Some days, when a sigh seems like more, or blink can take hours, a haze falls over your mind. It was a hot, sticky day, and Clark tried to make it look as if he was slowed or bothered by the heat like everyone else was. He wasn't. Summer was trudging forward, halfway through July, not that Clark could ever keep track-it was summer, after all. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn't help but feel he needed the sleep that was beginning to poke at him gently. His eyes were drooping slowly and getting heavy...maybe Lois' late night habits were starting to make an impact on him. She had such a weird sleep schedule; crashing at 3 in the morning and waking up near 11 am or noon.

Luckily he was already sitting at his couch in the barn loft, so his slumped figure found a place to rest on the cushions and small pillows. Daylight was fading as Clark faded, as well, slowly losing consciousness and slipping into places he didn't know he'd ever be.

It seemed as if Clark had only just closed his eyes as he heard the bellowing cry of who sounded to be an old man-a very pissed-off old man, of course.

"Merlin!" the man called, sounding as disgruntled as Clark felt at being woken up so suddenly. The only problem was that the minute Clark was fully conscious, he realized that he was not where he'd fallen asleep. At all.

"Coming, Gaius...," a young man's voice grumbled, seeming to come downstairs, if that was nearby. Clark sat up fully now, beginning to look around at where he was- only he had no idea where exactly that was. The small room looked medieval, with only a single window in one wall, a door facing him from his position on the cot-like bed and a simple side table next to the bed. As Clark finished looking around, still sitting on the bed, the door opened and his attention was turned towards it.

An old man-who Clark presumed was the irritated one who'd woken him up-walked into the room with a cross look on his face. Clark was mystified even more at the man's apparel...why did he look like he'd just been to the Renaissance Festival?

"Who are you? How on earth did you get in here?" he asked in a British accent, which only confused Clark further. Clark could only stutter, and hadn't even gotten a word out when the young man he must've heard came into the room.

The guy looked to be maybe Clark's age, but it was hard to tell since he was one of those kids that could have been 15 but had an age far beyond their own, especially in the young man's dark blue eyes. He looked Clark over with a furrowed brow and asked the old man quietly, "Do you know him?"

"I was just about to ask you the same question!" he snapped, exasperated as he glanced over at Clark nervously. Clark himself was beginning to wonder if this was all a dream, or maybe something Jor-El was trying in order to catch him off-guard. If that was the case, it sure was working.

Trying to keep from panicking, Clark shifted slightly on the bed and gulped before announcing, "My name's Clark. I-I don't really know how I got here..."

The old man scoffed. "You don't know how you just ended up in the most highly protected building in Camelot? I'm quite sure you didn't magically appear!" The young man cast his eyes down for a moment, as if the mention of such a method put him off a bit.

"Wait, Camelot? Is this...some kind of joke?" Clark laughed nervously, almost trying to convince himself it was only just.

"I don't know, is it? Are you a servant? I haven't seen you around," the young man spoke up finally, in a British accent the same as the old man's. He struck Clark as a shy person, but maybe one who was more lively when you got to know him. The guy had blackish hair just like Clark, but had darker eyes and more of an emotional depth than it seemed people would give him credit for. He was tall and lanky, with a thin face and sharp cheekbones, and wore a brown jacket over a blue shirt and red kerchief around his neck. It would be funny, if not in such a strange situation as this, to think that the young man had the same color choice as him when it came to clothing.

Clark simply shook his head in response to the stranger's question, then asked with slight hesitance, "Is this one of my trials? I know I probably shouldn't ask, but..."

"Merlin, is this some sort of prank?" the old man asked the young man quietly, turning his head as if Clark wouldn't hear that way. He was wrong, of course.

The teenager, Merlin, apparently, shook his head steadily and insisted, "I swear, Gaius, I have no idea who he is or where he came from. Or why he has such a funny accent."

Clark narrowed his eyes and stood up, finally deciding to figure this out assertively. The two strangers noticed him standing up and tensed up apprehensively before Gaius inquired, "Are you familiar with the rules pertaining to magic in Camelot, Clark?" Magic? To be honest, he was still getting used to their accents and medieval style of attire.

"No," Clark admitted, and Gaius sighed.

In a grave tone, the old man told Clark, "If you were a sorcerer, and you did come to be here by your magic...if the king found out, you would be hanged."

"Or burnt at the stake," Merlin added, which earned him a reproachful glare from Gaius.

This was just getting to be a little too weird for Clark. It had to be a dream. He would wake up any minute now, with Lois blasting Whitesnake or his mother telling him to wake up for dinner. Letting his anxiousness get the better of him, he made a snap decision and pushed past the two in order to open the door and run away. He heard twin sighs of exasperation behind him as he dashed down the stairs into a spacious room filled with what looked like alchemy supplies. It really was an elaborate set, he'd give them that.

