Author's Note: So, I am returning to this story as I finally was able to overcome my writer's block on it. Needless to say, the structure of the show and story weren't exactly fitting my writing style, but I've come up with a fix for that which I hope allows me to continue on. In that light, the current posted chapters are going to be taken down and redone. I hope you enjoy this reinvigorated story!
Author's Side Note: If you follow my other story, Zodiac Charms, do not worry. A chapter is currently in the works!
Prologue
A Land Far Away and a Long Time Ago
"Get Eilonwy out of here!" a young redheaded boy shouted, gesturing at his two companions through the green mist and smoke that filled the room. Dressed in a peasant smock and pants, the boy did not seem to be a hero, but he had become one. Skeletal remains littered the floor, the power that had animated them was broken by his and his friends' doing.
"Hurry! There isn't much time!" he yelled. To underscore the urgency his words carried, the room shook with an ominous rumble, throwing all three off balance. The castle was threatening to collapse from the strain of containing the magic now.
"Taran, please! You can't stay here!" the girl Eilonwy exclaimed. Her long blonde hair whipped around her face as she struggled to break free from the older man trying to pull her to safety. The older man's face indicated he agreed with Eilonwy's words, but he was going to honor the boy's wishes.
"Go!" Taran insisted, "Go with Fflewddur. Maybe there is still a chance to save him."
His gaze moved over to the source of the green mist in the air, the sinister black cauldron that rested on a nearby dais. A menacing wind started to pick up, the green mist slowly being drawn back towards the cauldron. Pieces of loose masonry flew free from the walls and ceiling, tumbling into cauldron and causing green sparks to shoot out. The bones of one skeleton whipped past Taram, the bones disintegrating as they neared the cauldron. Taran cried out as an unknown force started to pull him towards the cauldron, more skeletons and their discarded weapons caught within the same power.
"Taran!" Eilonwy screamed. Fflewddur was able to pull her into a sheltered alcove as Taran slid along the floor. Luckily for him, the force pulling him closer to the cauldron vanished for a moment. Taran scrambled his way over to an iron sculpture embedded in the wall nearby.
"Look Master! The pig boy!" a pathetic sounding voice yelled. Taran glanced towards the entrance to the chamber, confirming what he already knew. The Horned King himself was slowly making his way into the cauldron chamber, a small troll or imp hanging from his clenched green fist. Covered in a red cloak with a fur collar, the evil king had a decayed regal air about him. Red eyes glinted from under the hood, the gnarled horns that had earned the twisted king his name jutting out. Broken teeth gnashed in a snarl in the ghoulish and gaunt face.
"It's his fault! Yes! He's the cause of it!" the little creature dangling from the Horned King's fist exclaimed.
"You've interfered with my plans for the last time!" the Horned King snarled, rage warping his skeletal features even further. With a flick of his clawed hand, his underling was sent flying into the wall near Taran. The impact rendered it unconscious, just as Taran felt the mysterious force emanating from the cauldron start to tug at him again.
"Your darkness will never plague this land again!" Taran yelled, putting on a brave face while the Horned King swiftly advanced. The force pulling him had disappeared, having latch onto the Horned King's minion and pulling it into the depths of the cauldron.
"Once I sacrifice your heart to the cauldron, its power will be restored," the Horned King hissed. The decrepit king was faster than he appeared. Taran had no time to react before a clawed fist closed around his arm and flung him to the foot of the dais. "Now, pig keeper, you shall die."
"I don't think so," Taran said, getting shakily to his feet. More of the castle crashed down around the pair, the ceiling above the cauldron breaking apart. A column of flame shot into the air, emerging with the dark clouds above. Lightning sparked and struck the castle, an explosion of debris sending something clattering at Taran's feet. Gawking for a moment, he couldn't believe his eyes. It was the same sword he had traded to the three witches, but now it glowed with an angry light. How had it appeared? Never mind, it didn't matter now. Picking it up, he brandished the clearly enchanted sword at the Horned King.
