Avalon - Chapter 83 - First Blood

First Blood

He had never relished the thought of being a leader of men, especially when it came to matters of war, but as Harry looked upon those gathered who were waiting for him to speak, he could not miss the utmost respect and loyalty they had for him.

Even so, and as humbling as it was, he had asked them here to rally them for a fight, only speak words of truth of what had happened, and what was to come.

“I expect you have all heard the rumours of what happed on the south coast and are perhaps even wondering if there is any truth to them,” he began. “What it would mean for us is a decision only you yourselves as your own men can make, but it is true. The goblins are rebelling, and took it upon themselves to destroy three villages, slaughtering all that lived within them.”

Those gathered spoke among themselves quietly for several moments, and Harry allowed them that. It was not an easy thing to come to terms with, after all.

“Now, I will be as honest with you all as I have always been,” he continued when the men fell silent. “This war will come to us whether we want it to or not. The goblins want Britain for themselves. I will not begrudge a single one of you for wishing to remain here, but I cannot promise you will be safe forever. Maybe our defences will keep them out, and maybe they will decide to leave us be, but I do not have faith in either of those scenarios. The goblins should not be underestimated. Doing so would be nothing short of foolish.”

The men nodded sombrely and Harry released a deep breath.

“Regardless of what choice you make, this is your home, and that will not change. There will be no hard feelings from any towards you. Most of you have wives and children here, and land to tend to, but I will be venturing from here in the coming days to fight. I would never command any of you to do the same, nor am I asking you to. If there are those that can do so, I would welcome your help. This will be no easy war, but when has it ever been?”

Many of the men chuckled dryly and Harry even managed to muster something of a fond smile.

“I have fought with all of you against the Irish that dared intrude upon our home only recently, most of you when we fought Cnut at Camelot, and some of you when the first wave of Irish arrived on our shoreline some years ago now. You are men I have come to trust, men I have bled with. We have won battles, lost brothers, but gained a home and built something here that I would see thrive in the decades and centuries to come when we are little more than bones in this very ground. For me, that is worth fighting for, but to do that, we cannot fight it here. We must seek the goblins out, force them to meet us on the battlefield away from our loved ones, and away from our homes. I do not like it any more than any of you, but if we are to win this war, we must be united with all men of Britain. Maybe we could wait and fend them off from where we stand now, but the cost of us doing so is something Britain will never recover from. Again, I am not asking you to join me, I am merely warning you of what will come if nothing is done.”

The men remained silent for several moments.

Harry had not intended to give what most would consider an impassioned speech, but the truth of what they faced had inadvertently inspired one.

“I’m with you, Harry,” Owain assured him. “Always.”

“Me too,” Hook called. “I can’t let you have all the fun.”

“We’re with you,” Claude followed, gesturing to himself and the rest of the former slaves. “You all welcomed us, gave us a home, fixed our wounds, and filled our bellies when most did not even have a shirt on our backs. This has become our home as much as anyone else’s, and we will fight for it.”

Harry offered the man an appreciative nod.

“Of course we’re with you, you git,” another declared. “We were there on the coast, and at Camelot. If you say we’re needed, then we go wherever you need us.”

What followed was more and more declarations of loyalty, and men pledging their swords and wand to him. By the time all fell silent once more, there was not a single man among them that had decided to stay.

Loyalty and respect.

That was what he’d earned from these men, and it wasn’t something Harry took for granted.

“Then we’d best begin preparations to march,” he urged, eliciting a raucous cheer from those gathered.

As they left to do so, Harry could only shake his head whilst wishing things could be different. Peace was such a foreign concept to him, but still, he clung on to that small slither of hope that he might just truly enjoy a semblance of it before he became to old to do so.

“It’s our fight, Harry, all of us,” Owain murmured as he clapped him on the shoulder. “You didn’t really think we would let you go alone, did you?”

“I should’ve known better, I suppose.”

Owain nodded as he thumped him on the shoulder.

“You should,” he chuckled. “Come on, you can help me tell Anwen of our latest venture.”

“You don’t need help with that, you just want me to take the blame.”

“Well, I might as well get something out of this other than another axe in the spine.”

“I think we should maybe avoid that, don’t you?”

Owain nodded.

“I’m not so worried,” he said thoughtfully.

“You’re not?”

