A/N: Hello! It's your mysterious author here! Kind of getting in to Merlin, so i thought I'd write a fic. Please excuse any mistakes and feel free to point them out and make criticisms in reviews; it might not be up to scratch with any particular series, I've only seen about 10 episodes scattered about all four series. And, yes; the title is quite cheesy, but I'm sorry, I can't think of anything else.

Merlin/OC

Disclaimer: I own everything...

LOLJK I WISH! Nah, I just own Beth.

P.S: All Whovians, you know I'd walk 500 miles for you... Maybe I'd walk 500 more too...

A Future in the Past.

I pulled the hood of my jumper up over my head as I walked amongst my classmates. It was a trip to the National History Museum; new artifacts had been discovered in the general area of Somerset that pointed towards the Arthurian legends of Camelot, Knights of the Round Table, Excalibur, King Arthur himself and even Merlin the Great Wizard, to be true.

There where tomes and scrolls, which had both taken at least a year to translate since discovery; they had even thought to have found a knight's chain mail.

"The most recent finding is that of a sword. Archaeologists believe it once belonged to Sir Lancelot of the Round Table!" the Tour Guide, a small and bald man with a large stomach, glasses and a tweed suit that scarcely fit him, squealed excitedly. "A very meritorious discovery indeed!"

It's all lies, I thought. They're all fakes, or misinterpreted readings.

Camelot did not exist, and everyone knew that until those stupid pricks found a bunch of tattered books and parchment that would fall apart if you breathed on them.

Honestly, I didn't believe in any of it. Maybe while I was a child had I thought of it, and adored hearing stories and legends of the valiant King Arthur with his loyal adviser Merlin, the greatest wizard to ever live. But Arthur pulled no sword from a stone, Merlin was no wizard and it was all a bunch of made up nonsense.

"Over here we find what appears to be Merlin's book of Magic! Now, Merlin is widely perceived as a powerful warlock who served and advised the magnificent King Arthur in the time of Camelot. The standard depiction of the character first appears in Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae, written in 1136, and is based on an amalgamation of previous historical and legendary figures. Geoffrey combined existing stories of Myrddin Wyllt, Merlinus Caledonensis, a North Brythonic prophet and madman with no connection to King Arthur, with tales of the Romano-British war leader Ambrosius Aurelianus to form the composite figure he called Merlin Ambrosius, or, in Welsh Myrddin Emrys.

"Geoffrey's rendering of the character was immediately popular, especially in Wales. Later writers expanded the account to produce a fuller image of the wizard. Merlin's traditional biography casts him as a cambion: born of a mortal woman, sired by an incubus, the non-human wellspring from which he inherits his supernatural powers and abilities. The name of Merlin's mother is not usually stated, but is given as Adhan in the oldest version of the Prose Brut. Merlin matures to an ascendant sagehood and engineers the birth of Arthur through magic and intrigue. Later authors have Merlin serve as the king's advisor until he is bewitched and imprisoned by the Lady of the Lake.

"Several decades later, the poet Robert de Boron retold this material in his poem Merlin. Only a few lines of the poem have survived, but a prose retelling became popular and was later incorporated into two other romances. In Robert's account Merlin is begotten by a devil on a virgin as an intended Antichrist. This plot is thwarted when the expectant mother informs her confessor Blaise of her predicament; they immediately baptize the boy at birth, thus freeing him from the power of Satan. The demonic legacy invests Merlin with a preternatural knowledge of the past and present, which is supplemented by God, who gives the boy a prophetic knowledge of the future.

"Robert de Boron lays great emphasis on Merlin's power to shapeshift, on his joking personality, and on his connection to the Holy Grail. This text introduces Merlin's master Blaise, who is pictured as writing down Merlin's deeds, explaining how they came to be known and preserved. Robert was inspired by Wace's Roman de Brut, an Anglo-Norman adaptation of Geoffrey's Historia. Robert's poem was rewritten in prose in the 12th century as the Estoire de Merlin, also called the Vulgate or Prose Merlin. It was originally attached to a cycle of prose versions of Robert's poems, which tells the story of the Holy Grail: brought from the Middle East to Britain by followers of Joseph of Arimathea, the Grail is eventually recovered by Arthur's knight Percival.

"But back to the magic; it is said that these words written in this tome are the very words the great Merlin himself uttered, and anyone who is likely to try and copy would fail. Who knows what would happen if one were to practice the magic from this book, but were to misread or falsely say a word?"

I listened no more to the mindless droning of useless information that came from the Guide. The only reason I was here was because of the history course I was taking, and it was obligatory to attend. If I didn't, I'd fail the class.

Finally, after many more minutes of dull drivel, we were dismissed for lunch break.

The class dissipated from the room and headed for the nearest cafe. Miss Wilkinson, my history teacher, stayed behind to talk to me.

"Very unresponsive today. I am disappointed. Aren't you going to eat?" She spoke in direct sentences and questions.

