Title:Albion Rising

Fandom:Merlin

Rating: T

Warnings:Slight violence, about what you would see in the show, and mild language.

Pairings: Arthur/Gwen No Slash

Spoilers: The whole damn series

Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own Merlin. Would be nice if I did. My car is making funny noises….

Summary:It's been centuries since Camelot stood tall. Now, magic stirs again. Key players awaken. The Round Table reconvenes. King and Queen are reunited. Friends and foes meet once more. This time, it's not just Albion that needs saving, it's Merlin.

Author's Note: It's unlikely that updates will consistently be this quick. I was feeling motivated and I had time off that I really should have been using to work on my history essay. Don't get used to it, lol, especially since I have other fics in the works.

Chapter 1

The shrill tone of a phone alarm broke the early morning stillness. Robert Moore groaned and rolled over. One hand scrabbled across the cluttered surface of the bedside table for the offending mobile. His fingers brushed the cool edge of the phone. It skittered away from him and let out another tone just to spite him.

He groaned again and buried is head in the pillow for a moment before reluctantly pushing himself up. He grabbed the phone and swiped across the screen to shut it off. He sighed in relief at the blissful silence and then he noticed the time on the screen.

"I'm late!"

The mobile dropped to the bed. Robert scrambled out of the bed. One foot caught in the bed spread, sending him sprawling. One knee hit the bedframe. That was going to leave a colorful bruise by the end of the day. He was tempted to just stay on the floor. He could probably reach his phone without moving too much. It wasn't too late to call in sick and he had plenty of days off that he could use. His conscience got the better of him. The semester was starting in just three days. It was all hands on deck at the little off-campus bookstore, a favorite haunt of the literature and history students of Camelot University. Considering that all hands on deck meant that Robert and the sole other employee, a fellow work study student that he'd rarely seen and usually gave every appearance of being high, were both in the shop at the same time, he couldn't quite justify not turning up. Besides, he really needed the money.

Ignoring the throbbing in his knee, Robert hauled himself to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom where he took the quickest shower known to man. Still slightly damp, he pulled on the least wrinkled pair of trousers he could find and one of his semi-nice button ups. He raked his fingers through his damp hair, forcing it into a semblance of order that he knew wouldn't last. The atomic clock over his bed mocked him with the time. He was so very late.

Sock feet slid on the ground when he careered into the kitchen. He nearly cried when he saw that he had indeed set the automatic coffee pot to brew the night before. Robert slopped a copious amount of the blessed caffeine into his favorite mug. He didn't bother with his usual cream and sugar and instead choked down the too bitter, too hot liquid as quickly as possible. He dropped the mug carefully in the sink, grabbed his messenger bag, and bolted out the door. Sixty seconds later, he strode back into the flat and grabbed his shoes.

It was a good thing that The BookShop was just down the street and that the weather was cooperating with him. Robert sprinted down the sidewalk, clumsily dodging the few other pedestrians out at that time. Toby, the other employee, was lounging outside the door when Robert slid to a halt. The other man blinked disinterestedly while Robert fumbled with his keys.

He let them both into the shop. The smell of books and the strange weight that came to with every bookstore greeted them. Robert loved the aura within the shop. He was incredibly lucky to have landed the job for his work-study. Mr. Tomlinson had even agreed to let him come up early.

"Do you want the register of the back room?" asked Robert.

Toby just shrugged and shuffled past Robert.

"Back room it is."

It was probably for the better. Toby wasn't much of a people person.

Sighing tiredly, Robert dropped his back behind the counter and fired up the ancient computer. The monitor stayed stubbornly blank, no matter how many times he jabbed the power button. The damn thing was positively ancient. Out of frustration, Robert slapped the monitor. A tremor of energy rippled through his fingers. It felt almost like a shock. The monitor flickered and turned on. Robert raised an eyebrow. That was…different.

The old-fashioned bell over the door chimed and a young woman, clearly a university student, walked into the shop. Robert promptly forgot about the strange behavior of the monitor and pasted a smile onto his face.

"Welcome to The BookShop. How may we help you today?"

The woman started slightly. She'd been gazing around the shelves in something that might have been awe and hadn't noticed the counter or the man behind it. A shy smile tugged t her lips in answer. "Just looking. Um…where are the textbooks? You have them, right?"

