Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In June, the wild strawberries grow on the far side of the meadow, beneath the slopes of the western peak, beside the mountain streams that flow into the crystal lake.

Figs thought it was the most beautiful place in the world. In the summer, the light from the far-off lake was dazzling, and the sunset bounced off the glittering peaks like fire. All spring she’d been forced to keep away; the winter storms had lasted until late May, and the waves would whip themselves into a frenzy and crash down on the mountain path, making the meadow impossible to reach.

Now the path was clear, and the edges were lined with wildflowers, reaching for the light. Figs skipped along in her wine-colored dress and lined her basket with them; reds and yellows and violets and blues, she especially loved the blue. Those grew nowhere but the little mountain path, and the flower beds around her family’s cottage. Her father had planted them there when she was very young. Their petals were iridescent blue, and their center burst with starlight, scattered down to the flowers’ pale pollen center. He’d named them, Dominus Lacus, but more often than not, they were called Lake Stars.

“Figs!”

She shot up from a cluster of blossoms at the sound of her elder brother’s voice,

“What is it?” she called, scanning the road ahead for him, and receiving no answer, she scampered up the path as fast as her little legs could carry her, “Nori?”

With a mighty leap, she cleared the mountain stream, which by now had slowed to a steady trickle, and her bare feet padded onto a clearing of soft green grass, dappled with blossoms that waved in the cool breeze.

“Nori!” Figs called again as she spotted. Her older brother stood at the foot of the mountain, a little distance away from her, waving at her to come nearer.

“Figs, over here!” He shouted as she drew nearer, stumbling across the meadow, with its many dips and little hills, “Strawberries!”

Figs gasped with delight, as her brother held up a juicy, red berry, aloft for her to see,

“Coming!” shrieking with delight, she picked up her skirt and stumbled through the tall grasses, her basket flying about haphazardly behind her so that all her neatly arranged bouquets came undone.

When she caught up to him, Nori’s basket was lined with a dozen or so plump and perfect berries, and he was sitting in the midst of the white blossoms, chewing on a handful of them. He smiled up at his sister, mouth full, as she plopped down in the grass beside him,

“Careful,” he warned, pointing to a spattering of smaller plants beside her. Figs looked down and nodded, still panting too hard to say anything, and carefully gathered the edges of her skirt to herself and tucked them beneath her chubby little legs.

“Here,” Nori held out a handful of strawberries to her, “There are plenty enough for us to pick.”

Figs gladly scooped the berries from his hand and shoveled them into her mouth. They really were the most delicious fruit in the world. They tasted like summer; wildflowers and light.

She laid back in the grass, and finished chewing with a sigh,

“Tastes like magic,”

Nori cocked his head, blowing a mess of dark brown hair out of his eyes, “What’s that taste like?”

Figs wrinkled her stubby little nose, “Dunno,” she said, “Mum says it, and she loves strawberries,”

She rolled over abruptly, “Let’s pick a whole mountain load for her!”

Nori’s sharp blue eyes lit up, “Do you think she’ll make a tart?”

Figs jumped to her knees, “Or pudding!”

“Or Jelly!”

Figs licked her lips, “Or all of them!”

Newly revitalized, the two children set to work, filling their baskets to the brim with strawberries. It seemed a simple task, but it took them the whole morning, for they found that after every bit of picking they required a break, during which they would sit, and eat from their baskets, and find themselves set further back than they were before. Nori worked fastest, for at nine years old, his legs were just a little longer, and his arms a little stronger than Figs’ were at six.

Eventually though, when the sun was high in the clear blue sky, the baskets were piled high, and pockets crammed full of as many strawberries as the two could carry. Nori sighed a mix of relief and satisfaction, as they set off toward the mountain path, stopping at the stream for a sip of the fresh, icy water before beginning the short trek home.

The waves lapped gently along the side of the path, driven on by the gentle breeze which pressed against the wildflowers, leaning them closer to the mountainside as they in turn reached ever upward for the sun’s radiant light. Figs topped her basket with new flowers, to replace those that had fallen out; violets, buttercups, and lake stars, and Nori helped her gather them into a large, fragrant bouquet for their supper table. The scent of strawberries mingled with the June air; wildflowers and light, and warmth and freedom.

