A/N: Woah! I was unaware that there were this many Freylin shippers hanging around here, but you guys have really come out of the woodwork to review! They're such an under-appreciated pairing, I figured it must be unpopular. Still, they will forever be my Merlin OTP. Thank you all for your amazing reviews, and a special shoutout to Hiberian Princess, who I may officially dub as Lady Awesome for her extensive, helpful reviews. Thank you so, so much!

If he could hear his heart pounding so loudly in his ears, then why wasn't there any blood in his face? Merlin swallowed and blinked in a daze, trying to fight back a wave of nausea that made him sway slightly as he turned back toward the castle. Gwen was looking at him as though he might fall over any second, and Merlin didn't blame her. It was all talk and noise and fuss as the king and his new visitors made their way inside, but Merlin didn't hear it. He only saw it, saw her, saw the thing that was not supposed to be possible, standing there, walking, talking, breathing.

How are you here? He stared at the back of her head as though he could somehow psychically communicate with her. She ignored him.

"…of those spells, too – aren't you, Merlin?" Arthur had been speaking to Freya, but he turned now to address Merlin. Freya turned with him, and Merlin couldn't help but to stare for a moment. "…Merlin?" Arthur prodded. The sorcerer jumped out of his trance.

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure," He hoped it was the right answer.

"How long have you been studying magic, Lady Freya?" Arthur asked conversationally, glancing oddly at Merlin a few times. When she spoke, Merlin's throat hitched on itself. If he'd harbored any doubts before, that voice dispelled them all. This really was her. This was Freya. His Freya. Alive. But how?

"Just for a few years," she told Arthur kindly. "I didn't inherit all of my father's ability." Arthur nodded, trying his hardest to ignore how Merlin was completely white and wobbling slightly in the knees and throat. Freya glanced at him, too, and when she did her smile disappeared, replaced by a look of pure concern and apology. Merlin was ready to run away then and there, but luckily Gwen intervened so he wouldn't have to.

"Lord Valas, Milady," She smiled kindly, "My handmaiden, Sybil, will show you to your rooms now. You've had a long journey, you can rest for the afternoon." The two nobles thanked her and followed the serving girl up a flight of stairs. Gwen then turned back to Merlin, but when she looked, he was already gone.

After six years as a physician's apprentice, Merlin knew perfectly well what hyperventilation was, and he knew that if he didn't calm down quickly, he'd be lying unconscious on the floor within a few minutes.

Freya. Here. Camelot. . Daughter. Visit. Freya. Alive. Freya. He'd been able to hold himself together for the long walk to his tower, but once he was inside his own chambers, all coherency and composure had flown out the window. Now, the sweat poured off his brow in waves and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. He knew he was in the middle of a breakdown, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. All at once, his vision and hearing started to fade.

"…down, now just breathe slowly." Something soft and soothing was rubbing his back, and a chair had inexplicably appeared beneath him. Merlin felt a feverish chill run though him as thoughts of Freya's impossible appearance resurfaced. His breathing began to quicken again, and the hand left his back and went up to his neck, pressing his head down over his lap.

"Breathe, Merlin," He realized it was Gwen. He tried to obey, but it came in gasps and shudders, interrupted by his attempts at speech. "Not now, just breathe." She resumed rubbing calming circles on his back with her other hand and waited for his quick gasping to calm down before she let him sit upright.

"Can't be here," He was rambling, "Not possible… dead… how she here?" He looked up at Gwen, eyes full of pure shock, not knowing what to do.

"I don't know, Merlin," Gwen spoke softly, "but I do know that right now, you need to calm down. Alright? Breathe. I'll get you some water."

He couldn't have tried to protest if he wanted to, so he simply stayed there and bent his head into shaking hands. How, how, how, how, the thought throbbed in time with his heart. It was impossible. It had been one thing for him to see her at the Lake – that was magic. That had an explanation. This was totally different.

"Here," Gwen gave him the cup, but his hands were shaking too much to keep the water inside the glass. She took it back and wordlessly lifted it to his lips.

