Merlin could faintly feel that his body was where he had left it, slumped on the cobblestones by the prince that he thought hoped prayed was not dead, but simply unconscious. It was a strange feeling, knowing that you were physically stationary, but writhing mentally as malevolent fingers clawed at your consciousness. Possession wasn't as easy as the Dragon had made it out to be, Merlin thought disconnectedly.

Sigan had obviously done this before, or at least read more about it than Merlin had, as he mercilessly attacked Merlin at his weakest points, fighting desperately to break Merlin's mind before the magic twisted around his soul and sealed it back into the stone. Images were thrown up into a stunned Merlin's mind, his mother with painful sores covering her body, Gaius slumped by the stone altar, Arthur, motionless and barely breathing.

Merlin, in turn, scratched viciously at Sigan, but all he received for his troubles were fleeting images of a majestic, dark-haired man and a few syllables of various spells. He could feel Sigan's dark humor at his attempts he continued to pummel Merlin with his worst memories.

Merlin's thoughts began to be disjointed, and he fancied that his mind was becoming tattered, ragged gashes torn in the fabric of his memories. He grasped for his magic and it came, a bright shimmering gold, but it wavered precariously as his mind quavered under Sigan's onslaught. Desperate, Merlin threw it at Sigan, thinking of flames and shards of ice and soul-deep pain, willing Sigan to retreat, to succumb to the threads of magic that pulled him towards his crystal.

As the magic pierced Sigan's consciousness, Sigan screamed, his voice filled with anger, pain, and denial as Merlin's magic wormed its way through Sigan's memories to the center of his soul. Merlin was deluged with a cascade of unfamiliar images and information. He couldn't distinguish any individual memory, since they blurred together as Merlin's magic drew closer to the center of Sigan's consciousness.

Realizing his imminent return to the stone, Sigan blindly lashed out at Merlin's mind, desperately carving out deep gouges in his consciousness. Merlin's magic wavered, but Merlin forced it onwards, ignoring both Sigan's memories and the increasing disorganization of his own mind.

With a final push, Merlin's magic speared Sigan's soul, and with one last scream Sigan was ripped out of Merlin's mind by the insistent threads of magic which bore him back to his stone.

Merlin floated in a hazy field of memories, his consciousness darting from one to another aimlessly. He was a young boy by the river, showing his best friend the leaves dancing on the wind. He was an old man, looking out with bitterness over the city that he had formed from the bedrock below. He was a young man, crying over the body of his fallen comrade, and he was rejoicing over the destruction of his foes, and he was a crow with broken wings, falling.

What is my name? he thought, blearily. Cornelius Merlin Emrys Sigan, his memories whispered back. Sigan Cornelius Emrys Merlin.

He danced through the destruction of his mind until black swallowed him and he felt into the abyss, still wondering who he could possibly be.