Avalon - Chapter 78 - Liberty

Liberty

He had done his utmost to ignore the sight of the slave ships passing them by on the coast west of Godric’s Hollow, to ignore the haunted expression of Darragh as he’d explained his own experience of being subjected to such, but try as he might, Harry could not dismiss it so easily.

There was a part of him that wished he could, that he’d not been compelled by the niggling feelings of curiosity and horror that had been permeating these past days to venture to Ireland.

As ever, his own thoughts had gotten the better of him, and as he peered at the scene below him from his vantage point atop a willow tree, he was filled with horror and disgust.

Evidently, he had missed the peak of the sales and could only look on as dozens of ships departed the nearby docks, though several remained where they were, along with the crews and slaves that had not been purchased or had simply not been prepared for transport yet.

Scores of men, women and children, all bound in groups and left sitting in the dirt were dotted around sporadically, and though Harry wanted nothing more than to help them all, there were too many armed men watching over them, some rather liberal with the whips they carried, and others with the use of their wands.

It took little for Harry to differentiate between the magical and muggles groups. The magicals rags they wore were smeared carelessly with a red patch across the chest, and the muggles with black, though with the filth of their garments, it wasn’t so easy to spot such markings.

From where he was, it was impossible to tell where these people hailed from, but those watching over them spoke in a harsh, foreign tongue.

Harry could only ruffle his feathers in displeasure as yet another group of muggles was loaded onto one of the waiting ships, leaving only two more docked as it departed shortly after.

There was only two groups left or around fifty people each, and it did not escape Harry’s notice that most were men and children.

He dared not ponder what had happened to most of the women, and having made his mind up, he took to the sky once more, descending to the ground where his presence would not be noted.

He’d counted only nine slavers, and though it pained him that he could not have saved the others without significant risk to himself and those in chains, he knew he had to do something for those yet to be placed on the ships.

Reverting back to his human form, he covered himself in his cloak as he drew his trusted dagger his wife had gifted him so many years prior.

His first victim had made the unfortunate decision to relieve himself behind one of the docking sheds, and barely a gurgle escaped him as the blade was rammed for his spine and into his heart, his final breaths laboured against Harry’s hand that was pressed over his mouth.

He felt no guilt for taking the man’s life, nor would he for the others here who thought it acceptable to take people as though they were commodities to be traded.

Today, however, would be the last they did so.

Harry would treat each of them with as much regard as they did their fellow humans.

With the first of the slavers dead, he remained within the folds of his cloak as he dispatched the next, slitting his throat he passed by, perhaps to look for his already dead friend.

Much to his chagrin, his efforts had not gone as unnoticed as he’d hoped, yet as the first man was discovered still only a short distance away, Harry hurled his dagger, though his reaction was not quick enough to prevent the others becoming aware of his presence.

The dull thud of his dagger being buried between the man’s eyes may have cut him off mid-shout, but already, the rest had been alerted.

Summoning the blade back to him, Harry ducked beneath a cursed, responding with one of his own’ a tongue-shredder that was not defended against.

It was not a fatal spell for the most part, but it would render the victim quite useless for several moments whilst they tended to the wound, if they had any experience with healing.

Those that didn’t would eventually bleed out, but the man’s fate was far from Harry’s mind. He still had five others to contend with, and to their credit, they decided they would be better off grouped together to fend off the unexpected attack.

The hurriedly talked amongst themselves in their own tongue but had made the fatal error of not paying attention to those they held captive.

A few of the more daring men quickly began to sneak up on them from behind, and though Harry wished they hadn’t, it proved to be the most useful distraction to allow him to get closer.

Still, two of the slaves were killed before he could reach them, but apparating amongst them as he drew his sword ensured no other did.

Bringing his blade to bear along with his wand, he buried the former in the chest of one man whilst cleaving through the leg of another with a severing curse.

His bloodied sword finished his work before removing the head of the next in a single blow.

One of the final two was being savagely beaten by chains binding the group of slaves that had taken it upon themselves to assist him.

Before the last of the men could decide who to attack, a blasting curse ripped through his torso, leaving it only attached to the lower half of his body by only a few ligaments.

