Avalon - Chapter 91 - The Streets Run Red

The Streets Run Red

“Everything is in place and ready,” Blackfang assured him. “You need only give the signal, and London will be ours.”

“And Winchester is empty?”

“It is, but I thought it prudent to make it appear as though we are still there, just in case Potter decides to arrive again.”

“And what of Potter?” Burgock asked. “How long will we have before we can expect him to arrive in London?”

“Should all go well, London will be ours long before he learns of it,” Dark-Eye replied.

“And if all doesn’t go according to plan?”

“Then Potter will have quite the surprise waiting for him should he try to interfere.”

Although his confidence of victory had not wavered, he’d not expected such a quick and strong response to arrive in London in the form of hundreds of men to oppose them.

Dark-Eye had expected there would be local resistance, that the citizens of the city would not take kindly to a coup, but to see Potter’s forces arrive so swiftly was indeed an unwelcome surprise.

Still, as yet for him at least, there was no sign of the man himself, but the one he found himself looking into the eyes of was one now familiar to him.

Dark-Eye did not know his name, but the man had been one of three others with Potter during the parlay.

Foolishly, one accompanying him surged forwards, bellowing as he raised his wand, but with little more than a swiping gesture with his hand, he was sent into a nearby wall where he thudded to the ground, undoubtedly dead.

It brought a grin to Dark-Eye’s lips but elicited quite the furious reaction from the man’s companions.

Even so, in the intervening moments, his own forces had surrounded them on all sides, and with a wave of his wand, escaping via magical means was made an impossibility.

The man who had accompanied Potter sensed the change in the air, and his jaw was set in a grim line as he merely nodded his acknowledgement before taking charge of his men.

Still, there was no denying that they were in the unfavourable position here; surrounded on all sides with no hope of escaping, and yet, as the fighting began in earnest, Dark-Eye could not help but wonder just where Harry Potter was, let alone Myrddin Emrys, and Owain Peverell, who would not be far away.

(Break)

“London?” Arthur growled as he stood and began pacing back and forth in front of his throne.

Myrddin nodded grimly.

Having seen the activity within Camelot for himself as the magicals were gathered to respond to an attack, he’d sent for Myrddin to learn of what was happening.

Thus far, he’d not seen such urgency and frantic preparation by his counterparts, and they had already taken their leave of the keep before Arthur could enquire to what was happening.

He knew London.

Had spent many moons there after the city had been claimed under his own banner.

It was certainly not one of his favourite places but was perhaps the most important city of his kingdom.

“The fighting is fierce, Arthur, and the narrow streets make it difficult for the magicals to use their magic. I suspect the goblins chose it purposely to make any defence or intrusion on their plans more difficult.”

Arthur frowned as he paused.

“So, there is little magic being used?”

Myrddin nodded and Arthur turned towards those of his gathered knights who were here, who nodded eagerly.

“Can you get us there?” he asked his former mentor.

Myrddin was taken aback by the question but nodded somewhat reluctantly.

He knew that Arthur was a man of action, that the king would rather be among the magicals fighting rather than helplessly, waiting for word on what had transpired.

If magic was not being thrown around so readily, there was no reason he and his men couldn’t fight.

“I can, Arthur, but…”

Arthur waved him off.

“Prepare to do so,” he instructed. “All of you, rouse our warriors. Tonight, we coat our blades in the blood of our enemies.”

Bors and they others cheered as they hurried from the room to do as they were bid, and Arthur nodded towards his own page to fetch his armour, something he’d had little need of for some time, but something that would undoubtedly be familiar to him.

He’d worn it day in and day out for many years whilst he’d taken Britain, and now was the time to defend all he and his men had bled for once again.

Excalibur felt warm in his hand as he drew it, almost as though the sword was as eager as him to remind his enemies that Britain was his, and there was none, human or not, who he would allow to take it.

He looked on as Myrddin carried out his own work, summoning random items to himself and murmuring whilst each glowed a gentle blue under his ministrations.

In the distance, he could hear his forces gathering in courtyard below, and the king left to be amongst them, to lead them into battle as he always had.