“No, and for the same reason this lot is coming with us. Because you will be leading us. I believe in you just as much as the rest of them.”

Harry shook his head.

“I always knew you were an idiot,” he snorted.

It was a rather sombre march from the lands they called home to Camelot, though fortunately a one short with the king’s keep being relatively nearby. Even so, that did not detract from the mood of the men.

None here relished war nor the idea of it. Most had already seen more than their fair share of conflict and wanted nothing more than to live in peace.

Was such a thing truly too much to ask?

Harry knew that so long as others existed who harboured ambitions that infringed upon others, war would forever prevail, and from his experience, life was merely brief moments of respite from the drudgery of violence others insisted upon.

“What are you expecting when we get there?” Owain asked grimly.

“Petulance and posturing at first,” Harry replied knowingly. “They will all want to lead and start waving their metaphorical cocks around.”

“Well, I’ll be grateful that it is only metaphorical,” Owain snorted amusedly. “I don’t suppose you will allow it.”

Harry grinned as his gaze drifted towards the man.

“My cup runneth over.”

Owain unleashed a bark of laughter.

“I suppose there is an advantage to being the Crow, Dragonslayer, and Freer of Men.”

“Where did the last one come from?” Harry asked with a frown.

“Claude.”

“I’ll swing for that bastard.”

“What does one more little name matter?”

“The last man I knew who had so many titles bestowed upon him was an irritating shit, but maybe that was just him.”

“You’re an irritating shit,” Owain returned, “but we love you for it.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Falling from a horse is a great height for a cripple. You should remember that, Peverell.”

Owain guffawed as he urged his horse forward to the top of the hill, pausing as he reached it.

“The last time I was here…”

“I know,” Harry said comfortingly. “It won’t happen again.”

“It might.”

“It might,” Harry sighed, “but let’s worry about that if it does. I don’t you need moping around up here. We have idiots to meet with.”

“And then even more when the rest of the council arrives.”

Harry frowned at the thought.

Why he had to meet with Myrddin and his cohorts first, he didn’t understand, unless they wished to keep their little grudge against him from the other members that were not involved in the attempts made against him and his.

Regardless, it was a waste of time.

Only last night, another attack courtesy of the goblins had happened, and another village on the northern coast had been destroyed.

Harry understood the need for diplomacy, but they could ill afford to waste so much precious time on it. People were being slaughtered, and the horde of creatures bent on conquering them from within needed to be stopped without delay.

“Well, no one can deny he knows how to put on a show,” Owain muttered as they approached the gates to the enormous keep.

Camelot had come on in leaps and bounds over the years since Arthur had occupied it, and though there was an undeniable air of wealth to the place, it wasn’t so gawdy that it had become distasteful.

“He’s a king,” Harry reminded the man, raising his arm to halt the men in ranks behind him. “It’s expected that he puts on a show.”

Even outside of the walls, men and women were milling around, tending to horses, packing carts and tents, and completing other menial tasks that would see Arthur’s army well previsioned.

“At least someone is taking it seriously,” Owain noted.

Harry nodded.

“As much as I would like to say the others aren’t, I don’t think that’s true, but pride can be the folly of many men. Even the direst of circumstances doesn’t change that.”

Owain looked at him curiously before shaking his head.

“Bloody hell, Potter, that sounded like something my father would say.”

“At least his wisdom rubbed off on one of us,” Harry returned with a grin, dismounting his horse as Gawain and Bors approached. “I think your god was quite cruel to both of you.”

“He was?” Bors asked dumbly.

“Well, he made you both unspeakably ugly and didn’t compensate it by giving you the brains to justify it. I bet you could put a finger in both ears and they’d meet in the middle.”

Owain roared in laughter as he joined them, and Bors blinked.

“Is he calling us stupid?” he asked.

“Just you,” Gawain snorted, pulling Harry into a tight embrace. “We’ve not been told much, but considering you’re here, I don’t suspect we’re just having a piss up and a singsong?”

“We’re not,” Harry answered. “I suppose he’s parked his arse on his throne to greet us.”

Gawain grinned in response.

“Aye, and he’s even put his crown on for you. The damned thing is gleaming from how much it has been polished.”

Harry could only shake his head.

“Dismiss the men, Owain,” he instructed. “Let them set up camp.”