The man beaten by the slaves was already still by the time they relented, each of them breathing heavily, but it was the haunted expression of each that caught Harry’s attention.

It was much the same one Darragh had sported, and so not to spook them further, he placed his sword back in its scabbard, but kept his wand ready, just in case their bloodlust had yet to be satiated.

“I don’t mean you any harm,” he assured them.

They eyed him sceptically, though one of them raised his hands to calm the others.

“Are you a slaver?” he asked.

“No,” Harry answered. “My name is Harry Potter. I am no slaver but a friend of King Arthur of Britain.”

The captives began murmuring amongst themselves.

“We know of Arthur, and we have heard your name also.”

Harry nodded.

“Where are you from?” he asked curiously.

“An Island off the coast of Britain, and some of the others, I do not know. The slavers came and took us some moons ago. We were forced to row their ships until the sun burned hot before it became so cold that many of us perished. We do not know how long exactly we were taken.”

Evidently, it had been some time.

All of them were rather emaciated, each sporting various wounds that had healed some time ago, and some fresher ones.

Harry could not begin to imagine what they had endured, and in truth, he didn’t know where to begin helping them.

They would need feeding and rest at the very least.

“Well, you are all free,” he assured them. “I can take you somewhere you can recover from your ordeal and then find a way to transport you home.”

The an he had been speaking with shook his head.

“We have no home to return to,” he said sadly. “They burned everything to the ground, killed our babes and elderly, and left nothing in their wake.”

Harry released a deep breath before nodding.

“Then we can discuss and decide what you wish to do later. For now, we cannot be found here by the natives. I can’t imagine we will be treated well. We will take the last of the ships across the sea a short way to somewhere you will all be safe.”

“You will just let us go?”

“Of course,” Harry answered. “No man or woman should be bound in chains.”

Still, they seemed sceptical, but with little other choice than to be discovered here, the man nodded his acceptance.

As such, Harry waved his wand, freeing them from their bindings before doing the same for the rest who all appeared as equally disturbed and mistrustful..

He suspected that several did not speak English, but that was something he could address when he had them on the ships.

 Following his lead, and still seemingly not understanding what was happening, they reluctantly followed, manning the oars without being pressed.

Harry shook his head and merely tapped the stern with his wand and firing an animation charm towards the other before sending a message to Owain to meet him on the Welsh coast.

“Rest,” he urged those he had freed.

Still, they looked upon him cautiously, and Harry knew it would take considerable time before they would learn to trust him, though his mind had already drifted beyond that.

He needed to find somewhere for all of these people.

Feeding them would not be such problem, but housing them sufficiently would be difficult indeed, but he suspected not many would remain when they understood that they had been freed and that he was not another captor.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have involved himself, and he laughed as he remembered how Hermione had described him as having ‘a saving people thing’.

Maybe he did.

More than once he had come to Arthur’s aid when needed, and any other he’d come across along his travels.

Now, however, Harry knew he might just be out of his depth with so many, but he was hopeful that arrangements would be made for them.

Owain would not turn those in need away, and the Founders would certainly help.

His thoughts on the matter were interrupted by the small metal shield he carried in his pocket as it grew uncomfortably warm, and with a frown, Harry removed it.

Cursing under his breath, he hurried towards the man he’d been able to communicate with.

“I must leave you,” he explained hurriedly, “but a friend of mine is expecting you when you arrive. His name is Owain, and he will ensure you are fed. I will be back as quickly as I can.”

“Is everything well?”

“I am not sure,” Harry answered, sending another message to Owain, and two others for Morgana and Salazar before offering the man before him a nod. “I will see you soon.”

With that, he vanished, troubled by the brief yet urgent message he’d received, hoping that it had been a mistake.

(Break)

It was not often that Marcus Flint opened up his home to outsiders. Even the members of the Wizard’s Council were kept at arms-length by the rather secretive man, so it came as quite the surprise that he’d offered to host the small gathering of like-minded members.

If truth be told, he’d all but insisted upon it, and as Willan arrived at the large gates amongst the others to be extended such an invitation, he could not help but observe that Marcus Flint appeared to be doing rather well for himself for a man who had not been some years prior.

He’d never been destitute of course, but he’d not been among the wealthiest members of the Wizard’s Council.

