Wooooo! Second chapter! :D Thank you to the people who are now following the story, and though I can't promise updates every day, I can promise I'll try to be as honest as I can about when they will come. The next chapter should be up sometime in the middle of next week; assuming school doesn't hang me with all its work (school work...grrrr).

Oh, and you guys know that I can see who's viewing my stories? Please, I know you guys are reading it, just take an extra minute to drop a review so I can see what you guys are thinking so far! Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Disclaimer: Merlin will only be mine if I buy it. Sadly, I'm a broke college student, and Merlin belongs to BBC. Cheerio, mates.


The second life took awhile to sink in with Merlin.

For starters, his name wasn't Merlin. In this life, it was Marten. Second, he was born into a rich, noble family. Luxury had been lavished on him since birth. Fine silk clothes, hand-crafted soaps, servants to wait on him, every meal brought to him, and everyone would rush to do as he said. His word was their command.

However, there had always been certain…oddities. Things would often happen around him that just weren't, well, normal.

Marten's (ahem, Merlin's) mother, Katrina, said that when he was a baby in a full tantrum, it was like the whole house was in one too. Plates would fall, windows would shatter, and doors would inexplicably be ripped off their original framework. Treats had a way of ending up in his mouth, though they had been on the highest shelf in the kitchens. Those incidents just scratched the surface.

Growing up, there had been more oddities, but they became more subdued.

The rare bully would wind up falling on his face in horse manure every time he thought to give him trouble. Girls who rejected him for his awkward frame and clumsy movements (and laughed at him to boot) would suddenly be overcome with hideous warts. The hired private teachers who threatened to reveal his unfavorable learning rate would always run screaming from the castle; claiming it was haunted with ghosts.

Though these turns of events were welcome, Martin couldn't help but notice that when they did, they were accompanied by a strange feeling inside. It was as though something deep within was stretching a little; a muscle long out of use trying to get back in shape.

It was the dreams that finally gave it away.

Dreams of a time with a king named Arthur, a charming woman named Guinevere, a mentor who was more like a father (his name was Gaius), an older woman named Hunith (who in his dreams was his mother), and a horde of other faces who were loyal and friendly to him. It was in these dreams that everyone called him Merlin. He was a warlock who kept his magic a secret, and no one knew except for Hunith and Gaius. All of them went on adventures to save that woman, protect this border, fight off these bandits…

The dreams felt so shockingly real, Martin often woke up from them crying; wishing that they hadn't been dreams and that they had been his reality. He didn't care that he had been a lowly servant, or that he was worked tirelessly from dawn to dusk without so much as a simple 'thank-you'. Martin craved the belonging he had felt in the dreams.

As he grew older, the dreams grew more persistent, and more vivid. It was like having another life to live. By the time he was in his twenties, they were happening every night. Martin welcomed them, and almost spent too much time sleeping…just so he could live in the dreams instead of this false reality.

For his twenty-second birthday, Martin was granted control over the southern portion over his parents' land. He rode atop a shining chestnut horse with a spotless tunic that bore his family crest. It was the harvest, so over a hundred workers were in the golden-brown fields; bent over as they plucked the oat pods from the stalks.

Merlin (no, Martin) slowly walked his horse forward. His eyes raked over the fields in search of any slackers. A woman brushed the sweat from her brow and took a deep inhale before leaning down to pick up her basket. She continued to work. An elderly looking man with thin, graying hair, clutched at his back with one hand while the other steadily grabbed the oat pods. A tall, unbelievably muscular man was crouched down and working fast; his large hands quickly removing the harvest and dropping them into his basket. A teenage boy cast his eyes about in a shifty manner as he slipped some oats into his pocket before—

Wait a minute.

The tall, muscular man.

Martin (no, Merlin) gave his horse a nudge with his heel and pointed him in the direction of the man. He carefully guided his chestnut so he wouldn't ruin too much of the oat harvest by riding through. The man didn't notice his arrival, and kept working at the same, fast pace.

Upon closer look, the muscular man was actually shielding a frail, elderly woman from his sight. Or rather, was trying to shield. Merlin (Martin) then saw that the oats weren't going into the man's basket, but rather, the woman's.

But Merlin hadn't come over because of this action, but because the man had looked eerily familiar, "Percival!" Merlin cried out; the name finally leaping into his mind.


Once again, I'm sorry this took so long. With all my school work closing in on me, I hope to have the next chapter up sometime in the middle of next week. Please, it means so much to see people reviewing, so please just take a minute to write a little response! I love seeing what you guys think, suggestions, or constructive criticism!