"They're in the back. We haven't got room for them out here. What classes do you need?"

"Oh, well," a blush formed across her cheeks and she bit her lip fetchingly. "I really just wanted to check your prices. I'm not sure if I'll buy here."

"That's all right. If you want, I can go check the prices for you."

"Thanks!" She dug around in her bag and produced a wrinkled sheet of paper, which she handed to Robert. He glanced over it quickly.

"Be right back."

Toby was snoring slightly in the corner of the backroom. Music emanated from the earbuds shoved firmly in his ears. Robert rolled his eyes. Sometimes he really wondered how Toby managed to keep his work-study.

The books the young woman needed were easy to find, some of their best sellers. Robert quickly jot down the titles, ISBN's, and prices on a piece of paper.

"Here you go," he said as he came out of the back room. "The top prices is for a new book and the second is for a used. The last is for a rental. You've only got two of those. If you've got scholarship you can get a discount. This," he picked up a flyer of the counter, "explains how that works."

The young woman beamed. "Thanks! Do you mind giving me your name? In case I have questions?"

Robert felt himself blushing. It wasn't the first time that he'd had someone ask for his number since he'd started working at The BookShop. It wasn't as though he was horrible looking. The dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes wasn't completely unappealing, but he had a tendency to be awkward and no one had ever looked him twice before.

"You can just call the shop, I'm usually here," he hedged. Her smile slipped a little and he just couldn't help himself. "Just ask for Robert."

She beamed. "Right. I'm Tori. Thanks again for all the help."

The rest of the morning went a bit more smoothly. Robert spent most of his time sorting through the online orders. The school graciously sponsored a link to the shop for those interested in offering patronage to the local small businesses (that was almost the exact wording). Camelot University catered to a fairly wealthy student body that was pretentious enough to think that buying from the local bookstore instead of conglomerate was impressive. But he wouldn't get started on that.

He stacked the various texts together for each respective customer and labeled them meticulously before setting them on a trolley so that he could take them to the back when he had a chance. The computer froze a record three times. Each time, it shocked him and went right back to working. A steady stream of customers trickled into the store after Tori left. Some were students looking to pick up their orders; others were just interested in the quaint little shop they had found while running around their new home.

At noon, Robert took the orders into the back and dragged Toby to the counter, literally dropping the still half asleep stoner onto the stool behind the counter.

"Do you want anything from the bistro?" Robert asked.

Toby grunted. It sounded vaguely like a yes.

"Be back in twenty minutes or so."

The bistro across the street was bustling as usual. Robert ordered two club sandwiches, just in case Toby was indeed hungry. The girl behind the counter grinned at him when she handed over the order. He just blushed and hurried out the door.

The moment the bell rang, Toby retreated to the back again. He didn't even take his sandwich.

Robert felt strangely restless after his jaunt across the street. The computer had frozen while he was gone and it shocked him again when he tried to get it working again. It was the strongest charge yet and it left his skin tingly. Mildly freaked out, Robert hurried into the back. They'd gotten new inventory in a few days before and he'd been putting off sorting through it. Wandering through the shelves seemed like a good idea now, though.

The tingle didn't fade. He managed to push it aside while he sorted through the new inventory and wandered the shelves to find where it went. But when he let his guard down, the restlessness returned. It felt like his skin was too small and too tight. The world seemed too bright all of the sudden, too loud, and too close. Once or twice, he imagined that he could feel Toby breathing in the back room and he knew that someone was going to enter the shop before the door even opened.

He hadn't been so glad for the day to end since he'd come in with a raging head cold.

Toby fled the moment the clock struck seven. Robert was sorely tempted to follow, but he stayed behind responsibly to go through the motions of closing. The tingling was getting worse. Every inch of his skin buzzed. He felt absolutely wired, as though he'd had too much caffeine.

He was so keyed up that he went home and changed into an old pair of jogging short and a ratty t-shirt. There hadn't been much chance to go running since he'd come to Camelot. The job at The BookShop had kept him busy with long hours, even if there wasn't too much to do and moving in had taken up every other spare moment. Even now, he was tired and he had to be up early the next day, but he was just so restless.

