Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin

A/N: I haven't read a story yet that explained Freya's role as Lady of the Lake - so I thought I'd do it.


The sleeping figure, the cold walls of Camelot, and the sense of watchfulness faded. How odd – she hadn't dreamed of anything but Camelot and its warlock in years.

The scene switched to a new setting.

The dreamer felt her heart rise to her throat. Home! her thoughts cried.

The small houses weren't in rows like a normal village. Instead they were scattered along the edge of the lake like rare wild flowers: built to last the storms and built to take advantage of their proximity to the water. Around the houses stood tall oaks, hiding their village from unwanted patrols, and reflecting against the water like sunlit jewels. In the distance, the ever-looming mountains reminded the people of nature's crowning glory.

Everyone was out today.

This was the warmest day they'd seen since the end of winter, and they were determined to enjoy the sun.

The vision suddenly focused, zooming in on a small figure scampering down the road, kicking up dirt with her feet.

"Mama!" the toddler was hollering. No one looked upset at the girl's outcry – after all, it was more of an excited tone than an upset one.

"Mama!" she shouted again.

A pair of shutters were flung open, belonging to the house with a flower garden in the front. The girl started at the sudden noise, but she quickly recovered and scurried over. "Mama!" she cried again. Through the pair of shutters, a woman was visible, hard at work with a lump of dough. Tonight they were going to have a rare treat: a loaf of bread.

For some reason, the dreamer watching the scene was plagued by a sudden sense of sadness and frustration. Why was that? Oh right, she thought angrily to herself, because you killed that woman. You killed mother.

"Freya!" the woman exclaimed, beaming at her daughter.

Now that she had the woman's attention, the girl clapped her hands together and bounced happily. "Mother! I saw a little butterfly person!"

Oh, I'd forgotten about this.

The woman froze in her kneading for a second.

"Really?" she encouraged.

"And I rescued her!" Freya exclaimed proudly, jumping so she could get a better view through the window. "She was being chased by a meany bird and I scared him away."

There was a moment of silence between them as the girl waited for a reaction. Somewhere on the lake, the fishermen were laughing – probably at Jonas, who had a tendency to fall out of his boat.

"Did butterfly girl say anything?" her mother finally asked. The expression on her face was intense, but her young daughter didn't notice.

"She said that a I was a good girl," Freya said. Then she frowned. "And something else too. But I can't remember."

The woman had stopped kneading the dough entirely. The dreamer realized that she was probably trying to decide if her daughter was telling the truth or not. After all, most kinds of fairies had left the land for good.

Then the dream faded. Nothing replaced the blackness like it usually did.

Freya breathed in and out. Something was different.

What was different?

Then she blinked, and green light poured into her light-deprived eyes.

Freya gasped and sat up violently.

She was awake.

O o O

Miles away, Camelot's court sorcerer awoke with a start.