DISCLAIMER: I do not own Merlin or any of its amazing characters. All I own is a laptop and this particular story.

Hello everybody.

Okay, so before anyone says anything, I am perfectly aware that this idea has been used and reused and used again a hundred times already.

The way I see it, Merlin fanfiction can actually be divided into certain categories, given the way some ideas keep repeating. Time traveling Arthur and Merlin(old versions to the past or young versions to the future) definitely represent one such category.

But lately I've been taking a peculiar shine to the time travel Merlin fanfcition, and I thought why not? Might as well give it a try, especially considering I think I've read all there is out there on the subject.

Despite being overused, I hope you'll give my version a try and I hope you'll enjoy it. After all, we all do this for fun and this is certainly providing entertainment for me.

Without further ado,

Enjoy!

The young boy, tousled black hair falling into his eyes, dragged his feet across the courtyard, looking for all intents and purposes as if he'd been run over by an entire herd of wild horses. His light brown jacket was barely clinging to his shoulders, his once bright blue tunic, now covered in dust and mud, peeking from underneath. There were leaves and twigs tangled in his hair and sticking to his clothes and his red neckerchief was tied askew around his neck.

All in all, Merlin looked like he had had better days. He felt like it, too.

The warlock cursed mentally as he stumbled over his own feet, knowing perfectly well the fringe blurring his vision could have played a role in that, but not finding the energy necessary to brush it out of his eyes.

Instead, he again called Arthur all manners of names (in English, the Old Tongue and the language of dragons) inside his mind as he started the excruciatingly painful and slow ascent to Gaius' and his shared chambers.

He hated hunting trips. He had never been fond of killing animals, the knights always galloped ahead on their horses, while he had to stumble on his feet after them, and most of the trips ended with either a bandit attack or something equally nasty. Of course, even if nothing of that magnitude happened, hunting trips were still a nuisance, tiring and pointless. (At least in his opinion) The only up side to a hunting trip was that Arthur seemed to really enjoy them, and as such they promised a very happy and content prince.

However, as with everything, there were exceptions to the rule. This particular hunting trip had proved to be one of those.

The prince had been incredibly harsh today, and somewhere around noon something had tickled his extremely short (bordering on nonexistent) temper and he had decided that they were not to return until they had caught at least four deer.

Needless to say, that had taken a very, very long time. The setting sun was proof of that.

They had left that morning at first light and hadn't rested even once, and to top it all, as punishment for not catching the four deer, Arthur had made Merlin's (although it really wasn't his fault the animals weren't somehow aware of the prince's intentions and had, naturally, fled and not surrendered to be slaughtered) and his knights' lives a living hell on the journey back home.

Merlin didn't want to go into details.

The warlock honestly had no idea where this foul mood of Arthur was having its roots. There had been no recent attacks on Camelot or assassination attempts, things had gone well for the kingdom and for the people, the weather had been surprisingly sunny and beautiful… sometimes Merlin just couldn't understand Arthur.

He sighed inwardly and shook his head. It must have had something to do with Uther. And here you go, yet another reason to hate the man.

Merlin raised his tired blue gaze and realized he was at the door. He just really hoped Gaius wasn't in: the last thing he needed was another chore to do. (And he had avoided his mentor for the past couple of days in the hope that he could somehow defy fate and the leech tank would end up clean all of its own; of course, the damn thing had only gotten dirtier and Gaius had deliberately put it in full view on the table, as if to tell Merlin that he knew what the warlock was doing and no, it wasn't working)

The warlock closed his hand around the doorknob and pressed, starting to open it, but was stopped by a sudden and loud bang, followed by the clatter of dishes falling and several (heartbreaking) sounds of pots shattering, as well as a loud string of colorful curses.

Merlin held his breath and brought his face closer to the door, peering in through the slit the door and wall created, trying not to make any sound.

He couldn't see very clearly from where he was, but there was definitely someone there who was not Gaius. He could glimpse the tangle of limbs sprawled on the floor behind the table.

"Ouch! You idiot, get off me!" hissed a voice, and Merlin felt his heart skip a beat. It sounded so much like Arthur, but it was a bit harsher. Besides, it couldn't be Arthur. He had left Arthur to sleep in his warm and fluffy bed, after all.

Merlin shook his head. All the exhaustion must had taken its toll on him.

"Get off you!? You're the one who landed on me! You get off!" retorted the other voice, and the warlock felt a strange feeling washing over him. He knew that voice, too.

After several more unintelligible curses and groans, during which Merlin deemed it safe to risk creaking the door just that tiny bit more open, enough to widen the crack and get a better view, the two men finally seemed to have managed to stand up.

Merlin immediately wished they hadn't.

There, dusting their clothes off and glaring at one another, were none other than Arthur and himself.

Arthur Pendragon may or may not have yelped, following it with a hissed and angry "You idiot, get off me!"

He was, indeed, perfectly aware of the fact that he was, more or less, the one who had landed on top of his friend, but Arthur wasn't anywhere near acknowledging that. It was, after all, the idiot's fault they were in this situation in the first place. Merlin was the one who had brilliantly decided to try that teleportation spell.

