A/N: I feel as though this chapter is awful. I really didn't do it justice, but I'm not sure how to fix it. I wrote it mostly to take a break from schoolwork. Ironically, I just finished writing a ten page research paper on Merlin from the original Arthurian myths.

I hope y'all enjoy despite its haphazard mediocrity.

It'd taken several days for Arthur to muster up his courage. In that time, he'd informed Merlin of his intentions, and although he'd seemed initially surprised, the other man had quickly agreed to help follow through with Arthur's plan. It would be good for all of them.

The king and the warlock had done a good deal of talking the past few days. It was as if both of them felt the need to make up for weeks of silence in the space of a few days. Their conversations ranged from the serious to the ridiculous, and while little if any of what they said ever touched on the subject of Freya, both of them sensed that a new layer was being applied to their relationship because of her presence; a layer of understanding that hadn't existed before, one that affected Arthur especially.

He hadn't realized what a small, inhuman kind of box he'd put Merlin into inside his own head until he heard him talk about Freya. Of course, Arthur's understanding of Merlin had undergone a complete overhaul several years ago when he'd revealed himself as Emrys, but even after that, Arthur had subconsciously put restraints on his character, restraints that had never and could never actually exist. He'd assumed, by some strange rationale, that Merlin was and would forever be a bachelor. More than that, he assumed Merlin preferred it that way. Nothing in past experience told Arthur that Merlin had any romantic inclination or competency, so he'd brushed the idea aside and assumed that, if anything, Merlin would marry himself to his work and his magic, and leave romance on the wayside.

Never in a million years would he have predicted the truth.

The idea that Merlin might eventually find a nice girl and settle down had, in fact, crossed Arthur's mind once, perhaps twice. And while he didn't think the possibility very likely, he hadn't thought it utterly absurd, either. Secretly, Arthur kept his eyes open to see if Merlin might enter into a low-key relationship with one of the kind maids from the town, or even one of the trainee magicians who came to Camelot for refuge. In so doing, he'd entirely missed the fact that part of Merlin, deep behind the mask that he'd built over the years, still pined for a lost love that Arthur had never known about until now.

The way he talked about Freya, the way he cared for her, it was so very Merlin and yet so foreign to Arthur. It was real, and kind, and human. Arthur hadn't realized before that, for some reason, his subconscious had decided that warlocks couldn't be entirely human, and he half expected Merlin to be something other than what Arthur was. Their conversation over Freya had made the king realize that Merlin was just like him, in many ways. He was a human, a man, with feelings, and hopes, and secrets. Sometimes, Arthur forgot.

It took surprisingly little time for Arthur to accept the reality of Freya – or rather, Freya and Merlin. It changed everything, but at the same time, it didn't. After all the life-altering secrets he'd garnered from his longtime friend over the past years, Arthur honestly didn't think he would be surprised at anything anymore. Still, this secret was different, because the story wasn't finished yet.

I've got hand it to you, Merlin, Arthur thought as he walked the halls with his Court Sorcerer, you do know how to pick them. Undead, cursed, captured by a mystery man, made into a princess, and a druid-turned bastet to boot. Only you would find a girl like that and love her. Arthur had always thought Merlin was able to see past appearances to the real value of a person. In Freya, Arthur's suspicions were confirmed.

"You ready?" Merlin asked from his side, and Arthur was thrown from his thoughts into the walkway just outside of the courtyard. Inexplicably, his throat was dry. Oh, yes, he'd almost forgotten why they'd come here.

"Mmm," He managed, swallowing. He felt Merlin's concern, but neither of them could look at each other.

"Send Gwen back to these steps – I'll be waiting." It was Merlin's cue for him to get on with it. He tried.

They'd been counting on the fact that, in time she'd been in Camelot, Freya spent nearly every other day with Gwen strolling through the gardens. It was a deserted place, save for the queen and her guest, and since Valas held the queen in no suspicion, it was the perfect time to intercept Freya without risk of interruption.

Arthur could hear his wife laughing nearby, and while the sound usually lifted his spirits, he swallowed again and wondered if his profuse sweating was as noticeable as he felt it was. When he rounded around the rosebush, Gwen was the first to spot him.

