Greetings Readers! This was a oneshot that gained a lot of momentum in my mind and has become a multi-chapter story.

Special thanks to Ryne, jakqtkd, and ExcaliburMaiden from for all their help on this story!

Warnings: Post-season 4 spoilers, Angsty Merlin

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or any of its characters.

When Merlin left Camelot behind, he didn't look back. There was no reason. There was nothing back there for him anymore.

He probably should have known this was coming, he thought as he shifted his bag more comfortably on his back. After they'd defeated Morgana and Morgause, everyone had changed except for him. Arthur had become regent now king, Gwen was made lady now queen, and all his friends had become Knights of the Round Table. Merlin was still just Merlin, theprince'smanservant. And it wasn't the lack of credit that bothered him, not as much as it once would have. It was actually more beneficial that enemies didn't have any idea of what he could truly do, since that made it somewhat easier to protect Arthur and Camelot. It just hurt that, no matter what they'd been through, even his friends didn't see him as being anything more than a servant. Not being capable of anything else.

Merlin stretched his shoulders and neck and looked up into the heavens, trying to imagine what to do next, now that his destiny was fulfilled.

He had been hoping there would have been more of a clear-cut ending to all that he'd done, so that he'd know that his destiny had been fulfilled without a doubt. But there had been nothing. Of course, that was why he'd left.

Merlin had resigned himself to never receiving credit for all the good things he'd done – at least all the good things he'd done with magic – and had more or less been content with the fact. After all, he'd done those things for his friends, and that's what friends were supposed to do. It was only after the people back in Camelot had stopped caring that he'd done those things that he'd realized he might no longer have the friends there that he'd thought he had.

There was nothing dramatic that led him to that conclusion – in fact the revelation was anticlimactic, if anything. The revelation wasn't even so much a revelation as it was a slow dawning realization that he didn't matter to the people of Camelot anymore.

The knights were often busy training, so he didn't see much of them anymore and none of them, including Gwaine, seemed to be seeking him out. Arthur was so busy being occupied in being king that he and Merlin didn't interact as often as they once had, just brief glimpses in the mornings and evenings when Merlin served Arthur breakfast or turned down the bedsheets when the time came to retire for the night. Gwen might have been more bothered to check on Merlin periodically, but she was easing herself into the role of queen just as Arthur was easing himself into a rule free of Morgana's clutches, and so was too busy to bother with him either.

What was most shocking was that he didn't even see much of Gaius, and they lived in the same chambers. Gaius, after recovering full health after Morgana's occupation of Camelot, had swiftly thrown himself back into work. That combined with a sudden outbreak of fever in the lower town and surrounding villages meant that Gaius was rarely in, and when he was in there was a young servant girl following and assisting him. Apparently the young girl had shown talents as a healer.

He was still ashamed of the pained reaction that had sent a wave of bile up his throat when he'd first met the girl and she was introduced as an assistant to Gaius. He'd thought he'd been able to make his father figure proud, what with all he had learned under his tutelage – before Gaius had trusted his skills enough to send him out to the village alone as acting physician. But now, a young untrained girl was better than one who'd many years of experience underneath his belt, and had magic besides?

It had been hard for Merlin to take. It might have been childish, but he didn't like the feeling of being neglected.

~.~

It was a strange thing, not being dead. Freya wasn't quite sure where she was exactly, beyond being in some sort of limbo between the land of the living and of the dead, but as time had gone on she'd come to accept it. She didn't have much of an alternative.

Time passed strangely beneath the waves of the Lake of Albion – it sped past and dawdled in turns, making her stay there seem to last an eternity and an instant at the same time. She supposed it didn't make a whole lot of difference how time passed as nothing ever happened in the Lake or whatever place she was at in the Lake. Nothing changed there, but things changed in the world above.

The powers that be sometimes showed her the things that happened above the water, but it was a painful thing to see. Not so much because it reminded her that she was dead or as good as, and could no longer know what the world above was like – she'd had a hard go of it when she was alive, and being whatever she was brought her no end of peace. No, it was painful because the things she saw often had to do with Merlin – and seeing his face without him seeing hers, or watching him struggle when she was not allowed not to touch his hand or comfort her pierced her like a dagger.

Freya knew, without being told, that she would only be allowed to breach the barrier between the lake and the world when her assistance was needed most. That was why, when Merlin had dropped the vial of lake water when he was hiding with Arthur during the witch's overthrow of Camelot, she had been able to appear to him through the water and then to give him the sword.

She wished she'd been able to feel the touch of his hand when he'd reached for the blade that could slay the dead, but as soon as he'd gripped the hilt, she'd sunk below the surface. At least Merlin seemed to know she was all right, but it was frustrating to be so close and still not touch him.

She couldn't understand why the powers that put her in the limbo only thought that matters grave to Camelot were worthy of her assistance – how could they prevent her from helping Merlin when he needed it most? He had suffered through so much; she had seen his tears as he had buried his friend where he had buried her, and could feel the grief choked in his throat as though it were his own. And there was no one there to grieve with him.

Freya shifted slightly in the abyss and frowned. Things had been getting more difficult for her love, and as much as she wished otherwise, she had the painful premonition that things had only gotten harder.

~.~

It had been five days since Merlin had left Camelot. Although, in his current frame of mind, he doubted very much that anyone had noticed or cared.

He had wandered the forest for a few days, trying to clear his head, and had subconsciously walked to the place where he'd always found the most peace. He had set up his tent at the Lake of Albion two days ago, and he hadn't left since.

