Title: Where Echoes Meet (Prologue) WIP
Fandom: Merlin – Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover.
Summary: Buffy, Willow and Giles are sent back in time to the court of King Uther of Camelot. Please note: This chapter consists of mainly original characters of my own creation, with the exception of Buffy, Willow and Giles, obviously. The next chapter lands in Camelot so please be patient.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur (Eventually.)
Rating: G for small use of blood and violence against a woman.
Warnings: If you are offended by same sex relationships then please jog on.
Chapter word count: 3213 words.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Merlin. They gatecrashed my brain and wouldn't let me rest until I wrote this down so if you want to blame anybody, blame them. No money is being made from this.
Beta: shu0chan. *\o/* Thank you dear. I have to say thank you to therg for making the "King Giles" icon that was the entire inspiration for this story in the first place.

~ o O o ~

Rachel's nanna had always said that she was a naturally intuitive young woman and she should trust her instincts. Rachel had taken this advice to heart as soon as she was old enough to understand what words like intuition and instinct really meant, and neither had ever steered her wrong.

When the two newest members of her father, Morris', medieval re-enactment troop had pulled up in a battered old Volvo and one of them asked to audition for the part of King Arthur, Rachel had felt an undeniable pull in her gut that told her the two were up to something.

Her father wasn't getting any younger and he couldn't swing a sword around his head any more without his tired old arms failing him or denting his armour; his days of performing were over and he needed someone athletic and skilled enough to follow in his footsteps.

He had placed an ad in the local paper and Rachel helped him post flyers in every amateur dramatics society and performing arts school within a forty mile radius in the hope of finding the next King of Camelot. They spent the following four months meeting with hopefuls, all of whom were either too young, too old, too pompous and vain, or just plain incompetent with a sword. Much to Morris' dismay.

The man in the Volvo, Simon, as he turned out to be called, was in his early thirties and apparently desperate for the job. He had no real acting ability to speak of but by this point Morris was desperate and was willing to give the guy a chance. So when Simon picked up a sword and threw it around in the air with surprising grace; hacking and slashing at invisible foes like he had been born into it, Morris clapped him on the back with a big smile on his face and gave him the job on the spot.

No matter how much Rachel whispered into her father's ear, pleading with him to be patient and continue the search just a little longer, he would not be swayed in his decision. Simon was crowned King in the Nags Head pub that very afternoon and given the prestigious honour of becoming guardian to Morris' favourite sword, Excalibur.

The fact that his friend, Ryan, was sober and could apparently grow a decent beard was enough incentive for Morris to throw a set of sweaty purple robes at him and give him the part of Merlin. The previous owner of the costume, a useless lay-about named Toby, had passed out, drunk, and fallen in the giant prop cauldron a few too many times and everyone was glad to see the back of him.

The troop welcomed the newcomers with open arms, accepting them quickly and with a great deal of friendly banter that was returned in kind. The men learned the ropes soon enough and it wasn't long before some of the younger girls among them began competing for Simon's attention while they watched him glistening with perspiration as he sparred with the other knights in the meeting hall. For his part, Ryan kept to himself in a quiet corner; learning his lines or pouring over one of the various archaic books he always seemed to have in hand.

Everyone adored the two men but Rachel, unable to shake the feeling of mild anxiety that always settled over her while in their presence, couldn't bring herself to get close to them. She watched from the sidelines, cataloguing their every move and seemed to be the only one who was immune to their charms.

It was the little nuances that went unnoticed by the others that disturbed her the most. Like the way Ryan seemed painfully shy; his eyes never settling on whoever he was talking to at the time, or the way he clung to his books like his life depended on it. She didn't like the way he seemed to be fixated with a photo of a much younger 'girlfriend' that he used as a page marker; taking it out to gaze at it when he thought no one was paying attention. He had never brought the mystery red-head along to any of the meetings and he was always quick to change the subject when anyone caught a glimpse of the picture and were curious enough to ask questions. Although he smiled in all the right places and joined in the camaraderie around him, the guy was downright creepy and Rachel didn't know how much longer she could stand to be around him.

Morris mocked her relentlessly for her paranoia and jokingly warned her that she should make more of an effort to be friendly with the pair, lest Ryan pick out a hex from one of his 'funny' books and use it against her. Rachel rolled her eyes in exasperation and laughed it off, telling her dad to stop reading Harry Potter; it was obviously giving him daft ideas.

A few more uneventful months passed by and Rachel eventually resigned herself to the fact that the two men were here to stay and that Ryan's obsession with weird literature was just his way of throwing himself into the part he played. She learned to keep her unpopular opinions to herself, although she remained suspicious and never stopped watching them from the corner of her eye, waiting for one of them to slip up.

