Marilyn, a merlin fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own the Merlin series. The Merlin series is the property of the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), and is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Warning(s): Violence with quite a bit of gore

Chapter 1: Marilyn, the Last Minute Backup

…arrived…sorry…home…here…understand…one…change…destiny…

Please, don't let the tragedy repeat itself again!

I gasp as my body locks into place and my eyes dart open. Slowly, I push myself back up, a harder task than I thought since my body feels like led. The firm ground beneath me crunches with every move I make and I can feel the sharpness of broken branches poke at me through my shirt. It's bright and warm out, but luckily the leafy canopy high above my head has shielded me from the sunlight. As a stand up, I swear I heard some little critters scurry away, probably in fear of my movements or something.

Why am I in the woods? What's going on?

I try to rack my brain for any logical explanation for what was happening as I carefully tread through unknown territory, but so far nothing was coming up. While I did live near swamp and woods, this was clearly a different place because these aren't the Cyprus trees I'm used to seeing. Also, I'm not stupid enough to drink to the point where I go and sleep outside. I immediately stop when I spot someone in long brown robes in the distance, hunched over the base of a tree.

"Excuse me?" I call out to them as I slowly make my way forward. The person gasps, shoots up, and whirls around to meet me. The old man stares at me, his eyebrows raising in surprise for not even a second before settling down to create a suspicious expression. He's clearly wary of me, and rightfully so. I also feel the same way, but I can't show it if I need his help.

"I'm really sorry for surprising you, I didn't mean to," I apologize, my voice clear through the clearing, as inch towards him with my hands up to show I mean no harm. The gesture eases some of the tension in his shoulders, but his guard is still up. He doesn't speak in the moment of silence I make, so I continue.

"I'm wondering if you can help me. I'm currently lost, so I would be very grateful if you could point me to the nearest city. Or if you have a phone that I may borrow. I swear, it'll only take a minute and I'll be out of your hair."

By the looks of it, this man was used to life in the woods. There were different types of plants that peeked through the rim of his woven basket. He was most likely foraging before I came along and interrupted. Also, his clothes remind me of some of the costumes people wore to the Ren fairs I like to go to with friends over the spring and summer; all woolen and long.

"Who are you?" the man asks, his voice carrying on a clear, British accent. I've only heard it on television before, so this will be quite an experience for me.

"My name is Marilyn, a student from Irvine." His cautious expression briefly twitches to one of confusion at the mention of my place of study. That little detail catches me off guard.

"Where is this 'Irvine' you speak of? And why do you talk like that?" he inquires as he takes a small step back, as if ready to flee at a moment's notice. I can tell he's trying to be discreet about it too, using his long robes as a cover up, but it's pretty obvious with the way his slumped form already moves with his every breath, much less limb movement.

"The University of Irvine in California…" I slowly answer, carefully observing his reaction for any sign of recognition. But his nonverbal response remains, so I continue, "You know, California. Western coastal state of America. The country we're in, hence why I'm talking like…well, like this…" No response. I'm really starting to think that his whole medieval get-up is more than just for show.

"I don't know this 'America' or 'California' you speak of and we are certainly not there. Right now, we are in the outskirts of Camelot," the old man strongly declares, as if he truly believes his words. I'm in shock by it, but manage to hide it behind a face of realization.

"You're right," I easily agree with him. I'm dealing with someone who's not exactly right in the head, but I can't risk agitating them by constantly going against their words. No, I need to do this carefully. "You're absolutely right. I'm sorry for the confusion, it's just that I fell and hit my head earlier. I thought that I was fine enough to keep going, but it seems that I still have some spots in my memory," I smoothly lie.

"Could you please point me in the direction of Camelot, since we're so close to it?" The old man was about to answer, until suddenly the shouts of others drew out attention to the hill close by. Several brawny men bound over the hillside on galloping horses, their dark, tattered clothes billowing in the wind.

As much as I want to take the old man and make a break for it, I know it wouldn't be possible. For one, the likelihood of an old guy being able to keep up with me through a dense forest were very slim. And another, the horses were too fast for us. We could have run to a place where the horses can't traverse easily, but that would only magnify the issues of the first problem.

