A/N: Alright, readers. Here it is: the climax of the story and probably the most important chapter in the entire thing. Enjoy, and I can only apologize for the ridiculous amount of over-dramatic sap in this chapter!

When Merlin woke up, he wasn't sure why. He knew he couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours, and it was still dark outside his window. The acceleration of his heart told him that something must have forcibly awoken him, but… what? He tried to remember if he'd felt someone at his shoulder, or if he'd heard something…

Heard. He'd heard a door.

He rolled over in his bed, his nightshirt hanging off one shoulder. He pushed the covers out of his line of sight and, through the dark, he could see the doorway and the figure that stood in it.

"Hello?" He called out groggily. The figure moved toward him, but did not answer.

"Leot," he whispered, and squinted against the white light that obediently appeared in his palm. He held it up.

"Freya?" He asked, confused. She looked at him, and she looked scared. "Freya, what are you doing here? You should be resting," He rose from his bed and went towards her. "Gaius said that you should be-" He'd reached out a hand to her, and when he did, she flinched away from him. She dug a hand into the folds of her skirt and drew out a sharpened dagger. Merlin froze. He took in the dagger, then looked Freya in the eyes.

His heart sank.

She was standing before him, but her eyes were vacant and unseeing. Her face was stony and unemotional as she assumed a knife fighter's stance against him. So this was it, then. This was how Valas meant to kill him. All this time, Merlin had assumed that Valas would drive Freya to murder through force, by the ultimatum of her own life over his. Never had such dark enchantments of mind control crossed his mind. Inexplicably, Merlin felt tears rise in his eyes for Freya. She would kill him, and she wouldn't know it. Then, she'd wake from her trance above his body, unable to do anything. Merlin knew the Sidhe were determined, but it was only then that he realized how low they would go to meet their ends.

She took a threatening step toward him.

"Freya," He said, unconsciously raising his hands in front of himself defensively, "This isn't you. You don't have to-" She drove him back and he tripped over the chest at the foot of his bed. He scrambled to right himself, but when he stood up, she was right there, and she grabbed his arm. He couldn't help it when he winced. With her so close, he could sense rather than see Valas behind Freya's eyes, and it made him mad.

"Let her go," He hissed, and hoped Valas would hear. "líesinge híe," His eyes flashed, but nothing happened. "Líesinge híe nú!"

Pushing his arm down so he couldn't interfere, her fist brought the dagger up to his neck, the point pressed directly into the side, right behind his jugular. Merlin could feel the steel bobble slightly with each pound of his heart. He swallowed, trying not to move. "Please," he didn't know who he was talking to. Freya wasn't there. It was all so wrong, to see her, eyes like stone, face like death, hand filled with a dagger and no remorse. Merlin remembered how tormented Freya had been when she was cursed, when the bastet would force her to kill mindlessly every night. He wondered how many times worse it would be when she woke from killing him.

"Ábricegaldor," he tried, ignoring the fact that speaking was making the wound on his neck worse. "Tóbregdan híe. Tóbregdan, Freya!" She pressed the knife harder, and he had to grunt against the pain. He knew if he tried to resist, she would kill him instantly, so he stayed still and ignored the blood and the fingernails that dug into his forearm. "Freya please, don't do this," his voice cracked. He must have imagined the glint of recognition that ran across her eyes for a fleeting moment. "Geswutelung éagmist. Ár híe, foreþingaþ, ár ús!" It started as a spell, but in the end he realized that he was using the old tongue to plead to his magic itself for help, any help. He could feel a rush of magic, but nothing happened. Freya pressed the dagger harder against him, and he hissed.

With a grimace of pain, he did the only thing he could think of. Moving slowly, hoping she wouldn't react, he reached up his free hand and brought it up to the side of her face, his thumb touching the corner of her eye softly. She felt cold. He looked her in the eye and searched for any remnant of her. He wasn't sure if he'd found it when he said quietly, "Freya, that's enough."

He couldn't think of anything else to say, and she didn't move, so for a moment, nothing happened. Merlin was frozen watching her eyes, hoping. Then, slowly, shakily, her eyes returned to themselves, and it was Freya, really Freya who was looking at him. Merlin couldn't hold back his sigh of pure relief. Freya looked drowsy.

