Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson

A/N: Hello everybody, I am back!

So, this is not when I said I would post. Alas, I have found that schedules ruin some of the fun of fanfiction, and so have decided to just write when I feel like it. Good news for you guys, though, is that this is the on I like to write the most. But yeah. Maybe not every month.

Anyway, off to England (my home) this chapter.

Enjoy!

Edited for grammar and presentation.

Chapter 4: Dreaming of Kings

Apparently, twelve hours of unconsciousness did not equate to twelve hours of sleep. No sooner did I wake up did I pass out again, this time due to a great need to sleep. And guess what? More dreams!

*

Go back. Go back. GO BACK!

*

I ran through the forest, searching. How could it be? Morgana was my half sister? And she had conquered our father's kingdom. I needed a sword.

'Merlin, how long is left?'

'Just a little further Arthur,' the bearded man said. He stopped suddenly. 'There it is! Excalibur, the sword in the stone! Draw that, and you shall prove your right to kingship.'

I calmed my breath, and strode over to the sword. I frowned, looking at the blade's inscription. 'I thought you said this was called Excalibur.'

'It is.'

'Then why is it labled Anaklusmos?'

Merlin sighed. 'That sword has had a painful past. Excalibur is its English name. Anaklusmos is its original name, its Greek name.'

I looked at it. 'It holds great power. I can feel it, but only just. It's not like my mother's power at all.'

'That is because its original owner was a son of Poseidon, whose power is vastly different to Athena's. Though why that power equates to near-perfect swordplay, I will never know.'

I frowned, clasping the handle of the gleaming sword. I gave a mighty tug, and the handle was struck by lightning, freeing it from the stone.

Merlin smiled. 'Arise, King Arthur.'

*

I charged through the streets of Camelot, sword turning the undead knights to dust. I was a legend, now, the greatest swordsman in the land. The blade was an extension of my will as I whirled and slashed. As I ran, lightning sparked around me, burning away the arrows that would pierce my body.

I must have looked like a demon to the survivors, a cackling beast tearing through flesh like weeding a bush. Either that, or an Angel of Vengeance, burning away the armies of Hell.

I found myself lost in the motions, slashing left and right with the gleaming sword, laughing as I calmly strode towards the Citadel. It seemed so strange, that the blade was made for another, and yet was perfect for me.

I spun around, decapitating a hoard of the demonic soldiers. The gate was just ahead, on the other side of the dwindling army. Grinning, I leapt into the air, aiming my blade at the army. A wave of water swallowed the centre of the crowd as the earth shook, obliterating the monsters.

After a moment, I stood alone in a courtyard of corpses, smiling faintly, staring at the castle's great gate. I slashed my sword through the air, watching as a tremor leapt out, rending the great door from its hinges.

I casually slept out into the Great Hall, approaching my birthright; my throne. Upon it sat a pretender, dressed in jade.

"Morgana!" I bellowed. "Let us end this madness."

She snarled, launching herself at me, the might of her mother Trivia behind her. The Olympian powers clashed in a duel of might, the shockwaves from my sword obliterating her illusions and ravaging her ghastly decorations.

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Why must we fight," she croned. "Surrender to the might of Rome, the splendour of the New Age."

"Never!" I pressed forward, my swordplay only matched by her magick, as I slowly pressed her back into the golden throne.

"Arthur! Stop this at once! Do you wish to tarnish the throne with this duel?" Morgana cried out, desperate to survive the increasing power of my strikes.

"It is already tarnished," I whispered, before spinning around, burying my blade in her chest.

She froze, staring at the golden hilt embedded within her. Choking, blood spilled out of her mouth as she stared at me in abject horror.

"I… I curse… you," she stammered. "You shall… shall never w… win. You shall… shall always have traitors. You… you shall be… be betrayed by… by your own. This victory… shall for… forever be tainted. So… so mote it be." With a ghastly cough, she cast a dying curse, and her eyes dulled and her chest stilled.

The battle was one. But was the war?

*

I found myself wandering in the woods a couple of months later, accompanied by a few of my most loyal knights. There was Percival and Leon, Gwaine and Lancelot, and my closest friend, Mordred, son of Nemesis.

"Another good shot my lord," Percival praised as my arrow flew true, felling a noble hind. "I suggest we return to Camelot, for our bounty is more than adequate."