"Well, well. Look at what we have hear boys," the one whom I assume is the leader drawls out as he and his buddies circle us on their steads, his words carrying a bit of a swing to them. I warily eye each of the three riders as they circle us. They're all smug and pleased with themselves, certain we don't pose any sort of threat.

I mentally catalogue the immediate threats on their bodies; the leader has a sword and daggers on his belt, another is cradling a crossbow in his arms, and the third doesn't seem to have any sort of weaponry. None of the men have guns and the only ranged weapon is the crossbow. In fact, they also looked straight out of the Ren fair.

God, this whole situation feels so strange right now. Did I pass out during a fair or something? Is that what's going on?

"We have no quarrel with you, sir. My granddaughter and I were just gathering herbs. We have neither gold or valuables," says the old man, surprising me a bit. As guarded as he was around me, even more so than some strangers I've encountered, he was actually a good guy. He certainly didn't need to cover for me like that, yet did so without hesitation.

"I'll be the judge of that," the leader asserts as he dismounts his horse. He stalks his way towards us, particularly eyeing me in a way that makes me want to squirm. But I remain still, giving him no indication of my mood through a blank mask.

"Where are you from? Your clothes are far different than anything I've seen before." He's right about that, with me being the only one in modern attire here; an ordinary red t-shirt that's a size too big, regular blue jeans, and a pair of ordinary converse. I don't answer, choosing to keep my silence.

"I'm afraid we need to get back home in time for dinner, or her mother will have my head for having her out so late again," the old guy answers for me instead, stepping up and grasping my elbow. He gently tugged me, not in the opposite direction, but towards the side, where I assume his "Camelot" was. "You can have the herbs, but I swear we have nothing on us that is worth anything."

"Didn't I just tell you that I'm the one who's deciding, old man?" In one smooth motion, the stocky chief pulls out his sword and swings it around to rest against my companion's neck. The metal of the blade glistens in the sun and I can see how it's dangerously sharp edge is about to pierce through the wrinkled skin.

"Hey now, you shouldn't swing that thing around so wildly," I speak up, wary of the real threat of death. I have to give it to these guys, they're superb actors. But I don't want any accidents happening on their little skit. "You can really hurt someone with it."

My words were met with amusement from the lawless men, varying from the whispered chuckles of the one who had no weapon to the full blown laughter from the one off his horse. The corners of my lips twitch in concern and unease. Just how far were these guys willing to go to keep up the whole medieval illusion? Their dedication is very worrying.

"That's the point." The way the head of the group says it, it's like I'm a stupid child that can't understand anything said too fast. To make his point, the man takes his blade away from a throat – from the corner of my eye, I notice the old man just barely sigh out in relief – and twirls it around by the wrist. Some swipes nearly nick me in the arm, but the control was so precise that it never touches.

"And sometimes, it's used for more than just hurting people. It's sometimes used like this!" The leader shouts out the last word as he turns on his heel, bringing the blade up to decapitate the elder's head. I scream out in fear and retaliation, the entire scene playing in slow motion in front of me. I want to move, to push the kind elder out of the way of danger, but I'm not fast enough to do anything.

Then, something extraordinary happens. The sword just stops moving, comes to an immediate break despite all of the force and momentum put behind the swing. No one seems to realize it until the leader forcibly held back, no longer to move his weapon any further.

"What the hell?!" he angrily yells, staring at the blade with suspicious, disbelieving eyes. Several times, he tries to get the sword to budge, his face turning red with how much strength he was exerting to what should have been an easy task. And yet, it does not budge, not even a centimeter.

He even lets it go completely and it remains in its exact position. I can hear those on horseback preparing their weapons, but I'm too stunned by the sight of a floating sword to pay any more attention to them.

"Magic! They've got magic!" the man shouts out to his buddies, as if to warn them. He immediately pulls out the daggers at his hip, one in each hand, and attempts to stab his intended victim. But the sword abruptly moves to intercept each strike, the harsh sounds of metallic clanging resounding throughout the forest.

