Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin


Merlin awoke with a banging headache.

"Oooh," he moaned, and sat up. He stared.

He was in the middle of the forest, lying on a bed roll, with a burnt-out campfire ten feet away. Smoke was still puffing from the dimming embers. It would have been a normal enough situation – he'd had to camp by himself plenty of times on his journeys to see various druid camps – but last time he checked, it had been autumn, not early spring.

"Um..." he looked around. What had gone wrong this time?

A wave of nails drove themselves through his skull. Wincing with the pain, Merlin clutched his head and tried to focus.

The last thing he remembered... he had been trying out that spell.

Oh. The time travel spell. Should Merlin take this as a sign that his experimentations had worked? Merlin looked around himself again, this time more slowly, at the brown, naked trees. Obviously some sort of time travel had taken place, along with a relocation spell, if the lack of the castle was anything to go by.

Merlin slapped his forehead, hoping to disrupt the throbbing.

What now?

Another wave of pain bowled through his forehead, and he decided that the first order of business would be to expel his blasted headache.

Hopefully it wasn't magically based – those had to go away by themselves.

"Áblinn héafodece," he muttered slowly. He could perform most spells without an incantation, but after he'd accidentally turned Percival's skin blue while trying to heal third-degree burns, he'd decided that it was probably best to do healing spells verbally.

To his utmost relief, the headache dulled, even if it didn't leave him completely. He could think straight.

Merlin frowned, pouring over his last memories of the workroom.

He'd read the spell and a plume of orange smoke had puffed up around him. Orange. Not good, not good... the smoke was supposed to be purple. He pounded the ground in frustration. Had he pronounced a word wrong? That was completely possible – the new book had been written in an archaic language of magic, with only a few recognizable words every other page. The thing was ancient after all. But as soon as he'd discovered the translation pitfall he'd taken it upon himself to study practically every aspect of old language... or so he thought anyways.

He sniffed. If everything had gone right (which was doubtful, by the look of things) he should be able to get back by muttering, "Fulfære æt húswist andweardnes."

Nothing happened.

"Well this is just brilliant!" he shouted out at the forest. "I don't suppose I'll ever be allowed get it right the first time?"

A breeze whistled through the trees, mocking his incompetence.

"I've already learned my life lessons! So stop giving them! Because I don't want any more!"

No one answered back, not even his echo. At least Arthur would've had the decency to insult him.

Merlin sighed, shoulders drooping into a slouch. Arthur... Arthur was going to murder him. If Gwen didn't get to him first. He had to admit though, the royal couple would be the least of his worries if Freya ever found out. Just brilliant.

So now what? First of all, he would need to take a look at that book, to see what he'd done wrong. Hopefully he wasn't further back than several years – several months would be even more convenient.

The first logical step was obviously to find Camelot. If Arthur, or even himself were there, he'd have a much higher chance of making it back home without too much of an incident. Merlin closed his eyes for a moment and entered the sea of familiar magic. He opened his his eyes as he recognized the feel of Camelot's magic, the city built by a sorcerer. It was only a few miles to the west.

Feeling much more reassured, Merlin rolled up his sleeping pad, stuffed it into the backpack lying by the fire, and threw the whole thing over his shoulder. To his amusement, he found that he was back to wearing the old clothes he used to wear as Arthur's manservant. Neckerchief and all. Magic really was quirky sometimes, he thought with a grin. His change in apparel left him wallowing in old memories for several miles before the whole situation struck him as odd – odder than normal, anyways. What did this picture remind him of?

"Just get to Camelot," he muttered to himself.

Camelot came into view soon enough, and the sight filled him with an sense of relief, even if he knew that everything around him was screaming 'wrong!'

Walking through the familiar markets, he concluded that he'd probably been sent much farther into the past than he'd hoped, probably to a time when Uther's influences still reigned. None of the usual charm merchants were shouting out their advertisements to the crowd. In fact, there wasn't a speck of magic to be seen anywhere. Merlin winced, suddenly glad that he'd decided not to use magic to make his journey any easier. Hopefully he wouldn't run into anyone he knew. It would be hard to explain why there were two Merlins running around. (That was assuming his younger self was here or that he was even born yet.)

At one point, he almost ducked into an alley and turned himself invisible. After a moment of hesitant consideration he decided against it. What if he bumped into someone? He didn't want to accidentally start another witch hunt.

There was a crowd in the castle courtyard. Merlin rose his eyebrows, speculating. Either the king was about to announce something or... oh no. He heard the drum beat too late.

It was an execution.

Skirting around the crowd, Merlin didn't bother hiding that he was trying to get out of there of there as quickly as possible.

But Uther's voice rang over the crowd, penetrating Merlin's ears and stopping him short. So the old king was still alive. "Let this serve as a lesson to you all. This man, Thomas James Collins, has been judged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic."

Merlin ignored the rest of the king's speech, breath caught. He whirled around, searching the crowd for a familiar face – namely, himself. Where was he? He'd been standing in the middle, on that side of the platform.

