Arthur Pendragon was ten years old when his world finally began to make sense.
It was in his fifth grade, when his class went on a week long camping trip. He didn't know, at the time, what compelled him to sneak out of the tent in the wee hours of the morning, when the first rays of dawn lit up the treetops and his legs carried him towards the shore of a lake. It's surface was shimmering in morning light, and he could feel his breath halt, afraid to disturb the serenity of the sight that felt so otherworldly. It may have been some divine compulsion or simply his innate, childish desire to explore that made him go further, then, until his rubber flipflops were left on the shore and his bare feet touched the water.
There was a hand then, that rose out of the water, translucent and not entirely present, an image out of mist. There was a hand, and then another, and then the head and the body — a figure arose from the lake, smiling at the little boy that intruded her realm.
"Hello, Arthur." She spoke, and her voice didn't carry through the air like a human's would, rather, it sang with the wind, hit the ears like tiny drops meeting the water. "It's good to meet you at last."
He stared at her, for a long moment, before answering.
"How do you know me?" He frowned at her. Father told him not to talk to strangers, and this might have been a very pretty woman made out of mist, but she was still very much a stranger. Still, he didn't step out of the lake, for his curiosity was much greater than his father's teachings which felt so far away at the moment, and there was no one around to see anyway.
"The world speaks to me. I can't leave this lake, but I can see far beyond it." Her answer was not an answer at all, Arthur thought. His confusion must've been evident, because she smiled at him again, and there was a mischievous hint in the corner of her lips that made her look not so much like a spirit in a lake but a living and breathing young girl, but the next second it was gone and Arthur was left to wonder if he imagined it entirely.
"Why can't you?" He asked.
"It's were I was put to rest." She spoke the words so evenly, as all of the things she previously said, that it took Arthur a few seconds to catch the meaning of it.
"Does that mean you're dead?" He asked, hoping not to offend her with it.
"Not exactly. I'm here, aren't I?" Once again, her answer gave more questions than it answered.
"There are ghosts." He said. Arthur wasn't sure there were, actually. His father didn't believe in such things.
"I am different from ghosts."
Arthur nodded, as if it made perfect sense. It didn't.
"Do you have a name?" He asked. It was only polite to ask for a person's name when first meeting them. Than again, lake-guardian-spirits could have entirely different etiquette.
"I was called Freya, once." There was a small smile, again.
"Do you often speak to people?" He never heard of such entities as her. It couldn't have been a common occurrence, surely. But wouldn't that be lonely? Having no one to talk to?
She shook her head, and there was a wistful look in her eyes.
"I haven't spoken to anybody in centuries." That couldn't have been nice, Arthur thinks. If she could speak to him, why didn't she speak to others?
"Why'd you speak to me than?" Freya didn't answer immediately, pausing the flow of their measured back-and-forth. It almost looked like she was unsure, but her features were still so calm, it was impossible to tell.
Then, she asked. "Do you have dreams, sometimes?"
It was a silly question. Everybody had dreams. Arthur understood immediately though, it wasn't the regular kind of dreams she was talking about.
Because the thing is, Arthur did have dreams. Ever since he was little. He remembers dreaming of white towers and battlements, of bright red banners and capes. Of metal clanging and laughter and a weight of a sword in his hand, on his hip. Of familiar faces he could never quite place. Of raven curls and bright blue eyes, especially often.
He never told his father about them — he'd call such things foolish. Arthur didn't think they were.
Arthur looked at Freya and nodded. There was a glim of relief in her eyes, he thought.
"Would you like to see more?" She asked, offering him her hand. Not solid in any common way of the world but in that moment, more real than any other thing around them.
Arthur didn't think twice before grasping it.
please tell me if you'd like to see more of it because i love the thing in my head so far
where is merlin in it? he's gonna be there. with a twist. it's a reincarnation fic but with a twist. it's also very merthur. or as much as it can ever get with my aromantic ass.
also it's modern au but i still haven't decided on a more specific setting- should i do college au? i'd be horrible at it even though it would make sense thematically- i haven't been outside in years how does society function? how do i write it?
can you see i love freya? i love her very much