"Arthur," she smiled from her seat on the bench, "A pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?"

He fidgeted, and watched as Gwen's smile faded. "Guinevere, Lady Freya." He nodded formally. "I was hoping I might find you here. Gwen, might I speak to the Lady Freya for a moment?"

Both of the ladies were frowning uncertainly, Gwen especially. "Of course." She waited for him to speak. He didn't.

"Alone," He amended. Gwen looked slightly hurt, but rose and walked toward the path. He met her questioning look and leaned over to tell her quietly,

"Merlin is waiting for you by the west entrance, he'll explain. I'm sorry to intrude, Gwen," He said apologetically. She peeked around the bushes and could see Merlin standing on the long veranda by the courtyard, stock straight and imposing in his blue robes. She wondered what solemn errand had Camelot's king and sorcerer so wrought up. She looked back up to Arthur, this question in her eyes. "He'll explain," Arthur repeated, and this time brushed her hand with encouraging affection. Gwen nodded silently, cast a look at Freya, and at Arthur, then left.

Arthur watched her go over to Merlin, saw the warlock put a hand on her shoulder and lead her slowly away to talk and disappear into another part of the courtyard. Still sitting in front of him, Freya shifted in her seat. Arthur wondered why it was so hard to swallow, and turned to her.

"Lady Freya," He tried to smile, but it came out looking wrong. She was watching him, cautiously trying to figure out what he was about.

"My Lord," She said, and this seemed to throw him off guard.

"Uhm, please, my lady, just Arthur will do for now."

"Then you must call me Freya," She said. He looked at her and came closer.

"Of course. La- that is, Freya, I uh… I've come to apologize." He said, and wondered why it wasn't working out the way he'd rehearsed it in front of his mirror that morning.

Freya frowned. "Apologize for what?" Arthur thought it sounded like something Merlin would say. He took a breath, and when he let it out, said,

"Everything." There was a tense pause, and he added, "Merlin told me everything."

Freya's expression didn't change, but all at once her face was white. "Everything," she said.

"Yes," Arthur responded. Then, in a burst, "Well, everything he knows, at least. Which is a lot. But not everything about… now. But about… you know… Then. And I… I… When he told me, I just knew I couldn't… That is, I have to…" She was staring at him as he rambled, and he thought he saw something between pity and fear in her eyes. He didn't know what to say, and looked at her in loss.

Although his mind felt blank, she must have seen something in his eyes, because her expression softened fractionally and she moved to one side of the bench. "Perhaps you should sit down, Arthur," She said. He obeyed, and looked resolutely at the pebble path while he collected his thoughts. She waited.

"I killed you." He hadn't expected for his voice to crack. Freya stared unblinkingly at the ground. "And I can't know how it will ever mean anything, but I am sorry. So, so sorry."

"I know how," She whispered at length. He looked at her, and for the first time their eyes met, both deep with painful histories that had run alongside each other for years, but were just now meeting. "I wanted to tell her the same, when she cursed me. If only to make it end. I know what you mean, and I know how it will mean something – it already does."

Arthur was frowning. "How?"

She smiled at him, and again Arthur wondered at her Merlin-ish mannerisms. He realized moments later that it wasn't Merlin that he was seeing – it was a sorrow, deep and bittersweet, that had grown to define Merlin's hidden side just as it filled Freya's eyes just then. When she spoke, he felt like he'd been punched and hugged at the same time.

"Because I already forgave you, years ago."

Arthur blinked. It was one thing for Merlin to have forgiven him. It'd been hard to accept, but somehow, it seemed feasible. With Merlin's irrepressible loyalty, his forgiving heart and good nature, it somehow seemed possible. But Freya? She had no reason to ever forgive him. He murdered her. Shaking his head, he told her as much. She looked at him with that look again, a look that conveyed sorrow and pity and hope all in one in a mixture he knew he could never replicate.

"Arthur Pendragon, the world has not been kind to you in your years," she put her hand to his cheek, and in that moment he believed he was sitting in front of the kindest, wisest creature in the world. She held his eyes for a second more before saying softly, "so let me change that, just once." He could naught but nod in agreement.

