Hey, something new and Merlin related! I seriously can't get enough of Merlin and Freya- they kill me with all their adorable yet ridiculously sad relationship. This is very rough and just written, but I wanted to get it up now because I don't know when I'll have time next. Year 11 is hard and gives me no free time :( Please leave me a review to tell me what you think! (I'm a little out of practise with writing fanfiction!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, which saddens me greatly (If I did, Arthur would've found out about Merlin's magic already). All kudoos to the BBC!

As long as he lived, Merlin never forgot her. He never forgot the look on her face the first time he saw her, huddled lost and alone in the corner of a cage, and the way her eyes burned into him as he was forced to turn away. He never forgot the desperate run through the streets as he led her to safety, his heart pounding in his ears, her cold hand his only focus. He never forgot their first faltering steps towards friendship; moments full of fleeting smiles, cautious glances, and finally- finally -trust. No...Merlin definitely remembered Freya.

In the dark of the night when the weight of his impending destiny threatened to crush him, Merlin remembered how she had come alive in front of him, turning from a frightened, broken soul into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He remembered how her dark hair tangled over her shoulders, wild and enchanting. He remembered how her eyes lit up when she laughed at him, how they started to get brighter when she saw him coming. She had been the first girl he had ever loved, the first one to send chills up his spine, to send his heart racing. He remembered the feeling of relief he'd felt when he'd gone to see her each night, and when he felt more alone than ever Merlin clung to it.

When Arthur teased him about his awkwardness around girls, Merlin remembered how with Freya, everything had been so easy. He had always known what to say, what to do...he remembered how nothing else had mattered but making her smile. He remembered how they had stumbled through friendship into something so much deeper than that, something that had made him shake with its intensity and grow warm at just the thought of her name. There had been no hiding his magic from her, and even then she had accepted and loved him for everything that he was. Before Freya, Merlin had feared such a girl didn't exist.

He remembered clutching her tight in the dark, and how the feeling of her, soft and warm in his arms, had filled a gap in his heart he hadn't even known existed until she was there. Only one feeling had been better. Merlin's favourite memory- the moment he had kissed her for the first time. He remembered with a sharp stab of bittersweet how to him it had seemed like the stars had come crashing down around them, the feeling of her lips moulding his making him feel more complete than he had ever been before in his life. It had been so perfect, so sweet and pure and utterly overwhelming, that a tear had rolled down his cheek.

There were other memories too, of course, that Merlin wished he could forget. But no matter how hard he tried they followed him, dragging at the dark recesses of his soul. There were times when Merlin felt like he couldn't do anything right, that Albion was slipping through his fingers. Times when he was sure he would fail, dooming everything he loved in the process. It was during those times that Freya's final hours reared up to greet him, a perfect case in point of how far he could fall. And then he remembered the feeling of her shaking body as she sobbed, her whole being so broken it killed him inside. Merlin remembered the feeling of her blood coating his fingers as he desperately tried to keep Freya's life inside her, and the way it had felt like his whole world was unravelling around him as he witnessed her pain.

When he saw Arthur and Gwen smiling at one another, like they were the only ones in existence, he was reminded painfully that he and Freya had been like that, and should have been like that still. And then before he could stop himself he would remember the long walk down to the edge of the lake, the ache of his arms from carrying her so far nothing compared to the aching of his heart. If he closed his eyes he could still feel the rain and the tears on his face, the bitter cold as he knelt down on the shore. He could still feel her ragged breaths rattling through her chest, could still hear her last words in his ears. He could still remember the feeling of his heart shattering into a million pieces as he laid her to rest in the boat amongst the ferns, her skin as pale as the moon.

Over the years, the hollow feeling never truly faded. Before missions he had to watch the knights say goodbye to their sweethearts, their anxious eyes following them out of the courtyard, and Merlin couldn't help but wish that she was there to worry over him. He felt keenly the loss of the life they had almost had together. That dream had been everything he'd ever wanted, and for one tantalising moment it had looked within his reach. But no more. He had never blamed Arthur for what had happened, of course not, but he couldn't pretend he didn't feel envy at the happy ending the King of Camelot seemed to have found himself. Merlin didn't know whether he would ever love again. He hoped so, but until the day came he was content to bide his time, remembering his dark eyed little druid girl. His Freya.