Avalon - Chapter 23 - Caer
Caer
“You still don’t look so well.”
“I don’t feel it,” Harry murmured as he continued cleaning up after the battle.
His skin was still pale, and though his eyes had been alert when he’d woken from his nightmare to the ensuing fight, they had dulled considerably in the moments that had passed since.
“What happened?” Morgana asked, taking carefully by the hand.
It was still trembling, and he shook his head.
“I don’t know exactly,” he answered, “but he’s back.”
“He’s back?”
“Voldemort.”
Morgana frowned.
“How is that even possible?” she whispered. “He won’t be born for another thousand years.”
Harry shrugged.
“I felt it. I felt him being given life once more. I’m beginning to think that I may not have been brought back through time, but maybe another place entirely.”
“Does such magic exist?”
“It must. If it didn’t, how would I know what happened?”
Morgana shook her head.
She was confused, but also scared of the implications of what Harry was saying.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Harry snorting irritably.
“You know, I was scared when I first came here,” he admitted. “I’d lost everyone I’d ever known, all of my friends, and even the Dursleys. Believe me, I don’t miss them, but in my first days here, I would have gone back to them just to be there.”
“And now?”
Harry swallowed deeply as he looked at her.
“I’m terrified that I will be taken back and away from you.”
“Me too,” Morgana admitted, “but I will not let that happen. There is nothing that will keep me from you. Even if I have to drag that damned woman from the lake and make her take me with you, I will do that.”
Harry chuckled amusedly.
“It’s not as though we can be apart,” he sighed. “Whatever the magic is that you invoked that night, it has tied us together. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”
Morgana nodded.
“I felt it,” she explained. “I felt that you needed me and I just followed the magic. It brought me to you.”
“Exactly,” Harry said comfortingly. “There’s nothing that will keep us apart.”
“Do you promise?”
Harry squeezed her.
“I would move heaven, hell, and everything in between to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“So would I.”
“Then we have nothing to worry about.”
Morgana smiled and turned towards Owain as he approached.
“I’m taking Harry home for the night, and maybe tomorrow if I feel like it.”
“Is that so?” Owain chuckled.
“It is.”
“Then don’t let me stand in your way,” Owain said with a grin. “I expect the bastard will be running for his life for a while. Enjoy your time with your husband.”
“Oh, I will,” Morgana assured him. “Come on, you’re in no fit state to apparate yourself.”
“Did he say husband?” Harry asked curiously.
“We are married in the eyes of magic. Unless you have decided otherwise?”
“No.”
“That’s the correct answer, Harry.”
She took hold of his wrist and whisked them away from the smell of burning wood and flesh, and Harry groaned as they arrived a short walk away from the gates to the school.
“I hate being apparated,” he grumbled.
“Don’t worry, I intend on making it up to you soon enough,” Morgana promised. “That is if you feel well enough.”
He merely grinned in response and Morgana seized him by the front of the robes to all but drag him to their home in the forest.
Harry had stayed for almost a week before returning to Godric’s Hollow, but not before Morgana was certain he’d recovered and that he wasn’t plagued by anymore nightmares.
He hadn’t been, and though she was reluctant to let him leave again, she knew that he had to.
There was much for him to do beyond the school, and she would not keep him from it.
The sooner Myrddin was dead, the sooner he would be back with her with no intention of leaving again.
It was that thought that got her through the days and nights without him.
She often chastised herself for falling so deeply for such a man, but Morgana knew she would have it no other way.
“You know, you’re going to have to start arranging times to visit,” she sighed as she heard the unmistakeable sound of crunching leaves beneath Salazar’s foot as he approached.
“Is that necessary?” he asked amusedly.
“Yes.”
He chuckled as he took a seat on a fallen tree trunk.
“Well, you have my apologies for being absent recently. We’ve had quite the increase in student admissions this year.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It is,” Salazar agreed. “What are you working on?”
Morgana released a deep sigh as she shook her head.
“Not so much,” she answered. “Did you not hear about what happened in Wales?”
“In Wales?”
Morgana nodded.