Chapter Text

Warm sunlight poured over hearth and tabletop in Freya's small kitchen. The early summer breezes stirred her hair, drifting through the open window, and carrying with them the scents of the earth and the wildflowers, so dear to the woman.

Smiling, she flew with deft fingers from potions to poultices. Eagerly she mixed herbs and chanted spells over them before binding them into little bottles or compresses, to be stored away for later use.

She had worked through much of the morning, for though there was little need, Freya was the sort of person who liked to be prepared for anything. She and her husband were apothecaries, and a stock of medicines, even going unused, was a necessity to have about.

Wiping her damp brow, she stirred the last of the days batch in a vat above the hearth, and, with a low whisper extinguished the fire, left the potion to cool. As she did so, she heard the happy voices of her children, indistinct words, carried through the windows by the wind.

“Frigga!” she called out, glimpsing their approach through the garden, “Balinor, come inside!”

The two hastened their steps and disappeared around the house. A moment later, their arrival was heralded by the careless slam of the door and a quartet of pattering footsteps,

“Look,” little Frigga, the first to enter threw herself into her mother’s arms and thrust her basket upwards.

Freya grinned, glancing down at the basket, filled to the brim with strawberries and lined with all manner of wildflowers, and then up to her daughter’s gap-toothed grin.

“Well done my dear!” Freya praised, taking the basket in her hands and setting it on the table. Figs wriggled with delight as her mother lifted her onto the tabletop beside the basket, where she began to eagerly munch on her spoils of conquest.

Balinor, who had always been a little quieter, taking more after his mother, set his basket beside his sister’s, and beamed up with quiet pride.

“Well done, Nori,” said Freya, drawing him into her arms and planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“What will we use them for?” asked Nori as he drew back.

“Well,” said Freya, stepping back to survey the baskets, “There are enough here to make at least two tarts, and whatever’s left we can eat ourselves!”

Figs’ head darted up, her eyes wide as saucers, “How are we going to eat two whole tarts?”

Freya laughed, “Not to worry, your Uncle Gwaine can help us!”

“Uncle Gwaine's coming?” Nori asked eagerly.

Freya nodded, “Your father and I received word a few weeks ago. He’ll be riding in the day after tomorrow, should all go as planned.”

The children erupted into excited chatter and Freya laughed. It had been several months since Sir Gwaine had last visited them, and there was already much to tell, as he had warned them in his letter. Gwaine was an excellent storyteller, and listener, and Freya found herself looking forward to his news as much as the children.

“We can show him my new fishing rod!”

“And the new calf!”

“Alright, I know you’re excited,” Freya chuckled, gathering up the wildflowers from the brim of the basket, “But first things first,

She set aside the flowers and lifted both baskets, “Take these out to the ice house-"

Before she could finish Figs snatched one right out of her hands and ran, and Nori wasn’t far behind her.

“Be sure to shut the door when you’re through!” she called after them, but she doubted they heard. The house door swung wide open in the summer wind.

Freya sighed, she placed the flowers in a little glass jar and walked across the room to the wide doorway. The wind blew cool in her face, a welcome change after a morning spent over a hot cauldron.

She stood facing the yard; across her vegetable garden and flower beds of beloved roses and lake stars, she could see Nori already flinging the door to the ice house open, Frigga trailing close behind.

Beyond that open fields, wild grasses dappled with violets and forget-me-nots, her husband’s touch. Their colors grew brighter, a ripple at the meadows edge, and Freya grinned as a wave of brilliant color sprang from the earth and a man appeared at the edge of the meadow. Mischief in his lopsided smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes, the bearded man wore the garb of the druids, an earth green tunic, and in his hands, he held a number of gleaming silver fish, swinging on their strings in time with his even gait.

Grinning, Freya wiped her hands on her apron before she unlaced and discarded it on the kitchen table,

“Merlin!” she cried starting across the field toward him. Her dark hair sprang loose from her thick braid in coiled bunches, flying into her eyes as she ran. She felt sure she must have looked like a wild woman when she reached him, panting and grinning as she brushed waves of dark locks from her face.

Merlin was smiling too, that boyish grin of his peeking out from beneath his bushy black beard, as she threw herself into his arms.