What had changed, Willan did not know, though he had his suspicions.

“Quite the home, isn’t it?” Parkinson observed.

Willan nodded and followed the others into the grounds as the large iron gates opened to admit them.

The house itself only a short distance away had evidently been rebuilt quite recently, and it reeked of opulence. Everything appeared to be so clean, and there was no less than two dozen men tending to the sprawling lawns at the rear of the property.

“Come in, come in,” a beaming Flint urged as he greeted them at the door before leading them through a series of hallways and into a large study. “We will forgo a tour for now. We have business to discuss, do we not?”

“You called the meeting, Marcus,” Willan pointed out.

The man nodded as he grinned, his gaze almost expectant, yet none would give him the satisfaction on commenting on his home.

They may all be united behind a common cause, but they were still rivals in their own right; something Willan would not lose sight of. He would not forget that one of Flint’s grandfathers had attempt to murder his own, nor that Parkinson had undercut him on several business dealings over the year.

Gaunt believed himself to superior to all because he could document his ‘family purity’ as he put it, to when the Romans were prominent in Britain.

Not that his boasting had amounted to nothing.

It was no secret that most seated around the table had purposely married a spouse from other prominent families for the sake of status, and the others he’d yet even pondered before Flint spoke once more had their own shadowy pasts where Willan’s family was concerned.

Nonetheless, he was willing to work with them all to ensure Dusting was given the justice he deserved, and judging by the knowing smirk Flint sported, there was news on that very front.

“What have you done?” Yaxley sighed.

“Nothing so nefarious,” Flint assured the man dismissively. “I have merely reminded Potter that he is no authority in Britain, and those that dare follow him will be treated the very same he will when the time is right.”

Willan frowned as the others murmured amongst themselves.

Before any could press Flint, however, a knock on the door intruded upon them, and at the Lord’s bidding, a man Willan did not recognise entered, pausing as he caught sight of the gathering.

“You can speak freely, Marlow,” Flint assured him.

The man nodded and cleared his throat.

“The latest shipment has arrived, Lord Flint,” he spoke in broken English.

Flint’s grin widened.

“I will inspect them when our meeting is concluded.”

Marlow offered him a bow before taking is leave and Willan frowned.

He was left in no doubt what the servant was referring to.

Slaves.

It was well-known that the slave market had been taking place in Ireland over the past days, and though he’d suspected Flint would indeed be purchasing more, his demeanour of smugness all but confirmed Willan’s thoughts on the matter.

“What did you mean that you have reminded Potter he has no authority?” Gaunt questioned.

“Just that his men are not safe whilst carrying out their duties. Nothing more than that.”

“Is that wise?” Yaxley interjected. “Surely you have not forgotten the man’s reputation. We have yet to discuss what we will do, yet, you have taken it upon yourself to commit violence against a man notorious for it.”

Flint chuckled.

“He is just one man, and we have all of us,” he said dismissively.

“One man who killed a dragon,” Parkinson reminded them, “who all but single-handedly put an end to Guthrum and Cnut’s ambitions. You are playing a very dangerous game, Flint. Men like Potter are not cowed by gold, and violence very much seems to be his forte. You may well have just engaged in a game that favours him, especially should he discover what you have done.”

“What did you do?” Rosier asked.

“I may have had some of my own looking for his.”

“With what instruction?”

Under the glare of the others, Flint withered slightly before steeling himself.

“We cannot allow him to believe he can do as he pleases, and when,” he returned irritably. “He cut off Rookwood’s boys’ hand! He has no respect for the council.”

“It is not that we disagree with what you have done, Marcus,” Nott assured him. “It is that you did not consult us before doing so. If we are in this together, we must work as one. If we are fortunate, your involvement in what happened will remain unknown, and I suggest you still your hand whilst we gather information. Knowledge is power.”

Flint nodded reluctantly.

“What do we know about him?”

“Not as much as we would like,” Yaxley huffed. “Of course, we know of his deeds, but little about the man other than he is married, and that he is close with the Peverell family.”

“The Peverells?” Rosier asked worriedly.

Yaxley nodded.

“Ignotus’s son fought with Potter against Cnut. I heard that the man was wounded quite badly, and yet, he was saved by Potter when he was already all but dead.”