Myrddin would join them when he was ready, but until then, it would be an anticipatory wait, one filled with all the jitters of an impending fight, but remaining here whilst his allies fought was not an option, not when Arthur and his great army could be all the difference they needed to secure a victory.

(Break)

They had barely set foot into the city before they had been set upon by countless goblins, growling and snarling as all wielded blades, clubs, or bows, and some even with wands.

Owain and his men met the ferocity aimed towards them head-on, and the result was unmitigated, sheer violence.

“COME ON, YOU BASTARDS!” Robert Moody bellowed, engaging in a fist fight with a pair of eager goblins.

Owain could only shake his head.

The man was as insane as he was talented, and certainly not shy to throw himself into the thick of the action. If anything. He seemed to thrive here, and even when one of the vicious creatures bit off his ear, Moody was unfazed.

On the contrary, he returned the effort, and the thick, dark blood of the goblin dribbled down his chin.

Robert grinned triumphantly, his teeth red, and without delay, he began brawling with another, removing his robes as he did so, leaving himself only wearing his trousers and boots.

“He’s out of his bloody mind,” one of the Flint’s men commented.

Owain chuckled humourlessly.

In his experience, there were those that simply thrived in conflict, and Robert Moody, though quite fanatical, was one of them.

Allowing the man to continue as he pleased, Owain shifted his focus to his own fight, ramming his blade through the guts of a goblin that boldly leapt through the air towards him with two daggers poised, ready to be blunged into his chest.

Owain, however, was much more calculated and quicker than the goblin, who for a moment, hung limply from his blade.

Allowing him to fall limply to the ground, he quickly found himself engaged by another, and then another when he’d dispatched it.

It appeared as though they were facing an unending wave of enemies, and though doing so was quite risky given the cramped environment, Owain drew his wand to use alongside his sword,, to great effect.

Unleashing a gout of fire towards a group of unsuspecting goblins that had grouped together to swarm his men,

Their efforts were brought to an end by the inferno that engulfed them, though the building they stood in front of did not fare so well either, adding to the other dozens of blazes that were dotted around London.

“Where is Potter?” Moody asked.

The man was quite the state, his entire torso caked in blood that Owain suspected was not his own.

“I don’t know, but he’s here somewhere.”

As though Harry was announcing his presence, and enormous explosion from a few streets over caused the ground beneath their feet tremble.

“Aye, he’s here,” Moody chuckled, frowning as another wave of goblins spilled into their own narrow street.

With only a grunt, he raised his blade and unleashed a battle cry before confronting them, bare-chested, and with all the vigour one would expect from a proud Celtic man.

For his part, Owain continued as he was, and although he and his men were fighting with all they had, he was not blind to the disadvantage they found themselves at.

Neither the numbers nor unfamiliar environment were in their favour. However, as there was no clear route to escape when the need inevitably arose, the outlook was not so good.

Not that he would admit defeat.

Harry would undoubtedly have a plan, well, Owain hoped he did.

For now, all appeared to have taken a rather bleak turn, but they would fight on, continue holding their own, and do so for as long as they needed to in a bid to prevent the goblins getting what it was they came here for.

(Break)

It became quickly clear that the magicals he’d come across in London had received no training in battle, nor could most profess to have received a good education

Some of the younger ones had attended Hogwarts, and the difference between them and the predominantly older witches and wizards that had chosen to fight was undeniable.

Even so, those that had been formally educated at the castle had not done so with the intention of fighting in such a way, and even Harry was finding it difficult to utilise what he usually would in such a cramped space to work in.

This fight was quickly proving to be to his disadvantage, but he took comfort knowing that Owain and the others had arrived.

Seizing one of the goblins that ventured a little too closely by the throat, he drove his head into the bridge of the creature’s nose before dispatching it with a thrust of his dagger.

In the alleyways he was attempting to navigate with the others, his sword was a poor choice of weapon.

“There’s too many of them!” one of the magicals protested.

“There is,” Harry agreed, “but if you’re tired of life, drop your wand. You will get no mercy from that lot.”