As he ran, Robert's thoughts drifted. Things had changed so much for him in the past couple of months. He still couldn't quite believe that he was gong to be attending Camelot. It was a notoriously selective school. You either had money or you were brilliant. It was even better if you were both. Robert had never thought that he, the orphan who had been bounced from foster home to foster home, who'd been to what felt like a dozen different schools, would get the grades that would qualify him for a full scholarship to Camelot University.

It wasn't as though he'd led a particularly horrible life. He might have been a ward of the state, but none of his foster families has been that bad. They hadn't been home, either. He'd worked so hard to get away from that, but he'd never thought that he'd actually make it to Camelot.

There were days when he woke up fully expecting to find himself back in the dingy little attic room that he'd called his own for his last year of high school.

The tingling only got worse the longer he ran and the more his thoughts drifted. Robert stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, at least half a mile from his flat, and dropped his head into his hands. He almost expected his skin to crawl off his body. The ground felt unsteady under his feet and his heart was trying to beat out of his chest.

A car went by. The noise of the engine nearly deafened him and the wind of its passing felt like it was going to knock him off of his feet. Robert stumbled away from the street. His shoulder hit the wall of the nearby building with jarring force. The rough brick bit into his skin with more force than he would have thought possible.

Then, the tingling faded and the ground became firm beneath him again. Everything still seemed sharper than before, but it was bearable. Robert drew in a ragged breath. He needed to get back to his flat.

More than once, he thought he wouldn't make it. The world tilted or the tingling became overwhelming. This was the downside to being new to a city. He didn't know any one, not that he'd thought to bring his mobile with him when he'd bolted out his door, not that he'd really made friends, moving around so much. The busses didn't exactly run at that time of night and Camelot was it's own little town. It didn't have taxis.

Robert did, miraculously, make it back to his apartment. By the time the door closed behind, he was starting to shake. The restlessness had faded, leaving behind a bone deep weariness. He barely had enough presence of mind to make sure that his mobile was plugged up and the alarm set for the morning. Pausing only long enough to strip of his shirt and toss it aside, he collapsed on the mattress and curled into a shivering ball.

Sleep came surprising quickly.

The stories always said that death had a stench. He hadn't believed it before. Now, he did. It smelled like sweat and blood and fire and hundred other foul things that he wasn't sure he could identify. Below him, two armies fought and died with a clamor that would ring in his ears for days, he was sure of it. His own chainmail weighed heavily on his shoulders and clinked with every breath.

A hand descended on his shoulders. His nerves were stretched to tautly that he nearly reached for his sword, though he knew there was only one person it could be. She was staring at him intently.

"Go," she hissed. Her eyes glinted madly.

He swallowed. He had so hoped that it wouldn't come to this.

The sounds of battle faded a bit as he made his way down the winding path that led from the top of the pass. It snaked away from the field before doubling back. For a moment, he could almost pretend that he was running away. There was a place where the path split. One fork led away from the pass. For a moment, he was tempted to take it. He didn't want to do what he knew would be required of him if he stepped onto the battlefield. He knew that he couldn't. If he didn't, she would and she would see it through.

He continued on.

Lightening flickered over the horizon. He paused and frowned. That couldn't be natural. His fists clenched. He prayed that she hadn't joined the battle. It was too soon. There was no one to stop her.

He quickened his pace, nearly racing around the last few bends in the little path. Lightening smote the ground. A dozen men fell to the ground. But they were her men. Impossible hope welled up in his chest. He looked up to the ridge of the pass. Directly opposite where he had been standing not so long ago was an unfamiliar figure. He had never seen the old man before, but he recognized the magic. His shoulders dropped and relief flooded him. He'd been so afraid that she had succeeded in killing their only hope.

Lightening struck again, smiting down more men. In the midst of the fallen bodies stood a single warrior. His armor glinted in the firelight. He was staring up at the figure on the ridge with mingled horror and awe. The man on the ridge stared back. Then he turned and disappeared. He hoped that the man was making his own way to the battlefield. It was only a matter of time before she appeared.

Something cold gripped his heart. She was still there. He could feel her in the back of his mind. Her magic was a presence he wished that he couldn't feel. With the man's appearance, she would be livid and desperate to end things. It didn't leave him much choice.

Reluctantly, he drew his sword from its scabbard and strode out onto the field.

Her men were fleeing. A few were still fighting. They paid him no mind and he was able to make his way unmolested across the field. It didn't stop him from discretely tripping a few of her soldiers. This wasn't what he had wanted to happen when he went to her. He wasn't sure what he'd wanted in that haze of pain and anger, but not this.

