SOMEONE WRITE A LANCELOT/FREYA CHILLING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LAKE FIC
“Lancelot,” a strange girl whispers with a smile, and he returns it hesitantly, feeling like a man in a dream.
“That I am, my lady.”
“My name is Freya.”
She is beautiful, clothed in a purple gown and with eyes like stars. He looks around him, but everything he sees is blue and indistinct and he cannot focus on the blurred shapes, so he turns back to Freya.
“Can you tell me where I am… Freya?”
“We are in Avalon, in the space between the worlds. This is not the first time you have been beyond the veil.”
“No, you’re right… I was alive. I found the Lady Morgana much changed, and she -” He starts as the memories return in a rush of heat and confusion, and Freya catches him as he falls.
“What have I done?” he chokes out desperately.
“Shh…” she soothes, stroking his hair as he fights back tears. ”It’s alright… you weren’t yourself. Merlin told me what happened.”
“You know Merlin?” Lancelot straightens, looking at Freya curiously.
She nods with a fond and wistful smile. ”I love him,” she answers simply, “but I think he has long moved on from me.”
“Four years now. He still visits me, though. I brought Excalibur to him, when you and he saved Camelot from the immortal army. And he brought you here, to rest in my lake.”
“Why are we - I mean, is there nothing beyond? Is this as far as the afterlife goes?”
“Don’t you remember? You crossed the veil once before; you have been further than I.”
“I don’t remember any of it, I’m afraid. Between entering the veil and waking up to Morgana, all I remember is… a brief moment of darkness. But I was never here. How is it that you are here now?”
“This is the Lake of Avalon, and its waters hold magic unknown even to the druids. Merlin meant to lay me to rest here, but his magic acted to save me, and I remained suspended in a half-life. Perhaps he couldn’t bear to see me dead, perhaps on some level he knew that he would need me here.”
“But what of me? I thanked Merlin for bringing me death… I thought that I would see my family again.”
“I fear Morgana bargained with the Old Religion for your soul, without paying the price of a life in return. This is why you were not yourself - your second life was not a true life, and so perhaps you cannot have a true death.”
Freya speaks softly, with a hint of apology in her voice, though she has done nothing wrong. Lancelot thinks of his mother, and all his dead family who he may never see even in death. He thinks of Guinevere, exiled from her home because of his actions. He thinks of Arthur, a lonely king, and then he thinks of Merlin, and thinks that Arthur may not be quite so lonely. He thinks of Freya, alone but for Merlin’s occasional visits, four years suspended between life and death in a watery no man’s land, and still smiling.
“You are a brave woman, Freya, to endure this loneliness for four years.”
She turns her head away with a shy smile and half a laugh. ”I haven’t had much of a choice,” she answers. ”But Merlin has been here sometimes, and I am free from my curse, and now I have you.”
“You certainly do, my Lady.”
She was strange, certainly, but there was a hint of perfection in her smile. On reflection, she was a mystery Lancelot was happy to spend the rest of eternity trying to figure out.