The man’s eyes widened, and Harry continued to fight what appeared to be an endless wave of goblins and other creatures they were using to take the city.

As difficult as it was to wield a sword here, his wand was of little more use.

Harry would need the time to cast anything beneficial, and with so many innocents flooding the streets, fleeing from the goblins, it was much too dangerous to do so.

Even if he chose only to open the space around them up, it would not be to his and the other’s benefit. For as many goblins as there were, and how they were slowly but surely overrunning them, Harry knew it would be much worse if they too were not bound to the same limits of space.

Of course, it seemed to be serving the creatures better than the humans trying to fend them off, but Harry didn’t doubt that should he find a way of pushing the buildings back, that they would be overwhelmed much quicker by the sheer numbers.

No, the only option was to fight on, to press forward in the hope that they could break through and reach Owain and the others.

To that end and knowing there was little hope for the others to escape with the protections he’d felt falling into place, he did just that, swinging his dagger, and bringing his wand to bear when the chance arose.

The goblins were particularly relentless when they noticed him, so much so that they all but fell over one another to reach him, and Harry was granted no reprieve as he fought them off.

“Hell, what was that?” one of the men asked as much of the city shook.

Harry frowned as he smashed the heel of his boot into the groin of one of the keen goblins, crushing his pelvis.

Whatever had caused such a disturbance had been quite the powerful show of magic, and Harry could feel the tang of it in the air.

Shaking his head, he continued fighting in vain, and one after the after, the goblins fell to his blade and wand, and yet, the continued to seemingly materialise.

It was a guttural roar and dull thud from nearby that pulled him from his work, and Harry’s eyes widened at the sight of the enormous Bors, barrelling through a group of goblins, swinging a sword much bigger than most men could wield.

“Need some help, Potter?” he asked with a grin.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked.

“We all came. Now, shut up, you cod, we need you three streets over. Bad things are happening over there.”

“Aye, bad things,” Gawain grumbled as he joined them.

He was sporting quite the wound running down the length of his cheek, but he did not seem to pay it any heed.

“Well, if you can get us there…”

“Follow us,” Gawain instructed, nodding towards a narrow alley a short distance away where Tristan was waiting, fighting off the marauding goblins with a score of men at his back.

“He knows the city,” Bors explained. “He’ll get you where you need to be.”

Harry nodded appreciatively and gestured for the other citizens he’d been fighting with to follow, those that remained, at least.

Several had been killed during the course of the fighting, and he suspected many more would follow before it was all said and done.

Still, Arthur’s arrival with his men was quite the turn of events, and a much needed one at that.

Whether or not it could turn the tide against the goblins remained to be seen, but as ever, there would be no surrender as they did their best to end this in a favourable way for those that called London their home, and those that had arrived to defend it, only to find themselves now fighting for their very lives.

(Break)

He was no stranger to violence.

Although he had grown in the relative safety of Godric’s Hollow, Hook had seen more than his fair share of it. From time to time, the Irish would invade, and even the Danes had needed to receive a harsh lesson or two as a reminder that their lands were not theirs for the taking.

He had barley reached his fourteenth year before he’d snuck off with the army when they’d marched to meet a Danish party at the border, and it was there Hook had experienced his taste of battle.

He remembered holding his sword just a little too tightly to prevent it slipping from his sweaty palm, the screams of the dead and dying, and the smell of evacuated bowels and blood.

Hook had heard glorious stories from the other villagers about the men that fought for them, how each were treated with the utmost respect, and how being a warrior was the noblest of callings.

He had learned that day that there was little glory in battle, only death and misery for those who survived it.

Still, he had never been one to shy away when he was needed.

His family had been a poor one.

They ate well enough from the farm, but there had been little luxury in his life.

Not that Hook craved such, but he had wished to see the world; something that proved much of it was the same as home, only with a different clime, and different diseases.

Even so, although he had grown accustomed to the most unpleasant aspects of the living such a life, nothing could’ve prepared him for the fight he found himself in now.

London was no traditional battlefield, and with so many cramped in to such a small space, it made for terrible conditions for conflict.