"Pretending to be a hero, boy?" the villain laughed. The red cloak billowed in the powerful winds that were continuing to tear at the castle. "I have fought and killed many who sought to challenge my power, and all of them were more impressive than you."
A green fireball erupted from the evil king's hand, but Taran was able to deflect it with the sword. Running forward, he tried to run the Horned King through, but the villain disappeared in a swirl of green and black smoke and laugh.
"Face me coward!" Taran yelled, whirling about with the sword pointing forward.
"Coward am I?" the Horned King said, reappearing in another swirl of green and black smoke. A sword giving off a fell light was clutched in his hand. Again with speed that Taran would never expect from the corpse-like king, the Horned King launched a vicious assault of sword strikes and slashes. It took everything Taran had to parry the Horned King's attacks, the sword in his hands almost acting of its own accord.
Taran cried out in pain as the Horned King's blade was able to slip past, striking him along the arm. Blood flowed from the wound, a creeping chill spreading from the site of the wound. Some form of vile enchantment from the king's sword. Already, he could feel it slowing him, draining away his strength.
"You shall satisfy the cauldron's hunger," the Horned King gloated. His attacks were slowly driving Taran back, further and further, towards the cauldron. Taran hissed in pain as the Horned King was able to drive the point of his sword into his knee, the sinister chill spreading further throughout his body. Just to further complicate matters, the magic of the cauldron had gotten a far stronger grip on him. Taran tried to fight against the force, forced to actually dive closer to the cauldron to avoid another stroke of the Horned King's blade. A fireball erupted from the Horned King's hand, striking Taran in the chest and sending him skidding back to the foot of the dais.
"You were never a hero, pig keeper, just a boy playing pretend," the Horned King taunted.
"Taran!" Eilonwy screamed, breaking free of Fflewddur grasp and running out from their cover. A white glow had surrounded her hand, and the light distracted the Horned King's attention for just a moment. A beam of light magic erupted from her hand, striking the Horned King. The Horned King yelled with pain, the light magic burning into his chest. Seeing his chance, and mustering the last of his strength, Taran rose to one knee and drove his sword towards the smoking scorch mark on the villain's chest. Red eyes blinked in confusion as the monstrous king regarded the sword impaling his chest, his sword falling to the ground with a clatter. Taran tried to drive it deeper into his enemy's chest, even as the Horned King roared in rage, clawed hands trying to pull the blade free.
Spinning half a step, the Horned King now had his back to the cauldron, his cloak billowing out behind him as the magic of the cauldron tried to draw him in. With his last vestiges of strength, Taran kicked the Horned King. The green mist was wrapping itself around the villain, grasping him firmly as though fingers of a ghostly hand.
"No!" the Horned King yelled, trying to break free of the power that had hold of him. Green flames licked from his hands, but to no avail. The cauldron consumed every bit of magic the Horned King was trying to use, even his attempt to transport himself away. "You'll not have me! My power cannot die!"
Taran slumped against the stone floor, his strength gone. The green mist from the cauldron was starting to wrap around his legs, pulling him along with the villain towards the waiting magical artifact. Eilonwy rushed forward, a blast of light magic breaking the cauldron's grip on Taran. Grabbing him under his shoulders, she started to pull him back towards Fflewddur.
"Come on!" the old bard yelled, gesturing wildly with his arms.
"Curse you!" the Horned King shrieked, hate burning in those red eyes. He was still struggling to escape the cauldron's hunger, but the vortex of power would not release him. He was close to the lip of the ancient artifact. "I curse you! I cannot die! I will return and I will have my revenge on you and all your descendants!"
The edges of the Horned King's cloak were fraying, chunks of fabric swirling away into the cauldron. The evil king was cursing them in a malevolent tongue, trying to pry himself away from the rim of the cauldron. As his hands closed over the lip, an unearthly scream left his mouth as the mottled green skin started to flay.
