easily. "You should join us. Lord Gwaine's just convinced Prince Bearn to go in for another bout of arm wrestling."

"Oh no," Gwen laughed. "No, I'm just on my way to see Gaius. Besides, I know how that story ends."

"Yes," Mithian said, falling into step with Gwen. "Caedmon tried to bet me a sovereign that Gwaine is hustling the Prince, but I prefer to keep my money."

"Caedmon is sharp," Gwen smiled. "I suspect his mind is full of gears and bolts, always spinning."

"I think you're right," Mithian nodded. "I'm glad he's here. Once we start putting things in writing, we'll want him to make sure all the i's and t's are dotted and crossed."

"You sound so sure we'll get to that point," Gwen sighed.

"It won't happen right away," Mithian shrugged. "The other representatives will squawk about the idea just on principle. But King Bayard wouldn't break the treaty with Camelot over this, and Essetir is in no position to go conquering. Vivian would be a holy terror if her father moved against Arthur. Odin and Alined might try to claim Amata just out of spite, but they'd have too great a distance to travel. They couldn't hold it if the rest of us united. As for my kingdom and the rest, even if we were strong or near enough to make a claim, we wouldn't."

"Why not?" Gwen said, smiling at the princess' frankness.

"We believe," Mithian said simply.

"Well," Gwen said, warmth spreading in her chest. "When you put it like that…"

The two continued in companionable silence until they reached the physician's chambers. Gauis was cordial enough as he collected a draught for Arthur, but he looked tired and truly, truly old. It hurt Gwen to see it. After a brief visit, they left, footsteps echoing in the quiet corridors.

"Gaius must be missing Merlin," said Mithian. At Gwen's sharp look, she continued. "Gwaine told me a little of what happened with the Sarrum, with Essetir. Said he didn't know when Merlin would be back."

"Yes," Gwen said. "It's been hard on all of us."

"You ought to forgive Gwaine, though."

"Ye- wait, what?" Gwen stopped, putting a hand on the other woman's arm. "Mithian, I ordered him not to go after his friend! If he'd obeyed, Merlin would have died. There's nothing to forgive."

"That isn't Gwaine's view of things," Mithian said. "He thinks you see him as a traitor, you and the knights."

"I've been trying to give him space," Gwen said as they continued "I didn't know what to say..."

"Just talk to him. You'll find the words," Mithian started toward the guest wing. "I'll see you later then?"

Gwen considered for a moment before nodding, and returning to Arthur.

That evening, after seeing to Arthur, after seeking out Gwaine, after a hard conversation and a warm resolution, she laid her head to rest with a lighter heart and a more hopeful mindset.

Morgana sat by the river, sorting through the threads of her mind, piecing them together one by one, trying to find herself in the tangle. She should have been back in camp, getting ready for sleep. But sleep, and the assault of visions that came with it, was an enemy. Of all the pains and regrets she held from years of being an outcast, one of the worst was that she had never truly learned to understand her gifts. In Camelot, she had learned to numb her visions. Then Morgause had taught her to use them as powerful fuel for her rage. Both paths had left her feeling hollow. She couldn't help but wonder if, perhaps, the Druids could have taught her another way. If they hadn't been hunted and driven away by the King of Camelot…

But Uther was dead. Cold in the ground. Her feelings toward him felt just as cold and lifeless, try as she might to fan them into flame.

Arthur was king now. Odd emotions coiled in her stomach. She had watched the camp children that day, and as she had, old memories broke through the surface of her mind. Brothers and sisters at play. The fond annoyance. The competition. The spikes of anger. The protectiveness. She had to remind herself that, in Camelot, the very existence of children like these would be a crime. But did she really know that? Camelot had given freedom and safety to the Druids already, and she had been locked away for… well she didn't know how long.

And Arthur had been there when she was pulled from the pit. That had been real. And he had looked at her. And the look in his eyes… it hadn't been hate.

Voices approached. Morgana let them wash over her, like the river she lay by, shrouded in shadow.