After acquiring a new and very, very old and worn journal for his birthday, containing all these suspicious and definitely not trustworthy spells scribbled all around and sometimes over weird drawings and sketches, his Court Sorcerer (Warlock, Court Warlock!) had cooped himself up in his chambers/loony experiments laboratory/DANGEROUS-DO-NOT-ENTER-WITHOUT-CHECKING-OR-YOU-MIGHT-GET-TURNED-INTO-UNPLEASANT-THINGS room for days, trying out everything.

Today, the king had decided he had had enough and went to check on his sorcerer (ah, warlock). Arthur had taken every precaution, prodding at the door with his sword and refusing to enter until assured twice by Merlin that it was safe, and had subsequently tried to talk the warlock out of trying some kind of teleportation spell in the diary.

The spell was scribbled across the ugly sketch of some kind of animal, half of the page blurred as if someone had spilled water on it.

Arthur knew for a fact that those kind of runes weren't very easy to read, and that much was left to interpretation. Adding the fact that half of the incantation wasn't even discernible, he had voted against it, trying to draw whatever reason existed inside Merlin's thick skull to the surface.

To no avail, of course, as the warlock was dead-set on the damn spell and tried it anyway, then and there. (As if to spite the king)

Oh, but it only got better after that. First, after a very pretty display of blinding white light and wind, they had landed in some kind of dark, damp cells, men roaring as if in the middle of a battle, swords raised above their heads, rushing by them.

Merlin had quickly recited the incantation (that was obviously not working as it should have) when it looked like the ferocious soldiers had spotted them and decided they were the enemy.

The next thing he knew, Arthur and his Court Sorcerer had been tossed in the middle of literally nowhere, on a wide plain that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see in all directions, sun blazing mercilessly above them.

They had taken their time that time, Arthur dizzy and nauseous from the spell and Merlin trying to figure out what he was doing wrong.

Finally, with a "Ha! I know!" that the king really didn't trust, the warlock uttered the spell again.

And here they were, tossed in the middle of a seemingly harmless room (this time, at least, without people charging at them with swords).

So yeah, Arthur really didn't see how this was his fault, and as such he had every right to be angry at his friend.

"Get off you!? You're the one who landed on me! You get off!"

Arthur gritted his teeth. The nerve the man had! He just had to point that out, especially when all of this had been Merlin's fault in the first place.

After much groaning and cursing and fumbling around, they finally managed to get on their feet. Arthur glared at his best friend and trusted advisor.

"You just had to try that out, didn't you, Merlin? I told you it was a bad idea and now look-" he gestured widely with his arm at the room they were in. "-where we are!"

The other man snorted and dusted his long robe with an infuriating air of superior calm.

"It is hardly my fault I got the wording wrong. You saw the state that notebook was in." Merlin, as if suddenly remembering something, started scanning the floor. "Where is it?" he asked, a slight hint of panic in his voice.

Great, Arthur thought, bending to pick the damned journal from where it lay at his feet and slapping the other man on the head with it.

"Here you go, idiot. Now get us back"

Merlin winced and glared, snatching the notebook out of the king's hands.

He started flipping it to the right page when Arthur's voice made him look up.

"Merlin… I think I know where we are"

Merlin noticed the increasingly panicked look on the king's face and glanced around. Dread dropped into the pit of his stomach like a rock.

"B-but this is Gaius' chambers" he stuttered.

Arthur locked his blue eyes on his, apprehensive. The king nodded.

Merlin looked around again, noting the dirty leech tank sitting on the place of honor on the table, where Gaius used to put it in order to remind him it needed cleaning.

"But the old chambers were destroyed in the attack two years ago…" Merlin trailed off, looking at his king with panicked eyes. Arthur gulped.

Where the hell were they?

King and warlock both turned their heads in the direction of the sound of someone crashing through the door.

Merlin groaned and his hand instinctively reached to rub the sore spot on his forehead.

Great. He just had to stumble on thin air and fall inside the room he most definitely wanted to stay out of, completely blowing his cover.

Well, in his defense, the shock he had suffered (and was still suffering) from seeing himself and an older version of Arthur in the room might have conspired with the thin air in tripping him.

Suddenly reminded of the strange situation he was in, Merlin quickly scrambled to his feet.

Then he proceeded to promptly stare and gawk openly at the two men in front of him, everything he might've wanted to say dying in his throat.

While the two of them were definitely Merlin and Arthur, they just as definitely weren't himself and his Arthur.

The two men stood there, frozen much like himself to the spot, wide eyes like saucers trained on him, looking ready to bolt at the slightest movement.

Arthur, this Arthur, looked a bit taller and definitely older. His blond hair was cut in the same manner as his Arthur's was, but there were subtle wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and he had a short, blond beard. His eyes were the same sky hue of blue they were now, but they seemed to hold something more, a glimmer of wisdom his prince Arthur did not posses. There was much more in those eyes than in his Arthur's, and even though still arrogant, the very presence of this one was a thousand times more commanding. Merlin couldn't help but shrink a little. This Arthur demanded respect, and it wasn't his clothes, which were finer than he'd ever seen Arthur wear before, or his sword, or anything. There was something in the way he held himself, the way his back was straight and proud in a way much less prattish than Arthur.