“Let us not get into rumours,” Willan broke in. “I think it best we speak with someone who will undoubtedly know more than us.”

“Myrddin?” Gaunt asked disapprovingly. “You wish to speak with the filthy muggle-lover?”

“Myrddin is merely following his own path,” Willan said dismissively, “but his position can be used to our advantage. I will write to him so that we may know exactly what it is we are facing. I do not wish for there to be any mistakes or premature action from us. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Rosier replied immediately, and the others followed.

With the meeting seemingly concluded, Willan stood, already choosing the words he would send to Myrddin carefully.

Despite the risk of approaching him given his relationship with the muggle king, it could prove to be quite the fruitful venture, so long as the man was willing to help them.

(Break)

For now, outside of Arthur himself, Bors, Gawain, and Tristan none knew of what had transpired only a matter days prior, and it was something the king intended to ensure until it was convenient to let it become so.

A myriad of emotions had plagued the man as he’d gone about his duties; hurt, anger, and even relief at finally confirming the suspicions he had been harbouring for so long, but such relief came only in short bouts.

For the most part, Arthur was devastated, more by the actions of the man he’d once considered to be his most noble of knights, and more so, his greatest friend.

“I do not appreciate my presence being demanded!” Leodegrance declared irritably as he entered the throne room, though he paused as he took in Arthur’s demeanour.

“I am the king of Britain,” he returned simply. “It is my prerogative to demand the presence of whomever I wish.”

Leodegrance was taken aback by the cold reception he received. The man himself had done nothing wrong, but even looking upon him reminded Arthur of his wife.

Guinevere had her father’s eyes after all, the very same ones that had lacked any indication of remorse for what she had done to him.

“What has happened?” Leodegrance asked.

“You will know when the time is right. For now, I will afford you my hospitality. Gawain, show my good father to some suitable rooms.”

Leodegrance frowned as he was led from the room, and Arthur watched him leave, deflating from the exhaustion he felt.

He’d not slept well, and knew he wouldn’t for some time, not until he had made a decision on what he would do with Guinevere and Lancelot.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne, the weight of the crown sitting atop his head reminding him that he was a king, and despite his wish to act as any other man would, he needed to be better, to lead by example, though he could think of no man who would retain the entirety of their composure when dealing with such a matter.

All eyes within the throne room were on him, most questioning, others curious, and some with a glint of guilt.

It was troubling to say the least, but as the door opened and his wife was marched towards him in chains, the whispers that would follow him for the days to come began.

“What is the meaning of this?” Leodegrance demanded to know. “You will unhand my daughter!”

“You will remain quiet!” Arthur snapped. “You are here only out of courtesy and will have no say on these proceedings.”

Once more, the man was taken aback by Arthur’s demeanour, as were the rest of those gathered who had grown accustomed to his usually affable nature.

Shifting his gaze towards Guinevere, the king could see she had not slept well, and yet, she looked upon him with nothing but defiance, and he in turn with nothing but loathing.

For some years now, it had become clear that they no longer one another, but as a king and a man who had treated her with nothing but the utmost respect, he’d expected the same in return.

That had not been granted, and even her beauty was not enough for Arthur take pity on Guinevere.

“You stand before me as an adulterer,” he murmured, just loud enough for those within the room to hear.

Once more, whispers broke out, and Arthur held up a hand to silence them.

“This is ludicrous!” Leodegrance scoffed. “Girl, tell me this is not true.”

Guinevere said nothing, and her father paled at the implications

“For what you have done, your title of Queen of Britain no longer stands, and you are to be banished from my lands in perpetuity. You will spend the remainder of your days in the custody of the church where I hope you may find forgiveness from the god you have forsaken. You shall get none from me,” he assured her. “If you set foot in my lands, it will be your life you forfeit. Out of respect for your father, I will allow you say farewell to him before your penance is to begin.”

His words may have been cold, but Guinevere showed no care for them until she realised what the further implications would be.

Perhaps she expected to merely be banished into the care of her father once more, but Arthur would not grant her such a mercy.

Still, she said nothing as she was led towards the man to bid him farewell, and the king ignored her pleas with the man before nodding towards Bors and Tristan, who led Lancelot into the room, eliciting a gasp of disbelief by those gathered.