“I take it you missed me then,” he said cheekily, his face pinched in an attempt to quell the merriment that bubbled up beneath his eyes

Freya shook her head and sprang up to steal a kiss. She felt Merlin’s smile against her lips as his free hand reached up to caress her hair,

Freya pulled away smirking, “I suppose I did, a little,”

Her husband’s grin widened as he tried to pull her in again, but she slapped his hand away playfully, snatching the fish instead,

“The children are coming,” she laughed, nodding toward the ice house; then, surveying the fish, “Is this all you’ve brought me?”

Merlin didn’t answer. He scooped her up in his arms and she gave a startled whoop as he began to take great strides toward the ice house,

“Merlin!” she laughed, swatting his shoulder but he tramped right along with hardly a notice, tossing her bout as if she were one of the fish,

“You can hardly expect me to believe you’re lifting me without magic,” she scolded him laughingly,

Merlin gaped down at her and chuckled,

“You know you sound just like Arthur,” he said, a dangerous gleam coming into his eyes as he spoke.

She hardly had the chance to scream before he’d thrown her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Emrys or not I can—”

“Nori! Figs!” Merlin called through the ice house door, which, swinging a bit to the side, Freya could see they’d left wide open.

“It’s dad!” they heard a muffled voice cry, as two pairs of footsteps came clattering up the stairs.

“Come ‘ere!” Merlin stretched out his free hand to pull in Figs for a hug, and when Nori came crashing in to join, Freya seized her opportunity to wriggle free. Merlin didn’t seem to mind; with both hands free he rested them on the children’s shoulders as they began the walk back to the house.

“We picked Strawberries today,” Figs said, “We’re going to make a tart!”

“Sounds delicious!” said her father. He turned to Freya, “Better hide it from Gwaine, he’ll eat us out of house and home.”

Freya laughed as she walked a little further ahead to the cottage door. Of all the knights, Sir Gwaine certainly had the largest appetite, but she did not mind him ransacking her pantry every time he rode out for a visit. He was as good and loyal a friend as one could find in the Kingdom, and probably her favorite of her husband’s acquaintances,

“Nori,” she held out the fish to her son as he approached, “Take these and scale them in the shed; I’ll have a look at them later,”

Nori nodded, and disappeared around the cottage corner,

“And take Frigga with you!” Freya added, shooing Figs along after him.

Merlin opened the door over her head, and she slipped inside,

“So, what are we doing then?” he asked, having a look around the empty kitchen.

Freya walked over to a little wooden hook and snatched an apron off it, “We’re going to bake a tart crust.

“Oh?” his arms slipped about her waist as she looped the apron over his head.

“Yes,” she dropped a kiss on his nose and laughed as she wriggled out of his grasp, “for your bottomless pit of a friend.”

“That's our bottomless pit,” Merlin scoffed as he knelt and began to rummage the lower shelves for the great wooden baking bowl, while Freya brought out the lard, flour, and salt.

Freya never followed any written recipes. The new ones she received, she'd pour over until she knew them backwards, but most have been passed through her family for generations, and should have been lost, had she not kept them in her heart.

First, she poured the flower into the bowl enough to fill the bottom and form a small mound on top. The salt then, she added sparingly, for after she'd mixed it, Merlin added the lard, which was rich enough to provide nearly all of the flavor; the rest came from a pinch of thyme stirred into it.

At first the flower would fall about the edges like drifts of snow, shifting with the churning of the spoon, as with an icy wind. But very quickly, the mixture began to solidify. The ingredients flowed into one and became something new and recognizable.

Freya thought sometimes that baking seemed almost a sort of magic, a simple kind, that's incredible all the same.

When they were certain that the dough was the right consistency Merlin removed it from the bowl and wetting their fingers with cool stream water from his canteen, they shaped it into two plump discs and wrapped them in cheesecloth to be taken to the icehouse with the strawberries.

When they were finished, Freya sat back in her rocking chair, and Merlin in the chair beside her, as, with a twinkle of his eye, he flung wide the shutters in a gust of wind and slid the great black cauldron from its place on the hearth.

Merlin had hardly but to think and the mountains would move. With a glimmer of his eye, he could fell the armies of great men. Yet he used his great power to live a simple life and to ease the burdens of those around him. For, such a life was the kind they're both dreamed of for a long time.

Freya had never believed such a life within her grasp.

