The journey back to Camelot was made in no great haste, to ensure that Merlin and Branwen could fully recover. Along the way, the warlock had time to think. By the time they reached the castle, he'd made a decision.

A few days later, he was leading Branwen deep into the forest.

"Merlin, where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

When they stepped out of the trees and into view of the Lake of Avalon, she gasped. "It's beautiful!"

He gave her a small smile before his face became serious again. "There's something I need to tell you." He took a deep breath and continued, "A long time ago, I was in love with someone. Another druid. We were going to leave Camelot together."

"What happened?"

"She died."

"I'm so sorry."

"I brought her body here and gave it to the lake. She's its guardian now."

They both gazed solemnly over the water for a few moments before Branwen asked, "What was her name?"

"Freya."

Her head snapped around and she stared, incredulous, at him. "Dark hair? Brown eyes? A little older than me?"

It was Merlin's turn to look incredulous. "You knew her?"

"Maybe. Or at least someone very like her."

He thought a moment, remembering something the dragon had done with him long ago. "Close your eyes and open your mind," he told her. He placed his fingers at her temples and felt her mind open to him. He allowed his memories of Freya to flow into her, from finding her in the bounty hunter's cage until her death, in her cursed form, at the hands of Arthur, to the journey to the lake and the fiery raft, to the keeping and return of Excalibur. He held nothing back and it felt so good to finally, fully share his wonder, love, and heartbreak with someone.

Then, to his surprise, memories of a younger Freya flooded his mind from Branwen. He saw two girls, inseparable and alike enough to be sisters, playing in a field on the outskirts of a druid village. He saw Uther's men come, heard their shouts and the screams of the villagers, felt Freya's iron grip as she dragged Branwen, sobbing, to a small cottage well-hidden in the forest. He felt Branwen's own heartbreak as her best friend left to try to help the others, her despair when she never returned.

Then the memories shifted and Merlin had the impression that Branwen was piecing together what she remembered with what she'd just learned from him.

He was in a small house, little more than a hovel, the claustrophobic space dominated by the bulk of Branwen's captor. There was a strange noise outside and the girl's eyes went to the window to find a large, feline head snarling in. In the memory, Merlin could see that the beast's attention was on the man, rather than the girl, but he also felt Branwen's blind panic, which caused her to miss this vital detail. She scrambled back with a cry, drawing the man's attention. She pointed, the man bellowed, and the creature bolted. The man then left, muttering about knowing someone who could "take care of it".

There was a surge of grief from now-Branwen as she realized that there may still have been enough of Freya in the creature at that point that she was still trying to protect her. And that Branwen herself had set in motion the events that led to her capture.

Merlin disengaged and held Branwen's face in his hands, wiping away the tears. "You can't think that way. Anyone could've alerted the bounty hunter. It wasn't your fault."

She nodded. "Thank you for taking care of her."

"I only wish I could've done more."

They stood awhile, lost in each other's memories, before Branwen stepped away. "I'll be right back."

He watched as she kicked off her shoes and waded out into the water.

"Freya!" she called, "It's me, Branwen! I'm sorry!" Her voice quieted and wavered. "I'm so sorry. You saved me from Uther's men, and I couldn't save you from your curse." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "I'm glad, though, that you found someone to take care of you, to love you, in the end." She shook her head and smiled. "Leave it to us, Freya, to fall in love with the same man. We were always liking the same things, weren't we? But," her lip trembled and a tear slid down her cheek, "but if you would rather not share him, I will respect your wishes. You deserve that."

At this, Merlin yanked off his boots and waded out to stand beside her. She clutched at him as the water began to swirl around them. When it subsided, he noticed something glinting on the bottom. He reached down and retrieved it, swishing it a bit to remove the clinging sediment.

When he opened his hand, he found a pair of gold rings tied together with a blade of water grass. He closed his eyes in relief, the last, faint vestiges of guilt finally assuaged.

He showed the rings to Branwen and she touched one gently, as if not fully believing they were real. "Thank you Freya," she whispered.

He caught her hand. "Branwen, you once said that I am just as much a king as Arthur, so I must ask," he took a breath, "would you do me the great honor of being my queen?"

She gave him a watery smile, nodding vigorously, and threw her arms around him.

He held her, then kissed her as the water swirled joyfully around them.

A/N: Thank you all so much for coming on this little adventure with me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

And kudos to MerlinMorgana1579 (and anyone else who just didn't mention it) for figuring out the title. A merlin is a kind of falcon and Branwen is a Welsh name meaning "beautiful raven".

I did have some other plot ideas that didn't make it into this story, so I may be revisiting our lovebirds *wink* at some point in the future.

Until then, my lovely readers…