The man offered him a mock salute before doing so, much like the Romans of old, and Harry began following Bors and Gawain towards the gates, which were flanked by dozens of Arthur’s own men, already wearing their armour.

“Is all of this necessary?”

“No, but the men like to see you when you’re here. Those that remember were keen, and those that have only heard of what happened here even more so. They’ll be queuing up to kiss your arse, Potter. You’re something of a legend in these parts.”

“It’s not as though I don’t visit.”

“Aye, but they barely get a glimpse of your miserable face,” Gawain pointed out.

Harry merely hummed in response, unable to miss the expressions of curiosity that followed him. Much to his chagrin, Owain didn’t either, and he grinned as though it was a personal gift to him.

“You will never have another child if you say a word,” Harry warned.

“I think this all speaks for itself,” Owain retorted, his grin unwavering. “Besides, it’s you that has the catching up to do. “You only have one.”

“You had a sprog?” Gawain asked.

Harry nodded, a smile cresting his own lips.

“A boy.”

Gawain beamed at the news.

“I’ll look forward to meeting the little bugger. If he’s anything like you or that wife of yours, he’ll be a handful.”

“He already is,” Harry replied fondly. “How many do you have now, Bors?”

The man frowned at the question.

“Seventeen,” he answered.

“Nineteen,” Gawain corrected, “that you know of. Could be nineteen hundred for all you know, you virile sod. Just take a look around. Any of the kids you see around here that are ugly probably came from him.”

“They can’t all be ugly.”

“They can when he likes ugly women,” Gawain chortled, jerking a thumb in Bors’ direction. “My God, Harry, it should be punishable by death to lay with some of the women he does.”

“Or for them to lay with him.”

Gawain chuckled as he nodded.

“Aye, either might just stop him flooding the land with his offspring. Ah, he we are. His majesty awaits.”

The man was too happy for Harry’s liking, and as the large doors swung open, he was greeted by the sight of dozens of gathered men, but it was the clapping and cheering that followed that irked Harry so.

Arthur looked rather pleased with himself as he and Owain approached, and Harry suspected he’d planned this.

“You did it on purpose,” he accused.

“I did,” Arthur declared unashamedly. “I’d never be able to beat you in a fight, but I have my ways, Sir Harry.”

He grimaced at the title, and Arthur laughed heartily as he pulled him into a tight embrace before doing the same to Owain.

“It’s good to see you back here, old friend,” he said fondly. “I wish the circumstances were better, but you’ve been missed. I hear you have a daughter now.”

“I do, and thankfully, she is much more like her mother than me.”

Arthur nodded amusedly.

“Well, if it wasn’t for men like you, Owain Peverell, Britain would be much worse for it. Come, I think you’ve both been paraded around enough. Let’s speak whilst Myrddin holds his own meeting.”

“You’re still not on the best of terms?”

Arthur shook his head as he led them towards a room off to the side of the throne room he’d greeted them in.

“No, and I do not envision that changing so soon. Either Myrddin has changed, or I have. I cannot be certain sometimes, but the relationship we once shared will never be the same, even if I do manage to forgive him.”

“People change,” Owain commented, “and not always for the best. Still, we must put our personal thoughts and quarrels aside for the time being. The goblins will not be so easily defeated.”

“I do not suspect they will,” Arthur murmured, “but I have every faith in our success.”

“Well, unless the others can put their pride aside, I would not get my hopes up,” Owain cautioned. “This is a much greater threat than anything else we’ve faced.”

Arthur nodded his understanding as he looked towards Harry who held a hand up.

“Unless I am provoked, I can wait to deal with them for a while. I will not jeopardise our efforts. Owain is right, we must be united, but I will continue to act accordingly to ensure any threat towards me is dealt with.”

Arthur nodded appreciatively.

“You know, I do wonder if any that chooses you as an enemy has a death wish,” he sighed. “Only a damned fool would want to provoke your ire.”

“Unfortunately, the world is full of them,” Owain chuckled, “but they learn, some quicker than others. The problem with the rich and influential is that they believe themselves to be superior in every way, and quite untouchable. That is not so, not when you make an enemy of the wrong man.”

Arthur deflated as he took a seat around the table and gestured for them to do the same.

“Can I expect there to be hostility?”