This was mad, all of it. He wasn't a child. He wasn't a fool. He was Emrys, for the love of Camelot – a dragonlord. And yet, here he was, a shaking, helpless mess, all for seeing one unexpected person. But she is dead, his mind whispered, of course you're in shock! But part of him wondered if he really should be.

The next several minutes were a blur to Merlin. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice when Gwen guided him to the couch or threw a blanket over his shoulders, or when she came and sat down next to him. For all he knew, she'd appeared there the moment he finally bothered to look around.

"Gwen, she can't be here - she's dead."

"So she is your Freya, then," Gwen confirmed quietly. Merlin only nodded. "She seemed to recognize you."

"But how is she here?"

The look he gave her was so helpless, so panicked and unsure that it took Gwen several moments to answer. "I don't know, Merlin." She told him. "I really, really don't."

"And… what should I do?"

There was a long silence before Gwen shrugged and suggested something that may have been crazy. "Maybe… maybe you could talk to her."

She'd expected him to look terrified, and he did. But there was something else in his eyes, too – quiet, newfound resolve.

The banquet that night was torture for Merlin. The seating arrangements had ended up so that he was sitting directly across from Freya. Too far away to talk, but close enough that he couldn't help but see her, no matter where he looked. She seemed to look everywhere except at him, and it only made matters worse. After Merlin forced himself to smile and make light conversation with Lord Valas, who was quite talkative (especially with Merlin, being another magic-user) the servants hauled away the remains of dinner and started moving tables to make way for dancing.

Looking back, Merlin should've seen it coming, but at the very moment when Arthur came up and put a hand to his back, he was caught completely unawares.

"You should ask the Lady Freya to dance, Merlin." He'd said it easily, as it were the most non-consequential thing in the world. And perhaps it was, to him. Merlin reacted as thought he'd been slapped.

"What? Why?" He snapped at the king, and Arthur looked surprised and annoyed.

"What is with you today?" he regarded Merlin with that look, a vestige of the days when Merlin was still Arthur's servant. "Are you feeling alright, Merlin?" He looked his friend up and down, as though he might find some malady hiding behind his neckerchief.

"Me? I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine? I'm always fine, perfectly… fine…" He trailed off in a disturbed tone as he looked over at Freya.

"You've been acting like a wounded cat this whole evening, ever since Valas arrived. You have a headache or something?"

Merlin grit his teeth. Trust Arthur to come up with something as stupid as a headache, he thought. "Something like that." He lied. He instantly regretted it; lying to Arthur was such a habit after all those years. Now, every white lie hurt him. Still, he couldn't find a reason to apologize.

"Well," Arthur sighed, "see Gaius about it later. You should still ask Freya to dance; you're the closest thing to an Ambassador of Magic we've got, and I want to make a good impression. So for God's sake, be nice." Arthur slapped Merlin on the back and strode away. Merlin gulped. With a white-knuckled fist frustrating his trouser leg, he walked toward Valas and Freya. When she saw him, she looked terrified for a split second, but quickly regained her composure and smiled at him. It bit into his heart and memory. He smiled back anyway.

"Lord Valas," he nodded to the white-headed man, who smiled and acknowledged the warlock in a friendly way. Merlin turned to the lord's daughter. "Lady Freya," he was shocked when his voice didn't waver. "Would you care to dance?" He looked up at her and extended his hand. She blinked, then smiled and put her hand in his. At the contact, his throat inexplicably closed up, and he was inexpressibly glad that he wasn't required to say anything as he led her to the dance floor. The song began, and wordlessly, Merlin stepped into one of the tensest, most surreal dances of his life.

A little ways away, Gwen spotted Freya with Merlin and almost gasped. Oh Arthur, She thought, subconsciously grabbing his arm tighter under her hand, you've no idea what you're putting him through. Merlin's face was a puzzle caught somewhere between terror and curiosity. His back was stiff, and he kept his eyes studiously away from Freya's face. Freya was looking up at him uneasily, as if she was waiting for him to make eye contact. Gwen had to look away before the concern began to show on her face and Arthur caught on. Merlin would have to handle this on his own.