"…need to work quickly. Try to stay in plain sight as much as possible. They won't be able to touch you if you seem to play their games. But don't get drawn in. Stay focussed on your objective."

"Yes, Lord Mordred."

"Ride swiftly. Our future depends on you."

Footsteps retreating. In the distance, horses being mounted. Hoofbeats echoing.

Silence.

"Mordred, this plan—"

"You've already made your feelings abundantly clear, Eagna. That's enough."

"We want to claim a land of our own, yes—"

"Eagna—"

"But if we destroy what we seek to claim—"

"Do you think so little of me?"

"I have every faith in you. In you alone. Some risks aren't worth taking."

"You know what we're up against."

"So we face it together!"

"It won't be enough."

There was a pause. The river filled in the silence.

"Mordred, I… I don't want to lose you."

"I know."

"And you don't care?"

"Only about our people. Whatever lies ahead of me, I won't abandon them, as I know they would not abandon me."

"… I understand. I wish I didn't, but I do."

A sigh.

"Come. Sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

Footsteps. Then stillness.

And the river ran on.

The lake was ablaze with color, doubling golds and violets of the sky as the sun sank toward the horizon.

Merlin struggled to see the beauty in it.

"Do you honestly want to waste the time we have left being angry with me?"

He and Freya sat a short distance apart on the beach, but there was so much more that a few feet of sand between them. It was maddeningly familiar, and it stirred feelings that only proved Freya's point.

"No," he answered. "But I don't understand why you don't want us to be together. Didn't what we shared mean anything to you?"

"Of course it did!" Freya closed the distance between them. "It meant everything. And I will always love you. But it was my choice to leave. What we had, it couldn't have lasted."

"You don't know that—"

"Yes, I do," she said firmly, grasping his hands even as he tried to pull away. "What about Arthur? Could you really have stayed away and let him face danger alone? What I about me? There was nothing to stop me from turning into a monster, from hurting people. Would you've just let me tear through innocent lives?"

Merlin looked away.

"You couldn't have rescued me, Merlin," she said, firmly, but not unkindly. "And that isn't your fault. You can't carry the death of every person you've lost. The weight will crush you."

"If I don't carry them, who will?" Merlin said, eyes glinting. "I can't let their memories die. I can't let you-"

His voice cut off abruptly, jaw clenched and eyes filling.

"Do you think that's how we want to be remembered?" said Freya. "Me? Lancelot? Your father? Do you think we want to be tragic notes in the pages of your story? Keep our memories, yes, but leave the grief, the pain, and the guilt behind. You've carried it long enough. Each of us has a destiny. Some end in tragedy. You have to accept that. You have to let us go."

Freya pulled Merlin close, and he fell against her, silent tears streaming down his face.

"So many have died, and I couldn't-" He tried to say more, but the words stuck in his throat.

"They may have died, but you still saved them. You saved me," Freya held him. "And you will save countless more. It's who you are."

They held each other as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Gently, she tilted his head back. Their lips met. For those few precious moments, the universe narrowed to the two of them. Just Merlin, Freya, and the dying light.

The kiss broke, but they stayed close, foreheads pressed together for a long moment. Then, she stood. She smiled down at him, and their hands met, fingers twining.

"I don't want to let you to go," he said.

"I know," she said. "But we both have work to do. I know you'll make me proud."

She kissed the top of his head, blinking rapidly against the tears that threatened to fall. Then, she turned and walked away, fingers slipping slowly from his grasp. She waded toward the center of the lake.

Merlin watched from the shore, eyes on Freya as her mirrored form descended into the water. Ripples glided gently away as she turned back one last time, smiling, before slipping beneath the surface.

And he was alone once more.

AN: Again, thank you for the continuing encouragement and enthusiasm for this story. It bowls me over every time. I started writing this purely for myself. The investment that many of you have made has changed that- caused me to up my game to make the most considered and satisfying story I can. Happy New Year!