The warrior was kneeling beside one of his fallen men. He watched the warrior's head drop when the life left the solider he knelt beside. He crossed the field to the warrior.

Stop me, he prayed. Please, stop me. Kill me, if you must, but don't let me do this.

Nothing happened. Nothing stopped him. He drew closer.

He didn't want to do this, but he had no other choice. She would be watching. If he didn't go through with this, she would and she would be sure that there was no chance of survival.

He purposefully allowed the tip of his blade to ring against a stone on the ground and stepped more firmly. The warrior stiffened. Good, the warrior had heard. He realized that he felt a bit nauseous and that his hands were shaking.

The warrior spun, rising smoothly to his feet and parrying the half-hearted blow that he had found himself making. Shock flickered across the warrior's familiar features. His stomach rolled again. Oh, he had never wanted this. How could he have not known that this was how it would end when he stormed out of the city? There as a reason he had turned away from her in the first place. He never should have gone back, no matter how twisted by grief.

Cold dread began to wash through him as it suddenly hit him just how far he would have to go. The man from the ridge hadn't reappeared. There was no one to stop him and he didn't want to think what she would do if he didn't make the move she expected of him. The warrior was still staring at him in disbelief tinged with anger and sadness.

He knew what he had to do.

He expected the warrior to parry, to stop him. The warrior was the better swordsman. He had never come close to defeating him in any of his training and then the warrior hadn't been trying. He expected to end up with the warrior's sword at his throat. He never expected his own blade to be the one to taste flesh.

The enchanted blade bit easily through the chainmail the warrior…no the king, he was a king, not a mere warrior. He could feel it slice easily through the flesh beneath the armor. The king's eyes went wide. He withdrew his sword. It nearly fell from his nerveless fingers.

The king jerked when the blade was removed. He gaped a bit. One hand went to his bleeding side. His knees wavered and buckled. He collapsed slowly.

He stood frozen, only able to watch. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. The man from the ridge…the warlock, he was a warlock, a warlock that should have stopped him. It was the warlock's job to protect the king. Why hadn't he protected the king? Why hadn't the king protected himself? The king was the best warrior in the land and he was but a barely trained novice beside him. He should never have been able to land anything more than a glancing blow.

"You gave me no choice," he whispered. He hoped that the king understood his meaning.

The words forced life into the injured man. With speed that a man hale and fit would have envied, the king lunged forward. He felt hot pain before he could even comprehend that they were suddenly eye to eye and the king had a handful of his mail. The pain made it difficult to think, difficult to keep hold of his own magic, but he forced himself to maintain control. They stared at each other. The king jerked his blade up. The pain spread. It intensified when the king removed his sword.

And then the pain began to fade. He knew what it meant and he could find peace with that. This was how it was supposed to be. It wasn't the ending he'd been hoping for, but it was one he could be content with. Unbidden, a smile fought its way free. He hoped that the king could understand one day why this had had to happen. Maybe the warlock would explain.

His own knees buckled and he fell to the ground. It hurt a little, but only a little. He hoped the warlock hurried. He knew that the wound he had given the king was not mortal if treated, but only if treated. The warlock would have to hurry. He wished them all the luck he hadn't had. He never should have lost his faith. Maybe then, this could have happened differently.

He felt his energy drifting away. His final thoughts were of the warlock. Maybe, one day, Emrys would forgive him as well.

Robert Moore jerked upright in the bed. The sheets were wet with sweat and twisted around him. His chest was heaving. He could feel himself shaking. He gazed around the room frantically. It took him a moment to realize that everything was floating half a foot off the ground.

His gaze fell on the little mirror attacked to the chest of drawers across the room. There was a familiar tattoo on his chest that hadn't been there just that evening when he went to sleep. That wasn't what made him gasp.

His eyes were glowing gold.

That broke the spell. Everything hit the ground with a jarring thud. The downstairs neighbors were probably going to complain in the morning. That was the least of his worries. Images were flashing through his mind. Oh so familiar images of a life he hadn't remembered he'd lived until just moments before.

It hit him with all the force of the sword that had once killed him. He remembered.

Oh, gods! He remembered!

Author's Note: So...what do you think?