“Undoubtedly,” Owain answered, “but it will be resolved quickly enough. Men like Flint and his ilk won’t act unless they believe they have an advantage. Here, they do not have that, and even if they think they do, I’m sure Harry will deal with it quickly without too much bloodshed.”

Arthur could only shake his head.

“Then I will keep myself out of it until any unpleasantness passes. I would rather there was no blood spilled, but as ever, Harry, you have my blessing to do as you see fit.”

“Well, I have no intention of killing any of them,” Harry assured him.

“That’s a relief,” Arthur declared. “Let us leave here as we intend to go on. I do not expect you let what has happened lie, but as you said yourself, we must be united. As you can see, I will see you all well-fed and do whatever else I can to assist you.”

“Then we have a chance,” Owain murmured. “Even so, this will be a war for the ages, I’m sure.”

Harry nodded his agreement, and the trio fell silent, waiting for the inevitable arrival of Myrddin and the others.

Although he was distinctly uncomfortable at the very thought of working with them, he was under no illusion that it was a necessity.

Alone, Harry doubted he and his men could be successful in defeating such a large army of goblins. Perhaps they could, but at what cost?

No, it was better for all if they could reach an accord to eliminate the threat as one. What came after was uncertain, but what Harry was sure of was that there would unlikely be an after if the goblin rebellion wasn’t quelled.

(Break)

“I don’t like it,” Marcus Flint grumbled. “Working with your muggle king is one thing, but Potter? I don’t like it at all.”

“But without him, it is unlikely we can win,” Rosier pointed out. “Between us here, we have close to eight hundred men, and even with the rest of the members of the council, perhaps a little over fourteen hundred give or take.”

“And Potter has close to half of that himself,” Myrddin interjected gravely as he entered the room. “They have just arrived with Potter and Peverell leading them.”

“How has he managed to acquire so many men?”

“The Peverells had a sizeable force when they last came to Camelot, but it has perhaps doubled in size since. Given Potter’s exploits and his martial acumen, it is unsurprising that he has attracted so many.”

Myrddin had watched them arrive from atop the parapets of the keep, and they had done so in disciplined lines, each man evidently having been endlessly drilled in such.

It made him wonder just how powerful a small army it was if they had perfected something so dismissive.

If they were trained by Potter and Peverell, as he suspected, likely as formidable a force as any would find in Britain.

It was troubling to say the least, and rather alarming at worst.

Flint shook his head.

“So, he has the biggest single fighting force in the country. It must cost a fortune to keep them. Where does he get his gold?”

The others pondered that very question, though their musings were interrupted by the distant sound of cheering.

“It seems that Potter and Peverell have reached the throne room,” Myrddin declared. “I expect it will not be long before we are sent for to meet with them.”

“And he has given his assurance there will be no violence?” Parkinson asked for the dozenth time.

Myrddin nodded reassuringly.

He suspected the man had become rather fearful of Potter having heard what he was capable of. Still, the man knew of his involvement in the plot against him now, so unless he wished to cowardly bow out and grovel at Potter’s feet for forgiveness, he would remain in what he evidently deemed to be an unfavourable position.

“He will keep the peace, but I would not expect him to be particularly warm and welcoming to any of you, and here, I would urge you to hold your tongues. Do not provoke him. For now, as much as none of us wish to admit it, we need Potter on side, and I would not put it past him to retreat back into the Peverell lands and watch as the goblins slowly but surely destroy us.”

Flint spat on the floor in disgust and turned sharply towards the door when it opened.

“The king is waiting for you,” Tristan announced, shooting those gathered a look of curiosity.

Oddly, he seemed rather unimpressed before leaving, choosing not to escort them where Arthur would be waiting.

“Fucking king,” Flint scoffed. “Us magicals don’t have kings.”

“If we did, it wouldn’t be you for more than five minutes before someone had you killed,” Gaunt said amusedly.

“I’d like to see them try,” Flint growled.

Myrddin could only shake his head.

Despite what Potter had already done to the man, and undoubtedly could’ve done had he chosen to, he had yet to learnt hat he was not as invincible as he evidently thought.

Still, perhaps the impending war with the goblins would humble him somewhat, though Myrddin had his doubts. He could not envision that Flint himself would step onto the battlefield, not whilst he had his slave soldiers and paid mercenaries to do his bidding for him.