"No, Miss. I'm not hungry. I was just thinking of staying behind here to have a look at some of the other artifacts." I answered, trying to fool the old bat.

Luckily it worked, although she gave me one of her stern, suspicious looks before eventually trotting off to join the other teachers.

I looked from object to object, finally settling on the Book of Spells again. The words were big and complicated, and mostly hard to read from a thousand plus years in hiding.

I read some out loud, trying to phonetically speak them. I went over them again and again. My head started to spin; I was feeling woozy.

I must have fainted, because everything went black.

"Hurry up, you idiot."

"I'm walking as fast as I can with all of this equipment to carry!"

I awoke to the sound of two voices bickering in the distance. At first, I thought it was staff at the museum, bringing in more artifacts to the exhibition, but then I took a deep breath, my eyes still firmly closed. I had taken a lungful of air with the distinct odour of a field mixed within. I choked it back out in a horrid cough.

The rustling footsteps of the people the voices belonged to stopped.

"Arthur, did you hear that?" one said.

"I did. It didn't sound pleasant. Which way did it come from?" the other replied.

"From over there."

The footsteps approached me and stopped two feet from my body.

"Ah, right. Well, um." the second voice said.

The first cleared its throat awkwardly.

It was then I opened my eyes slowly.

Two men stood before me. One was tall and well built, wearing regal clothes. He had blonde hair and brown eyes.

The other was tall but lanky, wearing blackish-brownish trousers, a blue top, a red scarf and a brown jacket. He had black-brown hair and blue eyes.

Suddenly I was very aware that my body was strikingly cold. I looked down myself, I was lying front down on the pasture of green grass, my auburn hair tickling my back. That's when I realised I was naked.

Butt. Naked.

In the middle of a field.

"Dear God!" I screamed.

The men jumped and turned their backs.

The blond one spoke to me, his back still turned, not looking to me. "May I ask what you are doing lying naked in a field, lady?"

"I don't know." I answered curtly.

"Do you know where you are?"

"No."

"Do you have any clothes?"

"It would appear not." Quite frankly I was both embarrassed and confused at that last one. Where had my clothes gone? Why was I naked in a damned field?

I was ashamed at my body too; a fat mess of a vessel.

The blonde man took what seemed a cloak off from his body and threw it behind himself at me. "Put that around your body. I shall carry you back to Camelot myself."

Did he just say Camelot? No, I must have misheard him. I put the cloak around my body and covered myself. "I can walk on my own." Standing feebly to my feet on weak feeling legs. I tried to walk but only stumbled back to the ground again.

"Nonsense. By the looks of it you can't walk very well at all." the Blonde said, turning around and picking me up, carrying me bridal style. I clutched to keep the cloak around me.

"What are you doing?" I screamed, it wasn't a question. My feet kicked furiously.

The other man grinned, taking hold again of the bags he had set down. He mumbled something under his breath.

I didn't hear what it was, but the darkness overtook me again soon after.

"When do you think she'll wake up, Gaius?"

It was his voice again: the black-brown haired man's.

My eyes shot open and I fell off the surface I was lying on with a startled yell and bump.

"My guess would be now, Merlin." A different man, Gaius I presumed, answered.

Did he say Merlin?

I looked at myself and noticed that I was no longer naked, but wearing loose trousers, like this 'Merlin' person, and an itchy, worn out shirt.

"You clothed me?" I was a little self conscious that either one or both of these men had seen my fully naked body.

"Worry not, lady. I am the royal physician." the much older man, Gaius, answered.

He had grey hair, was quite tall, and was wrinkly like my Granddad. He reminded me a lot of him actually.

"Royal physician?"

"Yes, for the Royal Pendragon family of Camelot."

This was the point when I burst out laughing. The two men stared at me as if my head had just grown a twin.

"Ca-Camelot! And Me-Me-Merlin!" I managed to splutter out between fits of giggles.

"What's funny about that?" 'Merlin' asked, sounding a little offended.

"Next you'll be telling me that it was the magnificent King Arthur who carried me here from the field!" I cackled again.

"Prince Arthur actually. And if you wouldn't mind, would you tell us your name, Miss?" Gaius asked.

My name?

Surely this was a dream. And in dreams your mind makes everyone already know you. Right?

I sighed. "Beth Taylor." I said quickly. "Look, I'm not buying any of this. Tell Miss Wilkinson that I'm sorry, and I'll pay more attention in class, whatever. Just quit the act. Where did you find this old hut anyway?"

"This old hut, young lady, has been my home for many years. Who is 'Miss Wilkinson'?" Gaius told me, a look of annoyance hinting on his face.

"Oh, so this is a dream then. That's fine. I'll just go back to sleep then." The door knocked right on cue and swung open to reveal two guards.

"Lady, the King requests your presence."

"Oh does he now? Well, that's just marvellous. Going to meet the King now!" I said sarcastically to 'Merlin' and Gaius, a mocking grin on my face.

The guards took me by the arms and dragged me in the direction of the King.