"Merlin?" She whispered confusedly. Then she saw his neck, the blood, the dagger, and her hand.

She screamed.

The dagger clattered to the floor, and Freya staggered back, each breath coming as an airy scream. Merlin darted forward and caught her before she fell to the ground.

After more startled cries, she tried to speak. "He… He took –made me go and… Oh gods, Merlin, your neck, and I don't even remember… I can't-" She was beginning to hyperventilate.

Merlin wiped at his neck and was surprised at the amount of blood. He wiped it away with his sleeve, now ruined, and pressed his palm against the wound. "Gelácne," he whispered, and felt the wound close up. The blood remained. "No, Freya, calm down, I'm fine, feel it, I'm fine," He brought her hand up to his neck where, despite the blood and a lingering bruise, the flesh was smooth. She felt it, but couldn't slow her breathing.

"He had control, Merlin, I couldn't stop him. I didn't even know when he came to cast the spell, and… And I nearly k-" She gulped, "Nearly ki-" Her jaw was quivering and she buried her mouth in her hands before she could finish. He drew her into a hug so tight it might've taken the breath out of her, but as it was she could only cry against him. "I could've done it," she moaned, "I could've let him make me into a monster again,"

In that moment, Emrys could have leveled the entire castle for his rage. He felt his arms shaking for want of hunting Valas. How dare he, was all he could think. How dare he take her mind from her, bring her to this.

His rage was broken when Freya crumpled in his arms, knees buckling beneath her. He fell with her to the ground, trying to hold her up as best he could. As she fell halfway into his lap, he remembered her weakness, what Gaius had said about her not making it through the week. Valas was all at once the farthest thing from his mind. Freya was dying. His Freya. In his arms. Again.

"Freya," he stroked her cheek, "Freya, hold on,"

"I'm dying, Merlin," she told him, "That's why he sent me now. I'm nearly gone as it is."

"No. No." Merlin was shaking his head and he didn' t know why "You can't go. Please. I can't… I have to save you."

She smiled at him, and he'd spent years trying to forget the day when she'd last smiled like that. "Years ago, you said that we'd run away together, and find a place where the mountains overlooked a lake." She reached up to his cheek where there were tears. "Take me there, again?"

He gathered her in his arms and began to stand. "If ever I did save you, that day, please, let me do it again," They both had tears on their faces. "Please. I promised. I promised you. I can't break it again."

"You never did, my love."

"No!" Valas growled, alone in his chambers. He'd felt the enchantment snap and knew that Freya had been freed from his grasp. He'd hoped that Emrys would have died before she could've been freed, but he knew better. If Freya had killed Emrys, Valas would have felt it. As it was, both the witch and the warlock still lived.

Though not for long, he knew. The enchantment on Freya had run its course, and she was as good as dead. She would hardly be able to walk, by now. There was only one way for her to remain alive for much longer, and both Valas and Freya knew that well. Valas looked out the window and saw Emrys, Freya in his arms, moving away from Camelot and toward the forest. Valas growled and pivoted on his heel.

Freya might not have killed Emrys as per plan, but that didn't mean that Valas couldn't finish the job himself. He paused by the door to belt on a sword and grab the staff he'd been hiding for weeks, and he marched out the door into the dead of night in pursuit of the power he'd sworn to obtain.

"I am tied to the lake's magic," Freya told him as he walked, "if anything will save me, the lake will."

Merlin wanted to say that the Sidhe would kill her regardless, but didn't. If he was carrying his beloved into her last moments, he wasn't going to talk about how she was about to die. Instead he said, "It will save you," and he didn't mean for his voice to crack, "It will. I promise, we'll both come out of this." He realized that he wouldn't be able to keep that last promise and ached.

She smiled. "And we'll finally run away together?"

"Just like you said, to a lake, with mountains."

"No," she replied, head resting against his chest as he carried her, "to Camelot."

"We'll have to leave the lake behind, first,"

"Yes."