Guinevere may have shown no remorse for what she had done, but her lover’s countenance was one of deep sorrow. Arthur was unsure if he was truly sorry, or only so because their affair had been discovered.

To the king, it mattered not, and as one he thought nothing less of than a brother in all things stood before him, he stood.

As he approached, Lancelot could not meet his gaze, and as Arthur lifted the man’s chin to force eye contact, he swallowed deeply.

It became deathly quiet, so much so that that Arthur could almost hear his blood pumping through his veins.

He was furious, but it was not his anger that was most prominent, it was the pain he felt as he looked upon Lancelot.

Stepping back, he drew Excalibur.

“NO!” Guinevere pleaded as she lunged forward, only to be held back by the tip of Tristan’s sword.

She needn’t panic in such a way.

Arthur had no intention of relieving Lancelot of his head. Instead, he offered the blade to the man.

“Take it,” he urged.

Lancelot appeared confused by the gesture and shook his head.

“Take the fucking sword!”

Reluctantly, he did so, and Arthur stood before him with his arms out to his side.

“Do it. Put it straight through my heart,” he instructed, his voice unwavering. “None will harm you, old friend. Come on, why won’t you do it?”

“I could never…”

“But you can fuck my wife without thought!” Arthur spat. “It would hurt me less if you had cut me so deeply with a blade. My heart is broken, Lancelot. I hoped and I prayed that it wasn’t you. I convinced myself that out of everyone within these walls, you were the man one I could always trust implicitly.”

Lancelot choked back a sob as he allowed Excalibur to clatter to the floor.

“Arthur, I’m sorry…”

“Your words mean nothing to me,” Arthur broke in softly. “Your actions have spoken truer than you ever could. Much like the former queen, you will be banished from my lands, never to return. If I ever again lay eyes on you, you will breathe your last. Get him out of my sight!”

It was with an expression of utter devastation that Lancelot allowed himself to be led from the room, and Arthur returned to his frown accompanied by the pleading of Guinevere to be allowed to join him.

The woman would never find her lover.

Where she was going, she would be unable to breathe without Arthur knowing of it, and if she were to step a toe out of line, the king would retract the mercy he had shown.

Taking his seat, he frowned as he realised the room remained full, and he released a deep breath.

“Get out! All of you!”

Only a moment later, Arthur Pendragon was left with only his thoughts for company, though he noticed one had not followed his orders.

“My king, do you think it…”

“Did you know, Myrddin? Did you know my wife was fucking him?”

“Arthur, you must…”

“Of course you did,” Arthur muttered. “You know everything that happens around here. You will leave too.”

“My king?”

Arthur aimed a stern glare towards the man who had helped him rise to be king of Britain, and despite all of the invaluable help Myrddin had given him, Arthur could not stand his presence any longer.

“Leave, Myrddin,” he instructed. “You have broken my trust just as much as them. I can never trust you again.”

Myrddin eyed him for a moment before nodding and doing as he’d been bid.

It appeared as though he wished to plead his case, but there was nothing that could be said to right such a wrong.

Nonetheless, Myrddin paused as he reached the door.

“I wished only to protect you, my king,” he said. “I will do as you command, but you will need me, and as your servant, I will always be at your disposal. I hope you do not forget all we have achieved together and remember that I have only done what is best for Britain.”

He said nothing else, and as the door closed behind, Arthur allowed an errant tear to roll down his cheek.

It hurt him to banish both Lancelot and Myrddin.

The former undoubtedly regretted what he had done, but it changed nothing.

He had truly broken Arthur’s heart, and it was something the king would never truly come to terms with.

Despite wishing to be furious with the man, he could not help but think of the better times they’d shared, the glory, and the friendship they had built.

Why Myrddin had seen fit not to tell Arthur, he didn’t know, but the man’s betrayal cut just as deep.

He may have done nothing to Arthur himself but holding his tongue and watching whilst the king appeared nothing but a fool was equally unforgiveable.

Where had it all gone so wrong?

Arthur didn’t know.

All he could focus on was the ache that continued to plague him for the loss of his wife, his friend, a mentor he felt he could no longer trust.

