Hey guys! I know it took a while to get this posted, but as you will soon see, this is a bit of a challenge for me. Arthur is the son of a wealthy plantation owner in a pre-civil war South (United States). Merlin is a northern abolitionist that has been using his magic to free slaves. They both have memories of their past lives, but can't remember each other. Since Merlin is an odd name for the 1800's, I've named him Emerson because it's close to Emrys.

Let me know what you think! I've tried something new, and I really hope you enjoy it! :)

And thank you to the guest review that gave me this idea and to all my loyal readers and followers! I love you all!

Year: 1860 [American Civil War starts in 1861]

Arthur POV:

Long pale limbs against white sheets. It's beautiful and ethereal. It's home. My hands slowly discover the naked body that writhes under me, and I can't help but moan as I memorize every dip, every curve, every bone; everything that's so clearly him. No matter how much I try, I can't see his face. I imagine it to be as beautiful as the rest of him, but I know that he's beyond all human beauty. My tongue begins to follow the path of my hands, and the beauty begins to moan.

"Arthur! Oh Arthur please!" I begin to suck on a particularly sensitive part of his neck. Even his skin tastes amazing. I can't wait to see what he tastes like in other places. "Please! Remember Arthur! Remember everything!"

What?

"Remember us. Remember me."

My vision is blinded as images of horses, chainmail, satin, crowns, books, scarves, and dozens of marriage bands. I know this. This is familiar. As I try and think of where I've seen all this, I'm back in room.

The sheets are slick with my sweat, again. Every night I dream of the mystery man, and every night I wake up unsatisfied with more questions than answers. All I can remember from these dreams is the beautiful man, and the feeling of something missing. Never in my life have I been more frustrated.

Merlin POV:

I lay awake in my room, staring at the ceiling. I can't sleep. The doctor says that it's insomnia, a new type of sleeping disease. But it's not something new, I know it isn't. I've never been able to sleep without him. I get these flashes, a type of image that only I can see, and each and every time I see the same man with golden blonde hair and a beauty that rivals Aphrodite. I can't ever see his face clearly, and the more I try, the less I see. It frustrates me to no end, but I know that it won't be like this for long.

Hours later the sun begins to rise, and I know that I need to get up and get some work done.

"Good morning, Harriet," I greeted as I passed her by. She's one of the many blacks that I have freed with Father throughout the years. Originally, we had told her that she could work for us (with a lovely paycheck) until she could get back up on her feet, that was 2 years ago.

"G'mornin' Mr. Emerson. How is you this fine mornin'?" She gave me a stern look and I ducked under her stare. "Now don't you go tellin' me that you still ain't sleeping! I told you young man! You needs your rest! I would tell you to get back in that bed and sleep 'till I'm satisfied, but I know you'll just pull another trick on me!"

I smiled, remembering the last time Harriet tried to keep me sleeping in bed. It was when she started to doze off that I teleported to right outside our apartment building. I was born with this ability, these magical abilities. My mother knew, but she wanted to kept it a secret from Father until she was able to confirm her suspicions. She died before she was able to tell him, I was 2 years old. The only reason I know is because once when I was about 8 years old I wanted to meet my mother so badly because all the other boys, like William my best friend, had mothers, but I didn't. So one night when I was crying in bed, I opened my eyes and I saw my mother when she saw my first bit of magic, and so on the visions went until I figured out why she didn't tell anyone; she was scared, but she loved me anyways.

Father is wonderful, he really is, but I just know that of all the things he's accepting of, magic would be pushing it. So I've kept it a secret from everyone.

I sat down at the table where Harriet was laying out breakfast. Father isn't up yet, but I know it won't be long until he gets out of bed. I pick up today's paper and briefly glance through the back before flipping it over to the headlines. Right in the middle of the front page is a picture of me helping some of the blacks through Southern territory. I'm grasping the hand of Marge, one of the many black slaves that I was able to free. In her arms is her youngest child, a young boy by the name of Jon; he's half white. The headline reads: Emerson Strikes Again! The story retells the many escape groups I've led out of the South from abusive owners. It's the one way that I'm able to use my magic for good. I just hate to see it waste away on clearing all the spinach from my plate when I know it can do so much more. It's not even the first time I've done this. Back when I was Emrys, I freed thousands of Druids from the lands where they were prosecuted. I remember once, I ran into the man that haunts my dreams. He had followed me and was angry that I had left him to help people that I didn't know; he had been afraid that I was going to get hurt without him. The golden-haired Adonis almost never let me leave his side after a couple years. I try and remember why, but it's just a fuzzy blur.

Arthur POV

I sat down on the porch, looking over our vast fields. The slaves have already been working for hours by now, and I can see them covered in sweat and grass, it hasn't even reached 10 o'clock.

"Sarah!" I call out. One of the many black women that work in the house came over to me. She's been taking care of me since I was born, and I can't imagine what life would be like without her. "Go and fetch some of the men on break. Tell them that I demand that they bring 4 pitchers of water to all those working in the fields as of now."