“Harry was ambushed by Pelleas, well, we learned that Pelleas is Strenger.”
“Strenger?” Salazar hissed dangerously as he stood. “Pelleas is Strenger?”
“I recognised him immediately.”
Salazar frowned as he looked at her speculatively.
“What were you doing in Wales?”
“That is a long story.”
“One that you will share with me.”
Salazar only grew more agitated as Morgana explained all that had occurred, and when she was done, he took a seat once more. Shaking his head in disbelief, he offered her an approving smile.
“I’m very proud of you, girl. How is Harry?”
“He says that he is fine.”
“But you are not convinced.”
“No,” Morgana murmured. “I do not understand what is happening to him, or what could be causing it. Harry is certain that these things are not just dreams but visions of what is happening.”
Salazar hummed thoughtfully.
“Perhaps he is right. I cannot say for certain, but where magic is concerned, there is a distinct possibility that they are not merely dreams. It would be best to keep a close eye on him when you can.”
“I am,” Morgana assured him.
“Good, now, the question is, what do we do about Strenger? Godric will be furious when he hears of this.”
“Until he is found, there is nothing that can be done. I don’t expect he will be trying to pick a fight with Harry and Owain again for some time.”
“No, I don’t suppose he will,” Salazar grumbled. “He will surface again. Of that, I have no doubt, but Harry must be careful. Strenger has already proven that he is a dangerous man, and with others to support him, there is no predicting what he might do.”
Morgana nodded her agreement.
She had seen for herself just how dangerous Strenger was, and she’d warned Harry not to underestimate him.
“There is something I wanted to ask you, a request really.”
“Do you need more obscure ingredients?” Salazar chuckled.
“No, not yet, at least. I would like for you to arrange a marriage ceremony.”
“For you and Harry?”
“Yes. We are already married, as far as I am concerned, but I’d like to make it official, and I think he would like that too. Could you do that for us?”
Salazar offered her a fond smile as he nodded.
“Not only will I do it, but I would also be honoured if you would allow me to be the one who gives you away. I’m sure Helga would love to do the ceremony, and both Rowena and Godric will want to be a part of it. I will begin making the arrangements today.”
“Thank you,” Morgana said gratefully.
“You’ve come a long way in the past few years, girl,” Salazar said appraisingly. “You’ve always given me worry being out here alone, but you made the right choice and continue to do so. Since I am doing you a favour, I would ask something of you. For now, do not mention Strenger to Rowena. I do not think she would cope knowing that he is seemingly within reach, but you will send for me and Godric if you or Harry come across him again. We will not be deprived of making his final moments as miserable as they should be.”
Morgana nodded.
“I will tell Harry the same.”
“Good girl,” Salazar said appreciatively, offering her a final nod before taking his leave of the forest.
Morgana had no doubt that he and Godric would be leaving the castle within a matter of hours to search for Strenger themselves.
There was nothing that would keep them from doing so nor what they would subject the man to when they did eventually catch up with him.
Where he’d gone was anyone’s guess, but Morgana found herself focusing on something else entirely.
Strenger would get what was coming to him soon enough, but, as selfish as she felt, her wedding to Harry would come only once, and with all that they’d been through together, they deserved something good to share with one another.
(Break)
‘We have to stop doing this,” Lancelot whispered, though he did not cease in his efforts to remove Guinevere’s dress.
“You say this every time, and yet, you always come back to me, my love.”
Lancelot took her by the shoulders, once more overwhelmed with the guilt of what they were doing.
“I hate myself for it,” he admitted. “I cannot say no to you, but I despise myself every time I look in the mirror, or I see him. Arthur is like a brother to me.”
“Brothers are supposed to share,” Guinevere purred, pressing her lips against his.
Once more, Lancelot lost himself in the woman he loved, knowing that if they were to be caught, execution awaited them.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Guinevere intoxicated him with her presence, and even knowing that he would lose his head for such an indecent indulgence, he could not prevent himself from coming here; try as he might.
He shook his head as he exited the tunnel he used to visit and leave the queen’s personal chambers.
It was the only one he’d not shown Arthur, and had even gone to great lengths to hide it from anyone else who might find themselves in this part of the castle.
