Avalon - Chapter 84 - The Goblin King

The Goblin King

It was with a grimace of disdain that he took a seat at the roughly hewn stone table, the matching chair digging uncomfortably into his back. The dank room with its dreary décor, lack of light, and musty smell only accentuated his already unpleasant mood, and as he was joined by three of his companions, his generals, the very same that had been with him the day he’d voiced his displeasure at how their kind was forced to live, he shook his head disappointedly.

“Explain,” he commanded, his tone quiet but laced with more than a hint of danger.

“We were not quick enough,” Gutrot answered, bearing his sharp teeth. “A wizard arrived, and then another, and then dozens more. Ours chose to fight instead of fleeing.”

“Fools,” Dark-Eye snapped irritably.

The name he bore had been bestowed upon him by his father, for the one eye that was not the milky white of blindness, though the goblin claimed to be able to see through it perfectly well.

With all of the scars he’d accumulated over the years, he made for quite the frightful figure, even amongst his own kind.

“What is it I am not being told?” he demanded to know, his mismatched eyes narrowed at those gathered around the table.

Although they had begun this venture as one, all deferred to him without hesitation.

“It was only the first wizard who arrived that is responsible for the deaths of our brothers,” Blackfang explained quietly. “Worse yet, some fell to a blade created by one of us.”

“He possesses a goblin sword? Only one man…”

“Two men,” Grimjaw broke in sourly. “Gryffindor and his protégé, Harry Potter.”

The name was familiar to Dark-Eye, though only in passing.

“Harry Potter,” he mused aloud, a frown creasing his brow.

“They call him the Crow,” Grimjaw murmured, “and the Dragonslayer.”

“Undeserved unless…”

“He did,” Grimjaw interjected once more. “Hundreds of witnesses can attest to it. They watched Potter pull it from the sky before killing it with the very same sword he slayed our brothers with. He is a most dangerous wizard, Dark-Eye, and it seems that he has taken exception to us.”

Dark-Eye chuckled amusedly.

“One wizard, well, two if we count Emrys, but he is no threat to us.”

“He too was there as the second to arrive. He and Potter fought side by side.”

“Are they not at odds with one another?” Blackfang asked.

“Indeed,” Grimjaw replied, “but it seems they are willing to unite against us.”

“Then both will die!” Dark-Eye spat, slamming his fist atop the stone table.

It cracked from the blow, and he flared his nostrils irritably. It wasn’t that he was fond of it, on the contrary, he despised everything about the place he and his ancestors had been forced to live in for more generations than he cared to count.

Most of his own kind considered him a king, but he would not claim such a title, not when his kingdom amounted to little more than squalid tunnels beneath the dirt they currently dwelled in.

No, until he took the land above for himself and the throne of whomever wore the crown of Britain, Dark-Eye could not claim to be such himself.

“Potter is the true threat,” Bogrod spoke for the first time. “Every one of ours that was killed in the skirmish fell to his wand and his blade, isn’t that so, Burgock?”

Burgock nodded.

“I witnessed it for myself and saw the blade he wields. It is the work of Bolga.”

“He should have been executed a dozen times for his treachery. He cavorted with wizards, smithed blades to gift to them, and warned them of what was to come. I shall spit upon his grave each time I pass it.”

None reminded him that he ordered the traitor to be cast into the sea without any revelry or honour.

“Well, what else do we know of this man Potter?”

“Very little,” Burgock answered, “but he is the very epitome of a warrior with both blade and wand. He killed close to one hundred and thirty of our own single-handedly. He shall not be underestimated.”

Dark-Eye laughed uproariously.

“I will peel the flesh from his bones with my bare hands when the time comes,” he declared. “I have not worked for what I have become for it all to be taken away by one filthy human. If it is to be so, he will die at my hands when our paths inevitably cross.”

His companions murmured amongst themselves and Dark-Eye stood, his fingers twitching towards his own wand and blade.

“We proceed,” he declared, “but warn the damned fools to be careful. We must retain our advantage, and to do that, we cannot become cocky or complacent.”