"'Course Mr. Penn. I go righ' a'way."

She went off, and I sat back in my chair and relished in the sun's heat. Father has a meeting with the railroad company later today, so I know that I won't be able to rest for a long while after that.

"Mista' Penn? I gotcha papers for ya." A small black boy comes up to me and I reach out and take the stack of newspapers from his hand. Father demands that we know what's going on everywhere from direct sources, hence the 3 different papers, all from the biggest parts of the United States.

"Are you still trying to read, Johnny?" The little boy nods and I smile at him. Most of the people around here despise the thought of a slave learning to read, but I've found that it makes things easier for me, and they enjoy it. "Read the biggest words on the page. Right here." I hand him the paper and point at the headlines.

"Em'son strikes a'gen." He struggles to make the words out, but I flash him a bright smile. Wait, what?

I grab the newspaper from his hands and read it for myself. "Emerson strikes again. God be damned." He did it again.

This Emerson character from up North has been stealing slaves for years now. This latest theft must be recent since I haven't heard anything. All these northerners think that just because they're more educated they know everything! They think that they can play God and dictate how we run our lives down here without ever having been south of Maryland. They think that just because most people treat their slaves savagely, that it gives them the right to take their property! They may be human, but they were paid for, which makes this Emerson character a thief! Next he'll be stealing from here in Georgia as well!

"Mista Pen, is you all righ'?" I can't imagine what I'd do if they stole Johnny, or even Sarah. They are my property, but I take care of them, and they are mine to keep.

"I'm fine Johnny. Can you go and tell Father I'll be with him an hour before Mr. Gould arrives? I have some letters to write and wish not to be disturbed until then." Emerson. This guy isn't going to be getting anywhere near my plantation.

"'Course Mista Pen." Johnny smiled and walked off.

I stood up and went back inside the house, careful to avoid any places that Father could be lurking. It's easy to avoid Mother. I believe she's out at a luncheon with the Jacksons. She's always out of the house at one activity or another. She's a highborn woman and it shows in everything that she does. Of course, I'm quite spoiled as well, but I stay and take care of the plantation unlike the other young boys my age. They're always inviting me out for a trip to the big cities where they can spend all of daddy's money, but I always say no. First of all, I don't like nor do they like me. I'm invited simply because Father has the largest plantation in Georgia and they know it would be best if they were in my good graces. Secondly, whenever I leave the plantation, the women like to suck up to me. Most guys would find it flattering, but it just makes me uncomfortable whenever they push their breasts up against me; I prefer a toned, flat, and broad chest instead. Just thinking about my mystery man made me smile.

However, a glance at today's paper from up North reminded me of my mission. I head over to my study and begin my research. I spend the next several hours researching this Emerson and all his thefts in the South. I write several letters to the plantations throughout the area and ask for any and all information they may have on the subject of Emerson the Thief. The newspapers reveal that there is not much known about Emerson. Out of the blue on day he arrived in Philidelphia with 60 "ex"-negro slaves in tow. Nobody knew how he did it, and they still don't, even after dozens of break-outs. There is no mention of any other whites helping Emerson, nor is there an interview with the man. It's all very odd. He's taken slaves from Maryland to South Carolina (where the latest theft took place). A couple of hour's worth of research was able to tell me that Emerson has a pattern; the number of slaves he takes increases and he is going deeper south. The only major question is how he's able to make it from South Carolina to Massachusetts (Emerson's home state). It's impossible to move so many miles with that many slaves undetected!

A little voice in my head whispers, it's not impossible, and you know it. It's magic…. Magic. Your warlock is returning to you.

Suddenly I my vision goes black before forming a scene (memory). I'm in a bedroom filled with explensive furniture and stone walls (I'm in a bedroom filled with expensive furniture and stone walls (my chambers). There's a man laying down on the middle of the large bed and he's smiling at me (that deranged smile of his…). He says something to me, but I can't hear it. I'm suddenly moving forward, and just before I reach the wide-eyed angel, the room spins upside down. The man's face is blurred out slightly, but I can tell he's smirking.

"That's what you get, you prat! I know that bucket of water was to dump on me! Gwaine found me in the kitchens and told me! Well, I got you first! Clotpole! You get to stay like that for the rest of the day as punishment." It wasn't the room that had gone upside down, it was me. The man made me hang in mid-air with only a thought. Magic.

I'm back in my room again, and as I look at the newspaper, a feeling of familiarity comes through me. Emerson, who are you?

Did you like it? I know there wasn't any smut, but I may add some in the next chapter if you beg ;)

Please let me know what you think! Like Circus, this is only going to be a few chapters long. After I finish this one, I will start on another plot bunny for the same series.

Who should Merlin's father be? Uther? Will? Morderd? How about for Arthur?
Want a Morgana appearance? If so, should she be good, or evil? (I hate categorizing like that...)

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