That was where he and Potter were glaringly different.

Potter led his men into battle, fought side by side with them, and even risked his own life to save theirs.

He not only inspired loyalty, but he earned it along with the respect of any who fought beside him, including Myrddin himself who had done so briefly.

Potter was something of an enigma to most, but understandable to those who had met such men. Harry Potter was a warrior to the very end, and seemingly, so much more to boot.

The man of his thoughts was seated next to another, familiar to Myrddin as he and his associates entered the room.

Owain Peverell was quite the presence unto himself, his oddly grey eyes devoid of any warmth, and the magic of the man as unwelcoming as the expression he wore.

Potter’s eyes could not be more different.

His were a burning emerald, eerily so, and though they gave nothing away, they spoke of a power within the man that Myrddin had seen for himself. He possessed the daring of Godric, the cunning of Salazar, and undoubtedly the admirable traits of both Helga and Rowena whom Harry Potter had spent much time with.

Already, he had proven to be a force to be reckoned with, and there was not a hint of discomfort at being outnumbered by those that considered him their enemy.

“Thank you for joining us,” Arthur greeted them cordially. “Please, take a seat, gentlemen.”

He himself cut quite the impressive figure.

His crown had been laced on the table in front of him, and he wore Excalibur on his hip. For what good it would do against any wizard that took exception to the king, Myrddin didn’t know, but in Pooter’s company, Arthur seemed unfazed by the danger he was potentially in.

Not that Myrddin would allow anything to befall the man.

Despite the unfortunate fallout, Arthur was still the king he chose, and the man he followed until the very end.

“Now, for those of you that do not know me, I am Arthur Pendragon, the King of Britain. I have fought with everything I have to unite the people of this country, and I serve them all proudly, both magical and muggle. Lord Rookwood, we have met, and I never had the opportunity to thank you for your inspiration.”

“My inspiration?” Rookwood asked with a frown.

Arthur nodded.

“If it wasn’t for you and the way you conducted yourself in my court, I may have never felt the need to have a Minister of Magical Justice. Because of you, Lord Rookwood, I was able to establish just that very thing, and I was able to appoint the most just and experienced man I could know to that post,” he finished, looking towards Harry Potter with a mischievous grin.

Potter glared at Arthur in return, though the man’s focus shifted quickly back to the members of the Wizard’s Council.

“I am interested to know, however, why it is that you have not invited Harry to be a member of your council? He is, from what I understand from those of your kind I have spoken with, a powerful and influential man.”

“Too powerful and too influential,” Owain Peverell snorted. “Harry is a threat to them, and rather than try and forge what may have been a rather fruitful relationship between them all, they chose to allow petty jealousy and their egos to take precedence, thus, the rather frosty atmosphere between them.”

“Potter cut off my son’s hand!” Rookwood seethed.

“Aye and had I have caught him doing what he was, I would’ve taken his balls before his head,” Owain retorted. “Your son got off lucky as far as `I am concerned, you fucking cretin.”

Rookwood opened his mouth to retort but fell silent as Myrddin shot him a stern glare. Before he could speak, however, Potter beat him to it, and did so in a low, chilling, yet calm voice.

“Our time will come,” he murmured. “I have warned you all more than enough times, but if you are still determined for us to resolve our differences in a most pleasant of manner, so be it. I will ensure that what remains of your days are full of utter misery, but until then, we have a more pressing issue, so put your cocks back in you breeches. We can all measure them later.”

Although his words were rather crass, Potter was right, and Myrddin nodded towards his companions to remain silent.

Arthur shook his head.

“To me, such a grudge is foolish. I made peace with my enemies, many of whom I consider to be close allies. Already, I have received word that some are on their way back to Britain to help us, swelling our numbers considerably.”

“Cnut?” Owain questioned darkly.

Arthur shot him an apologetic look.

“Cnut,” he confirmed. “If the two of you wish to kill one another, I only ask the same of you as I have Harry and these other gentlemen. Let it lie for the time being. You can kill each other when the threat against all human is dealt with.”

Owain Peverell’s nostrils flared, but he nodded, nonetheless.

“Good,” Arthur declared. “Now, we must discuss how we intend to proceed. Warfare against the goblins is something I am not familiar with, but if there is anyone in this room who knows war, it’s Harry. What are your thoughts?”