It led directly to Guinevere’s room but could only be opened from her side.
Lancelot suspected it had been used for similar dalliances in the past, but he couldn’t be certain.
He was certain of so little recently, only that he lived for her summons, that when he was not with her, he was riddled with an undeniable guilt for his transgression against his friend.
“It cannot last.”
Lancelot almost leapt out of his skin at the sound of the voice.
“It cannot last?” he returned, feigning ignorance in the hope that Myrddin was not referring to what he suspected.
Such hope proved to be foolish, and the older man fixed him with a pointed glare.
“The walls have eyes and ears. You will be discovered eventually.”
Lancelot frowned.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Do not be so foolish,” Myrddin sighed. “She has you bewitched with her beauty, and yet, even you cannot deny that does not conduct herself in a queenly manner.”
“You will not speak ill of her!” Lancelot hissed, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword threateningly.
Myrddin shook his head in disappointment.
“Your sword is not the answer to every problem you will face,” he said gently. “There is no solution to the problem you face, Lancelot. Arthur loves you, more than he loves any other of those men that sit at that table, but that will not prevent him killing you when he inevitably discovers what you have been doing.”
“Then why don’t you tell him and let us be done with it?” Lancelot snapped.
“Because it would plunge the kingdom in turmoil, and there is enough of that to go around already. Arthur must focus on uniting his lands, and he will need you by his side on the battlefield, and Guinevere by his side in other matters. You love him equally, Lancelot, and you are not the first man to fall under the spell of a temptress. I fear that only you can break it.”
“I can’t,” Lancelot choked. “I have tried and tried, but I cannot deny her. She loves me, Myrddin, the way she should love her husband.”
Myrddin nodded.
“She needs not love Arthur as I hoped for him. So long as she is a good queen, that is all that truly matters.”
“So, you will not tell him?”
“No,” Myrddin murmured. “I should, but it would serve no purpose to break his heart, for now. I just hope that you can see yourself clear of her. Do the right thing, Lancelot. She is your weakness, but you must be strong before it is too late.”
He said nothing else, and Lancelot watched the man walk slowly away, once more awash with the guilt he carried whenever he was not in Guinevere’s bed.
“Shit!” he cursed irritably, kicking a nearby wall and wincing as pain lanced through his foot.
He knew that Myrddin was right, knew that what he was doing was wrong, but Lancelot knew that the moment Guinevere inevitably sent for him again, he would be powerless to resist the allure of the queen.
As much as he wished he could ignore her call, he longed for her flesh as a thirsty man would a sip of water.
Perhaps it was pathetic, but he didn’t care.
He loved his queen, and he would continue doing so until his head was removed from his shoulders for the indiscretion.
(Break)
“It does me good to see you doing so well, Harry,” Ignotus commented as he entered the room. “Do you mind if I sit? I’m a little too old to stay on my feet for long.”
“Of course,” Harry replied, gesturing to one of the seats within his tent. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”
“Many things,” Ignotus sighed, “but the most pressing is the arrival of a certain man in the village.”
“Myrddin?”
Ignotus nodded.
“A most unpleasant fellow who hides his true intent well enough, but I have seen through the best of liars, and he is certainly one of them.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“No, but he is an exceptionally powerful wizard, perhaps one of the very best to have been born to our world. You must tread carefully from here on out. He currently has no interest in you, but I expect that will change soon enough.”
“I will be.”
“Good,” Ignotus praised. “Now, I believe we must be rather frank with one another. I see no reason to dance around truths or half-truths. It will serve neither of us purpose other than leaving us with unanswered questions. It is my belief that we are indeed related. What say you?”
“I think it is possible.”
Ignotus hummed thoughtfully.
“I can sense it within you, the very same magic that flows through my veins. A curse as much as it is a blessing.”
“It’s the same magic from the church.”
“How very observant of you,” Ignotus chuckled. “Please, go on.”
Harry frowned, pondering if he was being lured into a trap of sorts, but he didn’t believe so.
“Are the rumours about you and your brothers summoning Death true?”