He shifted the last piece of wood onto a better place over the fire and glanced up overhead at the stars. They were about to be obscured by the smoke of his campfire so he muttered a quick spell that prevented anyone but him from seeing the smoke that was beginning to rise above the treetops. He had been doing that for the past two days, as long as he had been there at the Lake, but he wasn't sure why.

At first it had been a desire to keep from being found by bandits and a childish fear of being found by Arthur and the others before he was ready to see them. But after a few hours he had realized the obvious: Arthur and the others weren't coming to find him. So now he maintained the cover as a way to not attract bandits and out of habit.

Now he was alone – he had been alone for awhile now, but now there was no loud bustle in his head, no laughter and arguments and talking that reminded him of what he now lacked because of the friendships he had lost. Merlin wasn't sure what he had done, besides be himself, to deserve the sort of neglect that he'd been experiencing from the people he had sacrificed so much for.

But maybe that was destiny's way of telling him he was done, he reasoned to himself as he pulled an extra neckerchief from his pack and wrapped it around his neck. Maybe it seemed like no one needed him anymore because no one needed him anymore. It was possible.

Morgana was gone. Arthur had the Knights of the Round Table and Gwen. He was a bit more tolerant towards magic, at least where the druids were concerned, and maybe that was all that could be hoped for. Arthur knew now of his role to form Albion and he'd already formed a tenuous respectful relationship with Queen Annis, which could only help in uniting the kingdoms.

There wasn't much else for Merlin to do, really. It wasn't as though he was meant to bring magic back to the land. He might have been once, but he'd already ruined that. He'd singlehandedly turned Arthur against magic forever, and so really he couldn't do anything at this point but muck things up further.

Merlin took a deep breath of the night air and moved underneath his tent, which was an old cloak he'd propped up on sticks. He'd done his part. He'd fulfilled his destiny.

Now he just had to figure out what he had to do with the rest of his life.

He couldn't go home to Ealdor, not yet. His mother knew him far too well for him to lie to her about his purpose for being there. She would try to cheer him up and send him back to Camelot 'where he belonged.' That might have been true once, but not anymore. Now he didn't know where he belonged, and he wished someone would give him the answer.

Someone other than Kilgharrah, he thought to himself and smiled a little. He was in no mood for obscure riddles, and it was a good thing that Kilgharrah apparently was unable to read his mind. If he had been, Merlin was certain that his peace would be interrupted by an indignant dragon full of hot air and indignation that a certain young warlock had abandoned his destiny.

It wouldn't be so bad to stay here, Merlin thought. There was plenty of vegetation for food around, he had plenty of water and shelter, and he was as close as he could be to one of the few people he knew liked him. And unlike his mother, she wouldn't talk back to him and try to make him return to Camelot. He laughed to himself. He wouldn't have minded if she'd tried though – he'd just like to get an opportunity to speak with her again.

~.~

For the relatively few times that the powers had actually allowed Freya to contact the world of the living to help Merlin, never once had she been permitted to leave the lake itself. She had talked to him face to face in the pool of water from the Fisher King and had even been able to hold the sword that could slay the dead aloft for Merlin when he came to get it. But only her arm had ever breached the surface, and she had resigned herself to never leaving the waters despite her yearning to do so.

It had been especially hard when Merlin had come to bury the knight Lancelot. She could hear his voice, feel the warmth of the flames that consumed the burial boat, and even see the glint of his tears as he watched the man burn. But she could not breach the waters and run to him or comfort him. As hard as it had been to watch him come to the lake for meditation and escape, to see him lament or express his frustration without ever being able to help him, seeing him grieve so was worse. He was so young, so good, to have know the extent of grief he had known.

So when she felt his presence near the lake she had steeled herself both for the joy in seeing him and the pain of being unable to help him, but expected no more than that. For two days she felt his presence, but knew nothing more. The increasingly frustrating powers that kept her at the brink between the worlds did not even deign to let her see what was happening, or even to know why he was there for so long. Surely he would not leave Camelot for so long unless something grave had happened to him.

It was on the evening of the second day that she felt the abyss around her lighten and she began to rise up from wherever she resided in the lake. She almost floated to the surface of the water, confused and surprised at the way the water was releasing her. Such a thing had never happened before, no matter how much she might have wished it – and the powers did not seem to find it necessary to tell her what was going on.

But it didn't matter – as she felt herself rise from the water for the first time, her heart began pounding with life and exuberance at finally seeing and she felt pure gratitude for the powers for giving her this opportunity.

However, when she broke the surface, she saw Merlin and her heart stopped. That was partly due to the sheer joy of seeing her beloved again, but also because of the look of sheer dejection and emptiness on his face. She had not thought there could be anything worse than the look of grief and agony on his face just before she had died, but the look of emptiness on his wonderfully expressive face nearly broke her. He was so numb to everything that he didn't even look up at the sound of her stepping out onto the shore, or notice when she sat down beside him.

Freya kneeled silently beside him and took a bracing breath. Her hand reached out towards him, quivering with anticipation and trepidation at the thought of finally being able to touch him once more, and she placed it gently on his shoulder.

Then he reacted.

A/N: This story came about after I read a rant written by Ryne on the excellent Merlin fan website, The Heart of Camelot. Merlin doesn't ever get enough credit from his peers, and she mentioned that he probably doesn't view himself in the highest regard. The story went from here.

But it can only get better from here! Or can it...

Thanks for reading and please review! They make me happy!