The movements of the sword were mechanical and all over the place in an attempt fend off all of the attacks, like the invisible person handling it had no form or technique to swordplay, only replying to instinct and senses. Eventually, the bandit chief showed an opening, twisting away from an attack, and the sword takes the chance.

It was a gruesome sight, the sword plunging straight into the man's chest. It was a swift hit, the blade never faltering as it kept on going until the guard is pressed up against the man. He opens his mouth to scream in pain, but only guttural sounds from deep within his throat as thick, red blood bubbling in his mouth and spilling over his rapidly paling lips.

But apparently that wasn't enough for the sword. Instead of just pulling out of the poor man, the blade slices down his chest, coming out of his hip on the opposite side. Despite the crunching of his rib cage and other bones, the weapon seemed to have no problem getting through, almost like a hot knife on butter. With the wound now open, blood pours freely through the gigantic slash and the lead thug falls to the forest floor, lifeless.

It was a disgustingly gruesome scene, but I don't have time to stare in terrified shock as the other two advance on us. The one with the crossbow doesn't even take a second to take aim and fires at me immediately. I can hear my heart beat slowly in my ears, my breathing like echoing sighs. It certainly feels like it too.

I can see the sharpened tip of the arrow coming at me, almost at a leisurely pace. I blink and the arrow leans to the side, just narrowly missing my head. It moves around the back of my head and time speeds up again as the deadly projectile shoots itself again, at the archer this time. The attack was clean, easily decapitating the man's head with hardly any trouble. His body immediately falls limp, heavily leaning to one l and falling of the saddle with a dull thud, as the head rolls along the leafy ground. The horse, with no more direction, slows its gallop and moves around its once-rider.

"Stay right where you are, you monster!" a man's voice, high pitched and trembling in fear, scream out. I whip around to see that the third and final member of the bandits, the one whom I assumed had no weapons, holding the old man hostage, standing behind him with a dagger up against his jugular. It was a small thing, something that looked easily concealable in regular clothing and maybe that's why I didn't see it. What stood out to me the most, however, was the milky white liquid dripping from the very tip of the blade.

"Look here, buddy," I breathe out, as I slowly raise my arms up in surrender. "Don't you think this act of yours and your friends is done? I can appreciate the thought and dedication you guys have for this sort of thing, but this has gone way too far," I try to reason.

"What the hell are you going on about?" the guy snarls at me. His ignorance at the severity of the situation is starting to anger me.

"All of this," I retort, careful not to yell. "I don't know how you pulled it all off and make it look so real, but it's too much and people will get hurt." The thief's eyes narrow dangerously as he literally growls at me.

"You're an insane bitch," he breathes out. I stare at him incredulously, unable to comprehend him. These people are clearly insane. I need to get out of here. Now.

"You know what?" I let my hands fall to my side with a deep sigh, a sign that I was so done with all of this nonsense. "You guys continue your little performance or whatever. I'll just go and find my own way back to the nearest city," I tell the men as I turn around and begin to walk away.

"He-Hey! Where do you think you're going?!" he cries out, seemingly confounded by my actions. "Don't you care what happens to this old man?!" I hear a whine of pain and turn my head to see said man's face twist in agony. My heart goes out to him that he has to deal with these ruffians. I don't know if he's in cahoots with them or just trying to enjoy the Ren fair on his own.

"Look," I begin with a suffer in sigh, "I'll just leave and you guys can just go back to immersing yourselves in this larping session of yours."

''You think this is all a game?" the dagger-wielder hisses out at me. "Our group, we're just trying to survive by any means necessary. And then you just had to appear and ruin it all for us."

"And what do you want me to do about it? Should I throw you some coins for your performances?" I ask in exasperation. While I'm normally generous with giving out tips, this is just too much.

The man screams out in rage, his face turning an ugly scarlet color. He forcibly shoves the old man to the ground and lunges at me, daggers aimed to kill. I quickly move back before he can slice my eyes out and it becomes a pattern between us. But it doesn't last long as my heel hits against a jagged stone and I fall onto a group of jagged rocks.