“You go straight for the throat,” Ignotus mused aloud. “I am unwilling to disclose all that happened that night, but yes, we summoned something we had no right to summon. For it, we were rewarded and punished equally. As I am sure you are aware, both of my brothers are dead because of what we did.”
“But not you?”
“Not me,” Ignotus agreed. “I have been able to avoid it but will not be able to do so for much longer. With each passing day, I feel his breath on my neck. Before long, he will claim me too.”
Harry would not pretend to understand all he’d heard, but he nodded.
“You said that you were rewarded as well as punished.”
“I did. My brother, Antioch, requested a wand that was so powerful that none could hope to defeat him in a duel, and Cadmus, asked for a way to bring back the dead.”
“What did you ask for?”
“A cloak fashioned from the very cloak Death wore so that I may conceal myself, even from him.”
Harry swallowed deeply at the revelation.
“But you already know of the cloak, don’t you? I can sense its magic on you, Harry. I do not know how that has come to be, but you are familiar with it.”
Harry hesitated only a moment before nodding.
He wasn’t sure how wise it would be to disclose everything to Ignotus Peverell, but if he wanted to learn something of his heritage, he knew that being honest was the only way.
“It was once in my possession,” he murmured. “It was passed onto me by my father, who received it from his own. “I know it sounds impossible considering how it came to you, but it is the truth.”
Ignotus eyed him curiously for a moment before nodding.
“Magic is indeed a wondrous thing,” he mused aloud. “I sense no lie from you, Harry, and I will not press you to tell your story, but I do have a request.”
“Go on,” Harry urged.
“I would like a small sample of your blood to confirm that we are indeed related.”
Once more, Harry was unsure on the wisdom of doing such a thing, but there was nothing to lose for him.
Ignotus Peverell meant him no harm, after all.
With a nod, he cut a small slit in the tip of his finger before squeezing some of his blood free and offering it to the man.
Ignotus followed suit and placed his own in a separate phial. Drawing his wand, he placed them both on the ground and began murmuring something incomprehensible.
At first, nothing seemed to happen, but after a few moments, the phials began to tremble before glowing a brilliant white.
“Although I expected it, I find myself surprised,” Ignotus declared.
“Surprised?”
The man nodded.
“I expected a familial connection, but not one so strong. According to the magic, you are directly linked to me, Harry. Closer than a nephew, and more akin to a son or brother. Now, I am certain you are neither.”
“I’m a descendant,” Harry sighed as Ignotus continued to watch him curiously. “I was born one thousand years from now and was brought here by a magical entity I do not understand. You had your moment with Death, and I had mine with something equally powerful.”
“A thousand years,” Ignotus murmured. “It is something that I cannot comprehend, and yet, I sense no deception from you, Harry. How this came to be, I cannot be certain, but for all intents and purposes, you are my kin. I expect being brought here in such a way was quite the ordeal, one I hope you will share with me one day.”
“I will,” Harry vowed.
“Good,” Ignotus replied with a smile, giving Harry’s shoulder a squeeze.
“You don’t seem as shocked as I thought you might be.”
Ignotus chuckled amusedly.
“After all I have seen and experienced in the world, and within myself, I do not think there is much left to shock me, Harry. Men like us who, for all the right or wrong reasons, have things thrust upon them, and we reach a point in our lives where there is so little that can render us speechless. How many people would believe what has happened to you?”
“Not many.”
“And yet, I do because I too have experienced something that most could not begin to comprehend. I believe you, Harry, not just because of my own experiences. I can see and feel what you have endured. It is rather exceptional that you are here, but you are for a reason, no?”
Harry nodded.
“To stop Myrddin.”
“Then that it was you will do. I expect nothing less.”
“And if I fail?”
Ignotus shrugged.
“Who knows, but it is better to fail spectacularly than to do so because you balked and crumbled at the task ahead of you. You are a warrior, Harry. So few can profess to be such, but I can see it in your eyes. You fight, and you have so much to fight for, yes?”
“Everything.”
“And that is why you will succeed,” Ignotus offered comfortingly before he stood. “We will speak again soon. Let us allow ourselves some time to digest what we have learned from one another today, and then we can discuss it further.”
