A/N: A bunch of random little bits have been flying through my head all week so I figured I'd finally type one out.
This will likely be three chapters and they should be completed within the next few days.

Anyone else feel a sense of great victory when their word processor insists a word you typed doesn't exist, but then you prove it is by looking it up?
And yes, I do pull up the dictionary page as if to mock Open Office with the presence of the word it doesn't acknowledge.

Merlin woke suddenly, a howling like that of a giant wounded beast filling his ears.

This is what happens when I try to rest midday...

Normally he would simply roll over and try to eke out a few more moments of recumbence; but then, normally his window didn't explode as his shutters were torn out of the frame.

This, understandably, was enough to bring him to full wakefulness at which point he realized the sheer volume of the howling- and also that the room was moving in a way stationary buildings really should not.

He couldn't even hear himself screaming as the floor attempted to trade positions with the wall, sending him tumbling out of the bed which made a valiant effort to crush him against the formerly vertical surface.

The servant sent up silent thanks for his small amount of possessions before clambering over the cot and pulling himself up by the swinging cupboard door on his way to the main chamber.

"Gaius!"

The old man had been on his way out to the lower town when Merlin had settled down for his nap and he desperately hoped that's where he still was as his eyes beheld the destruction.

Worktables, books, and numberless glass objects had piled up against the new floor; several flammable items having crammed themselves into the still-lit hearth.
Cursing freely (no one could hear anyway), he began stumbling across the debris in an attempt to forestall what would undoubtedly be a spectacular explosion.

Unfortunately for him the room chose that moment to perform some truly impressive rolling maneuvers, sending a flaming bench into a jumble of anatomy tomes which were all too happy to begin burning.

The warlock probably would have been tearing his hair out if he had even a shred of his wits left, but being tumbled about alongside a flaming conglomeration of questionable medical equipment with little regard for the laws of gravity did not do good things for one's ability to think logically.

The writing desk crashed into his left side and the pain of his newly broken arm gave him just enough focus to unleash his instinctive magic, slowing the surrounding world to a standstill.

Painfully pulling himself toward the door (properly vertical at the moment, though the floor was currently the ceiling), he crawled out into the corridor and began making his way down (up?) the stairwell.

It wasn't long before his hold on time failed and the spiraling resumed, sending the gangly young man head-over-heels. A few seconds of being sent up, down, and around the staircase was all it took for him to completely lose any lingering sense of presence- something that lost all meaning when he reached the end of the stairs.

Merlin had time for one last thought before the 'decorative' mace that had formerly been attached to the wall rendered him unconscious.

I should have just latched myself in the cupboard and gone back to sleep.