Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, King Arthur, Merlin or any characters from Arthurian Legend.
Author's Note: This story takes place in between the time after the conclusion of "From the Ashes" and the beginning of The Three Princes.
Summary: After losing his identity of Harry Potter, Harry discovered that he was not completely free of his past. Soon after his death, Harry was reborn into a new person with no memories, but his memories started to resurface bringing back a piece of Harry Potter into his new self. Unable to cope with the returning memories, Harry had gone on a destructive rampage only to be transported back in time in order to meet the only people that could help him: The Founders of Hogwarts. They trained Harry and helped him come to terms with his two identities, but Harry still believed himself to be Harry Potter even though only memories of that person existed in him. When he left the care of the Founders, Harry still did not know his true identity. Just when Harry thought he could return to a familiar world where he could slowly find his true identity, he was brought to a time even further in the past and an even more unfamiliar place. This world Harry entered is a world Harry only heard of in legends and he will soon discover that the legends he grew up hearing were all false. This world is also in need of a hero and Harry will find himself the chosen hero once more. Will Harry break free from Harry Potter and become the new person he was meant to become? Or will he remain Harry Potter and tied down from the chains of his past? Harry must decide soon for a hero can never doubt his identity...
Chapter 1: The Protector
The storm had passed and the sun was shining down into the cells once more. A teenage boy sat up and waited for the guards to come about. He had dark brown hair and mismatched eyes. His left was emerald green while his right was hazel. It was part of an unfortunate past that changed his right eye. Nevertheless, he was glad the lightning shaped scar on his forehead above his right eye was gone. It gave him far too much trouble. Then he heard the clanking of metal against the cell bars. The sound was annoying, but the guards enjoyed forcing the prisoners awake. Well, they were not exactly prisoners.
"Awake already, boy?" the guard grunted in Latin. The boy just grinned in return. The unpleasant look on the guards faces were the only thing he looked forward to in the morning. "It's time."
His cell door opened and two guards joined the first guard. Several children ran over to grab his pant leg, but the boy just smiled. "Don't worry," he said in the little Latin he had learned, "I'm invincible." The children backed away as the guards came in to place thick iron cuffs around the boy's thin wrists. They escorted him through a long corridor before retrieving two long daggers connected together by a long steel cable. "Thanks" he said as the guards shoved him out into the ring.
He looked around at the round coliseum and watched as the crowds cheered or booed. Another fight was taking place between two Roman generals. The boy yawned as he could already tell which of the generals would win. The ringing of metal sounded twice before the crowd roared thunderously in unison. The boy turned back with lazed eyes as the winner picked up the head of the other general.
The announcer began a long victory speech that the boy understood very little. Then he heard, "And now to the battle you all have been waiting for! On the east, we have the undefeated sixteen-year-old, twin dagger wielder. Welcome, the Protector!" The boy walked out into the ring after the guards removed his cuffs and the chain balls around both his ankles. He did not bother to wave to the crowd who cheered upon his arrival. The announcer continued to speak and the boy just assumed it was information about his opponent.
Two years had passed since his accidental arrival in age of the Roman Empire. He was supposed to return to his own time, but something went wrong. If things could not get any worse, two men he had saved upon his arrival sold him as a slave to this coliseum. Many times, he had thought of escaping, but the women and children that lived with him in his cell were far too weak to make the journey of escaping. Because he stayed and fought for their safety, the Romans awarded him with the title: The Protector.
When the speaker finally stopped, the boy looked across to the west gate and saw a giant man walk through the gate and into the arena. It only took a glance to figure out the man was a half-giant. A friend of his past was a half-giant. A kind man as well, but he doubted his opponent was the same. He had dark eyes and long loose hair that fell wildly about his face. A thick beard grew out from his chin and reached his jaws. He had a gigantic frame for a half-giant. The guards who stood near him looked like ants in comparison.
The half-giant carried a heavy giant bag that made the boy wince. Without a doubt, the opponent before him was a weapon master. He hated those types of opponents. They had exceptional skill in all weapons whereas normal people would only master one or two weapons. They boy only had dagger, sword and chain weapon type masteries. This will be another uphill battle which victory will come after a bitter battle to death. He only hoped the half-giant was not a berserker. Those were the only opponents the boy loathed more than weapon masters.
The next moment, a loud drum sounded the beginning of the match. The boy stood very still watching the half-giant's every move. He had not fought a half-giant weapon master before. Most half-giants were barbarians who cried out a thunderous war cry and charged into battle. Weapon masters usually were more reserved and calculating. If the boy did not have to worry about reach, he would have unhooked the steel cable that connected his twin daggers and fought at dangerously close range. It was dangerous to let a weapon master catch either one of his daggers, but he had little choice in this match.
