The trees in the orchards and byways of Camelot were beginning to bud; in a week or two, they would be clouds of blossom. From miles around, the people of Camelot had come for the early spring market. Crop prices were widely discussed and many a handshake preceded a round of ale as alliances were made, both for good and ill. Craftsmen and and merchants from all over Albion were at hand to show their wares. Goods were exchanged, and the forthcoming summer jousting was topic of debate and occasional fisticuffs, when the ale was flowing free.

The sun was sweet, warm and gentle, far from it's blazing summer zenith, and everything about the day lightened Merlin's heart. The light of the changing seasons, the colors, everything warmed him after the chill of winter, after the relentless grey of sky and mud. Amazingly, he had the afternoon off.

Guinevere and Arthur were off on a picnic. He had to admit he had rolled his eyes when Arthur first mentioned it. While a picnic scored zero in the realm of originality in Merlin's opinion, he could not deny that Gwen would be delighted and so he had enjoyed arranging the secret picnic spot he and Arthur had scouted out weeks ago. Like their clandestine picnics of long ago, when the threat of Uther was an ever present fear, this rendevous required both subtlety and deep secrecy, now that Arthur was king. Qualities upon which Merlin prided himself.

Everything was in order, each detail taken care of meticulously. Food, wine, flowers, cushions, every last girlish comfort as the king would say. There. He could hear Arthur tramping loudly up the trail, giving his pre arranged signal that Merlin was to depart. Really, did Arthur think he was deaf? He slipped away through the trees, hugging tight to the shadows. As he neared the main road, the prospect of the afternoon of freedom made him feel like the young carefree boy he appeared on first glance.

Merlin whistled boldly as he headed up into the lower town, planning on meeting Gawaine and Percival. The narrow streets were hung with flags, the different inns boasting of the jousting champions who ate and slept there the season before. Open air kitchens cooked and sold food to the travelers coming into the fair. Music spiraled in bursts from the market, and there was laughter and people talking all around him.

"Tell your fortune, sir," said a soft voice beside him.

"Don't think so," replied Merlin with a sillier than usual grin. The very thought made him want to laugh. The woman who had spoken,was a slight figure in the shadows, but Merlin felt no sense of danger from her. He caught a glimmer of something else, but shaking his head he moved on through the crowd, as he heard the phrase that had claimed his attention repeated again and again. A tinker's stand nearby gave Merlin to think that perhaps they were gypsies, or Romany, as Geoffrey had called them. They were even more despised than Druids.

He thought no more of them until he was on his way back to the castle. The sun had already set and the night was glooming fast, soon it would be full dark. Gawaine and Percival had held fast to their tavern seats, but Merlin felt compelled to check on Arthur and Guinevere. He passed the tinkers booth, where the slender woman was now holding a box of trinkets, into which some passerby's peered with interest before they either bought something or passed on.

"Something from your lady, " said the woman as he neared, looking up almost as if she recognized him.

"Don't have a lady," he said softly. For most merchants that was enough to get them to change tactics or leave him alone. But the Romany woman only smiled sweetly.

"She would be sad to hear you say so."

At that, Merlin turned, only to meet the smoky, lucent eyes of the Romany fortune teller. In her hand was a small silver amulet of some sort. It was a hollow box about an inch across in size. A delicate strawberry plant was sculpted on the subtle shimmer of the silver surface. Fruit, flower and leaf were depicted on either side. "The plant is sacred to Freya," said the woman. The warlock took a stunned breath but before he could speak, the woman spoke again.

"Do you know who Freya is?"

The woman's question filled Merlin's eyes with a sheen of tears, as she pressed the amulet into his palm.

"She is a goddess to the people of the North, " she continued, as if Merlin's silence was to be expected. "The fierce sea wolves call her the goddess of love and beauty, but she gathers the bravest warriors to her hall of honor, and she stands beside their strongest god, who sacrifices himself without end, who sees both the past and the present, and holds the darkness at bay."

He held the amulet in his hand, the words passing over him; he could almost hear Freya's laughter. Remembering with a pang, how uncertain his magic had been in those days, he turned the amulet over. On the sides of the hollow square were Latin words written in raised letters.

Semper Amemus.

His hand closed over the fragile object, his heart suddenly thundering, for nothing could explain this. "Where did you get this ," he demanded in a voice that brooked no delay.

"It is from your lady," repeated the gypsy woman calmly as she turned and walked away. Merlin remained where he stood, stunned, paralyzed, as she was swallowed by the darkness.

A/N This story is inspired by the beautiful artistry of Anne Choi, who created the silver Semper Amemus bead. Yes, it actually exists! Google her and check out her website. Unfortunately, she does not do custom beads, but her work is truly amazing.