The ruffian is on me in not even a second and thrusts down, but I stop the blade with my hands, right before it pierces between my eyes. I can see the milky-white liquid seep in through the cuts, blending with my blood to make a pinkish substance. I'm starting to feel dizzy, but the fear and desperation to live keeps me strong and focused.

We struggle for a short period before I take the thief by surprise by twisting my body and forcing him to stab off the side, lodging the dagger into the stone. Something happening to my body, my vision starting to fade around the edges. It feels like time slows down as I turn my head to face my assailant. I watch as his face gradually morphs into utter fear when he notices me watching him.

I can feel a strong tingling flow through my body, rapidly moving to my free arm. I lift said arm high into the air, energy surging through the tips of my fingers as a blue light from above casts harsh shadows across our features. He tries to push himself up, but I don't let him. I slam my hand down against his back and a brilliant blue light blinds me.

Everything starts to return to normal as the harsh light fades away. I try to lift myself up, but my hand is stuck in something either warm and gooey or rough and ashy. I even feel something weakly bumping against my fingers, but it eventually ceases. I blink to clear my vision and I'm immediately met with the sight of the last of the bandit group, his face pale and frozen in terror. I lift up my upper body with my free arm to investigate further and what I find just stops my mind.

There lies the bandit, dead and face down in the stones with my hand piercing his back, around where his heart should be. The flesh around my finger is charred, but blood is still able to seep out through the cracks of burnt flesh and crawl to the ground. The air reeks of metal and undercooked meat, still tingling with unseen, electrical energy.

I...I didn't kill him, right? This had to be a trick, like what happened with his friends. Even if I don't know exactly how, but a hovering sword that slices a man or a flying arrow the decapitates another can be explained through logic and science. Technology, sleight, distraction, perspective; it's all possible.

But what I just did… to kill a man with my bare hands…That can be explained away as a trick, right? But the body feels too real, especially when I think back to the pulsing that was against my fingers. Oh god, what's going to happen to me? I accidentally murdered someone.

I place my free hand against the back of the man's shoulder and begin to dislodge my other hand from inside him. God, it feels like his flesh is desperately trying to stick onto my, almost like it's sucking me back. It's extremely tough, especially with my strength fading – most likely an effect of the shock. I just manage to rip my hand free with a disgustingly messy pop before I collapse to my side.

My conscience is starting to fail me, but I am able to make out the blurry outline of a hunched figure in rough brown, approaching me. A pair of rough, wrinkly hands gently grasp the undersides of my jaw and move my head around. The movement causes my head to swim, but it stops and I'm met with a sagging face and dark eyes narrowed in concern.

"Poison," the old man speaks in a grave tone. "He must've had an antidote if he coated his weapons," he mutters as he sets my head back against the stones as gingerly as possible. I can hear the sound of rustling fabric, so very distant even though the body is very close by. It doesn't take long for the old man to come back and he lifts my head again, this time with one hand cradling the back of my head while his other brings something up to my lips. It's cool, smooth, and round.

"Here, drink this. It should be the antidote," the old man softly instructs. I open my throat and take in the liquid. It's thick and bitter, very much like cough medicine. I can feel the effects of the antidote almost immediately as my strength trickles back into my body. It's hardly much, but it's an improvement.

"Can you stand?" I give a single, miniscule nod, and slowly get up onto my feet with his help. The attempt is wobbly a best, but it only takes one try. The old man then throws a heavy, coarse fabric around my shoulders, securing it around my neck before pulling some of it over my head like a wide hood.

"We'll head back to Camelot and, from there, I'll see what I can do." I nod again in the same fashion.

"Be sure to keep your head down." The old man grabs his basket of herbs and we head out.

.o0o.o0o.