“Of course, my king,” his companions echoed, and Dark-Eye grimaced at the title, still unwilling to embrace it. It was meaningless and sounded sour in his ears.

No, he was no king, not yet at least, but he would be.

When the humans realised the folly of their resistance, they would bow to him.

Then Dark-Eye would be king.

He swept from the room with a grin tugging at his lips, pausing as he reached one of the enormous caverns carved even deeper than their own hovels.

“Perhaps the slayer can kill one of you, but no man can face so many,” he mused thoughtfully, eyeing the various dragons he’d gathered.

Along with the trolls and other creatures he’d been accumulating over the years, they would indeed be quite the boon to his ever-growing army.

Should Dark-Eye feel the need to unleash all he had upon Britain, there would scarcely be anything worth ruling over.

Still, he would sooner do so and die in a blaze of bloodied glory than remain in these tunnels for the rest of his days.

That simply would not do for one thought to be a king.

“Dark-Eye, you’re going to want to see this.”

Grimjaw was deeply troubled by something, and the leader of the goblins found himself frowning once more as he followed his companion, his curiosity growing as they ascended out of the tunnels onto their a rocky trail a short distance away from the oddly white cliffs of Britain.

Upon doing so, he paused, and his lips were drawn back, exposing his teeth in displeasure.

Before him, a stack of bodies had been placed, those of his own kin who had been killed in a myriad of ways. Atop them sat a single crow, holding a roll of parchment in its beak.

Taking to the air, it deposited it in front of Dark-Eye, and he retrieved it from the ground before unrolling it.

To the leader of the goblin clans,

I return your own to you so that they may be buried with the honour of warriors, but this is the only kindness I shall grant you should you continue on the path you have set yourselves upon.

Declare your surrender and return to the safety of the world you have created underground at the allowance of the Wizard’s Council, or you will only find yourselves buried beneath it.

It is the only offer I am willing to make before the corpses pile ever higher.

Harry Potter

Dark-Eye’s nostrils flared at the temerity to even send such a missive to him, and he scrunched the parchment in his gnarled hand, turning sharply as a screeching voice sounded in the distance.

“DEATH!”

All fell eerily silent, and not even the trees were disturbed by the wind that often blew through these lands. Only in the distance could he hear the crashing of waves, but more so, it was the sudden, unnatural chill that filled the air around them that caught his attention.

“Gather a gathering of the sorts they have never seen,” he whispered, stalking back towards the tunnel.

Potter daring to threaten him and his in such a way was not something he could allow to pass without consequence, and soon enough, the man would learn that the hard way for himself.

Many would die for the slight, and Dark-Eye would be the one to lead his legions into battle this time to show Potter he did not fear him.

(Break)

“It gets rather tiring burying the dead,” Owain commented as he levitated another pile of dirt onto yet another grave.

Harry nodded his agreement.

“It does, but someone has to,” he murmured.

He’d lost count of how many he’d laid to rest over the years, some he’d known and many others he hadn’t, but Owain was right, it as something that grew tiresome rather quickly in any war, and this was merely the beginning of another yet unlikely the last he would find himself involved in.”

“Well, at least the Irish won’t be back, not for some time, at least.”

“No, but the goblins are already here,” Harry pointed out. “Maybe even beneath our feet as we speak.”

Owain’s hand twitched towards his wand in anticipation.

“Then why don’t the little bastards come out and face us? They have the numbers.”

“Because they’re a lot shrewder than the Danes, the Irish, and any other man you will meet,” Harry sighed. “Even that one,” he added, nodding towards Myrddin, who oddly remained behind to help fi the damage done to the goblins, and even offer as much comfort as he could to the villagers that had survived the attack.

“I don’t trust the git as far as I can throw him.”

“Nor do I,” Harry assured the man. “He’s already proven he’s not beyond trying to take advantage of a situation if it benefits him the night he tried to kill me on that boat. I’ll be watching him closely.”