Flint scoffed.

“He’s had a few fights,” he said dismissively. “My family has magic and spells my ancestors have spent generations creating and perfecting.”

“Excellent, then you will be more than happy to lead the charge during the first skirmish,” Potter replied.

Flint frowned at the implication and shook his head.

“I have men to fight for me.”

“And I lead my own,” Harry returned. “Are your men even trained? Do they understand formations and tactics? Are they able to function as a singular weapon to cut down our enemies, or would you have them throw themselves pell-mell into a fight they are not prepared for? This isn’t a game, Flint, men will die, and many more will suffer. Unless they are properly prepared for what is to come, they are nothing but bags of meat and bone to be thrown foolishly into the grinder.”

“My men are capable!” Flint protested.

“We will see,” Potter snorted.

Myrddin was not sure just how prepared Flint’s men were, but if the war with the goblins proved to be anything akin to those that had taken place here and across the country as Arthur staked a claim for his crown, they were likely in for a rather rude awakening.

Even now, he could not forget the smell of blood and faeces, or the screams of dying men as they pleaded for their lives.

War was a most distasteful business, and yet, it seemed that there was much more on the horizon than a conflict with the goblins.

Myrddin did not doubt that Potter would wage such against any that wished him harm.

He was a ruthless and resourceful man and would not be cowed.

As with many things plaguing his mind, Myrddin found him once more to be most troubling.

Still, in this venture in quashing the rebellious goblins, he would undoubtedly prove himself to be as capable a leader and ally as ever.

“I propose that we have scouts up and down the country,” Arthur spoke once more. “Harry, you have a way for your men to communicate with you immediately.”

“I do and my men are already scouting. They are in the smallest of villages to the biggest of cities. Whenever the goblins attack, we will be made aware, but it will take some time to make our forces fully mobile to react to these attacks. That process has already begun, but creating so many portkeys is no easy task.”

“And just how did you discover the knowledge on how to do that?” Rookwood demanded angrily. “The creation of portkeys is limited to members of the Wizard’s Council. It is regulated magic, and dangerous.”

“And not so difficult to figure out,” Potter snorted amusedly. “I would even bet that our friend Myrddin over here has not asked any of you for a portkey in many years.”

He had not, and he shamelessly shrugged in response to the accusatory stares he was receiving.

“It is not such a difficult piece of magic to master,” he echoed.

The members of the council were not happy, but it’s not as though they would do anything. They might moan or complain, but it would go no further.

“Excellent,” Arthur declared, cutting off any further protests. “Then if we are fortunate, that will be possible quite soon?”

“In only a matter of days,” Potter assured him.

Arthur offered him an appreciative nod.

“Until then, we had better hope the goblins…”

He broke off as Potter suddenly stood, a deep frown marring his features as a black crow burst into the room via the floor.

‘Five leagues south of Theotford. Harry, I can’t even count how many there are.’ It spoke in a voice that Myrddin did not recognise.

“You just had to talk it up,” Potter huffed irritably. “Owain, get some men into Theotford, just in case they attack there next. I will meet you there.”

Without a word, Peverell drew his wand and began casting spells as he hurried from the room, and Myrddin could only look on as Potter raised his arms and vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

“Is he completely out of his mind?” Rosier asked. “He’s going alone?”

“Potter can handle himself,” Myrddin replied, debating with himself whether he should follow the man or not.

Ultimately, he decided that if the two of them were to be allies, for the time being at least, it would be rather poor on his part not to do so, and with a nod to the others, he followed suit, to a village he’d visited perhaps once or twice just south of Theotford in the east of the country, only to be greeted by the most harrowing of sights upon arriving.

(Break)

It had taken only a matter of moments to assemble those that had already been supplied with a portkey, and offering only the briefest of explanations, and a reminder to not do anything damned foolish, they took their leave from the courtyard of Camelot.

Owain frowned as they arrived in Theotford to find it bereft of any goblins, but the presence of the close to one hundred and fifty men he had brought along did not go unnoticed by the nervous locals, though it as the thick plume of smoke in the distance that all were watching with no small amount of trepidation.

“They’re not here, Hook pointed out.

Owain nodded grimly.

“There, and that is where Harry is.”

“Alone?”

“Do you know anyone else stupid enough to be alone?”