She dropped her hand, and continued on, "You did not kill me; you killed the bastet that I had become to protect your people and those you loved. It was an honorable end. I may have died with the beast that night, but it was not by your hand, nor Merlin's, nor anyone else's who was in Camelot. It was the witch who cursed me, if anyone. I know you can't understand, Arthur, but you freed me that night."

The look he shot her asked a dozen questions. She looked down at her lap.

"I've never told Merlin how much it hurt. I didn't want him to worry. But it did hurt, every night. The mornings were worse." She trailed off, then looked up to Arthur. "It may sound morbid to your ears, but I had been waiting for someone to strike out at me for a while. I thought if it were to end quickly, while I wasn't myself, it would be for the better." Her frown slowly turned into a smile, one that lit up her face all the way to the depths of her eyes. "Then I met Merlin. He wasn't scared of me. He didn't care that I was cursed. He made me feel loved. And yet… I knew it couldn't outweigh the power of the curse. I knew I couldn't have a life with him even if I wanted to, even if we both wanted to." She paused and seemed to be thinking over something before she turned again to the king and said quietly, "You mustn't ever tell him, Arthur, but those minutes when I was dying, they were the happiest of my life. I was free from my curse, I was home, in the arms of a man I'd grown to love. Merlin can't know that, I fear it'd break his heart. But it is true.

"You may have caused my death, Arthur. You may have hunted me, and with good reason. You may have been the one to strike the blow that killed me. You may have even hated me. But for it all, Arthur, I forgive you. It was never a difficult choice. Merlin made me feel loved. And you, Arthur, though I know it sounds absurd, in those last moments, you made me feel free."

It was only at the end of her little speech that Arthur realized that he hadn't said hardly a word. This was supposed to be his apology, his speech. And yet, here she was, forgiving him. Thanking him, even. He couldn't make right or left of it, and it showed in his expression.

"I… I don't… I don't understand. How…"

"In time, Arthur, perhaps in time," She told him patiently, "but not just yet. In the meantime… It's been years, now, and I think it's about time we got around to doing this properly." He wasn't sure what she meant until she turned and offered him her hand.

"My name is Freya."

"Arthur," He'd forgotten his title and shook her hand dumbly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Arthur, at last."

The moment he understood the glint in her eye was the moment when Arthur finally understood forgiveness. He knew she'd meant every word. He smiled.

They might've talked for hours or more, Arthur couldn't tell. Eventually, inevitably, the subject turned around to Merlin. As Freya spoke of him, as she listened to Arthur tell her stories, as she laughed at all the scrapes they'd gotten into together, her face had lit up in a way that Arthur could only ever describe as loving, in the purest, most adorable sense. He secretly thought that Merlin must be the luckiest man in Camelot, and wondered if Gwen ever looked this way when she talked about him.

"He's very proud of you, you know," Freya broke through his thoughts.

"How do you mean?"

"You've grown so much over the years, in so many ways. Merlin is proud of you for it, though he'll never say it."

Arthur turned fully to her. "And how would you know that?"

She chose not to answer, but instead looked pointedly down at Excalibur, which hung at Arthur's side. "Have you enjoyed our gift?"

Arthur looked confused, and looked down at his sword, then back up at Freya. "Our?" He asked incredulously, "You and Merlin?"

She shrugged. "Well, mostly Merlin. He had it burnished. I was merely a safekeeper."

"Burnished? But… you kept Excalibur? When? How?" Arthur was curious.

"You mean Merlin never told you? It wasn't always in the stone, you know."

"But… He said it'd been there for centuries."

It was her turn to look surprised and said, to the air, "Merlin, you utter schemer," And then to Arthur, "He really didn't tell you? He put it in the stone." She let it sink in. "And before that, I'd been looking after it."

Arthur shook his head. He should have known it was Merlin. Everything in his life seemed to fall at Merlin's feet. Still… "But, how could you look after it? You were…"

"Dead. Yes. Well, I was… In a manner of speaking." He shot his eyes over to her, but she didn't pause to explain. "Excalibur is a powerful weapon. After it'd served its initial purpose, Kilgarrah instructed Merlin to hide it where no man could wield it. He gave it to me, and I guarded it in my lake for many years before it was needed again."