Harry nodded his agreement.
Although the conversation had not been testing or even emotionally draining, it was a lot to take in.
Ignotus had all but confirmed the rumours surrounding himself and his family, and Harry was now left in no doubt that he was one of them.
How the Potters and Peverells came to be integrated, he didn’t know, and perhaps never would.
Still, he’d come to realise that focusing too far into the future, on what may or may not come to pass was not a productive use of his time.
Between now and the next thousand years to pass, much would happen to shape the world that he remembered, though perhaps him being here would change it in some ways.
What Harry did know, however, was that he would not be around to witness it for himself.
Witches and Wizards undoubtedly lived much longer than muggles, but in a hundred or so years, if he was lucky, he would have lived his life and passed on, leaving behind a worthy legacy of his own.
(Break)
With his encounter with Ignotus Peverell and conversation with Lancelot on his mind, the last thing Myrddin needed was to have to deal with Strenger and his inability to follow instructions.
The man had been both foolish and reckless in engaging Owain Peverell’s group, and considering the reports of the skirmish he’d heard, Strenger had not walked away favourably.
Nonetheless, he’d done well enough in the region to weaken the grasp of power many still held, though Myrddin was not convinced it was enough.
The Welsh were a stubborn and proud people, and unless they were truly forced into a corner where they were given no other alternative, many would not yield the kingdoms to Arthur.
In truth, Strenger’s efforts may have only worsened the chance that some might, especially now that it had been shown there was a group willing and able to fight him and his own men off.
“Don’t waste your damned breath,” Strenger warned as Myrddin approached.
He bore a large scar down one side of his face, fortunately not a mortal wound, but one that would certainly serve as reminder of fight.
“I have long learned that chastising you for your foolishness is akin to telling the clouds not to rain upon us,” Myrddin sighed. “I came only to tell you that it is time for you and your men to leave the area and find other pastures.”
Strenger frowned before chuckling to himself.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, not yet, at least. You see, my men are already moving towards another target and will reach it any moment now.”
“Another target?”
“Just a small keep to the east of here,” Strenger said dismissively. “We are in need of supplies, and this castle is well-kept, poorly guarded, and comes with no risk. We will move along when we are finished there.”
It was Myrddin’s turn to frown.
He did not like how pleased with himself Strenger seemed to be, but with being distracted by other matters, Myrddin could only shoulder the responsibility of what was to come.
“Very well, but you will move on immediately after,” he said firmly. “You cannot afford to draw any more attention to yourself.”
“I have no intention of doing so,” Strenger snorted, pointed to the purple scar running down the length of his face. “The resistance here will be your problem from now on. We did our part.”
Myrddin hummed thoughtfully.
“You fought Owain Peverell, what are his strengths?”
“A more apt approach would be to ask what his weaknesses,” Strenger laughed. “I saw none in the way he fights, but it is not Peverell that gave me this scar.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No, that honour belongs to his second-in-command, the one they call the crow. Me and my men surrounded him and his woman long before Peverell arrived, and between the two of them, they fought us off well enough. The woman is like no other I have seen. She favours dark magic, magic that most would balk at, but she is not like the crow. He is different.”
“Different how?”
“He is a fighter. With his sword and his wand, I can think of few who might be able to withstand him. Peverell is indeed a problem to overcome, but it is the crow you should be wary of. I cannot quite fathom what it is about him, but he is a dangerous man. I saw him cut through six of my best with little effort, and he is as ruthless as any man. He does not fight to take prisoners, as you can see,” Strenger finished, tapping the scar where it ran through his lower lip.
“Who is this man?”
Strenger shrugged.
“Your guess is as good as mine. He and Owain are close enough, and even look similar. Perhaps he is another Peverell.”
“Another Peverell,” Myrddin mused aloud. “No, Ignotus had only one son, and his brothers died before they had any. I would know if there is another.”
“Then he is someone else, but no less of a concern on the battlefield.”
Myrddin hummed once more.