"I concur," the normally quiet Mordred added. "Though I would like to have a word with our Lord first."

"You heard him," I answered, smiling jovially. "We'll catch you up."

After they had left, I turned to the Black Knight. "Mordred, my friend. What ails thee?"

"Always so perceptive," he smiled. "You take after your mother. As you know, it has been three months since the battle with Morgana, and something weighs heavily on my mind."

"Indeed?" I asked, pondering what injustice had occurred.

"Well… ah, 'tis nothing of any consequence," he said, turning away.

I frowned, placing a hand upon his arm. "Mordred?"

"After much thought, I came upon a profound realisation." He whipped around, as a cold feeling spread from my chest. "The wrong Pendragon died that day."

I stared at my chest as a silver hilt stuck out, a knife embedded with jade, shaped like a serpent. I felt my lungs fill with blood and bile as I stared at my closest friend, my heart filled with the cold touch of betrayal. "W.." I choked. "Why?"

"I loved her, Arthur, and you killed her. She did not deserve to die. And so, now you must pay the price."

As the cold grip of death fell upon me, a single sentence filled my dying brain.

So mote it be.

*

Good Perseus. Stay there. Right, summoning the right mem… no! Where are you…

*

I stood at the gate in Judea, the great sword Anaklusmos at my side. It was a strange weapon for me, for it was embedded with the power of Poseidon the Earthshaker.

And I am Richard the First of England, son of Jupiter. I am the Lionheart.

With a furious cry, the armies of Europe followed me into the battlefield, the streets of the city Jerusalem. Arrows flew through the sky as my army of Templars cut through the legions of desert dwelling Saracens. The clash of steel, or in my case, bronze, filled the air, the blood of combat covering the paving slabs.

I leapt into the air, taking flight towards the rooftops where the enemy fired down upon us. I raised my sword, and lightning struck down, before slamming back into the earth, releasing tremors from the blade, followed by a roaring wave.

I bellowed out a furious roar, rushing through the gleaming blades, enemies falling left and right to the unholy matrimony of steel, sky and sea. I laughed in my maddened state, tearing through my enemies. I spun, slamming my shield into the face of a brute with an air, before spinning around to impale him with my sword.

I heard the call of a horn, and saw my quarry. Al Mualym, the master, dripping in jewels, the leader of my enemy. I charged straight for him, parrying his underlings away with not so much as an afterthought. I leapt through the air, slamming into his scimitar, while my boot pressed into his bejewelled chest.

I raised my sword into the air, summoning down a bolt of lightning, before slamming the charged blade into his chest. Acrid smoke filled the air as his lungs collapsed in upon themselves. I let his corpse fall to the ground, before turning to face the survivors. I whipped my blade out of his body, releasing a powerful tremor, causing a stone building to unbalance, and collapse upon my foes. The battle was one, and the gold was mine.

*

I awoke filled with righteous anger. "Why was that the memory I had to see? It served absolutely no purpose! At least the others actually had a benefit."

I frowned. Did they? I wasn't even certain that they were accurate.

"Percy?" a groggy voice asked. I froze. Oops. "What time is it?"

I cringed. "Hi Reyna. It's, uh, 2 am."

Reyna leapt to her feet (which I quickly turned away from). "2AM! WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT 2AM?"

"Uh, I had another dream?"

"YOU'LL BE DREAMING OF YOUR BED! GET OUT!"

"Reyna, its my room too."

"OUT!"

"Reyn-"

A knife embedded itself in my headboard. "OUT!"

"OK, I'm going!"

*

Stupid crazy naked ladies. I managed to sneak into the baths, and was now trying to sleep at the bottom of the pool. At least I didn't have to worry about her, uh, varying states of undress anymore.

Why was this happening to me? And not just these dreams, but my changing mindset. All those times my mind has drifted to this Megan woman, my new outlook in politics and now this righteous anger over the specifics of my dream! What was happening to me?

I looked at my watch and sighed. 6am. Time to get up.

After eating a rushed meal (squirming under Reyna's glare), I snuck off to the library, but found no answers. I suppose I must wait it out.

A/N: How was that? Hope you liked it.So, there are about three to four chapters left in the Dreaming Arc before we move onto the (in my opinion) more exciting part.

Please review or PM, your feedback is worth a lot.

Also, if you have time, check out some of my other fanfics.

See you all next time. By-ye!