“No,” Hook murmured. “Then what are we waiting here for?”

“Those are my thoughts exactly,” Owain muttered, weighing up his options.

In his own mind, there was only one, and with a nod to himself, his gaze swept over those gathered. He knew he didn’t even need to ask their thoughts on the matter.

“Fuck this, let’s go,” he instructed, his eyes widening as the smoke wafting into sky coalesced into an enormous crow. “NOW!”

He activated his portkey once more, left in no doubt that the others would follow his lead, just as they would Harry’s if their roles were reversed.

(Break)

It was the sound of screaming he noticed first upon his arrival, followed by shouting in the goblin tongue he was not so familiar. Nonetheless, Harry breathed something of a sigh of relief to know he’d arrived before the vicious creatures had been able to flee, but not soon enough to prevent dozens being slaughtered.

Once more, the dead littered the streets, and the stone ran red with blood.

Those that lived here did their utmost to escape the horde of goblins, few doing so with an semblance of success.

With only the briefest of glances to take in his surroundings, Harry immediately set to work, unleashing a gout of fire towards a group of goblins chasing down a family.

The smell of seared flesh soon filled the air, but it was ignored in favour of continuing his offensive.

Having drawn his sword, Harry quickly found himself set upon, but evidently, the goblins had not expected such resistance from one man.

More screeched in a mixture of fury and agony as he did his utmost to keep them at bay, and in only a matter of a minute or so of fighting, he was covered in the blood of his enemies, who realised that swarming him was not working.

Those that had accosted Harry watched him cautiously, growling at one another in their own language, though Harry was not content with what was happening around him continuing to unfold.

Bringing his wand to bear once more, he fired curse upon curse towards the goblins as he closed the distance, taking the fight to them. However, with the numbers so heavily against him, it was only a matter of time before any advantage he had managed to seize would be taken away.

Nonetheless, he fought on as one man who was quickly surrounded on all sides when the goblins took note of his presence, but still, they remained cautious of him until they outnumbered him insurmountably.

Despite many falling to his wand and blade, they began to close in on him, until a sudden, brilliant white light appeared, sending them back a dozen feet or so.

Harry immediately recognised the presence, and though he was surprised that Myrddin would follow him into such a dire situation, he offered the man a nod of respect before pointing his wand towards the sky where the smoke from the burning buildings hung ominously above.

Manipulating it to do his bidding, the cloud unleashed a mighty shriek as it formed into a crow before diving towards the taken aback goblins.

The fog he’d created was not immediately fatal, but it would begin to choke any that breathed it in, and as it ploughed through the ranks of goblins surrounding them, they quickly noticed it.

They made efforts to dispel it, only for Harry’s own to see it swell in size, and with the arrival of Owain and the others coming quickly after it was set upon them, the little creatures decided it was best to flee.

Even so, it was a most unsatisfactory outcome, and as much a warning for what was to come if nothing else.

Although half of the village had been saved, there had only been around one thousand of the goblins here, so where were the others?

Harry didn’t know but as he sent enormous crow towards the sky where it wouldn’t suffocate his own men, he suspected their whereabouts would become known to them soon enough.

“Such a waste of life,” Myrddin said sadly.

Harry nodded his agreement as he took in what remained of what had been a happily thriving community.

“It will only get worse,” he predicted.

“Then they must be stopped, Harry Potter, for the good of all men.”

It was rather odd to see the man so humbled, and in this moment, Myrddin Emrys reminded him of another older man Harry had gotten to know so well.

Still, despite his current demeanour, Harry had come to know Myrddin, how he judged others yet did what he believed was necessary to see that. His own goals were reached.

Was he here in aide of one of them, or did he truly care for the good of all men?

Harry didn’t know, but as the man offered his hand, he accepted it tentatively, each feeling the power possessed by the other as they seemed to strike something of an accord outside of everything else either found themselves involved in.

Harry did not doubt that they would one day reach another impasse and given what the Lady of the Lake had told him so long ago, it would inevitably end with he and Myrddin Emrys crossing wands in a battle that could well shape the future of the entirety of Great Britain.

Until then, however, they shared a common cause, and for now, just as he was, he believed that Myrddin was grateful the two of them were fighting for the very same thing, even if such a thing was not meant to last beyond where they found themselves in this moment.