A/N: I have had this story in my head for a few years and just never wrote it out. I hope it lives up to how much I have built it up in my head. There is so much Merlin whump - I'm serious, it's a lot. But it's not OOC, and there is some comfort to offset the hurt. The title is inspired by a thematic concept prevalent in the work of author Toni Morrison - rememory is reliving past experiences, especially in flashbacks, and it defines who we are, our triggers, our needs, and our motivations.

Feedback is very much appreciated!

The king held his hand over the pinned man's mouth. The other gloved hand held the red-hot iron rod to the shaking servant's flank. Merlin screamed into the leather muffling his cries, his body convulsing as flaming agony overwhelmed him. But he knew to be quieter than that, so when the hand was removed from his face, he caught the next scream as the searing iron moved a bit, pulling smoking and charred skin with it. He let slip only a whimper. He was sweating and shaking, but the bucking calmed as the rod cooled gradually.

The rod wasn't pulled away yet. Taking a tumultuous breath as his chest hitched jerkily, Merlin looked up at his king. Arthur was still, he was no longer seething. He seemed confused like he'd just woken up, and not where he'd fallen asleep.

Merlin felt uncomfortable like he was intruding on a private moment. It was time for him to go. He'd learned that sometimes, no order was spoken but he was expected to anticipate his master's desires. So the servant inched back and carefully stood uttering only a few groans. After he gingerly pulled his shirt on and made it to the door, he risked a glance back at the king still kneeling a foot from the fireplace, staring pensively at the stone floor. It was unsettling: Arthur was always alert and ready to catch his servant making a mistake. But he hadn't ruminated so deeply and suddenly since the old days, when he'd gotten caught up on matters of morality or a heavy decision for the kingdom.

Merlin turned back to the door and stepped out quietly with a wince. If he could just make it to his room without being seen by a bored knight looking for someone to hurt, he might just be able to chip away at his chores in private and make them far more manageable by morning.

When he woke up at sunrise, Merlin's eyes widened and his heart jumped into his throat. He was so overcome with anxious nausea that he couldn't get up for a moment. He'd done it again, and he was going to be punished so bad this time.

It had been hard lately to do a lot of things. If he hadn't been a physician in training, he might have thought this was the end for him. His body was always stiff, always aching. His mind was so focused on moving smoothly, standing straight, never falling, never tripping, never dropping things, always being aware but never lifting his eyes from the ground... it was all he could do anytime he was alone not to keel over from exhaustion. He wasn't allowed to eat anything without permission (which was rarely granted), and he was never allowed something for the pain. It wasn't helped by the fact that he was rarely able to sleep, what with his many chores and duties, and the nightmares.

But none of that excused the fact that he had just slept in. Not by much, barely at all really, but the king liked to wake up at sunrise. Any later, especially if a king's breakfast wasn't laid out for him, and there'd be a broken bone in it for the servant. His right arm was already fractured two times over, so it just hung uselessly at his side. He didn't have the time to put it in a wrap or a sling, and he'd probably get in trouble for it anyway.

His mind was getting dangerously close to wandering back to sleep. Merlin forced himself up and across the room.

Arthur was already awake. Merlin was halfway across the room before he realized. He knelt smoothly and bowed his head. "My lord."

"Merlin," Arthur replied groggily. He was sitting up on the edge of his bed, looking sleepy and deep in thought.

That was strange, Merlin hadn't been called anything but 'servant' or 'boy' or 'you' in a long time. Except for when he was really in trouble, when he was struck down and pinned and the iron was close to his skin and the king said his name like he was playing coy, like he knew he deserved what was coming so he should just stop struggling.

"What happened?" The king asked. Merlin just knew that there was a beating coming.

"I-I'm sorry, sire, you must have fallen asleep in your clothes last night, I thought you wanted to be alone, but I d-didn't come back to see if you needed anything. I should have thought to stop in, I'm sorry."

Arthur looked up, seemingly startled by the reaction. "That's not what I meant. I was talking about..." He paused, looking at his manservant, and he froze. "No."

Merlin was bracing himself for his punishment, but when the king stood, he ran to the window. The blonde unceremoniously shoved it open and retched. The servant was shocked and couldn't help but stare. Arthur finished and turned back to face the room, wiping at his mouth absently. He slowly, hesitantly, walked toward the kneeling man, stopping a short distance away.

"Sire?" The servant asked quietly.

"It can't be," Arthur muttered. "I wouldn't..." He shook his head. "These memories, they can't be real." He rubbed at his temples, eyes closed. Then, they opened and his arms fell to his sides. "Merlin, why are you kneeling?"

"Because you're the king," He answered, hoping it was the response the king was looking for. Mind games were not uncommon when he was angry.

Arthur seemed more upset.