Merlin, for his part, couldn't remember having ever before felt the need to spontaneously cry for joy and scream for terror, but was now finding the compulsion a maddening mix that made dancing rather difficult. He tried to ignore her. He looked at the ceiling to distract himself, listened over-intently to the chords of the music, did anything he could possibly do to forget that Freya, his Freya, lovely, perfect, dead Freya was somehow here in his arms, dancing with him. It had actually been working relatively well, until she decided to speak. That's when he cracked.

"Merlin," the way she said his name let him know that she had never once forgotten him. He couldn't have spoken then if he wanted to. "Merlin, please look at me."

He wasn't sure if his head or his heart that burst before the other, but regardless, something in him collapsed and he dared to look. Her face was so different than he remembered, but then, so exactly the same. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and Merlin wondered how they were still dancing.

"Freya," His voice cracked, and though he couldn't tell, she was fighting tears. "How are you here?" He whispered, his face in anguish. She blinked rapidly up at him.

"I can explain, Merlin, I will. But not here. Not now."

"But how?"

She smiled. That smile. His heart had taken enough that night, he thought, how could she possibly hurt him more? "I always said we'd see each other again," She told him, but her eyes were sad. "Though I never thought it'd be like this."

He couldn't think of anything to say, so he only stared at her, eyes begging an answer, any answer. The song was drawing to a close. Their dance would be over, soon. "I'm sorry, my love," She whispered, just before they stopped and the room applauded the musicians. As they exchanged bows, Freya caught Merlin's hand and whispered into his ear:

"I'll find you, tonight, and explain if I can."

And before he could ask what she'd meant by 'if I can', she was gone, and Merlin was standing alone in the middle of the room. Gwaine was looking at him strangely. Gwen looked concerned. Blinking away confusion and something else, Merlin hurried off the dance floor. He didn't have to fake the headache Arthur had asked about earlier to excuse himself to his quarters.

Freya watched him go, her heart breaking. She felt eyes on her, and turned to see Valas watching her with a message in his eyes. Her heart jumped unpleasantly, and she smiled at him unconvincingly. He smiled back, equally as sincere. They looked away from each other. She prayed to the skies above that Merlin would know what to do.

But then, how could he?

He was pacing. There were too many thoughts running around his head for him to possibly think on just one, so he paced instead, franticly tracing the same circle around his tower rooms over and over again.

To be honest, he wasn't sure if he'd wanted to believe her when she said she'd find him, so her arrival came as a surprise, and he was speechless.

"Merlin?" She peeked around the door into the tower and, for a moment, seemed distracted by the wonderfully strange interior of Merlin's home. Then he appeared at the top of the stairs, they met each others' eyes, and froze. Slowly, he stepped down until he was right in front of her, looking down at her with an unreadable expression. He wanted to ask her how she was here. He wanted to ask her how she had a father. He wanted to ask her how she was alive. He wanted to ask her any number of things that seemed important, but in that moment, his small, broken voice could only manage one question.

"Is it really you?"

She looked up at him, and smiled slowly, sadly. She reached up a hand and touched his cheek. "Oh, Merlin, what has the world done to you?" She studied his face, so like what she'd known, what she'd grown to love, and yet so much wiser, so much darker, and so much sadder. "You're too young to be so old, Merlin."

He might've heard what she'd said, but she couldn't tell. "Freya," he said it like a name, but it sounded like a question, and his eyes begged desperately for an answer. She didn't move her hand from his face as she said,

"I've missed you."

Suddenly, he was crying, and he couldn't have stopped if he wanted to. He seized her in a hug and buried his face in her shoulder. His mind was racing through a flurry of memory, of broken promises and pain and somehow a rose-shaped strawberry. He couldn't have cared that he was soaking her shoulder in tears, because she was here. She was really, truly here, and he didn't have to let her go.

Freya was hugging his neck in tears as well, but they were tears of a different kind. She was glad Merlin couldn't see the pain in her face as she looked pleadingly at the ceiling.

I'm sorry, Merlin, she wanted to say, so very, very sorry.