Not that his thoughts on the matter would change the situation.

Hook and his men had been unfortunate enough to happen upon Dark-Eye, and the king of the goblins had not taken kindly to their sudden arrival. Immediately, they had been set upon and quickly found themselves fighting merely to survive.

The onslaught had truly been relentless, and though they’d managed to keep the vicious creatures at bay for a while, any organisation that had been present all but evaporated much sooner than Hook had anticipated.

As such, the forces were fragmented, spread throughout the streets of London, where the goblins held the advantage.

For Hook, he had found himself inundated with foes wishing to ram their blades into his guts or even curse him when the opportunity arose.

Still, he stood and continued to fight, quite badly wounded more than once, but no less determined to emerge from the violence alive and as well as he could be given the circumstances, something that seemed less and less likely the more time that passed.

He’d sustained a deep cut to one of his legs, and although he’d managed to stem the flow of blood, it was troubling him, limiting his movement.

Even so, Hook had felled several goblins, and those that had wounded him had suffered a much worse fate than a few ne scars to add to his already littered body.

“You fight well.”

Hook’s nostrils flared as he found himself standing before Dark-Eye.

The goblin was garbed in black armour trimmed with red, and he held a short, curved sword in one hand, and a glowing yellow crystal in the other.

What it was, Hook didn’t know, but it unlikely boded well for him and his men, who he realised he’d been separated from.

Perhaps most were already dead.

It was difficult to see with how many corpses and wounded were strewn about streets, but for now, it didn’t matter.

Hook was quite alone, faced with the king of the goblins with almost a dozen guards flanking him.

“Some of us have no need to hide from our enemies,” he chuckled dryly, nodding towards those surrounding Dark-Eye.

The goblin frowned before laughing, a most unpleasant and cold sound.

“You are quite right, he said thoughtfully. “Allow me to remedy that so we might settle our differences.”

Hook’s jaw tightened as he grasped his wand and sword, remembering to hold neither too tightly as he pondered any advantage he might have.

There was none.

He was indeed quite alone, and yet, it presented a single opportunity to him.

Whipping his wand downwards, he sent a powerful blasting curse towards Dark-Eye and his guards. The resulting explosion was quite spectacular, and the entirety of London seemed to shake from the force of it.

However, when the smoke cleared, Hook was greeted by the sight of a grinning goblin, neither he nor his guards having been wounded let alone from his efforts.

“Impressive,” Dark-Eye praised, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he released the yellow crystal.

For a moment, it hovered ominously in the air, glowing eerily before it unleashed a bolt of crackling magic towards Hook who shielded, but felt the air forced from his lungs as he collided with an already collapsed building.

He fought for breath as sheer agony lanced through him, so much so that his vision swam and he slipped between excruciating pain, and bouts of brief unconsciousness.

For how long he laid where he’d landed unable to move, he didn’t know, but when he opened his eyes after another absence, he found himself almost nose to nose with a grinning Dark-Eye.

“You must be quite resilient for a human to survive that, but do not fear. I am merciful and will grant you a quick death.”

Hook could only watch as the goblin raised his curved sword, and he braced himself for what was to come, only wince as the sounds of shouting and clashes of steel suddenly erupted around him once more.

Were he not in so much agony, he would perhaps have laughed at the look of displeasure that adorned the creature, but as he attempted to do so, he lost himself to the darkness once more, uncertain if he would even wake again.

(Break)

He’d been given a boot to take hold of, and Myrddin had reluctantly tapped it with his wand.

What Arthur became aware of next was feeling disorientated, and he found himself caught in a tangle of limbs belonging to Bors, Gawain, Tristan, and the others that were accompanying him.

As he managed work himself free, the nausea that washed over him was like nothing else he’d experienced, and he could barely see straight until Myrddin had pressed a phial of blue liquid to his lips.

As he drunk, he felt the sickness shift immediately, and the others followed shortly after as Myrddin began casting spells at them.

