Chapter 13

Warning/s: None, I don't think. Nothing that goes above the T rating.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

Prompt: from stikenotes: "Write about Freya being a servant in another kingdom after coming back from the dead and coming back to Camelot with her Mistress and seeing Merlin again."

A/N: I'm not very happy with this but I couldn't think of any way to write it better, so I guess this will have to do *sigh* I also meant to ask everyone, are you still enjoying the story? Reviews have dipped down lately and I'm just wondering if you're all still as bothered about it.

Merlin exhaled grumpily as he surveyed the courtyard. All of the dignitaries had gathered outside on the cobbled ground, waiting for the arrival of Lady Charlotte.

They had been waiting patiently – or impatiently, in Merlin's case – for two hours now. The sun was high in the sky now and Merlin could feel beads of hot sweat cascading from his neck down his back. He, of course, had been running around frantically all morning, trying to organise this and that. He was exhausted and being forced to stand stationary was not helping.

He watched as Gwen whispered something to Arthur, and as often happened, he felt a sudden, knife-sharp pang of loneliness, as if a dagger had been pushed into his gut. He squashed the pain away and focused on standing up as straight as his spine would allow – he had been scolded by Arthur for not having a good posture and letting them down the last time a noble had visited.

Finally, the familiar beat of hooves echoed from around the other side of the castle's tall walls. Everyone straightened immediately, ladies adjusting their hair and dresses, the men rearranging their clocks or the way they held their hands.

Two horses, drawing a carriage behind them, trotted into the courtyard. They were both sleek and ebony, elegant and proud creatures. Steering them was a squat, pot-bellied man with a square head and peculiarly small eyes. He was crouched upon a small ledge that jutted out of the carriage.

The carriage itself was blue and purple; Merlin vaguely remembered that those were the royal colours of wherever Lady Charlotte came from. It did look nice, Merlin admitted to himself grudgingly: he'd decided, as soon as they were half an hour late, that he was going to be hostile towards anything and everything to do with that kingdom.

The horses drew to a halt, and the carriage door swung open. A maid hurried out after it, scrabbling to hold it open for her mistress. She was too far away for Merlin to see properly (he swore that his eyesight was worsening with each passing day), but he still watched the scene eagerly. It was much more entertaining than watching the clouds, which he had been doing previously.

The Lady Charlotte stepped from her carriage, even though she was the same distance away from Merlin as the maid, she was a lot more difficult to miss. Her hair was so brightly blond that it was practically white; when the sun caught it, it was blinding. This is doing nothing for my eyes, Merlin thought dismally.

She was very skinny, but seemed to have tried to make herself more voluptuous with fake padding. Merlin wondered whether it was just him who had noticed, or if it was as blatantly obvious to everyone else.

She approached Arthur, wobbling dangerously. Her dress matched her eyes, a pale blue, with gold embroidery on the hem. It was tight and short, ending just below her knees. Merlin got the impression that she was trying too hard to impress them, and judging by the glimpse he got of Arthurs face, he wasn't the only one.

Arthur greeted her politely, as did Gwen. Lady Charlotte's voice, when she responded, was high-pitched and shrill, more like the wail of a banshee than anything else. They carried on the conversation for a few more minutes, during which time Merlin felt sure both his ears had exploded.

"Merlin!" Arthur finally said, turning to his manservant. "Fetch Lady Charlotte's bags, will you? And take them to her room."

"Certainly, sire," Merlin muttered. Their eyes met for a brief moment and Merlin had to press his lips together to prevent his laughter from spilling out. Arthur's eyes were screaming, "Help me," and he looked haunted. "She's not that bad," Merlin mumbled under his breath as he passed him. Although, truth be told, he wasn't looking forward to another whole week of Lady Charlotte.

"What shall I take?" Merlin asked cheerfully when he reached the maid he saw before. She was crouched down, with her back facing him. She was wearing a long, dark purple dress and her hair was a dark brown, braided down her back, with lighter streaks of brown running through it. Instead of answering, she stood up, clutching a small leather case in her hands.

"Merlin?" Her voice was familiar, but Merlin couldn't quite place it, not without seeing her properly.

"Yes." He was slightly confused as to how she knew his name. Maybe they had met before? Or maybe she'd heard Arthur call him?

The maid turned around, biting her lip in an awkward grin. "Hello."

Merlin blinked a few times. His eyesight really must be deteriorating. Freya was in the Lake of Avalon, not standing in front of him.

"It is me," the maybe-Freya added hastily, as if she sensed exactly what was going through his head.

"How?" Merlin asked weakly. He felt even wearier than before, suddenly.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Freya replied softly. "I woke up one day in a strange place, and managed to get a job working for Lady Charlotte." Freya pulled a face, wrinkling her nose. "She's awful, isn't she?"

Merlin laughed and nodded. He still felt a little odd about this, but also overwhelmingly joyful that Freya had returned. "Freya!" he cried, sweeping her up into a tight hug.

"Merlin!" she mimicked, mocking or not Merlin couldn't tell, and embraced him with equal force. Suddenly conscious that they were in a crowded courtyard, Merlin broke apart, whispering, "Let's do this in private." Freya nodded her agreement.

