A/N: Exposition chapter, but stick with me, plenty of action and angst to come. If you look at my profile, this is obviously my first fanfic, so yeah, hopefully this is coming out well. Thanks all for reading!
I most certainly do not own Merlin.
Chapter 1
He woke with a gasp, disoriented and panicked. He could feel the thrumming ache of his body and the pounding of his head, a testament to the fact that he wasn't dead. (Not like when the sword had slipped between his ribs and he had stared into the hard eyes of his back-stabbing brother and felt the stone swallow him up.)He desperately tried to find his bearings, but the assorted jars and books of the workroom looked only vaguely familiar, like the background of a half-forgotten dream.
His body protested vociferously as he pulled himself up into a sitting position, but he had endured much, much worse pains, and the discomfort was a small price to pay for the ability to scan the whole room for attackers. (A little paranoid, aren't you, Cornelius?) He scanned the variety of items haphazardly covering the shelves, his desperation growing as memories warred within his mind, confusing him further. (Mint is good for upset stomachs, Merlin. Come here and… Sage, Sigan! Don't presume to tell me how to do… Merlin, fetch some more rosemary for Morgana…)
Nothing seemed to make any sense; the world was fragmented and strange. Even the magic that he could feel flowing through his limbs was disjointed and sluggish. Part of him wondered how he knew how to analyze the health of his magic while another felt it was as simple as breathing.
"What happened?" he asked the empty room, noting that his voice was raspy and his throat ached. "How long have I been out?" What is my name? his mind chimed in, but he suppressed it ruthlessly. He would not panic, but would deal with things logically, in their proper order.
First, and most worrisome, the state of his magic. Spying a book on the table, he stretched out a hand to summon it, but as he gathered his magic, a barrage of contradictory impulses assaulted him. He should say the words that danced on the edges of his memory and he should simply will it, because this situation was the same as sending a spear into a boar and saving his wife from an arrow and pulling a rope taut in the marketplace. He clutched his head, overcome by the unconnected, confusing deluge of images.
He attempted, frantically, to recall a time when his magic had malfunctioned like this, but as his cast his mind back, he found that it wasn't encountering a logical, organized path to the correct memory, but simply random fragments of past experiences. (The griffin bore down on him and… Sigan, you should lie down. You look… Merlin, you idiot! I told you to… Fires burned as he screamed fruitlessly…)
He fisted his dark hair in his hands, trying to control his heaving breaths. He faintly heard a door open, followed by the pattering of hurried feet. He felt a hand, warm and comforting, rest on his back and it began to move in small circles as the man murmured a string of comforting nonsense. Gradually, the boy's breaths slowed and he relaxed. Slowly, he raised his head to examine his comforter.
The man was old, with white, shoulder-length hair and concerned eyes. The boy swallowed, thickly, as he realized that he couldn't remember the man's name, although the man certainly seemed very friendly with him. Forcing down his feelings of awkwardness, the boy cleared his throat and asked again, "What happened to me?"
The man pursed his lips and his brows furrowed with worry. "Do you not remember, Merlin?"
With a effort, Merlin kept his elation from his face. He had solved one mystery; his name was Merlin! However, he schooled his expression into one of confusion, and shook his head. He had both a faint feeling of surprise at this display of acting and a sharp discontent at the unfamiliarity of this face.
The old man moved to the shelves, pulling down jars of herbs as he spoke. "Well, when Sigan possessed the thief, he animated the gargoyles, which began to ravage the town. At this point, you were still in the dungeons." He cast a sidelong glance at Merlin. "Do you remember that much?"
Merlin automatically nodded, but internally, he was in turmoil. Sigan? He was also someone named Sigan, he thought, although this man called him Merlin, and he didn't remember any of this.
The man continued, blithely unaware of Merlin's internal issues. "I don't know how you got out of the dungeons, but you did, and after a brief consultation with me, you visited the Dragon to learn a spell to trap Sigan back in the stone. It worked, thankfully." He turned to the wooden table, arms laden with an array of herbs and unidentifiable liquids. "I found you, unconscious, next to Arthur." The man raised his head, fixing his eyes, now brimming with warm and affection, on Merlin. "I was worried for you, as your breathing was a little erratic, but it returned to normal within a few hours."
"How -" Merlin croaked, before clearing his throat. "How long was I out?"
The man began arranging his jars on the table in some pattern that spoke of long familiarity and practice. Physician, Merlin's mind whispered, a distracting flow of memories threatening to overwhelm his concentration."You were asleep for several days," the physician said, "probably from magical exhaustion. Arthur is already up and about, although I don't want you to return to your work for at least a couple more days." Misinterpreting Merlin's fleeting expression of confusion, he wryly assured Merlin, "Oh, don't worry! I told Arthur that you escaped the dungeons when your door became unstable from the gargoyles' attack and that a falling rock clipped the side of your head as you hurried outside, knocking you unconscious. I certainly didn't tell him about your magic!"
Doesn't know about my magic? Merlin wondered. Why… (The sorcerer lays down his head on the block… All magic is evil! It must be… You are growing powerful, Cornelius…) He shook his head to clear it of the various images and concentrated on the information that he had gained. It had already slipped from his mind though, like water through his grasping fingers, leaving only a faint impression of its passing. He scrambled for the memories of the past few minutes, but realized, with a sick feeling bubbling in his stomach, they hadn't been stored where they should've been, but instead were lost in the swirling sea of his mind.
Merlin closed his eyes, battling his rising fear. He obviously couldn't rely on his memory, but his language skills were working fine and his instincts seemed to be serving him well. Perhaps he could muddle through his interactions with others until he could locate a text detailing a solution for his faulty memory.
The most pressing issue, of course, was whether he should confide his troubles in this man. Opening his eyes slightly, he analyzed the oblivious physician as he ground a handful of seeds with a worn mortar and pestle. He seemed trustworthy enough, and a significant part of Merlin was urging him to spill his secrets to the man and beg for his help. However, a dark corner of his mind whispered of caution, of assassins and courtiers with hungry eyes and deceitful smiles. It was safer, Merlin decided, not to tell anyone of his troubles. He would avoid both betrayal and the unnecessary involvement of innocent bystanders by keeping his secrets close to his chest.
"Merlin?" The old man's voice, tinged with a hint of concern, broke into his thoughts. "Merlin, you look exhausted. Here," he bustled over to Merlin's bedside and placed supporting arms around his back. "Lie down. Rest. You'll feel more like yourself in the morning," he assured Merlin, brushing back a piece of unruly hair from Merlin's forehead and tucking the blankets securely around him.
Hopefully, thought Merlin, as the soothing sounds of clinking jars and the man's half-familiar muttering lulled him to sleep, I will feel more like myself in the morning. Whoever I am.