"No!" he screamed. The villain's cloak had been completely ripped away, revealing his true form. Taran and Eilonwy could clearly see the effect the Horned King's magic had on his body, if they could even call it that. Rotting green skin clung to an emaciated frame, the red eyes were heavily sunk into the misshapen skull. With a final shriek, the horror before them was dragged into the cauldron. An explosion of magic knocked them off their feet, green energy cracking the cauldron. What remained of the castle was nothing but rubble and ruins, but thankfully, the rumbling had stopped. The power of the Black Cauldron was broken, possibly forever, it's magic depleted from destroying the Horned King.
"He's gone?" Eilonwy whispered. "The Horned King… is truly gone…"
Her expression brightened as she embraced Taran.
"He's really gone! We beat him!" she cried, and in her excitement, she accidentally kissed him. Both teens froze for a moment before giving into, melting into their shared embrace as they allowed the feelings they had built for each other for this adventure to bubble to the surface. They probably would have remained in that position if there hadn't been a small cough behind them.
Taran and Eilonwy leapt away from each other, both blushing madly, as they looked over at their older companion. Fflewddur looked embarrassed, but happy for their victory and for the two teens. Taran turned his gaze back to the broken artifact, a sigh escaping as he thought about the companion that had sacrificed themselves to put an end to the Horned King's scheme.
"Goodbye, Gurgi," he muttered. "I'll never forget you, my friend."
"Look at the new heroes," a female happily cackled.
"So solemn," another, deeper, female voice chortled.
"And flushed with victory!" a third, nasally, female proclaimed.
Whipping around, Taran, Eilonwy, and Fflewddur were shocked to see the three Witches of Morva standing in the entrance to the ruined chamber. Orddu, the leader of the witches, was tall and slender, while her sister Orwen was large and more opulent, and Orgoch was scrawny with a pointed nose. All three had aqua tinged skin and red hair.
"Whatever did you do to our cauldron?!" Orddu screeched, shaking her bony finger at the three heroes. "It is ruined! Broken! Worthless!"
"We didn't do that!" Taran hastily said. "It broke when the Horned King was drawn into it. I'm sorry Orddu."
"Sorry?! Sorry?! Sorry does not pay off a deal!" Orddu snapped. "We gave you the cauldron for the sword, with the promise nothing would happen to it. Orwen! Orgoch! Show them the price of breaking a deal!"
The witches cackled, both of them raising their hands to cast a likely unpleasant spell.
"Wait!" Eilonwy yelled. "We can make a new deal!"
The witches paused, looking to their leader.
"Hmmm, a new deal…" Orddu pondered, tapping her chin rhythmically. "Fine, a new deal. We start ahead as we gave you back the sword."
"You brought it here?" Taran asked, surprised. The witches had been very clear in their neutrality when it came to the fight against the Horned King. They would aid whichever side came to them asking for a deal.
"Of course, the balance demanded it," Orgoch said. "The Horned King sent his Cauldron Born to kill us."
"And we despise the undead," Orwen chimed in.
"Hush!" Orddu ordered, her sisters dutifully falling quiet. "In exchange for the sword and the remains of our cauldron… we will provide you with the information to defeat the Horned King once and for all."
"But he's dead," Fflewddur said, confusion on his face to match Taran and Eilonwy. "He was torn apart by the cauldron."
"Oh no!" Orwen said, interrupting Orddu. "The Horned King can't be destroyed that easily, not by our cauldron. His phylactery must be destroyed before that can happen."
"He was sent to another world," Orgoch added.
"Phylactery? Another world?" Taran asked.
"If we have a deal, we will tell you everything," Orddu said, offering hand.
Taran hesitated. If the Horned King truly wasn't destroyed, then they would need to put a stop to him. But he was reluctant to enter into another deal with the witches, especially if it meant having to hand over whatever was left of the cauldron to them. Glancing at Eilonwy, she wore a determined expression. She and her family had struggled against the Horned King. She would want to make sure he was destroyed. That settled matters for him.
"Deal," he said, taking the witch's hand.