“I will discuss it with Tristan and Leofric. They both met and spoke of a man with a crow as the pommel of his sword. I did not give it the attention I evidently should have when they mentioned him. I was more focused on Owain Peverell.”
“Do as you wish,” Strenger said carelessly. “I will wait for my men to return, and when they do, we will leave Wales, as you have requested.”
“Good,” Myrddin replied. “I would see you head for the south of the country. Soon enough, Arthur will be setting off on his campaign, and the south is rather fragmented in comparison to much of the rest of the country. I expect he will pick up the kingdoms you have dislodged enough along the way out of Wales. From there, I expect he will move onto West Wales before heading east along the coast. I will send word when it is poignant to do so.”
Strenger merely nodded in response.
If anything, his lack of belligerence meant that he was rather eager to leave Wales.
He’d lost several of his men in the fight with Peverell, and he needed the opportunity to recruit more to replenish and strengthen his numbers.
Myrddin expected that it would be less than a moon before Arthur was ready.
The preparations were already near completion, and there was no reason to delay the inevitable any longer.
He had around two thousand men at his disposal, an able force for what he needed, but Myrddin had no doubt that others would join them as they travelled across the country.
Many were tired of the ensuing wars that had lasted for many years and would see it as an opportunity for a lasting peace. Of course, the campaign would not be an easy one, but with so much hanging in the balance, Myrddin expected nothing less.
A new war would indeed soon be coming to Briton, but if he was fortunate, Arthur’s success would change the country for the better, for a prosperous Briton, united under one king true king.
(Break)
It was as odd as it was terrifying how such a leisurely morning of sipping on dandelion tea whilst conversing with a friend she’d not seen for several years could suddenly result in cowering in a dusty room concealed behind a large tapestry whilst attempting to soothe her fussing son.
She’d only chose to visit to avoid the continued looks of disappointment from her father, and she’d always been fond of this part of the country.
Such fondness, however, would be no more. It would now be replaced with the memories of clashing steal, screaming men and women, and a fear she’d never experienced but would never forget.
“It’s alright,” she whispered, covering the ears of her son as he whimpered once more.
Although the screams seemed to be finally ebbing away, they’d been replaced with sound of crashing footsteps, furniture being broken, and those who’d intruded upon them laughing gayly as they went about pillaging anything of worth.
Already, she’d offered several silent prayers in the hopes that she would not be discovered.
She could not bear the thought of what they would do to the boy if they were discovered, let alone what they would do to her.
The very idea sent a shiver down her spine, but she continued to shield her son and prayed once more that they would not be discovered.
“That’s everything,” a voice growled from just the other side of the hidden door. “Let’s move out.”
She breathed a sigh of abject relief as the footsteps receded, and she could not prevent herself from sobbing.
They were leaving.
What awaited her on the other side of the door, she didn’t know, but she was alive.
Still, she would wait some time before daring to leave, long enough that the men who’d slaughtered their way through the keep would put enough distance between her and her son and them.
For how long she stood within the cramped room, she didn’t know, but as she reached for the handle of the door, her heart sunk into the pit of her stomach.
Somehow, it had locked fast behind her, but worse yet, she could the faint aroma of burning coming from somewhere in the keep.
She’d heard from the some of the soldiers of her own home that the smoke would kill her before the flames, but she took little comfort from that, especially when her only son had his whole life ahead of him, and yet, it seemed that, like many others, it was to be cut tragically short.
With little hope, she hammered on the door with all her might, hoping beyond hope that someone, anyone would hear her pleas for help, if only to spare her son.
(Break)
“How is she?” Harry asked worriedly as Owain emerged from the room.
He’d been in there for the better part of two days with an exhausted Anwen, who had suddenly gone into labour a little earlier than expected. Fortunately, they’d been in the village when she’d done so, and Owain had managed to quickly be at her side.
“Tired,” the man answered, “but she gave birth to a little boy, Harry.”
He suddenly choked and began to sob quietly, undoubtedly from the many emotions he’d endured throughout the past couple of days.
“But they’re well?”
Owain nodded.
“Both are doing well.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he wrapped an arm around Owain’s shoulders.
“That is all that matters.”