The trip is mainly uneventful, as much as I can tell in my hazy state. The forager is trying to move as fast as possible, tugging me along with an arm around my shoulders. Yet, at the same time, carefully guiding me through. I can tell we reach a settlement as the sounds of many passerby's grows louder and the stink of a crowd is ever more prominent. I want to lift my head and look around, but I heed the old man's advice and just watch our blurry feet pass over uneven cobblestone.

"Gaius!" I hear a woman from afar shout out, quickly followed by fast approaching footsteps. I can feel the old man trying to hasten our slow pace, but I'm holding him back too much for him to do so.

"I'm sorry, Gwen," he apologizes to her without stopping, his voice urgent and rushed, "But I must tend to this person immediately." I don't hear the woman, Gwen, try to talk to or follow us.

.o0o.o0o.

Merlin…

The noise in my head is what wakes me up. The first thing I notice is how much better my body feels. Despite it feeling like I'm laying on a wooden board, I'm in a pretty comfortable position. The thin blanket on top of me doesn't offer much warmth, but the air is pleasant enough that I'm not freezing.

It's hard to tell the colors in the room as the only source of light is from the moonlight through the open window. And the window has to be open since the sounds of wind and bustling, albeit distant, life is too clear. I take a deep breath of the clean air, prepare my body, then sit up as I drag my legs over the edge of the table. My feet, still clad in classic converse, touch ground quickly, clueing me in that the table isn't really that high off the ground.

My limbs are stiff as I stand up. I'm still a bit groggy, but it's better than earlier.

Merlin…

I frown. It sounds like someone is calling out, yet the name is echoing inside my mind. I get down on all fours and press my ear against the wooden planks. Whoever is calling out is somewhere below me, but I can't tell how far.

I stand back up and make my way to the door on the other side of the room. Outside is a dark staircase heading downward, leading to a room bathed in low light. I cautiously make my way down, trying to make as little creaks as I can.

The room I step into is a cluttered mess; worn books, glass containers, mysterious substances, melting candles, and no sign of technology or electricity. It's like someone's science lab or academic hovel, if that someone is from the dark ages. I slowly walk around the area, taking in all the oddities. A half-rabbit mask catches my eye and reminds me of the masquerade masks certain hostiles would wear.

Merlin...

I get back down on all fours again and press my ear against the cold stone floor, trying to list again. It is at this moment that the front door opens and in walks the old man who had helped me earlier. He halts in his track when he notices what I'm doing.

We blankly stare at each other for a couple of seconds.

"Sorry," I mutter as I stand back up and straighten my shirt.

"What were you doing?" he asks me, placing the papers in his hand down onto the nearest table as he hobbles toward me.

"I heard someone calling out from below and was trying to pinpoint how far away they were," I answer truthfully. His face scrunches in confusion.

"What were they saying? I didn't hear anyone on my way here."

''They were saying a name. 'Merlin', I believe."

Merlin...

My eyes widen and I look down. "There it is again. It's been the same name over and over again."

"I don't hear anyone," the old man says with a frown.

"But I swear that I can hear someone. What if that person is shouting for their friend?" They didn't sound panicked or hurt or anything. It was more casual, like an "I'm over here" sort of situation. A thoughtful look comes across the man's face and he turns on his heel and starts walking away. I move quickly to follow.

"I believe I know who is trying to call out to you," he informs me, grabbing a black cloth and tossing it to me. I catch it easily and inspect it. There's a gaping whole in the center, the edges of the fabric singed and crisp.

"-might know what's..." I jump when I feel fingertips against my shoulder. My head whips to the side and there's the old man, looking at me with sympathetic eyes.

"I'm sorry," he quietly apologizes, "This'll be the last time you'll have to wear this, I swear." I look at him for a moment, trying to find any lies in his words. He looks completely truthful, however, and I give him a nod before putting on the long cloak.

"Alright," I breathe out, "Let's get going."

.o0o.o0o.

The old man leads me through a medieval castle, complete with armed guards in helmets and chainmail. Red banners of golden dragons decorate the otherwise empty, stone cold hallways. The only source of light and warmth come from the candelabras on the walls, but that's it. Everything else about this place is freezing, hard, and depressing.