Sometime later, the three witches arrived back at the small village they actually resided in. While they plied their craft in the nearby Marshes of Morva in that dilapidated little cottage, they kept a home in the village to maintain appearances. A glamour spell concealed their true nature from the villagers, as they were not overly fond of magic themselves.
Orddu strode into their home, the sword carefully tucked away in her cloak, while Orwen and Orgoch carried the cauldron between them. The sound of the spinning wheel turning brought a smile to their faces. The boy they had been charged with raising, after his father ran off without him, was getting rather good at it.
"Rumple! We're home!" Orddu called. The boy looked up from the spinning wheel, smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. The loss of his father was still fresh. Orddu came over to check on his work, looking it over with a critical eye. "Oh my, this very fine work Rumple. We weren't wrong, you really have the gift for spinning."
"Did you bring back any presents?" Rumple asked, a small hand stopping the wheel.
"Only an old cauldron," Orwen said, she and Orgoch setting the cauldron down on the table. "We thought we might repair it together, as a family."
"We got a very good deal for it," Orgoch added.
"Wow!" Rumple said excitedly, getting up to run over to the cauldron. His hand came up, tracing the crack through the kingly face that was embossed on the side. "If only Papa could see this…"
Orwen and Orgoch immediately moved to comfort the boy, and distract him with chatter about the cauldron. Orddu slipped into their small bedroom, pulling open a hidden door in the floor and descending down into their secret basement. Various magical artifacts were scattered about, some humming with powers while others were dormant. Placing the sword on a rack, she could feel the sword positively brimming with magic and purpose. She was certain that one day, it would be needed once again to fight against the Horned King.
At the edge of the lake that encircled the ruins of the Horned King's castle, Taran looked back at the destroyed castle. Eilonwy and Fflewddur silently stood nearby. The evil that had seeped from the old fortress was gone, the chilling mist and darkness giving way to sunlight and clear skies. The mountainous region was finally at peace, the quiet almost unsettling in a way. The monsters and barbarians that had flocked to the Horned King's banner had all fled when the castle started to collapse. Even the waters of the lake, previously a murky brown, were starting to clear. It would seem the Horned King's corruption had not survived whatever happened to its creator.
"So," Fflewddur said, breaking the silence. A pipe was in his hand, the old bard trying to light it. "What now, Taran?"
"I'm just a simple pig farmer," he replied, turning away from the ruins. The events that had occurred there had forever changed his life, and now all he wanted was to go back to his pig farm. But…
"Even a simple pig farm can grow to be more," Eilonwy said. She was smiling as her fingers laced with his, giving Taran's hand a gentle squeeze. Taran was tired of fighting his feelings for her, and she clearly was too. The kiss they had shared after the Horned King's defeat… he could get used to having Eilonwy by his side. They were going to need love on this next quest if they decided to pursue it. The answer to that was simple.
"Our quest isn't over yet," she added.
Taran knew she was right. The Horned King was still out there somewhere, diminished perhaps, maybe even powerless, but the witches' prophecy that he would try and rise again meant the path ahead was clear for Taran and his friends.
"So where is this land of Misthaven?" Taran finally asked, grinning as Eilonwy's smile grew wider and Fflewddur laughed.
"I know the way," the old bard said, gesturing with his pipe and arm. "It will be a perilous road. The route between Prydain and Misthaven is rarely traveled, due to the Horned King and his minions. That's not even discussing the ogres and all manner of vile creatures that lurk in the mountains."
"I think that together we can face anything," Eilonwy replied, squeezing Taran's hand one more time. Fflewddur leading the way eastward, the two teens followed along behind as the old bard started a tale from his youthful adventures.
New York City, 1922
In an alleyway, a terrible screaming started to fill the air. A series of green flashes and blast of wind accompanied the sounds of the man that was materializing. After a moment, all had fallen quiet again. A deep-throated groan issued from the man curled on the ground, the pain from his transport slowly fading. With great effort, he lifted his head to get his bearings through bleary vision.