It was full of so many questions and riddles, that Arthur didn't know which one to ask about first. "Your lake," He began, "but-"

"Arthur," Both of them jumped when Merlin appeared in front of them. The Warlock's eyes caught on Freya and he swallowed. "Freya, Valas is coming." The change in mood was instant. All three were instantly solemn. "Arthur, we need to leave, before he finds us and starts suspecting."

"Suspecting? Suspecting what?" Arthur was still unsure as to why Merlin was so antsy about the old magician.

"No, he's right, Arthur. Go with him." Freya's confidence in Merlin's instincts both assured and scared Arthur. She obviously knew what was going on, but then, if she agreed with Merlin, that could only mean that Valas…

Footsteps were coming nearer.

"Merlin,"

"Freya," They'd spoken simultaneously, and paused when they realized it and stared. Suddenly, Arthur felt as though he was intruding. He tried his best to melt into the background and forget the fact that Valas was heading closer. Eventually Merlin whispered to her, "Please be careful," and then the king and his sorcerer left.

"How did Gwen take it all?" Arthur asked as they walked back to the castle.

"Well. I think she'd figured out a lot of it. The details needed filling out, but Gwen… Well, you know how accepting she is," Merlin said evenly.

"And… what about the bit when… when I killed…"

"She wanted to go and find you."

Arthur's heart sank. She'd have yelled at him.

Merlin seemed to sense his unease. "She said she wanted to hug you," He said.

Arthur looked around at him in confusion.

"To comfort you," Merlin explained. "Don't act so surprised. This is Gwen we're talking about."

As they walked on, Arthur thought of how wonderful it was to have a goodhearted woman like Gwen as his wife. He was about to comment that Merlin's wife was just as lovely, when he realized rather stupidly, that Merlin and Freya weren't actually married – or even properly together, for that matter.

And yet, part of Arthur wondered if they ever would be. He hadn't known Freya for long, and hadn't known of Freya and Merlin for hardly five days, but somehow, someway, it just seemed right. He wasn't so selfish to deny their relationship for sake of his own friendship with Merlin, and despite the mind-reeling strangeness of Freya's story, Arthur had taken a genuine fondness toward her. In her, he saw a perfect complement to Merlin's quirky, wise-mouthed magic, and for just a fleeting moment, he wondered what it might be like if she could stay in Camelot long-term. He smiled.

Then he remembered Valas, and had to amend his original thought: He wondered if they ever could be. He glanced at Merlin, who seemed to have aged a decade in the space of a week. He was a man who had been through things Arthur couldn't possibly imagine, borne burdens and suffered losses that Arthur was positive he didn't know all about. Gwen had mentioned to Arthur once how Merlin must've been made to love other people, and although he remembered answering with a witty retort at Merlin's expense, Arthur knew it was true. Of all people, Merlin deserved the chance to love another person. He deserved the chance to grow old with someone. He deserved the happiness that Arthur had found in Gwen. Arthur wanted that for him.

Still, there was the small matter of Freya coming back from the grave.

Of Valas stalking her every move.

Of magic playing an untold role in her appearance.

Of lakes and swords and stories that Arthur still didn't understand.

It was all a huge mess, a conspiracy that Arthur could sense lurking just beneath the surface, another fiasco of magic and enemies that harkened back to the days of Arthur's princehood. Only this time, he was king. This time, Magic was legal. This time, it was more than a kingdom at stake, it was a handful of glass hearts.

Arthur sighed and ignored the odd look that Merlin gave him as they walked.

Why, oh why oh why, was Merlin's life always so inevitably complicated?

The logical part of him was already formulating the problems with the situation, already thinking over how something would go wrong, how someone would end up dead, how Freya would disappear and Merlin would descend into depression, how he would fail to save that which his best friend cared about, whereas Merlin had saved his entire existence too many times to count.

Truly, Arthur liked the idea of Merlin and Freya. But something in his gut put him on edge. Something was going to go wrong. He could feel it. After all, the Fates had barred them from each other once. Who was to say they wouldn't do it again?

No, a small voice seemed to say inside his head, this is it. Their second chance.

And for whatever reason, Arthur believed it, and decided that he would do anything to help them have the chance at the life stolen away years ago.