“It is,” Owain agreed, wiping his eyes. “You know, I thought battle was terrifying but seeing the woman you love like that and you’re unable to do anything to help her is the worst thing I’ve seen. You’ll understand that yourself one day.”
Harry nodded.
He and Morgana had not discussed children beyond each of them making a passing comment from time to time, but he certainly wanted them to have them.
“Was it worth it?”
Owain nodded as he beamed.
“Come see for yourself.”
Harry followed the man into the bedroom he shared with his wife and found himself looking upon Anwen nursing their new-born son. She was utterly exhausted, but the smile she wore told him all he needed to know of what this moment meant to them both.
“You waited the entire time?” she asked quietly.
“Of course,” Harry answered. “I would’ve been next to useless, but I couldn’t leave.”
Anwen chuckled weakly as she handed Owain their son.
“He should be well enough for a while, and I need to rest. Wake me if he needs feeding again.”
Owain nodded and placed a kiss on his wife’s cheek.
“I won’t be far,” he promised.
Anwen merely smiled in response, and Harry and Owain left the woman to her much-needed rest.
“What do I do?”
“What do you do?”
“I just feel so useless,” Owain snorted. “I don’t know what to do with him.”
“Well, I expect you should keep him warm,” Harry offered with a shrug, “but the most important thing is to keep him alive.”
Owain chuckled as he shook his head.
“You’re about as much use as I am,” he grumbled.
“Well, I have no idea what to do. It’s not as though he’s ready for a sword or a wand.”
“Not just yet,” Owain agreed. “I’ll be much more use when he is.”
“You’ll be fine,” Harry said reassuringly. “Just don’t drop him.”
“Now I’m terrified that I will,” Owain murmured, his eyes still fixed upon his son. “What’s that?”
Harry frowned as he too heard the disturbance, and as he approached the front door, he drew his wand, only to relax slightly as he caught sight of Hook running towards the house.
His heart sunk once more as he saw the man’s expression, and as he opened the door to greet him, it was clear that Hook had been running for some time.
“There’s another attack!”
“Where?” Harry asked.
“Caer Gwent. I was there just a few moments ago and saw the smoke coming from the keep.”
“Strenger?”
“I don’t know, but whoever attacked was already leaving when I arrived. I didn’t get too close in case they saw me.”
Harry nodded his understanding and turned towards Owain.
“I should check it.”
“Would you? there is a lot of farmland there that most in the country rely on for meat and crops.”
“Can you take me?”
“I will,” Hook agreed.
“Good, I will see what has happened.”
Owain offered him an appreciative nod.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Harry,” he urged. “Even if you see Strenger, you don’t have the means to fight him and his men. Promise me.”
“Fine, I promise,” Harry huffed. “I’ll just see what I can learn about what happened. Come on, Hook.”
He took Harry by the wrist, and once more, he found himself being pulled through an uncomfortable side-along apparation, though this time, the effects were not as bad as when Morgana had taken him after the battle.
“It’s just over the hill,” Hook explained worriedly.
Harry could already smell the smoke in the air, and he followed the man to the top of the hill that looked down on the keep only a short distance away.
Much of it seemed to have been destroyed, either by fire or during the battle that had taken place here.
“Well, I’d say they’ve left.”
Hook nodded his agreement, and the two of them began to approach the castle cautiously, keeping their wits about them in case the attackers were lying in wait.
“Strenger hasn’t been here, but his men were.”
“Are you certain?” Hooked asked, his wand at the ready.
Harry nodded and released a deep sigh as they passed through the gates that had hung loosely on the hinges to the castle.
The ground was littered with the bodies of men, women, and children alike.
None had been spared, and those who’d not been cut down by blades had been cursed relentlessly with seemingly no means to defend themselves.
There seemed to have been only a handful of guards, and Harry could only shake his head.
He would never understand such senseless violence.
War itself was bad enough, but to succumb to slaughtering innocent people was something he would never understand the allure of.
It existed.
He had seen it for himself in Voldemort and during his time here. Harry just couldn’t fathom doing such a thing.