Surprise dissipated his distorted vision. He had never seen such buildings before, nor the sounds of the busy street beyond the alley he was in. It was almost as great a shock as when he noticed his hands. They were no longer green or claws, but normal human flesh and nails. No! He couldn't have… Reaching up, he felt no horns on his head. Gone, replaced by a thickly matted pile of hair. In growing horror, he slid his hand along his face. A scruffy goatee bristled on his chin, a perfectly smooth human face. The remains of his red cloak hung off his thin frame, not even fit to truly cover his body.
The worst feeling was when he tried to pull on his magic, and… there was nothing. His power was gone, no it wasn't that. It was his worst fear realized; a land without magic. His fear spiked as he wondered if he had been rendered mortal from the trip through the cauldron. Desperately, searching on all fours, he looked for the one thing he hoped had survived the journey as well.
Pushing a bit of paper with weird print on it, he felt his fears ebb away slightly. There it was, his ring. His phylactery, the precious container of his soul. Even as his new human hand closed over it, he knew his soul was still contained within it. Even in this realm without magic, he retained his immortality. He had survived something he had never expected to survive.
"Hey!" a voice called. The Horned King looked up from where he had been crouched, his hand covering his ring in a protective grasp. A man was approaching him, casually strolling down the alley like he didn't have a care in the world. He was smartly dressed in some sort of tunic and pants, a gold pocket chain peeking out of the pocket of his vest. He had tan skin and short hair, and carried himself with an air of confidence.
"Just off the boat eh?" the man continued saying. "Definitely look it. British?"
British? He had no idea what that meant. "Where am I?" he croaked out, surprised at the sound of his voice.
"You been on one crazy bash?" the man asked, chuckling. "Have to be. No one forgets they are in the greatest city in the whole world, New York.
"New York?" the Horned King said, the words sounding foreign to his ears and odd on his lips.
"A really good time then," the man said, extending a hand to help the Horned King to his feet. The Horned King cautiously took it, unsteady on his legs and weak, very weak. "You got a name?"
"Arwan," the Horned King said, his voice still hoarse. If he was to be human again, or whatever he was as his soul was still separate from his body, he may as well reclaim the name. "Lucian Arawn."
"Jay Gatsby," the man said, shaking the Horned King's hand vigorously. The Horned King was unfamiliar with the gesture, but went along with it anyway. His instincts said it be best to befriend this strange human, to learn the ways of this world. "Wish I had gone to the bash you went to, although maybe I would have ended up with less clothes."
Gatsby laughed loudly, the Horned King smiling thinly.
"Anyway, I just finished taking my friends Nicks and Francis back to their apartment," Gatsby continued.
"So, you're alone?" the Horned King asked.
"We're all alone in this world, until we find that special green light to chase," Gatsby replied, staring into the distance for a moment. The Horned King internally wanted to strange him. A starry-eyed optimist, wonderful. "Sorry there, lost in a thought. How about you come with me, stay the night and get some better clothes?"
"You really are inviting a stranger to come to your house, alone?" the Horned King asked, looking askance at the young man.
"Why not?" Gatsby said, swinging an around the Horned King's shoulders and guiding him out of the alley. A yellow something was idling at the edge of the street. The Horned King had never seen so many people, and what were all these lights? Torches with no flame? Impossible, and even more of the odd carriage things were driving past. He was stirred out of his thoughts by Gatsby opening the door to the carriage contraption for him.
"Get in, and I promise we will figure out what the American Dream has in store for you," Gatsby said grandly. American? "I can assure you this country is just pure magic. Anything is possible, if you set your mind to it."
"Magic you say?" the Horned King said, somewhat nervously sitting in the passenger seat as Gatsby took his place behind the wheel. While he could not feel any magic in this world, if Gatsby, a resident of it, said there was magic here in this New York America… then the Horned King had to claim it for his own. He would regain his power… and then he would get his revenge on the pig farmer and princess that banished him to this forsaken land.
Second Disclaimer: Jay Gatsby is owned by the estate of F. Scott Fitzgerald; I do not own the character.