After a hurried search for the door out, Clark pulled it open with as much self-control as he could manage so as to not rip the door off the hinges out of desperation. It was just a corridor, long and as much made out of stone and medieval-looking as anything or anyone in this place. Where was he? This had better not be some sort of tactic to keep him contained inside his mind...was he even in his mind? Clark pinched himself. Of course it hurt. Of course this was real. He'd never had such a vivid dream, even going as far as to say that this probably wasn't one.

As he continually turned halls and corridors, seemingly finding no end, Clark became increasingly desperate, breathing heavily and running his hands through his hair. Not many things made him this worried and freaked out, but even the idea of being lost forever in the labyrinth he was stuck in now was enough to make his palms sweat. He'd seen no one so far, but he suddenly turned a corner and ran into someone, who he only just started paying attention to.

The blonde guy he'd run into was seething now, his brown eyes showing the irritability that was also in his voice as he growled, "Watch where you're going." Clark just blinked at him, a bit surprised at finding another person besides Merlin and Gaius, and even a little put off by how arrogant the blonde seemed.

"Are you deaf? I said watch where you're going!" the guy snapped, with yet another British accent. Just how many here were from across the pond?

"Sorry," Clark said quickly, and turned to leave, but the blonde's hand was on his shoulder, and he was scoffing now.

"Don't you know who I am?"

Clark glanced around with a confused expression. "Um...no...?"

The young man, who looked to be between Clark and Lex's age, flared his nostrils and said through his teeth, "I'm Prince Arthur, you idiot."

It took a moment, but Clark began to snicker, then pulled a straight face as Arthur's expression turned indignant. "I'm sorry, but...you're Prince Arthur, like...King Arthur and the Round Table?"

With a deeply pissed off sigh, Arthur seemed to turn away, but rebounded and punched Clark right in the face. It all happened very quickly, but before they knew it, Arthur was holding his fist to his chest, cradling it, almost, and using curses Clark had only read about in history class.

"What...How...Are you magic?" Arthur demanded through the pain he was clearly feeling. Clark of course felt guilty; he should have at least ducked or pretended it hit him and hurt. He just shook his head, trying to find words.

"I'm...I'm not magic, I didn't even think that existed...,"

Arthur groaned, "Yeah, well it does, and if that wasn't magic, I don't know what it was. Who are you, anyway?" Clark was beginning to feel held up-he really needed to get out of here and find a way out of this elaborate set.

"My name's Clark Kent, and I'm from Smallville, Kansas," Clark announced, realizing halfway through that he sounded like he was at an alcoholics anonymous meeting. The supposed prince looked at him strangely through narrowed eyes as he circled Clark slowly.

"You don't look like a servant...," he muttered, "...though your clothes certainly are odd..."

"I'm definitely not a servant," Clark insisted, straightening up his back and standing up taller. He'd always beat his friends height-wise, and Arthur was shorter than him as most were, but the guy seemed to have a sort of presence. He could almost believe he was a prince in the way he held himself and spoke.

"If you aren't a sorcerer, and you aren't a servant...are you a peasant? A squire? A...knight, maybe?" Arthur said that last suggestion with hesitancy, as if he wouldn't really believe Clark if he confirmed to be one. Clark wasn't really sure what he was about to say when Merlin rounded the corner and gasped thankfully having found him.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, earning a glare from Arthur.

"You know this man?"

Clark held his head higher and smiled a bit, having been called a man, while Merlin replied, "Ah, yes, he's...he's...he's my cousin!" Even Clark had to admit, that statement sounded a little weak, and quite clearly made up.

"You're making this up," Arthur said monotone, a tired look on his face. It was almost funny to watch Merlin sputter up excuses, but Clark took this time as a chance to try and slip away. It didn't work.

"Hold on, where do you think you're going?" Arthur sounded a little pissed off as Clark slowly turned around. Merlin's face had a desperate expression on it, as if he was pleading Clark to go along with it. Arthur just looked annoyed.

Clark sighed, "Look, I don't know how I wound up here, and I'm sorry but I can't stay. I have to find a way back home."

"And where is home, might I ask?" Arthur inquired, an eyebrow raised slightly.

"Kansas, I already told you."

"Kansas," Merlin and Arthur sounded out in unison, puzzled looks on their faces. "I've never heard of it before," Merlin stated matter-of-factly.

"Not even I have, and I actually know places, unlike Merlin," Arthur admitted, and Merlin frowned. "You're looking for nowhere, my friend."

Clark bit his lip, thoughts racing-where was he? Wherever it was, it was getting realer and realer by the minute. He was almost scared it wasn't going to end up being a dream, a trial, or a setup. In the middle of his thoughts, someone down the hall called out, "Your Highness, the king asks for your presence in the courtroom." Clark looked up just as a knight left the hall, with Arthur calling back that he'd be there soon.

He stood scrutinizing Clark for a moment before declaring, "You'd better come with me, Clark Kent."