She leaned her head on Merlin’s shoulder and whispered a short spell, focusing intently on the hearth until a hearty fire spring to life.

The children would be returning soon, and they could roast the fish over the hearth. With salt and a few scallops, it would make a simple meal, and they would enjoy it in the firelight of their own home.

Chapter Text

The following day was market day, and in this knowledge the family rushed about their chores. Figs to the feed, and Nori to the milking, Freya to the hens, and Merlin to their breakfast. And what a grand breakfast it was, sausage and potatoes and scrambled eggs with cheese.

The family sat down to eat in haste and anticipation. Figs ate with her hands, like a little wild harvest mouse, and Nori practically inhaled his food. Freya ate hastily. Stopping every few seconds to remind Merlin to do the same.

Merlin was pouring over the massive ancient spell book that Gaius, his friend and mentor of long ago, had gifted him at the start of his new life with Freya. The two were apothecaries to many for miles around, mainly the druids in the surrounding woods, but the years had seen an increase in visits from the neighboring villagers. When they were both to be out for more than a few hours, it was important to leave a healing spell upon the home to sustain anyone who arrived seeking care or refuge.

Merlin had long been seeking an effective way to combine his protection and healing incantations. For, while both were powerful individually, one always weakened when the other was cast.

“Eat, love,” Freya nudged him and stood to clear the rest of the family’s dishes. The pump behind the house washed them clear easily, and when she was finished Freya whispered a spell over the tub to dry them.

Inside, Merlin was still absorbed in his studies while Figs and Nori gathered dried meats and a jar of last year’s strawberry jam to spread across a loaf of rye bread for their noontime repast.

“Hmm,” Merlin hummed, stood, and slammed the frail manuscript shut, “Well, here goes nothing.”

Nori raced outside to hitch the mare, Aelin, to the cart, and the rest of the family stood a few feet away from the house and garden while Merlin cast his spell. It would, he told them, repel threats, and suspend any of the sick or injured who entered while they were away.

The way to the market was not long, and the family relished the peaceful journey. Merlin and Freya walked on either side of the pony cart while Nori and Figs rode in a bundle of blankets inside of it.

The journey began in the darkness of early morning, as the first rays of dawn crept like drops of starlight through the dew-laden foliage of Aspen trees, still bright green with the lateness of spring/in the early June.

The children drifted off to the rhythm of the rocking cart, and Merlin took the reins from Nori’s sleeping grasp to lead the pony from the front.

“You don’t think it’s odd?” Merlin asked, turning to his wife.

“What?” Freya started. She had been watching the sun rise steadily through the trees. Through translucent leaves she could see the shadows of caterpillars and ants crawling about, or a squirrel as he leapt passed, shaking the branches along his way, and sending their foliage fluttering down.

“Gwaine,” Merlin said. When he looked at Freya she could see that kid of glint in his eye, like a horse about to shy, “You don’t think it’s odd, his coming here so close to our next trip to Camelot?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Freya frowned, “You don’t think somethings wrong?”

Merlin bit his lip, “I don’t know. It’s been rather peaceful these past two years…”

he paused and Freya took the opportunity to slip her hand into his,

“I suppose I’ve just been waiting for things to boil over.”

“Oh,” Freya squeezed his hand, “You dear man! Even if it does seem that we’re due for a little trouble, but you mustn’t think that you’re owed it!”

At that Merlin laughed, albeit a little bitterly, “I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. I’m a magnet for trouble.”

Now it was Freya’s turn to laugh, “And I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. Don’t you remember the night we met?”

Merlin remembered. A druid girl, starving and alone, caged like an animal, and he a naïve boy who’d believed he could fix anything.

“I’m certain we can weather any storm that Gwaine brings,” Freya said, as she urged Aelin to walk once more, “But you’ve worked hard for this peace. You deserve to enjoy it while it lasts.”

Her husband looked unsure. When he'd was a boy, he'd been an optimist. He'd believed the world was good in spite of the efforts of wicked men, and that there was some happiness to be had. He was beginning to learn it was again, but it was a slow lesson, 

The cart rumbled over a sizable stone and jostled its two passengers and Nori began to stir. Freya handed the reigns to her husband and hung back to smooth her son’s hair coaxing him back to sleep. They’d all woken very early, and he would need his rest for the long day ahead in town.