"And when we do, you'll come back to Camelot?" he wasn't sure how he was doing it, walking, carrying, and talking all at once, but it was a moment he'd remember forever.

"Yes. I'd marry you, there."

Merlin let out something between a laugh and a cry. "I'd like that." He looked ahead, and could smell the water of the lake coming closer. "We could have a family together."

"I already have a family," she said, her voice growing weaker as her eyes fluttered. "You, Gwen, Arthur… You're my family now."

"Exactly why you can't go now," He said, his voice shaky and thick, "There are so many people in Camelot who love you now, no more than me. It'd be awfully rude of you to go now."

"Perhaps I've overstayed my welcome," she said, trying to fight back a deep drowsiness.

"Never," he told her as he stepped over a fallen log, "You'll never have to go if you don't want to."

"I don't want to go," she said, even as she began to fall asleep.

"Then help me get you home."

Back in Camelot, the king and queen slept soundly, none the wiser to the progressing events of life and death, all slowly running further and further away from the castle.

Arthur was snoring lightly as he did every night, Guinevere pleasantly immune to the noise and curled up beside him. Deep in his sleep, something itched at Arthur's mind. His breathing hitched because of it, his snoring drawing into sharp whuffs of displeasure until finally he awoke, grimacing in protest to whatever had awoken him. His ears were ringing, but eventually, it dissipated. He sighed annoyedly, turned, and attempted to go back to sleep.

Then his ears started ringing again. But it wasn't just ringing, it was actually coming from somewhere in his room. But where? He tried to locate it, but it died out again. He closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, it started again. This time, he sat bolt upright, trying to locate the direction of that annoying ringing sound. Beside him, Gwen slowly awoke, groggy and disoriented.

"Mmmn… What is it, Arthur?"

"Damned ringing."

"What?"

"Don't you hear that?" Arthur asked as the noise grew louder. Gwen peered up at him through a mess of dark hair and attempted to listen.

"I don't hear anything, dear, go back to sleep." She fell back down against her pillow.

"But it's so loud." He stood up out of bed. "How can you not hear it?"

Guinevere sighed. "You were probably dreaming, Arthur."

"No," He said frustrated, "You don't understand, it's-" And his head suddenly whipped around when the noise focused in on a certain corner of his room. He stormed over to it and dug through a pile of packs and equipment until he found Excalibur, sheathed and ringing. But how was it ringing? And how the hell could Gwen not hear it? Not sure what else to do, Arthur drew the sword halfway from its sheath. As soon as the metal blade was visible, the sound intensified tenfold, but for some reason, it seemed to settle down once Arthur was looking at it.

Oh good, you're here, the noise seemed to say.

"What do you want?" Arthur said reflexively, and then shook himself. He was talking to a sword.

Even though there was no light in the room, Arthur thought he could see a reflection in Excalibur's polished blade. Trees. What? He blinked. He was dreaming, surely. He began to resheath the blade and turn away, but the noise grew irritating once again. Look! It said. Thinking that he must have gone utterly batty, Arthur turned back to it.

"What? What are you trying to show me?" he felt stupid talking to a sword. He wondered for a second if Merlin was pulling a prank.

He could see more than just trees, now: a sparkling body of water. There were mountains, he thought. Then his heart jumped when he saw Merlin, carefully stepping around a rocky bend, his arms full with another person's body.

"Arthur? What're you doing? Come back to bed."

"Shhh, wait," He told her, even though he couldn't hear anything besides that infernal ringing.

It was Freya that he could see Merlin carrying, he realized, and by the same way he knew Excalibur was ringing at him and knew now that this was not some practical joke, Arthur knew that Merlin and Freya were in extreme danger. The image reflected on the blade changed, and Arthur saw Valas charging through the woods behind his friends, staff in hand and sword at the ready. He gulped. Quickly, he resheathed Excalibur and didn't think it odd when the ringing stopped altogether.

"Guards!" Arthur shouted, which made Gwen jump. As he pulled on his breaches, she looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

"What are you doing?" She demanded from the bed.