He was dressed in a light blue tunic, a round golden pendant with the Pendragon dragon engraved on it glinting as it hung over the fine material. Over that he wore a long leather, sleeveless jacket that fell to his ankles, that was strangely familiar. After a moment, the warlock realized why: the jacket was similar to what he'd seen Uther sometimes wear, on less formal occasions.

Arthur's fingers were also clad in black gloves (just like Uther wore, Merlin couldn't help but notice), and long golden armlets covered both of his forearms, the metal seeming to gleam softly. The same dragon that was on the pendant was engraved on each armlet, the only difference being that the dragons here were trapped inside a perfect circle. It was a peculiar sight, especially since the dragon was the seal of the house of Pendragon, and Merlin couldn't see why Arthur would want to alter it. The warlock didn't have time to dwell on it, though. The shock was too big for him to think too much on the details.

The other Merlin, too, was older. He couldn't tell exactly how old they were, but it looked like at least another ten years had passed for the other them.

His hair was still the same length, black and tousled as ever, the tips of his fringe nearly brushing into his eyes. Merlin avoided his own eyes (okay, this was weird, how could he avoid looking into his own eyes?), choosing to stare at his clothing instead.

Because as much as Arthur's clothing and pose was different, there was a huge, gaping abyss between him and the older version of himself.

The other Merlin stood up straighter and he was much more imposing, dressed in clothing the warlock never thought he'd ever wear in his whole life.

He was wearing a midnight blue, silk robe that fell all the way down to the floor at his feet, the hems and collar a bright gold, over a simple, dark red-almost black-tunic. The same circle with a Pendragon dragon trapped inside was embroidered in golden thread on the left side of the robe, just above the heart. He didn't wear any gloves, but on his right hand, the one holding a worn notebook, was angled just enough for Merlin to glimpse the edge of the same peculiar armlet as the other man's.

The golden pendant that was twin to Arthur's jiggled as the old Merlin moved forward slightly and opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again, staring at Merlin with a new expression of interest.

There was another weird thing. Merlin knew, just knew, that these two men, however impossible it may seem, were really him and Arthur. He could feel it, could feel his magic twist and swirl inside him, but not in a bad way, like it did when there was dark magic around. It seemed to be… affected by the magic the other him obviously possessed, and it struggled between wanting to reach the older Merlin and desperately trying to get away from him. It was like it recognized the same magic in the other him, and wasn't sure what to do. The warlock wondered if the older version of himself felt the same.

Merlin was also feeling his magic in the armlets and also on the pendants, but his attention was too focused on other things to give it too much thought.

"Merlin, is that you?" Arthur asked, being the first one to shake off some of the shock.

Merlin looked at his older self. He wasn't sure who Arthur had spoken to.

The old Merlin, however, seemed to believe he had spoken to him. "Apparently. I can feel it. It's really me"

Merlin made a mental note. So he was right, the other Merlin's magic was doing the same thing, reacting to the younger version of himself.

The old Merlin glanced at Arthur and whispered, (or attempted to) leaning closer.

"I-I think we might've traveled a little bit further than we'd thought"

"I-I think we might've traveled a little bit further than we'd thought" attempted Merlin to whisper inconspicuously.

Arthur glared at his Court Sorcerer exasperatedly, not for the first time feeling the strong urge to rip the other man's head off.

"Really?" he asked, tone dripping sarcasm. He had already gotten over the shock of apparently being in the past with two Merlin's in the room. He had lived with the man long enough for such things not to shock him too much. (Although, he had to admit, his friend had probably set some kind of record today)

"But how could this happen?" Merlin asked no one in particular, shaking all shock off and frantically starting to flip the journal, proceeding to ignore everyone in the room. Which left him, the King of Camelot, in the unfortunate position of trying to explain exactly what was happening to a very confused young version of his idiot of a friend.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair and sighed loudly.

"What year is it?" he asked, his eyes finally settling on the young Merlin.

"Uh-um… I-"

The king sighed. And then winced and turned his wide eyes on his Merlin, who was staring at him with the same mix of incredulity and shock.

Merlin opened his mouth and closed it again, and the king could only agree.

He remembered.

That was it-the first chapter! What do you think?

I don't know how long this will be. I obviously don't intend on making it a oneshot, but every time I try and estimate how long a story will be I end up being very-very-wrong about it. I would tell you I don't plan for it to be too long, but given that my last story started off as a oneshot and ended up with 16(17, if you count the epilogue) chapters, I dare not say anything on the matter.

Anyways, thank you for reading and I'll see you in no more than three days. That is my usual update rate, but I haven't figured out a pace for this story yet. Besides, I'm always overly enthusiastic at the beginning of a story and can't keep from posting the first few chapters very quickly.

Until the next chapter^^