It was something Arthur never wanted to experience again, but the sickness and unpleasant journey was all but forgotten as he and his men flooded the streets of London, their swords, axes, and spears clashing with the weapons of the goblins.

They may have been more diminutive than their human counterparts, but they were undeniably strong and resourceful in the way they fought.

Nonetheless, Excalibur cleaved through any that found themselves in Arthur’s path, which became quite clear until he had to steady himself as an explosion from nearby sent him crashing into a nearby building.

Fortunately for Arthur, his armour absorbed the impact, and he was able to steady himself.

“Shit, where is everyone?” Bors asked, pulling Arthur to his feet.

“All over,” the king chortled humourlessly. “Look around. There’s no organisation to this. Come, let’s see what the hell that was.”

He gestured for the rest of the men to follow him, and they quickly fought their way through the chaos, coming upon quite the unsettling sight.

Although his body was quite broken, and blood flowed from several wounds, Arthur recognised Hook readily enough, though not the much larger goblin than usual that was crouched over him.

“Go and find Harry,” he instructed Bors. “You too, Gawain.”

His tone left no room for argument, and the two men nodded hesitantly.

“I’ll go with them,” Tristan offered. “I know these streets well enough.”

Arthur nodded, not wanting to be without some of his finest warriors.

Regardless, he knew Hook’s life hung in the balance, and with a guttural roar, he brandished Excalibur, charging towards the dozen or so other goblins surrounding the duo.

Striking out, he slashed through the armour of one of the goblins cleanly, almost splitting him in two.

Immediately, countless more arrived as though by magic, and the king and his men found themselves fighting with reckless abandon just to prevent themselves from being overwhelmed.

For the most part, they did well enough.

Evidently, the goblins had not expected their arrival and had diverted their forces elsewhere to intercept Harry and Owain’s men, and they even seemed reluctant to cast their magic whilst those fighting were packed so closely together.

That was to Arthur’s advantage, and as his veteran warriors forced the goblins back, the king expected they would become desperate enough to do something quite desperate.

He hoped before then that Harry, Owain, or any group of other magicals would arrive.

Arthur was not foolish enough to believe he and his own men stood much of a chance if such a thing was to happen.

He’d seen more than enough of witches and wizards to know they possessed a gift he could not compete with.

Still. As the largest of the goblins with the mismatched eyes pointed a wand towards him, Arthur helplessly raised Excalibur in a bid to at least mitigate the harm that would be done to him from the incoming spell, and much to his surprise, it bounced off the blade, colliding with another goblin as it did so.

The large goblin too was surprised, but as he raised his wand once more, his eyes burning with fury, a sudden coldness filled the streets of London.

“Harry,” Arthur whispered, breathing a sigh of relief as he spotted the man emerging from one of the many alleyways.

It was as though his arrival immediately ceased the chaos, and he and Dark-Eye glared at one another, the later grinning as he raised one of his crystals.

Harry, however, did not remain idle, and with a deft flick of his wand, a spell collided with it, sending the pink gem skidding along the floor until it paused at Harry’s feet.

He eyed it curiously for a moment, and Dark-Eye was furious as he had the temerity to pick it up.

“That belongs to my people!” the goblin spat.

“And now it belongs to me, unless you want to come and get it,” Harry replied challengingly.

Dark-Eyes nostrils flared, but as a series of loud howls and a variety of snarls sounded from all around them, the goblin grinned, hurriedly raising another crystal, red this time, that forced the two groups of men apart and created a shimmering dome over his own.

“My crystal for friend’s…”

He broke off as he realised that Hook was no longer where he’d been only a few moments prior, and though Harry’s expression gave nothing away, the man knew what had happened.

“You have nothing to bargain with.”

Dark-Eye chuckled, his alight with excitement.

“How about your own lives?” he asked. “You hear it, Harry Potter. The heavy breathing, the footfalls of the beasts that approach. Now, what you have to decide is whether or not you wish for your men to live and fight another day, possibly, or you and I come to terms here and now. I would decide quickly. They will arrive in only a matter of a moment or two.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, and though Arthur could see nor hear anything approaching, the other man was seemingly aware of something descending upon them.