"It's Merlin. He's in danger. And Freya." The guard appeared at the door. "Go wake the knights, tell them it's urgent." Arthur told him. He pulled a tunic over his head and when he saw the guard still standing there, shouted, "Now!" The guard scurried away. Gwen made quick work of lighting candles so they could see.

"What is going on? What do you mean, Merlin's in danger?" She asked.

"I don't know," Arthur admitted, strapping Excalibur across his waist, "They're headed to a lake. Valas is after them. We have to help them, or they'll die!"

Gwen didn't have time to ask him how he knew it all was true before he was out the door.

The lake was just like he remembered it. Even in the dark, he could see the mountains doused in moonlight, and the shadows of the trees on the lake. He reached the edge of the water and lowered Freya down, just like he remembered doing years ago.

"Freya," He said, tapping her cheek, "Freya, please wake up. We're here." She stirred lightly, but did not rise. He pressed his lips together and picked her up again. He waded out into the water with her in his arms until she was half submerged, her hair flowing around his elbow like a dark cloud. "Please," He said to the lake or her, or both. "Please let me save you. I promised."

He could feel magic swell around her, and then, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. They smiled at each other.

"A lake, just like you said," he told her.

"Just like I said. Thank you, Merlin." She smiled even wider, and he helped her out of his arms so they were standing face to face, both waist deep in water, Freya soaking head to toe. With renewed strength flowing from the lake, she launched herself at him and hugged his neck. He fell forward into her shoulder and didn't mind as cold water from her arms dripped down his collar. "You've done it, Merlin. I'm al-rahHH!" The word dissolved into a tortured cry in her mouth, and she fell away from him, grasping at her chest. She looked up to some point behind Merlin's shoulder. He turned to follow her gaze.

"Valas!"

The Sidhe's hand was in the air, clawlike and menacing. "You really are a meddlesome pair, aren't you?" He clenched his hand, and beside Merlin, Freya erupted into another cry.

"The lake, Merlin," She gasped, grabbing at his arm, "It's burning me." Merlin wasted no time. He grabbed onto her waist and helped her to the shore. Valas continued to manipulate the lake's magic as they went, crippling Freya with pain. By the time they were on shore, she could only lie down. Merlin rose and stood protectively over her.

"You've taken enough from her, Valas," he warned, "You'll not take any more."

"Is that so, Emrys?" the Sidhe spat. He walked along the shore toward them, and Merlin shifted, readying himself for an attack. "She had nothing left to loose. She was dead." He looked Merlin up and down disdainfully. "You should be, but your stupid bitch there can't do as she's told."

"You dare speak of her like that-" Merlin's voice was dangerously low, but Valas cut him off.

"This was never about her, you know. She could have been anyone. An old crone, a peasant, even your dear old Prince Arthur – which, I admit would have made my job even easier. No, the fact that you chose to save her all those years ago is irrelevant. She's no more than a tool, a bargaining chip; collateral damage. And if you aren't strong enough to eliminate a threat that just happens to have a pretty face, well," Valas smiled, "you can blame yourself for her existence."

"You want my power, not hers," Merlin told him, "You sent her to kill me, to secure her life by the rites of the Old Religion. But why have her kill me? Why not face me yourself? Not strong enough, Valas?" Merlin taunted.

"Ooh, someone's been noisy, haven't they?" Valas looked down at Freya as he spoke, and Freya finally sat up, careful to stay behind Merlin and the Sidhe drew closer. Out of his peripheral, Merlin could see that the lake was churning up. "I warned you not to tell him, daughter. Looks like punishment is in order." He smirked at them.

"You touch her, and I'll-"

"You'll what, Emrys?" Valas raised his hands, inviting an attack. "Kill me?"

"I could, and you know it."

Valas laughed. "Perhaps in Camelot. But you forget, we are at Avalon, now. And I have an army of my kin just waiting for you to deal your first blow."

Merlin glanced at the lake, and knew Valas was telling the truth.

"So by all means, please, kill me now. It'll be the last decision of your life. You will die, your dear Freya will inherit your powers, and my plan will see victory."

"Your plan," Merlin spat, "cannot succeed."