(Break)

“I don’t know what to say, Harry,” Hook murmured as the two of them surveyed the scene. “I can’t even begin to tell you what happened.”

Where his two men had been ambushed, blood was strewn across the dirt, and even up the side of both buildings either side of the alleyway the attack had taken place. Harry frowned as he knelt next to one of the men, neither of them being so familiar to him that he knew them personally.

“There were twelve of them,” he murmured.

“How can you tell?”

“I can feel it.”

He closed his eyes in a bid to deduce exactly what had occurred and paused as he felt the magic he’d grown accustomed to. The attackers had done all they could to leave no trace of them, but they had failed.

Harry could sense it, and as he inspected the second body, he nodded though there was no satisfaction in what he’d discovered.

“The killing curse,” he sighed.

“The killing curse?”

Harry nodded as his gaze once more swept around the area.

“They wanted to make it appear that they’d been beaten to death and took a great risk in remaining long enough to clean the area of magic.”

“But they didn’t.”

“They did, but not well enough to hide it from me. The beating took place afterwards.”

Hook could only shake his head.

“Animals,” he grumbled.

Harry hummed.

“When they were dead, they used wooden clubs to do the rest of the damage. That’s why no one here heard any screams, or any other kind of commotion. With only the tavern open, but being so far away, they knew they had time.”

With his frown deepening, he continued his internal musings, pausing briefly as he caught another faint magical trace a little outside the eastern village.

“They had a portkey, but I cannot say where it took them from here, but the same one was used to transport them to this same spot, more than once. This was planned. Do we keep a record of where our patrols take place?”

Hook nodded.

“Each pair is given a different route at the beginning of their shift.”

“So, the attackers had been waiting here until one arrived,” Harry mused aloud, “which means they acted alone, or there are other groups looking to do the same. I want all of the men gathered in the morning. It seems as though we will have to change things to avoid this happening again.”

“Do you have any idea who did this?”

“I have my suspicions, but I will not know until I look into it. These men, did they have families?”

“No, neither of them.”

Harry nodded.

“They will be buried with honour, Hook. For now, I must return to the village. It appears we will be hosting some guests, for a while at least. Can you manage here?”

“Of course,” Hook assured him.

Harry offered the man an appreciative smile before apparating away, his expression darkening as he began pondering who would do such a thing. The list was rather short, in truth, but Harry was taking nothing for granted, and such attacks would not be allowed to continue.

No, he had some thinking to do before he met with the men, but when he inevitably discovered who was behind it, he would see them punished most harshly for vile murders they’d committed.

(Break)

The first message he’d received had been rather ominous, and the second, outright alarming, and though Harry had insisted he would return from investigation a most unfortunate incident before the ships arrived on the Welsh coast, he was yet to do so as they neared.

Of course, he wasn’t surprised the man had taken it upon himself to assist those that needed it, nor that he’d ventured to Ireland in the first place.

Harry was not one to sit idly by when it came to maters of injustice, so to see that he’d managed to rescue at least some of those that had been enslaved was only typical of his friend.

“I suppose you received a rather ominous message too,” he chuckled as he felt the familiar presence of Godric approaching.

“No, that was Salazar and Morgana, but Helga and I were on hand,” the redhead snorted, though what humour he felt faded as he looked upon the ships drawing nearer. “Any idea what happened?”

“Not in such detail,” Owain sighed. “Harry says he will join us shortly, but only that around a hundred or so people would be arriving here and that they will need food, shelter, and likely healing.”

“I don’t suppose your husband will ever change, will he?” Helga asked Morgana.

The woman shook her head as she held her son on her hip.

“No, but the world would be a worse place without him.”

Owain nodded his agreement as he took a moment to fuss over Taran.

The boy was coming on in leaps and bounds, and he never missed an opportunity to spend time with him, just as Harry did with Owain’s children, whenever Aeron climbed down from his horse.

“The world wouldn’t be so bad without me,” Harry disagreed, beaming at his son before placing a kiss on his wife’s lips.

It was rather sickening how madly in love the two were, though Owain could not comment on such, not with how he felt about Anwen, even after all the years they’d spent together.

“What happened?” Owain asked.