Merlin glanced around quickly to check whether anyone had been watching. It was unlikely: most, if not all, would be focused on the monarchy, not two servants. Or so Merlin hoped.

Lady Charlotte was still squeaking away to Arthur, who was enduring the torture surprisingly well, although Merlin thought he could see him grimace with every particularly high-pitched note. Next to the stairs that led to the main entrance, Arthur's most trusted knights were standing.

Gwaine caught Merlin's eye and winked. The smug smirk plastered across his face told Merlin that he had seen their hug, and he was going to be questioned later.

"How many bags are there?" Merlin pushed all other thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the task at hand.

Freya sighed. "Too many." She guided Merlin round to the back of the carriage, and unfastened a leather strap. A flap of wood lifted up, and inside was a fairly large, hollow space, filled with what Merlin estimated to be around eighteen or twenty cases.

"Great," Merlin said grumpily. Freya snorted with laughter at his tone and together they removed the bags from the space, and began to pile them in stacks of three or four. Merlin counted as they went along – there were actually twenty-two cases. "How many bags does one person need?" Merlin complained. He was becoming increasingly warmer and warmer as the job wore on.

"This many, apparently," Freya replied, slightly out of breath. Her cheeks had grown very red from the exertion and, as Merlin looked at her, she couldn't help but think how attractive she managed to appear even when this flustered.

His thoughts were shattered into oblivion when she asked, "Who's that approaching?"

Merlin glanced up, panting, and groaned. Gwaine was sauntering towards them, a smirk still evident. Behind him, Leon and Percival exchanged glances; Leon shrugged; and then they both trudged after Gwaine.

"Do you not like him?" Freya caught sight of the others now trailing behind Gwaine and corrected herself, "Them?"

"No, it's not that," Merlin responded through gritted teeth, running a hand through his hair. "It's just…you'll see."

"Need some help?" Gwaine asked, grinning at Freya.

"That'd be really great," Freya replied appreciatively, shooting a sidelong glance at Merlin suspiciously.

"Happy to," Gwaine said, "for a beautiful lady such as yourself." Merlin shot him a glance that clearly said say no more or you will be slaughtered in your bed tonight, but Gwaine never let such trivial things hinder him.

Percival gathered eight suitcases and stored them in his muscular arms; he stood three heads over Freya and she gazed up at him in awe. He looked wary; Merlin couldn't tell whether he was fazed by Freya's staring (although this was doubtful) or whether it was because he feared Gwaine's intentions (more likely).

"How do you and Merlin know each other?" Gwaine questioned, picking up another four of the leather cases. Leon took another four, looking as cautious as Percival.

Freya hesitated, bending down to collect her two cases to buy herself some time. Merlin took pity on her and answered, "We knew each other four or five years ago." He picked up the last four suitcases and juggled with them, trying to arrange them comfortably in his arms.

This time it was Freya who chipped in. "The circumstances meant I had to move away and we've only seen each other once since that, about three years ago."

Leon asked, "So did you know you'd be seeing each other today?" The group began to head towards the castle.

"I didn't," Merlin answered.

"I did," Freya said, keeping up with them well, considering her long dress and heels. "I've only worked for Lady Charlotte for half a year, so I've never had a chance to tell Merlin."

"So are you two close friends or…?" Gwaine pressed, the suffix 'something more' just as obvious as if Gwaine had said it. Percival rolled his eyes disapprovingly.

Luckily for both Freya and Merlin, they were saved having to answer when Leon cut in. "I'm Sir Leon. Who are you?"

"Freya. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Leon."

Leon continued, "This is Sir Gwaine," he indicated the knight. "And Sir Percival. But we don't bother with the 'sir's with friends, and if you're Merlin's friend, then you're our friend too.

"Thank you," Freya beamed genuinely. Her face had lit up. Merlin supposed that she'd never had a feeling of love or security ever since she was brought back to life.

Percival groaned as Gwaine spouted yet another filthy story from his mouth. "I don't want to hear this," he said truthfully. Merlin was his friend, and even though he hadn't properly met Freya yet, he felt that he was going to enjoy her company, and he didn't wish to hear Gwaine's vile ponderings upon their relationships.

Gwaine laughed. He enjoyed speaking to Percival: he was so innocent. He was about to start on another story when he caught sight of something that made him stop dead. He hit Percival on the chest lightly, to attract his attention and indicated the alcove that they were approaching. Percival's jaw practically hit the floor.

"Told you," Gwaine whispered.

Freya could feel the rough wall of the alcove against her back as Merlin pushed her against it insistently. "Careful," she breathed, worried about anyone catching sight of them.

"Don't worry," Merlin muttered, in between the small nips and sucks on her neck. "Nobody comes down here."

"Mm-kay," Freya said contently, winding her hands into Merlin's hair and letting him kiss at her neck and along her jawline. She had missed Merlin, in more ways than one, and she was more than happy for this to happen. They'd never had a chance for something like this before, they were too busy trying to escape.

Freya relaxed as Merlin's lips sought hers again, giving herself into the pleasure of Merlin. She kissed back willingly, clutching at his jacket eagerly. Unknown to both of them, they now had two viewers, one of whom was triumphantly smirking at his friend.