As much as I want to believe that this is all an elaborate fair, such theories are deflating with every passing second. It all feels too real, too genuine to be fake. And I hate it. Because if that were the case, then I…really did what I did back then...And it makes me sick.

I want to question the old man beside me, but hold my tongue. He's been extremely kind to me that I don't want to annoy or anger him to the point where he longer wishes to help me. Plus, according to him, we're about to meet someone who might know what's going on.

He takes me to a dungeon and down a long flight of stairs, leading the way with a torch. We eventually come into an enormous cavern with a stone ledge at the end of the stairs. It's like a fantasy bat cave.

"How is there an entire castle on top of this cavern?" I ask, not really expecting a proper answer. Suddenly, a deep echo reverberates around the room and I tense in apprehension.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" the old man tells me, holding the torch higher, as if to provide more light. Then, a golden something leaps out at us from some dark corner, causing us to jump back in fright. I watch in wonder as the reptilian creature spreads its wings wide, makes a giant loop in the air, and perches on a rock spire that is conveniently at the same height we are.

"I'm here," the creature speaks, its voice a lot higher than what I would've thought. Not only that, but he sounds kind of familiar in a distant way.

"You're a dragon..." I breathe out, almost in disbelief.

"Not just any dragon. He's known as the 'Great Dragon'," the old man informs me. There's a sense of admiration in his voice, yet it is weighed down by unease. The creature chuckles at his words then leans its head down and looks at me, as if sizing me up.

"How small you are for such a great destiny," the Great Dragon muses. Again, I'm stuck with how familiar his voice is, something I've heard for a long time now.

"Were you the one calling out?" I ask him.

"Yes," the dragon confirms, "Arthur is the Once and Future king who will unite the land of Albion. And you, Merlin, are the one who will protect and guide him along the way."

"Um..." I take a moment to form my words. "I, uh, think you've got the wrong person."

''There is no right or wrong, only what is and what isn't," he sagely says.

"No, I'm pretty sure you're wrong," I deny with a shake of my head. "First of all, I'm not even from here. I'm from far into the future, where dragons and knight are just fairytale fuel to get children to go to sleep. Second, I'm not the wizard from Arthurian legends. I'm a young woman, not an ancient dude with a long white beard and tree staff. My name's MARilyn, not MERlin. There's a difference," I point out, strongly emphasizing the different vowels in the names.

The Great Dragon narrows his eyes and leans down further towards me, our eyes now level. I can feel his hot breathing all over my body. It's a little strange.

"No," he speaks in a low tone, almost as if he were only talking to himself. "That can't be right. This was not foretold in the prophecies."

"Look, I'm sorry, but I'm not your grand wizard or whatever. I was just brought here somehow, but I don't belong here. I just…" I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I force the growing frustration out of my body. "I just want to get back home." The Great Dragon stares at me for a moment, but shakes his head.

"I am not the one who brought you here. It seems that someone has been messing with the very core of the natural order to bring you here. It is an ancient magic that even I cannot touch, let alone use," the creature tells me, his tone and eyes conveying pity for me.

"If I may speak," the old man steps forward and our eyes are on him. "If what you say I true," he points to the dragon with his torch, "then I believe that you," he gestures to me with his free hand, "are meant to be the 'Merlin' in the prophecy."

"What makes you say that, physician?" the dragon questions, almost haughtily. But the physician doesn't take offense at all.

"An old friend of mine, Hunith, had a child with a powerful sorcerer almost two decades ago. They named him 'Merlin'," the dragon and I both perk up at that, "but he perished in his infant years. I know because she begged me to find a cure, but I could not and the child died in my chambers." He closes his eyes for a brief moment and turns his head slightly away. The cavern is silent during that moment of quietness, out of respect and mourning.

"But the Merlin of the prophecy has long since been dead and the only person with magic capable of becoming a 'grand wizard' is you." I can feel the cave rumble slightly as the dragon hums in thought, considering the physician's words carefully. I, on the other hand, don't want to believe it.

"No, it's simply not me. It can't be," I shake my head in denial.