He would too, but he could not deny that he’d not only been surprised by Myrddin’s appearance in the heat of the short skirmish, and that he had stood at Harry’s side whilst they’d been surrounded.

Myrddin was an odd man at best, one that Harry could not quite get a grasp on at the best of times, and one he could never trust. He had seen the unpleasantness for himself when he’d openly scorned organa when she’d been little more than a young woman, and how he’d manipulated those around him to reach his goals.

Myrddin was perhaps as shrewd and cunning as the enemy they faced, but even more dangerous where it would matter.

The goblins indeed had the advantage in numbers, something they would need to exploit if they had any hope of winning a war against the humans, and Harry had no doubt they had more than one trick up their sleeves.

This war would not be a simple series of battles that would determine a victor.

No, it would be so much more, though he would make no true assumptions until he got a better measure of the enemy they faced.

Any man who fought in the last rebellion had died long ago, and though Harry had acquired some knowledge on how the creatures conducted warfare, nothing was ever so certain, after all.

“That’s the last of them,” Owain declared, deflating at the sight of the dozens of fresh graves around them, frowning as Myrddin approached.

The man seemed sincerely sorrowful for what had transpired here, his expression as maudlin as Harry had ever seen it.

“I have done all I can for them,” he sighed as he reached the duo. “I fear there is little else beyond rebuilding their homes and ensuring they have food and safety that will bring them any further comfort.”

“We’re not bloody miracle workers,” Owain pointed out. “The village will be protected as best it can be, and we will have more men patrolling up and down the country as soon as we can.”

Myrddin nodded before shifting his attention towards Harry.

“I will report back to Arthur on what has happened here before I call a meeting of the Wizard’s Council. I will send a message to you with the details, but I do not think it would do much good in delaying it. The goblins will want retribution, and this is not the way to defeat them. This is to their advantage, and we must find one of our own. Your thoughts on the matter will be most valued, Harry Potter.”

With little more than an inclination of his head, he vanished silently, and Harry frowned.

“That sounded almost like a complement.”

Owain nodded.

“He knows they’re all-out of their depths. He knows that they will need us to win this war.”

Harry hummed.

“And then he will not hesitate to stick a knife in my back when it is all over with.”

“Then do not show it to him,” Owain urged. “The git cannot be trusted, Harry.”

“No, he cannot,” Harry agreed with a shake of his head. “Go on, get yourself and the others home to rest. That’s where I’m going, for now, but I expect we will get a response from them soon enough,” he warned, pointing towards the ground. “They will not take kindly to what happened here.”

“They brought it on themselves.”

“They did, but that won’t matter to them. From what little I know, those in charge of the goblins are fanatics. They will see every death of one of theirs as the fault of humans, even if they are the ones attacking us.”

“Twisted, deluded little fuckers,” Owain huffed.

Harry nodded his agreement and clapped the man smartly on the shoulder before giving the village a final look.

It bore the scars of what happened, but at the very least, every man, woman, and child that had survived will have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.

It was the best that could be done for them. It wasn’t as though their heartache and loss could be taken away from them, after all.

(Break)

Harry nodded as Morgana stopped speaking.

“You know I would never ask you not to be beside me, don’t you?” he asked. “If it was the other way around, I know I couldn’t do what you are.”

“I know, and I know you understand why I can’t do what you do. Our lives…”

Harry placed his hands on her shoulders comfortingly.

“I know,” he reiterated. “Our lives were shit until we were old enough to do something about it, and you never want Taran to have the same experience we did. He is our priority, and that is why I am fighting. If they’re not stopped, the world could well go to pieces. Taran will have no life if that happens. So, I will fight for him and for you, just as I always have. If the worst is to happen, you know what to do.”

“I do, but it won’t come to that. You’ll live through this, Harry, you always do. You’ll come home to us.”

“You have more faith in me than I do myself.”

“Because I know you,” Morgana sighed. “Somehow, I’ve gotten used to watching you march off to war. I don’t like it, but it has always been there. Even when you left to travel with Godric, you found yourself fighting. It’s just who you are, Harry Potter.”