Still, it wasn’t until another loud, unnatural howling sounded along with a rhythmic thudding that he decided what was best for those that had ventured here.

The men were exhausted, depleted, and they’d endured their share of casualties this night.

Some may take issue with Harry choosing to retreat whilst they still could, but Arthur understood it.

Any good commander knew when to choose the lives over his men over risking further losses, and the king followed suit, signalling for his own forces to follow.

It was with an elaborate wave of his wand that Harry cleared a path for them towards the western gate, and it was as they were leaving the city that Arthur caught a glimpse of what it was that had been coming for them.

Wolves.

Enormous wolves like no other he had seen before, dozens of them that would have wreaked havoc amongst their ranks, and with them, great armoured humanoid creatures, more than there were wolves, each brandishing crude clubs, and some even swords bigger than most men.

“You did the right thing, Harry,” Arthur comforted.

“I know, but this was no victory for us. He has London, and before we can make it back with a suitable, organised army, it will be all but impossible to get in without considerable difficulty.”

“What will we do?”

Harry frowned at the question.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

“Then we will figure it out.”

Harry nodded grimly.

“We will figure it out.”

(Break)

It was the first time that he had seen Potter seemingly out of his depth, that the man was questioning what he would do next in the heat of battle. Until now, he had always seemed so certain, so sure of what was happening around him.

Even when the dragon had been flying above them at Camelot, he’d not hesitated to take to the sky to face such a threat, but here, in the confines of the London streets, it was not just himself he needed to concern himself with.

Anything he did here would undoubtedly impact all others around him, and yet, Myrddin could see him tussling with the thought of just how far he would be willing to go to end this favourably for him.

“How is he?” Potter asked.

“Not good,” Gawain answered gravely, “but still alive. I saw him move.”

Potter’s expression darkened.

It was undeniable that the man cared for those close to him, that he would do what was needed to ensure their safety. In some regard, it was admirable, but in others, it was a weakness.

Perhaps it was something that could be exploited.

“I will extract him,” Myrddin volunteered. “I can do so unnoticed.”

Potter hesitated for a moment, eyed him with a penetrating gaze before nodding his agreement, realising that doing so himself would be all but impossible.

“Take him to Camelot. I will send for Helga to tend to him.”

He had done so whilst Dark-Eye and Harry Potter shared their back and forth, using a spell that would render him and Hook mostly invisible.

Having gotten him out of London, it had been a short yet most uncomfortable journey back to Camelot, where Myrddin could assess the situation.

Hook was not in a good way.

He’d screamed briefly before losing consciousness once more, and though Myrddin was no great healer himself, he could see that the man’s prognosis was not good.

Not knowing what to do, he watched, only daring to use a damp cloth to wipe the sweat from the man’s brow as he began to perspire.

Fortunately, Helga did arrive shortly after, and Myrddin wondered why Harry had not sent for his wife.

By all accounts, Morgana was an exceptionally gifted healer and would’ve been able to arrive at Camelot much quicker than the older woman, unless something was amiss.

He shook his head as one of his former educators fretted over the man, casting spells he did not recognise before feeding him a concoction of potions, many of which he was unfamiliar with.

Before he could enquire as to what they were, both Godric and Salazar arrived with a rather subdued Harry Potter in tow.

“How is he?” the latter asked.

Helga deflated as she shook her head.

“Badly wounded. He has more broken bones than ones that are intact, and his organs have not fared well. He should already be dead, and I have done all I can for him. The rest is up to Fate.”

Potter nodded, his eyes smouldering in a mixture of anger and worry, an expression matched by Owain Peverell as he arrived only a few moments later.

“The wounded are being cared for, and some that are capable are escorting Arthur and his men back here,” he explained. “How is he?”

Potter released a deep breath as he conjured a large, comfortable bed before levitating the broken man into it.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

Myrddin could not say what would become of him.

He’d seldom seen a man so broken yet still breathing, and that fate of those did not bode well for Hook.

Even so, there was little else that could be done for him now, and certainly not by Myrddin, who felt as though he was intruding on a moment he had no reason to be a part of.