“In Ireland or here?”

“Here?” Godric pressed.

“Two of my men were set upon and murdered, by I will begn handling that soon enough. For now, this lot needs us.”

“I’ve already set Darragh and Lars with a group of others to erect some tents on the wheat field we harvested not so long ago. Anwen is having food prepared, and fortunately, we have the two best healers in the country already here,” he finished, nodding towards Helga and Morgana, who quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Peverell.”

“I can’t imagine it would. Look who you married. Harry is a charmless git.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise you wanted to be punched in the face today,” Harry quipped.

“You wouldn’t hit a cripple would you?”

“I would, but it will have to wait. Come on, let’s see to this lot first.”

He led the way towards the large groups clamouring down the side of the ships, and Owain could see that their lot had not been easy in recent moons, perhaps years judging by the state of some of them.

All were underfed, some would undoubtedly required significant attention from a Healer, but worst of all was the haunted expression each wore.

“What will we do with them when they’re better?” Owain asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly, “but I had to help them.”

Owain nodded as he gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze.

“You’re a good man, Harry. You did the right thing, and we will make it work. Maybe this can be a new start for them.”

Harry said nothing, choosing instead to approach one of the men he’d evidently built some rapport with, and though he seemed mistrustful, he gestured for the others to Harry towards the field that was being hurriedly prepared only a short distance away.

Owain could not imagine what they’d endured, but he hoped there was indeed enough life in all of them that their futures would be much brighter than the binds they been liberated from.

(Break)

He couldn’t deny that he had been tempted to perhaps temper Arthur’s emotions and rash decisions with a little help of magic, but Myrddin had resisted doing so.

With Guinevere and Lancelot’s affair now known to all within Camelot, it would not take long for the news to spread to every corner of the kingdom, and not even Myrddin himself could still their tongues, nor make them forget what they’d learned.

No, the queen and her lover had reaped what they had sown, and Myrddin’s omission had not gone unpunished.

Nonetheless, he was confident Arthur would forgive him when he had calmed down and realised that he needed Myrddin more than ever.

Until he reminded them of why he had become king of Britain, there would be those who would believe Arthur to be weak, to be vulnerable to either the machinations or ambitions.

Myrddin released a calming breath as he once more reassured himself of his value to other.

The man would calm down soon enough, which gave Myrddin the opportunity to get an in-depth lay of the lands under his reign.

For now, however, he found himself seated opposite Willan Rookwood, who was rather keen to speak with him.

“Potter,” the man said simply. “What can you tell me of him?”

Myrddin frowned as he leaned forward.

“I would urge you not to seek any vengeance against him for what he did to your son,” he cautioned. “Harry Potter is perhaps the most dangerous man in the entire country. I have seen some of the magic he wields, and we even had a brief confrontation of our own. Do not take it lightly when I say that making an enemy of him would be foolish, Rookwood.”

“Truly?” his companion asked almost amusedly. “I can assure you, Emrys, Harry Potter will soon be nothing more than a distant memory. I am asking only you share what you can about him.”

Rookwood could not possibly be so foolish, and as Myrddin eyed the man speculatively, he realised a plan was in motion, and not one Willan had implemented by himself.

No, something else was afoot, and though Myrddin suspected that he would one day require assistance to confront the Storm-bringer, he’d not expected it to come to him so readily.

With a nod, he took a sip of his ale.

He would not be saddened by Potter’s demise. If anything, it would satisfy Fate who was determined to bring them together one way or the other and set the kingdom on the right path Myrddin had fought to keep it on since Arthur claimed the crown.

Without Potter interfering, whether intentionally or not, his own plans could flourish.

“I will share what I know with you, Rookwood, if you share who it is you are working with,” he offered.

Rookwood chuckled as he raised his cup.

“I could always introduce you to them, Myrddin. Especially if you are as keen to be rid of him as we are.”

Arthur would not like it, but Myrddin could not deny that Wizarding Britain could continue as it had been before Harry Potter had come along.

Humming thoughtfully, he nodded.

“Very well,” he agreed, raising his own cup. “To a mutually beneficial end.”

Myrddin followed suit, though he could not help but think Willan and his cohorts had no idea what they were getting themselves into.