“And what are you?”

Morgana frowned thoughtfully.

“Wife, Mother, Healer, and anything else the world chooses for me. For now, I am happy with all I am.”

Harry shook his head.

“You are so much more than all of those things,” he argued. “You aren’t just a mother and a wife or a healer. You are the best of those things but you’re a warrior, a fighter, just like me. This might be one war you miss, but there will be others.”

Morgana hummed.

“The Wizard’s Council.”

She had become exceedingly averse to the members that had taken exception to her husband, and she knew Harry had little sympathy for them.

Harry could certainly more than handle himself, but Morgana wanted her pound of flesh of them for what they were trying to do to her husband.

“There she is,” Harry chuckled, placing a kiss on her cheek.

It wasn’t as though she fully intended to withdraw from the war against the goblins, but Taran needed her more than anyone else might, and her son was her priority, after all.

Still, despite not being on the battlefield where a part of her wished to be, there were many things she could do for her husband and his efforts, and Morgana intended to do just that.

“And here comes your father now,” she said fondly, picking up Taran, who was playing with a wooden version of Tempest.

“Da?” the babe babbled.

“Da.” Morgana agreed.

“Bastard!”

She released a deep breath.

Despite her best efforts, she’d been unable to get the boy to stop repeating the word, and her lack of amusement only made him say it more. Harry, of course, did find it amusing, though not so much when Morgana had scolded him and Owain for their terrible influence on the boy.

Anwen had been irked with her own husband, but Morgana didn’t expect much would change.

Harry and Owain were quite the pair of troublemakers when they were together.

“Da!” Taran greeted the man as he entered the kitchen, reaching his pudgy hands towards him.

Harry relieved her of the growing boy, who giggled as he took a handful of his hair.

“He gets the grip from you,” Morgana pointed out, fighting the urge to grin as her husband winced.

After only a moment, Taran relented and was happily giggling as Harry spun him around the kitchen, undoubtedly preparing him for the day he would be given his first broom.

Not that Taran hadn’t been atop one already.

Harry thought he’d gotten away with taking their son for a fly, but Morgana had known.

“I think a letter just arrived for you,” she pointed out, nodding towards the white feather that drifted towards the table.

Harry sighed as he handed Taran back to her, nodding as he read the missive.

“Well, I can’t say that wasn’t quick,” he murmured. “Myrddin.”

Morgana felt her nostrils flare at the very mention of the man.

“The Wizard’s Council?”

“Will take it seriously. Those who might’ve opposed it are on his side, and I’m certain I can convince the others. Not that it changes anything in the long term. When the goblins are dealt with, I will handle the others.”

“Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what happens when they’re dealt with? Are you going to become a member, or are you just going to leave the others to pick up the pieces?”

Harry frowned at the question.

“I don’t know, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, the ones that have taken exception to you are the richest and most influential amongst them. If they are no longer able to be allowed in their positions, what will become of them and even the others? I know the system doesn’t work, Harry, but it is all we have. Even Arthur’s influence can only go so far in the magical world.”

“I suppose that is why the Ministry of Magic was eventually formed,” Harry sighed. “I don’t know, Morgana. I don’t know what comes after. What I do know is that they are a threat to us and will continue to be until they are eliminated or neutralised. Whichever comes is fine with me, but they cannot be left unchecked. Britain is not better off for them running things, not even the magicals with so many muggles being aware of us. It’s all fucked up, isn’t it?”

Morgana nodded and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“You’ll figure it out,” she comforted. “You always do, besides, it is the goblins that must be dealt with first, and for that, you have to swallow your pride and work with the council. I know you don’t like it, Harry, but it is necessary, for now, at least.”

Harry hummed disapprovingly.

She could see how much it bothered him doing so, and now even more so that she had reminded him of all that was at stake, now, and beyond the goblin rebellion.