“We’d best see if anyone is alive,” he said gravely.
Hook had paled considerably since they’d entered the keep but he nodded his agreement.
Silently, they walked amongst the obvious dead, hoping for a sign of life.
Strenger’s men, however, had been thorough in their work, and as they approached the burning keep, none on the outside had been spared.
The fire, mercifully, proved to be rather simple enough to douse, and between him and Hook, it was only a few moments later that they entered the smouldering husk of what had undoubtedly been an exquisite castle.
More than half of it had been burned to the ground, and amongst the debris, they found more dead, servants mostly, but amongst them, men and women dressed in the finery of those better off.
It was when they ventured further into the castle that Harry paused as he heard a distant knocking, and with a frown and sword poised in one hand, he gestured for Hook to follow him.
The knocking, though faint, grew louder, and it was when they found themselves in a large circular room that it could be heard loudest.
“Where is it coming from?” Hook asked.
Harry listened intently as he walked the perimeter, halting as he reached a singed tapestry of a great battle.
Moving it aside, he found a door with the handle broken off, and quickly found the knocking was coming from within.
Tapping it with his wand, it unlocked and came away from the frame, revealing a redheaded woman clinging onto and unmoving infant boy.
Immediately, Harry thought of his mother doing the same with him the night Voldemort had come for them.
“Please, not my boy,” the woman pleaded.
Harry looked towards the wide-eyed Hook before kneeling before her.
“Is he breathing?” he asked.
She looked up at him, her eyes full of fearful tears.
“I don’t know.”
A considerable amount of smoke had gotten into the room, and carefully, Harry checked her son. He wasn’t breathing, but there was still a faint pulse.
“We need to get him out of here.”
Although she resisted, Harry managed to take the boy from her arms and began running to get him outside.
He could wake him easily enough, but the damage to his lungs could already be significant enough without him breathing in anymore of the smoke.
“Ennervate!” he whispered, tapping the boy with his wand the moment they were clear of the building.
He woke with a gasp, and his eyes were full of panic at finding himself in the arms of a stranger.
Harry merely breathed a sigh of relief as the infant began coughing, but soon enough, it stopped as his lungs were filled with fresh air.
The distraught mother was not far behind and sobbed controllably as she clung to her son.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I-I thought we were dead.”
Harry said nothing and allowed her a moment with the boy.
What she’d been through was something she’d never get over, and even now surrounded by the dead of those she knew, she paid them no mind in favour of tending to her son.
“Bloody hell,” Hook whispered. “You’re far from home.”
“You know this woman?” Harry asked.
Hook nodded.
“She is the daughter of Garth. He was a king before he surrendered his crown to Arthur, so, Gwyneth here was a Princess. There were rumours that she was to be married to Arthur himself. Her father is one of his staunchest allies.”
Gwyneth suddenly looked rather fearful, and Harry held up a placating hand.
“Here and now, she is just a woman with her son, who have both been through a terrible ordeal. It doesn’t matter who her father is or who he is loyal to. It’s alright,” Harry assured her. “You will not come to any harm, but you’re not safe here, and not out there without an escort.”
“So, we are taking her with us?”
Harry nodded.
“We are and then we will get a message to her father.”
“We can’t apparate them,” Hook whispered. “The boy is too young and not healthy enough after what happened here.”
“Then you’d best find me a couple of horses,” Harry sighed. “You can go ahead and explain what happened to Owain. I will bring her back to the village.”
Hook frowned unhappily, but Harry shook his head.
“It’s the safest way, and I’d rather be out of here sooner or later. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Harry murmured. “It might just be the lingering magic, but I have a bad feeling about this place.”
Hook nodded.
“I saw some stables just over there,” he said, pointing to the west of the castle. “I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thank you,” Harry said appreciatively before Hook took off in the direction of the stables. “You’ll be safe enough with me,” he added reassuringly to Gwyneth. “I give you my word that I will get you home.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, still holding onto her son. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”
Harry waved her off dismissively.
“It’s not necessary,” he murmured, once more reminded of Lily Potter and how she would have perhaps held him once before she’d been taken from him by another monster entirely.