The half-giant laid out his weapons on the ground. The boy counted three maces, two bastard swords, one halberd, four spears, one claymore, two clubs, one battle hammer and a war-ax. He then looked at half-giant and estimated that the weapon master had twenty throwing knives hidden in his vest, two extending swords attached to both forearms, a long sword along his lower legs and maybe some clipped on in his back.
They were not in a world of honor. This was a coliseum where gladiators fought to the death. Only one rule applied: kill your opponent any way possible. The boy had only one way of defeating a weapon master that always worked. Destroy every weapon possible in such a way that the weapon master could not use it again. This was only possible because his twin daggers were magically enforced. He would also know if someone swapped his daggers since the same magic that enforces the daggers bound them to him. It was a convenient spell.
The announcer continued to shout words in Latin that the boy could not understand. He was glad it was so because it allowed him to concentrate better on the battle at hand. The boy watched as the weapon master picked up a mace in the left hand and a war-ax in the other. Then the boy dashed forward at a level pace and made quick judgments on which attacks the weapon master would throw by the stance he took. This will be a difficult battle to win.
Merlin made his way through the stands of the coliseum to get a front row seat. It was easy to convince the muggles to move over or leave since they had no ability to block magic. Merlin never enjoyed the barbaric sports of the coliseum, but he was in dire need of a strong and capable fighter. Gladiators were the best in the field of fighting so he decided to take a journey from England to recruit a gladiator. When he sat down, he watched a young boy face off against a half-giant.
He pitied the boy. There was no possible way the boy could match-- But before Merlin could finish his thoughts, the weapons in the half-giant's hands shattered into small metal shards. That was impossible! Unless the weapons were magically enforce. It suddenly sparked an interest towards the boy. Merlin watched as the boy deflected every blow the half-giant threw and destroyed every weapon on the field.
The boy had exceptional skill considering his young age. Most boys his age would have just become a squire, but the boy seemed to fight like a seasoned warrior with quick strikes faster than normal eyes can register, excellent footwork that allowed him to evade the half-giant's swings and amazing reflexes and timing to fight at such a close range without ever receiving a scratch.
However, Merlin could see the boy's mistakes. Most of which he quickly recovered from, but it seem the boy was suffering from an old injury that had not been properly healed. Then again, gladiators were not allowed rest and fought every moment of their lives. It would be unlikely that the boy was ever given time to recuperate fully.
The boy felt his body tire even more quickly. He could not win this battle unless he used magic, but he had to make it inconspicuous. Romans executed every gladiator with magical abilities. No exceptions. Suddenly, a hand grabbed him and a second one wrapped around his body. He felt the hands begin to crush his body and his consciousness began to fade. No. He could not lose. He had to win.
The boy swung his blades with all his might. When he heard the half-giant howl in pain, he tugged the cable and warm blood splashed against his face. The hands loosened around the boy and he watched as the half-giant collapse to the ground. "Do you yield?" he asked in Latin. The half-giant shook his mighty head and tried to stand. The boy just whipped his daggers around and cut the tendons on the back of his legs. "Do you yield?" he asked again more forcefully as he retracted his daggers. The half-giant did not respond, but it was clear that the weapon master could not win in his state.
The boy turned and walked away and he heard the crowd boo. Soon they would be cheering. He peered into the weapon master's mind. Then he made a sudden turn and out sliced one of his daggers splitting the mighty half-giant vertically in half. Another good fighter perished because of pride. He walked off the field angry that the weapon master would not yield. He hated to kill. However, he would if force to.
The guards escorted the boy back to his cell, but not before he was allowed to clean himself of the blood. When he returned to his cell, the children found their way to his side. He was happy to have returned. Suddenly, he felt someone walk down the corridor. He turned to face a man with black long hair and a clean shaved face. He held a long black staff that had a crystal embedded in one end. "The Protector," the man said as he looked at the boy.
The next sentence the boy could not understand. So he peered into the man's mind. "Merlin?" he asked. It surprised the man only for a moment. "You're the great Merlin?" he asked again, this time in English. The boy wondered for a moment if the man could understand his words. He did not think English even existed in this time.
"Well, this is a mighty interesting dialect," the man responded only moments after the boy's second question. "Fairly easily to learn, if you know both Latin and Celtic. What's your name?"
"Blaz," the boy replied quickly.
"No, not the name you go by. What is your name?"
The boy considered not answering the question for a moment. However, if the man before him really was Merlin, then lying would hinder his chances to learn from the greatest wizard of time. "Harry Potter."