Chapter Text
Merlin wasn't sure how long he wept over the lifeless body of the girl he loved. It felt like an eternity that he stayed there, holding her in his arms, as though if he didn't let her go, she'd still be there, alive, ready to wake up in a second. Time seemed to be meaningless in his grief. Absorbed in his sorrow, he didn't notice the man walking up behind him until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he quickly looked back to see who was beside him.
"Arthur?"
Arthur looked into the tear-stained face of his servant. When he had ridden up, he'd seen Merlin from behind, the druid girl's body in his arms. He'd been more than a little surprised and confused; had Merlin broken free of her spell and defeated her somehow? He'd gone up to the boy, intending to congratulate him on actually doing something right for once, provoking a playful banter between the two of them. That was how their relationship worked, after all. But when Merlin had turned toward him, and Arthur saw his face, all those plans vanished in an instant.
Merlin was heartbroken.
The expression on his face was one of pure pain and absolute devastation. It was a look he'd seen shadows of on his father's face, whenever he'd spoken of Arthur's mother. But in those cases, the pain had been dulled by time; here, it was fresh and unbearable. The idea that the girl had enchanted Merlin immediately left Arthur's mind. Instinctively, he knew that no enchantment could have produced this type of hurt, not this much heartbreak. These were things that only came with love: pure, genuine love. Arthur realized that he had been completely and utterly wrong; Merlin hadn't been enchanted by the girl. Somehow, impossibly, he had loved her, and they had left, voluntarily, so that they could be together. But then something had happened, and now she was dead. And so, Arthur offered the only words he had, the only thing he could give to his grieving friend.
"I'm sorry".
Merlin heard the sincerity in Arthur's voice, and on some level he appreciated it, but at the moment it didn't really seemed to matter.
"She's gone," he whispered. That was the only significant fact in the world, the only thing that truly seemed to be real. Arthur said nothing-there really was nothing for him to say-but he squeezed Merlin's shoulder, as if he could transport strength to the brokenhearted man.
After a while, Arthur took his hand off Merlin's shoulder. When Merlin didn't seem to notice, Arthur spoke to him, quietly, cautiously.
"Merlin, we can't stay here". Arthur hated to interrupt Merlin in his grief, but he needed to. "We need to get you back to the castle. If you're gone much longer, people might start asking questions about where you were". Arthur didn't register the fact that he himself was the person who would normally be the likeliest to note Merlin's absence. Merlin turned red rimmed eyes to Arthur.
"I can't just leave her here, Arthur". Normally, Merlin would wonder what Arthur was doing there, and worry about what he might have seen. In his grief, however, the thought never entered his mind.
Arthur couldn't argue with Merlin in this state.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
There was a lake nearby, within walking distance of the cave. Merlin remembered how longingly Freya had spoken of her home on the shore of a lake, and he could think of no better place to honor her. It was a long, hard walk; Merlin carried Freya's body himself, refusing to let Arthur help. When they eventually got to the lake, he carefully laid her down by the shore. Then, he explained to Arthur what he wanted to do.
Silently, without a word between them, the two men constructed a rough boat. It was a slow, hard, task, especially in the dark, but they did it resolutely. After the crude frame was finished, they laid leaves down inside it to cover up the bareness. Colorful flowers were the next touch, and when, by silent agreement, the task was finished, Merlin tenderly laid Freya's body into the boat. He knew he could have done a much neater and faster job with magic, but there was something that felt right and satisfying about doing the hard work manually. Every gasp of breath, every drop of sweat was an offering to her, an apology for what had happened.
They set the boat into the water, and when Arthur turned away for a moment, Merlin muttered a spell and pushed the boat off. Normally, he would have never cast magic with Arthur so close, but he was beyond caring now. A tiny flame had sputtered into life on the framework of the boat, and it quickly spread. Arthur looked surprised when he turned around and saw a blazing fire where there had been none a few moments before, but he didn't comment. It was a time of silence between them.
They stood there for a time, watching the boat sail away. Finally, Merlin turned to Arthur.
"Let's go home".
The ride back was mostly a silent one. Someday, the two of them would discuss what had happened here. Someday, Merlin would tell Arthur how he had fallen in love with the druid girl, and the tale would make Arthur question everything he thought he knew about magic users. Someday, Merlin would open up to Arthur in a ways that he never had before. But all that was a long ways in the future; for now, it was not the time to ask questions. A glance at the look in Merlin's eyes made that very clear to Arthur. And so, there was only one thing that Arthur asked Merlin as the sun began to rise.
"What was her name?"
"Freya," Merlin said, the dawn light reflecting in his eyes. "Her name was Freya".