~ o O o ~

Rachel exited the main staging arena having just played the role of a serving girl who was arrested for gossiping in the town square. The punishment for such a crime had been to have her earlobe nailed to a tall post, so she made sure to clutch the small tissue covered in fake blood to the side of her head as she made a dash for the refreshments tent; wailing loudly in imagined agony until the flaps of the entrance closed tightly behind her. The cries of panic and disgust that sprang from the children, and the subsequent laughter of their parents, brought with them a huge sense of satisfaction, just as they always did.

It was the end of May and the troop had been employed by English Heritage to perform their signature piece, The Life and Times of King Arthur of Camelot; a day-long exploration of customs, weaponry, and warfare, with a few slapstick comedy sketches thrown in to keep the women and younger children entertained. It was always a big crowd pleaser and never failed to draw hundreds of bored locals and eager foreign tourists, alike, to whichever location they pitched up the tents.

Thankfully there were no clouds that day, it was uncharacteristically hot and everyone was slowly roasting alive inside the many layers of their costumes, the only shade available being that under the sprawling forest to the north edge of the field where their make-shift camp had been erected early that morning.

Once she had quenched her own thirst, Rachel decided to make her rounds with a fresh jug of water and a few cups and left the tent via the back door just as Sir Gethen was coaxing a young Californian woman into the arena to take part in the sword fighting demonstration. As she slowly ambled past them, the knight proudly twirled his sword and told the woman not to be shy about attacking him, he was a strong lad who had grown up on the side of a Welsh mountain and he was sure he could take anything that a little darling like her could throw at him. She couldn't have been taller than five foot three and looked like a child in comparison to his burly six foot four frame. To his great surprise, and that of everyone watching them, the woman proved more than a match for him and put quite a few dents in his pride as well as his armour, receiving a huge round of applause from her small band of friends and the growing crowd around them.

Gethen was stubborn at the best of times so after establishing that the woman currently kicking his backside wasn't going to break if he pushed back a little, he did just that, and tried to land a few blows of his own. She easily side-stepped his every move with a smile on her face while batting her eyelids at him innocently and the spectators roared with laughter, thinking it part of the act.

Rachel knew that, for as long as he lived, this was a day that Gethen would deny had ever happened, so naturally she dropped the jug of water and took it upon herself to round up as many witnesses as was possible. Soon enough the entire troop had abandoned whatever they had been doing and congregated at the edge of the arena to see Gethen gasping for breath on the ground and begging for mercy that the woman wasn't in any rush to deliver.

Rachel looked around at her colleague's jubilant faces, laughing along with them and thoroughly enjoying the moment until she noticed there was one person who was conspicuously absent. Ryan was nowhere to be seen and once again the spark of suspicion flickered to life inside her gut. Her eyes found Simon, in full armour, striding quickly into the main arena to congratulate the young woman on her impressive swordsmanship. Her friends came over, too, just as Gethen finally heaved himself off the ground and soon the five of them were engrossed in excited conversation. Simon seemed keen to know more about the American's and their English friend but his eyes kept darting to the edge of the forest every few seconds in what seemed like an attack of bad nerves.

Bolstered by her own suspicion and before she had consciously made the decision to actually do anything, Rachel moved towards the forest intent on finding Ryan. The large crowd around the main arena had dispersed somewhat, making it easy to blend in and disappear between the trees completely unnoticed.

She stomped over the uneven ground aimlessly for what felt like hours but was really only a few moments and with no sign of Ryan anywhere she began to feel just a little bit foolish. What exactly she had expected to find, she wasn't certain and she started to think that her father was right; she really was as paranoid as he said she was. Perhaps there was nothing sinister going on in the forest at all and that Ryan was only skiving off to look through the books in the gift shop.

She sat down heavily on a fallen log to catch her breath and that was when she heard his voice, murmuring in low and frantic tones. She caught a flash of Ryan's purple robe moving between the trees to her left; heading her way, and again without thinking, she jumped off the log and hid behind a nearby Oak to watch without being seen.

He stumbled over his own two feet and cursed under his breath, panicky and covered in sweat, as he searched his surroundings, looking for something. "Okay this is it. This is the right place. It has to be."

He took out a small bottle from the hidden pocket in the front of his robes and held it tightly in his hand, closing his eyes and praying in a desperate whisper; "Please let this work, please let this work."

Rachel nervously hugged the tree a little tighter and watched Ryan struggle to open the small bottle and tip out the contents onto the palm of his left hand. It was a thick, dark liquid that smelled like old blood and something else she couldn't name. It was so foul that both she and Ryan simultaneously covered their noses in disgust. He walked a few feet away from her hiding place and smeared the liquid over the bark of a tree, rubbing it in until there was no trace left on his hand. He dropped the bottle to the forest floor and reached into his pocket again, this time taking out an old rusty knife, and used it to cut into the palm of his right hand. Blood poured from what was obviously a deep wound and Rachel's stomach rolled. She was terrified and almost cried out; wanting to know what the freak was doing, but one look at his face made the protest die in her throat. The expression marring his features was unlike any she had ever seen on him before, she had no idea that the shy man was capable of looking so fierce and intent. He was shaking as he approached another tree opposite the one with the dark liquid, and spread his blood across its face, wincing as the rough bark bit into the cut.