"In the woods earlier today, when the bandits attacked us, your eye color changed from their natural brown to gold and you killed all of them without reciting any sort of incantation. In fact, it all seemed to be out of instinct instead. There has only been one that I have known in all of my years alive who can use magic that way, but he hasn't been seen in decades," the old man speaks against me.

"I'm starting to believe that to be the case," the dragon says as he lifts his head back up. "Someone has brought you here and changed you so that you may fulfill a role that couldn't be fulfilled otherwise."

"Changed me? How?" I ask, my brows furrowing in confusion. Maybe the whole magic thing, yeah, but I don't even feel that. I feel completely normal.

"I've been alive for a thousand years, have seen civilizations rise and fall. I continue to watch as humans and other species continue to change over time. Our bodies, cultures, and beliefs never truly stay the same." The Great Dragon looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to figure it out.

"Culture changes in time and all animals go through evolution slowly, but surely," I nod easily. But his expression remains and I rack my brain for another answer, trying to connect all the dots. "A thousand year gap from then to now…" My eyes widen as I realize what the dragon was trying to get at.

"If we're from completely different time periods, then I shouldn't be able to understand what you guys are saying. I might even die within the next couple of weeks or so because my body hasn't had time to adapt to the environment here," I say, causing both males to nod.

"Even the language of incantations and runes used for magic is vastly different than what we speak. While it may have been the common tongue back when they were first developed, that is no longer the case now. So, other than the accent you speak with, there is hardly a language barrier between us," the physician adds.

"And what about my body? I can get infected or I can infect others," I point out.

"If someone is brazen and powerful enough to rewrite natural law, then I imagine that they wouldn't be careless with what they wanted to do," says the dragon. I burrow my face into my hands with a groan as I sink down into a squatting position.

This is all just too much. I should be in my apartment right now, lazing away in my fluffy bed, surrounded by a hundred stuffed pillows and animals and soft blankets weighing down on top of me. My laptop would be on a crime drama on Netflix or Hulu, but I would only be paying partial attention as my mind would be working to figure out the mystery before the characters, or possibly imagining myself in that sort of scenario. Or maybe just tuned in to some random podcast for background noise as I work through a pile of schoolwork at my own pace.

I'm a person of the modern era, not medieval. I want to hop into my Corolla at midnight and get an entire large pizza for myself in twenty minutes. I want to be able to communicate with my friends and family around the world and get an instant reply back. There are people who say that they were born in the wrong era, so why weren't they chosen for this? Let them live out their dreams here and let me work towards mine where I belong!

"So let me guess…" I sigh out forlornly, so utterly drained, "The best way for me to return back home is to help Arthur create Albion or whatever and, when my job is done, the person who brought me here will let me leave." I feel a hand offer me a comforting pat on my back and I look up to see the old physician standing there with a sympathetic smile. I return the smile, but it hardly touches my eyes.

"It would seem so," says the dragon as the old man helps me up to my feet. "If you need any guidance or help, just remember that I am always here." I smile at that, glad to have a powerful ally and possible confidant.

"Thanks for everything, Mr. Dragon. I really appreciate it." I turn to the old man. "You too, uh..." Did I ever learn his name?

"Gaius," the physician supplies with a chuckle.

"Right. Thank you both so much for helping me out through all of this," I thank them wholeheartedly.

"Anytime, young witch," the Great Dragon bows his head to me.

"If you're going to call me anything, then call me a wizard," I request. The creature peers at me curiously, maybe even in amusement.

"Oh? And why is that?" he questions, his voice lighter than before.

"Because I like the connotation of it."

A/N - So I just started rewatching Merlin again on Hulu. It's been a decade since the first episode, right? God, I feel old. As I was watching season 1, this idea popped into my head. Admittedly, my knowledge of the later seasons is iffy since it's been so long since I first watched the show, so I don't really have a set plot, just a group of ideas to go along with the canon story. Hopefully it'll all work out(?) Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and would greatly appreciate it if you left a review! Thank you and have a great day!