Perhaps in the interim he and the other influential members of wizarding society would be able to reach a more permanent accord. For her part, Morgana did not know, but she couldn’t deny that the very foundations of the world Harry had come from was already here, waiting to be built upon.

Of course, the Ministry of magic had not been perfect, but it had been functional for the most part and could be even more so with the guidance and input of her husband.

Still, it may be asking too much of the man to swallow his pride so deeply, but Morgana did not doubt, that in the end, all would be well enough.

For the time being, however, she expected there to be much unpleasantness to be had all round, particularly until the threat the goblins posed to all humans was quelled, or better yet, eradicated entirely.

“Will you be taking Owain with you?”

Harry nodded.

“I think it will be for the best, and I will have others waiting nearby, just in case. I’m not expecting trouble, but I do not trust any of them. This is just the kind of situation they could take advantage of if they choose to, and the egos of some cannot be questioned. Flint especially is not beyond doing something stupid to provoke further unpleasantness between us if he thinks it can benefit him. He is still rather clueless as to what it is we are facing.”

Morgana offered him a knowing smile.

She had seen what the goblins of Harry’s home had at their disposal deep in the bowels of Gringotts, and she was under no illusion that there was more than just a dragon or two here.

They would not only rely upon themselves during battles, not when there other creatures at hand to fight on their behalf. They’d certainly had time to accumulate such forces, and morgana suspected that they had seen nothing yet of what the nasty little creatures were capable of.

If the accounts she’d read of the rebellions from the textbooks Harry had once studied were anything to go by, the battles ahead of her husband and the others would be quite the spectacle to behold, and undoubtedly pivotal to how the world would be shaped.

Even so, the man who stood before her cradling their son once more would emerge from it all victorious, and Morgana could only hope that peace would somehow prevail in the years to come.

Harry had more than earned it now, and if there was any kindness left in the stars that had brought him here, they would see that too.

(Break)

“I am judging by your demeanour that it was a most unpleasant experience,” Arthur commented as Myrddin entered the throne room of Camelot.

“You would be correct,” he sighed sadly. “Although the attack was repelled, many men, women, and children lost their lives. We have spent the time since burying the dead and repairing the village as best we can, and we have Harry Potter to thank for the success.”

“You seem surprised.”

Myrddin shook his head.

“I do not doubt his ability as a wizard, and certainly not as a warrior, but it is his motivations and methods that trouble me so. He has already proven his willingness to delve into things that should be left alone, and a ruthlessness that cannot be ignored. Nonetheless, for the time being, we must be united. That is why I have called a meeting of the Wizard’s Council for this very evening. I have invited Harry Potter to attend.”

Arthur nodded his approval.

“If only the two of you could’ve worked together from the very start. Perhaps then you would have a better understanding of one another, but I expect it is too late for that. You have caused Hary great offense, and he has certainly not endeared himself to you and your ideals. Still, as you said yourself, you must be united in your efforts to defeat the goblins, and my court remains at your disposal for anything you need.”

“You have my gratitude, but if you will excuse me, I must rest and prepare for this evening. I do not expect it will be a most pleasant affair attempting to pitch the idea of a necessary war to the entirety of the council. It is difficult enough to get them to agree to the simplest of things.”

“Is that why you never became a member?”

“No,” Myrddin chuckled humourlessly. “I would even argue that a strong, righteous man could lead them collectively, but my responsibilities were always to you, Arthur, even if I have made mistakes along the way.”

Offering a bow, he took his leave from the room, and Arthur watched the man he’d once held in the highest of esteem closely.

Even now, it was difficult to see if Myrddin was sincere in his words, or if he was attempting to manipulate him once more.

Not that it mattered.

As it was with his former mentor and Harry, Arthur would have to cooperate with Myrddin once more, for the good of all men who called Britain their home.

(Break)

He fought the urge to grin as Anwen fussed over the cowed Owain, who was pouting like a child being dressed up to visit a pernickety grandparent. Already, he was irked by the efforts of his wife as she brushed over his robes for the dozenth time in only a matter of moments.