He was not close to Potter or Peverell, and any kinship he’d once had with the remaining three Founders of Hogwarts had faded between them many years prior.

With that in mind, he offered Potter and Peverell a nod before taking his leave of the room, ready to greet and assist Arthur with whatever they king may need upon his return.

The evening had been nothing short of an unmitigated disaster, and yet, he knew it could’ve been much worse had things not unfolded the way they eventually had.

(Break)

The celebrations were quite raucous but Dark-Eye did not share in the merriment of his people. They had achieved a great victory tonight, but it was one from many others that had been failures.

Nonetheless, he would not deprive the others of their joy, but his own mind was occupied with other matters.

London was a big city, much bigger than Winchester now, and much of it had been destroyed, and many of those living here killed during the violence.

Their blood still stained the streets, and though the dead were already being burned, the taint of what happened was something that would remain, and if nothing else, only provoke the hostilities between humans and goblins further.

Not that Dark-Eye minded, but it was something to be mindful of, particularly with men like Harry Potter opposing them.

He had not missed the look in the man’s eyes when the realisation had hit that he would need to retreat.

Potter wanted nothing more than to tear Dark-Eye limb from limb, and the king of the goblins was left in no doubt that the two of them would indeed meet again, that there would be no retreat from either of them, and both would do their utmost to kill the other by any means necessary.

He looked forward to that day, but that was yet to come.

For now, he was content with watching the sun rise over the river that had often leaked into their homes, victorious over the humans, as he prepared for what would inevitably come next.

Potter would not be idle.

Dark-Eye did not doubt that the man would come for them all, but he and the goblins would be ready for him when he did.

(Break)

He woke with a start and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Neither Harry nor Owain had left Hook’s side, both waiting in silence as they watched the shallow, rhythmic breathing of the man, fearing that each exhale might just be his last.

Evidently, they had fallen into an uneasy sleep, both exhausted from their efforts the night before.

“Is he still breathing?”

Owain’s eyes were rimmed with dark circles, but full of concern for their friend.

“I’m still breathing, you shits,” Hook wheezed, a grin which turned into a grimace tugging at his lips. “Hell, it hurts to even talk.”

“Then shut up,” Owain chuckled, sagging in relief. “Do you need something for the pain?”

“No, I thought I’d just suffer.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with his attitude,” Owain grumbled, accepting the potion Harry handed to him. “I suppose I’ll have to feed it to you, you malingering bastard.”

“Oi, we spent weeks pushing you around in your chair.”

“I suppose you did,” Owain sighed as he poured the blue liquid into Hook’s mouth.

After a moment, the man groaned contentedly.

“My bones feel as though they’re on fire.”

“Skele-gro will do that to you,” Harry replied. “Terrible stuff but does the job. You’ll be fine soon enough, well, your bones will.”

“So, I still might die.”

“No, you’re not allowed to die,” Owain snorted. “For some reason, we’re quite fond of you being alive.”

“Aye, me too,” Hook murmured. “Thank you, for getting me out.”

“That was Myrddin.”

“Well, I’d better thank him too. Does Gwyneth…”

“I will speak with her,” Harry promised. “Obviously, bringing her here will not be a good idea.”

“No, but so long as she knows I’m doing well. How bad is it?”

“Bad enough,” Owain murmured, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, what a fucking mess that was. How did it end up so badly?”

“Because they know London,” Harry answered darkly.

“They do?”

“They’ve been living beneath it for centuries, and now I know that, I know where to begin looking for what I need to find.”

“You’re going back in there?” Owain scoffed.

“Of course he bloody is,” Hook snorted. “This is Potter we’re talking about. He’s always been a mad bastard.”

“I’m going to let that slide, only because I’m glad to see you alive, for some reason.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky then,” Hook snarked, coughing from the discomfort he was in.

“What’re you planning, Harry?” Owain asked.

Harry frowned as he pondered the question and removed the crystal he had taken from Dark-Eye.

“Misery,” he murmured to himself. “It’s time to begin putting an end to all of this.”