"Oh?" Valas raised his eyebrows. "What, kill you, enslave your witch, and take Camelot?" He pretended to think. "Actually, I think it's looking more and more likely with each moment, don' t you?"

Merlin was put back by the mention of his home. "Camelot?" He asked uncertainly.

"You didn't think we would stop with your magic, did you, Emrys? Oh no," Valas chuckled, as though amused at a young child. "We attempted to take Camelot years ago, and failed. But once you are dead and Freya has obtained your powers, I will assert my power of the lake over her, and she will be a puppet to my will. By my bidding and through your power, she will do whatever I wish." He smiled. "Even if I wish for her to kill Camelot's beloved monarchs in their sleep. Our dear Freya will be a queen of her own making, and you will have helped put her on the throne, Emrys."

Freya made a strangled whimper behind him, and Merlin knew she'd never heard this part of Valas' plan. He took a step back towards her, his eyes not leaving Valas.

"So, by all means, just try, Emrys." Valas smiled, his arms spread wide. To Merlin's left, a cloud of Sidhe rose from the Lake, armed for battle and looking every bit like the army that Valas promised. Merlin tensed.

"What will it be, Emrys?"

Merlin glared, then spat, "Do your worst."

Valas seemed amused. "As you wish."

Out of nowhere, a hail of daggers rained down on them. Freya screamed Merlin's name in surprise, and ducked away. Merlin jumped, but was able to through up a shield in time to block injury. Daggers fell like hailstones around them until Valas let up his attack.

"Too afraid to attack yourself, are you? You can only hide behind your shield for so long, Emrys." Valas hurled a huge fireball at him. In a move that Merlin had been practicing for years after his encounter with Nimueh, he caught the spell midair and sent it back at Valas, who seemed at least somewhat surprised.

"You underestimate me, Valas," Merlin said. "I, like you, am a creature of the Old Religion. I can use the same rites of life and death to kill you and grant Freya her life again."

"Can you, though? Do you not know, Emrys, that the benefactor of the rites must be near death to be saved? It's a fascinating conundrum of the deep magic, that one must die to live… And yet, I believe Freya is feeling quite well. Are you not, dear?" He addressed Freya herself, who had stood shakily to her feet. When neither she nor Merlin said anything, Valas continued, "the spell I had on her all this time didn't actually sustain her; it merely drew out the effects of the Lake's magic on her to last a far greater time than they normally would. And now, you've given her a few minutes in the lake, and another few weeks in your world before she reaches death's door again." Valas smiled. "And let's face it, you don't have that kind of time." He hurled another spell at Merlin, and the warlock ducked just in time. "You will die here, Emrys. By saving her, you have condemned her to a fate worse than death."

The rain of spells grew thicker as the Sidhe rose to their kin's aid. Merlin made a shield around himself and Freya, but knew that he couldn't keep it up long enough to ward off an army. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something. A metallic glint in the bushes. He reached out with his magic, and when he realized what it was, his heart rose. But then, he realized what he'd have to do. It fell again.

"You can't hide forever, Emrys," Valas said, and Merlin hardly heard. "Face your fate and die, or face me and do your worst." The Sidhe spat Merlin's own words back at him, but the taunt didn't register.

An idea was forming in Merlin's mind. A horrible, morbid, unthinkable idea that made his gut turn painfully. He couldn't bring himself to do it… could he? But he saw no other way. He could feel Freya's hand on his, where she must have grabbed it during the scuffle. Slowly, he turned to her.

"Freya, do you trust me?"

She looked at him, and neither of them heard what was happening around them. Merlin knew that druids and dragonlords had penchants for psychic communication, but if there was a message that passed between he and Freya in that moment, neither of them knew what it had said. And yet, after that look, they both understood what was about to happen, what the other was about to do, what they were putting at risk for each other and against each other, and they hadn't shared a single word.

"Yes," she whispered, though it looked like it pained her.

Merlin couldn't look at her after that, so he looked back to the bushes to make sure he'd seen it right. Then, before he could change his mind, he picked up one of the discarded daggers from Valas' attack, turned, and stabbed Freya deep in the gut.