“I will not have anyone thinking ill of me,” the woman spoke aloud, mostly to herself, “and you would have just wandered out of the house looking as though you just came in from the fields.”

“I did just come in from the fields,” Owain huffed. “None of this is necessary, and you can shut up, Potter, or I’ll put my foot so far up your…”

“Owain Peverell, you will watch your mouth,” Anwen cut in warningly. “I do not want your daughter repeating your disgusting language.”

“Too right,” Harry broke in amusedly. “Your daughter doesn’t need to hear your filth.”

Anwen shot him a glare, and Harry held his hands up. He was already pushing his luck, and the yard brush was a little too close to the woman for his comfort.

He’d lost count how many times she’d chased him and Owain away from the house with the blasted implement.

“There, that’s better,” she declared, licking her thumb and wiping a final smudge of dirt from her husband’s cheek. “Now you look presentable.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Harry quipped, slipping quickly out of the door as Anwen reached for the brush, though Owain was not so fortunate to escape so easily.

He unleashed a girlish scream as he was prodded with the end of the broom but managed to aim a kick towards Harry as he emerged from the door.

“Do you have to wind her up?” he groaned, rubbing his posterior.

“Yes,” Harry answered with a grin.

Owain shook his head.

“You know, you should probably grow up. You have a child now.”

“You’re one to talk! It was only a moon ago that you sabotaged my kitchen chair.”

“I didn’t know Morgana would sit in it before you!”

“I bet you won’t make that mistake again.”

“Definitely not,” Owain grumbled, wincing from the memory of wrestling with the venomous tentacular Morgana had hurled at him. “Your wife goes for the jugular.”

“She does,” Harry said proudly. “Come on, we’d best get this meeting over with so we can do something productive. The goblins will not wait around to get back at us.”

Owain nodded severely and accepted the offered portkey Harry had created, which deposited them only a short way from Camelot, where Myrddin had arranged for them to gather with the entirety of the Wizard’s Council.

What would come of it, neither of them were sure, but they hoped that an accord could be reached, so that it wasn’t only them responding to the goblin attacks that would inevitably come more regularly.

Fortunately, Arthur had forgone with the pageantry of the arrival from the previous day, and they were greeted by the waiting Tristan at the front gate, along with a dozen guards at his side.

The man was nervous, and with good reason.

Arthur had never hosted so many magicals that could potentially become enemies should the current diplomacy become impossible to maintain.

“They’re all here and waiting for you both,” Tristan explained.

“Is Arthur as nervous as you?”

Tristan nodded.

“He is,” he confirmed. “He is hoping that a lasting accord can be reached.”

“I’m sure we will manage something to see us through the war against the goblins. Beyond that, there are no promises.”

Tristan shook his head.

“Then I am glad we have you in Arthur’s court, Harry,” he said sincerely. “We are vulnerable to your kind, man and beast it seems.”

Harry nodded severely, and Tristan left them outside the same door to the room he had briefly met the others in. As he opened it, it was to find the very same within, along with a plethora of others who seemed as cautious as they were curious as to why they were meeting here of all places.

It spoke of only ignorance to Harry, ignorance on the part of those that should be aware of what was happening but seemingly were not.

“Sir Harry,” Arthur greeted him, sagging in relief at his and Owain’s appearance. “Lord Peverell.”

The other Lords and ladies eyed Owain with a different kind of curiosity, and more cautiously than they had appeared before his name had been spoken.

Ignotus had explained that he had been approached more than once to join the council, but had declined, wishing only to focus on the people of Godric’s Hollow who needed him.

“King Arthur,” Owain returned with a nod, using the man’s title he’d earned through bloodshed and conquest. “As ever, I thank you for your hospitality.”

It was a small gesture on his part to acknowledge Arthur for what he was, but one that would go a long way in others recognising his authority in these lands.

He may be a muggle, but he was still a king, and at his word, the country could be plunged into something most unpleasant for all.