Even as the entire crowd winced when poor Thomas's head was cut off, Merlin had come to the dreaded conclusion that his younger self wasn't there. And as all of the puzzle pieces fell into place, Merlin realized with horror that the reason he couldn't spot himself was because he was his younger self. That explained the shorter hair, the ratty clothes, and the traveling pack. He had just completely taken over himself.

And for better or for worse, he had just changed his own time line.

Either that or this was one of those shadowy, alternate time lines created by the spell gone wrong. Which, in lieu of the more devastating consequences of changing the set time line, that was actually quite a comforting thought.

Still, until he could figure out which one it was, Merlin thought it best to play things out exactly as they had been.

So he watched Mary Collins' dramatic vanishing act. Back then, Merlin had remembered feeling impressed and even empathetic for the poor woman. Now he was feeling rather apathetic, a reaction that disturbed him slightly. Maybe if he hadn't known that she was going to kill Arthur he would have appreciated her position more, but the whole 'I must take revenge' thing really got old after a while. All emotions aside, Merlin noted that her dramatic tornado wasn't even necessary for the spell to work.

Gaius's chambers next then.

Gaius. It had been seventeen years since his adopted father had passed away. An unfamiliar creep of nervousness piqued at his senses.

He didn't bother asking the guards for directions this time. It was highly doubtful that that would irrevocably ruin the entire fabric of time.

He peaked into the familiar room, bracing himself. When he caught sight of Gaius looking through his books just like he always used to, Merlin felt unbidden tears well up. And there was the stupid bunny mask. Funny that he'd never thought to ask what it was for.

Ah! No. He couldn't cry. It would be strange for Gaius if Merlin broke down in front of him upon their meeting.

Quickly wiping any sign of wetness from his eyes, Merlin looked up and asked hesitantly, "Gaius?"

No reaction.

"Gaius?" he asked again, a little more loudly, his voice cracking slightly.

The old man turned to see who was calling him and fell, just as he did last time. Really, what was the point of having a railing if if was too feeble to hold anyone? Merlin thought irritably. He concentrated his magic on Gaius and lowered him to the ground gently. Even though the bed had broken Gaius's fall without much damage, he remembered that the poor physician had been forced to deal with an aching back for nearly a month afterwards.

"What?" Gaius exclaimed, jumping. "What did you just do?"

Merlin raised his eyebrows.

"Tell me!" the old man demanded, approaching him with a shaking finger. Merlin nearly laughed for all his joy. Gaius was up and walking! By the end of his life, Gaius had been confined to bed rest, feeble as anyone with a body as old as his.

"It was magic," Merlin said, smiling, trying to be discreet as he wiped his eyes.

Gaius blinked at him. Obviously he hadn't been expecting such a blatant answer.

"And where did you learn how to do such a thing?" the old man asked, no longer snapping.

"No where," Merlin said, a half-truth. That technically had been instinctual magic, not the studied kind.

"Then how is that you know magic?" Gaius asked, leaning forward.

"I'm really, very talented," Merlin said. "I was born with magic and all. I don't really have to talk to do most spells."

"What? That's impossible," Gaius declared.

Merlin sighed dramatically. "That's what they all say – but here I am!" He spun around, holding out his arms.

Gaius gave him a skeptical look. "You do know that magic is outlawed," he inquired.

"I never hear the end of it," Merlin answered truthfully, fighting the urge to hug his old mentor. Gaius was obviously already skeptical of his sanity.

Gaius frowned, unsure of what to make of this strange, overconfident lad.

Finally he asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm Merlin."

Gaius looked at him more closely. "Hunith's son?"

Merlin grinned. "That's right."

"But your not meant to be here 'til Wednesday!" Gais declared fervently.

Merlin chuckled and walked past the physician, opening the door to his old, familiar room. "You know, Gaius," he said with laughter. "Sometimes I think you secretly go to the taverns just as often as you say I do."

"What?"

The warlock turned, a huge smile plastered on his face. "It is Wednesday, Gaius!"

"Ah."

"I'm assuming this is my room?" Merlin asked, gesturing through the open door. Vicious waves of nostalgia were consuming his emotions.

Gaius's eyebrow twitched. "Erm, yes. Yes it is."

Merlin decided to go for it. He threw down the pack and ran up to his mentor. The old man was completely taken aback by Merlin's sudden bear hug, but he returned it, ending it with an awkward pat on Merlin's back.

"Ahem," Merlin started, feeling slightly overwhelmed. "Sorry. I'm very happy to be here, I guess."

Gaius gave him a half-smile. "It's quite all right, my boy. Just be more careful with that magic of yours – you could be killed if anyone sees you."

"Don't worry," Merlin assured him, he turned to enter his room.

"Although," Gaius said, and Merlin's heart leaped in his chest, "I should say thank you."

Merlin sent him another trademark grin and slipped into the room.

He allowed himself a four hour nap. He would've liked to sleep longer – all that walking had made him just as tired the second time as the first. Plus, on top of it all, he still had a minor headache and hadn't technically been to sleep in over twenty-four hours. He was resigned to his fate, however. Sleep deprivation wasn't anything new.

Besides, it was time to go save Lady... whatshername... Hannah? Helga? Helen?