He stood back again, breathing heavily, and raised his arms as if to encompass the stained trees, and began to chant in a language she didn't recognize.

" Álíese hwa wæs þýdæges ond hwa sy nú, becym; þon brðclicu luflíce inbryrdan ond gertymman hwa nidgafol béo."

Nothing happened and for a fraction of a second Rachel thought she might reveal herself and start yelling but then Ryan clenched his fists and bowed his head before repeating the chant again, putting all of his energy and concentration into pronouncing the words with as much force as he could muster.

The last syllable had barely left his lips when there was an ear-splitting crack and the air between the two trees shifted and blurred, like heat waves rising from a fire, before it settled back into nothing again. Ryan collapsed to his knees, exhausted, shaking even harder than before and thanking the Gods for whatever it was he had just done.

Rachel was bewildered by what she had just seen and although she was still scared and knew the nut-case in front of her still had the knife, she found herself stumbling into view and launching herself in Ryan's direction. Adrenaline and months of pent up frustration at being made to feel like a fool fuelled her fists as she pummelled his head and shoulders over and over, screaming incoherently with tears streaming down her face. She managed to land quite a few strong blows on him before Ryan regained some of his composure and he pushed her away angrily. She landed in an undignified sprawl in the dirt while he stood there staring down at her in complete shock.

"You?" He shook his head violently and pointed at her with his bloody hand. "All this time, I didn't know. It was you and I didn't know."

"What the hell are you talking about, you freak?!" She yelled back, wiping the wetness from her face. "I'm not the one hiding in the woods making weirdo blood sacrifices to the sodding trees!"

He laughed at her and the malevolence was back in full force, sending a chill down her spine. "No. And neither am I, you silly woman."

"I'm going to tell my dad and he'll have you locked up in the mental hospital faster than you can say..." Her sentence was cut off by renewed screaming when he suddenly grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her back, his full body weight holding her down and pushing her face into the fallen leaves. She began to cry in real fear, not knowing what would happen next and cursing her own stupidity.

"Geræpan!" He growled in her ear and stood up abruptly, leaving her struggling and wracked with sobs.

She tried to move her arms from behind her back but found she couldn't, something invisible was holding her hands and feet together and the best she could manage was to roll onto her back to scream into his horrible face. When she turned, however, he had disappeared completely, along with the small bottle and the knife, leaving her confused and disorientated.

"Wha...?" Before she could make sense of the situation, there were new voices heading towards her; panicked female voices and the sound of people running as fast as their feet could carry them. She writhed and screamed as loud as she could, trying to catch their attention and felt a tidal wave of relief surge through her body when the young Californian woman and her friends came hurtling through the trees towards her; one of them being a slim red-head who she immediately recognized as the young woman from Ryan's photograph...

For the first time in her life, Rachel experienced one of those moments that she thought only existed in films; where the whole world suddenly made sense and intentions became crystal clear, and there wasn't enough time to do anything about it, even if you had an eternity to prepare for what was about to come.

Time itself slowed down, seconds passed like long minutes where she was forced to watch the three friends racing closer and closer; arms pumping, hair fanning out behind them and the slow sinking of their boots into mud, and completely helpless to stop them from running headlong into the trap between the trees. Because she knew now, that's exactly what it was.

She tried to warn them, tried to scream NO! STOP! But her throat closed up tight and she could do nothing but watch in horror as the two American girls and the English man were swallowed by the spell and vanished into thin air right in front of her eyes.

At the exact same moment that they disappeared, Ryan reappeared by her side and they both looked on as Simon came skidding through the trees with a maniacal smile on his face. "What happened? Did it work?!"

Ryan went to him, a matching grin stretching his face. "It did. At least I'm pretty sure it did." He sank a little, then, exhausted. Simon caught him and turned the embrace into a fierce hug and patted him on the back.

"What do we do now?" He asked, as he pulled away from Ryan's grasp.

"Now we wait." He laughed. "Impatient sod."

"What about her?" They both turned to Rachel; Ryan seemingly haven forgotten she was there.

"Don't worry about Rachel. She won't remember a thing." He said, and raised his hand in front of him, fingers curled in an awkward shape. "Aswebban ond ofergitan." He whispered, and a bright bolt of lightening surged from his fingers and hit her in the middle of the forehead, knocking her out cold.

She woke up at the edge of the forest some time later with a horrible concussion, a soreness that ran bone deep, and no knowledge of what she had done to get either.

Simon and Ryan left the troop the next day and were never seen or heard from again.

~ o O o ~

This was the tale of how, on an otherwise unremarkable day in the south of England, an aspiring young actress called Rachel West unwittingly let her guard down, and was painfully reminded that Nanna had been right about her granddaughter's instincts all along. And how, forever unbeknown to her, she had just played the most significant role of her life; a very small part in a much bigger story.