Not that it wasn’t already with the rebelling goblins, but Arthur was indeed a powerful man in his own right, and the people of Britain were loyal to him. It would be better for all if there could be cooperation amongst the magicals and muggles, now more than ever.

Harry and Owain took a seat around the magically enlarged table, and the former offered a nod to a much healthier looking Lady Meadows, who returned it, though there were those evidently displeased by his presence.

Sensing the unease in the room, it was Myrddin who cleared his throat before shaking his head.

“I wish it was with better tidings and intent that we found ourselves here. I know there is unpleasantness between some of us, distrust, and uncertainty with where we stand amongst one another, but I cannot stress enough the importance of these talks. The very future of Britain will very well be decided in this room.”

He was right, and even if the members of the Wizard’s Council that were not entirely aware of what happened remained unconvinced, Harry suspected that would change soon enough.

“Already, the rebelling goblins have destroyed eight villages, and it is only with the intervention from Harry Potter but that the death toll is not much higher. As I have seen him do so before, he selflessly defended those that could not, and all but single-handedly fended off a most vicious attack. Unfortunately, this is just the beginning of the unpleasantness. Whether we like it or not, all of us within this room find ourselves at war with the goblins, who number in the thousands.”

“Thousands?” one of the members of the council Harry did not recognise scoffed. “From my own information, this is little more than the goblins way of bringing us to the table to negotiate better terms for how they live.”

“I can assure you, Lord Danvers, this is not so,” Myrddin said gravely. “The aim of the goblins is not to negotiate but to conquer. I give you my solemn word on that, and I am sure that Sir Harry will do the same.”

It felt odd to once more find himself being scrutinised so closely, but Harry took it in his stride as best he could as he nodded.

“Myrddin speaks the truth,” he declared. “The horde of goblins numbers in the thousands, larger than any magical force we can hope to muster collectively. If we do not come together in this, we will all die. Lord Flint does not have the men to win alone, nor you, Lady Meadows, nor me. The decision to march is never an easy one, but it is something we cannot avoid. We either take the fight to them or die in our homes when the horde sweeps over the country like a plague. For now, they are merely testing the waters, gathering information on how much resistance they can expect. Their hope is that we cannot reach an accord, that they can pick each of us off one after the other, and that is what they will do. My men are already preparing. Most are here as we speak, and the rest will follow. Regardless of what you decide to do today, I will lead my men against them, and we will fight to the very last of us in a bid to keep our loved ones safe. I urge each of you to do the same or be burned within the walls of your houses. Your protections will not stop them, and this is not something that can be ignored. Now is the time that we must find ourselves united against a common enemy.”

The members of the council murmured amongst themselves for several moments before, much to Harry’s surprise, Lord Gaunt stood and offered him a nod.

“My men will fight,” he declared. “We may not see eye to eye, but I will not have it said that I did not answer the call when it was needed.”

“Nor me,” Rosier followed.

“You will have my men,” Lady Meadows assured the room.

By the time those gathered had finished, there was not a single one among them that had not offered their support, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Perhaps they would have a chance, after all, but it certainly would not be easy.

They were not fighting against greedy men, or those that had gotten out of their depth in the magic they had incurred, but against desperate, vicious, goblins who had already proven themselves willing to do whatever they deemed necessary to win.

“Then there is much to discuss,” Harry declared. “I would urge us all to…”

He broke off as an ethereal fox materialised in front of him, the warmth of the magic fading the moment it spoke to him in Hook’s voice.

“Lichfield, Harry! There are trolls and ogres here along with the goblins!”

Silence fell as the fox dissipated, but Harry stood immediately and cursed under his breath. He wasn’t quite sure what the difference between a troll and ogre was, but he would find out soon enough.

“My home is in Lichfield,” one of the men said worriedly.

“Then you’d best hope they do not reach it before we get there,” Harry grumbled, turning towards the waiting Owain. “Ready?” he asked as he sent off a plethora of short messages.

The Lord Peverell only nodded in response as he drew his sword and wand, and Harry took him by the arm, undoubtedly to lead them both into another scenario that might just see them dead.