"Salazar, you ass, come back here!" Godric roared as he thundered through the forest. Birds toppled off their branches and leaves shook free of their trees as the large, burly man crashed through the foliage. Indeed, legend would later say that the clouds themselves trembled as he chased his good friend, Salazar Slytherin, through what would later be known as the Forbidden Forest.
Of course, the clouds did not tremble. Godric may have been a skilled wizard, and a huge one, but he was far too practical to use his energy to make the clouds tremble. Can clouds even tremble?
His mind did tend to wander. Sometimes there was an "unfortunate disconnection between his brain and his mouth", as Salazar often said. So as he yelled invectives after the dark brown cloak of his friend, his mind was busy. He was noting the lack of security caused by, ah, thundering through a forest. He also noted the position of the sun, the turns he had taken, and the fact that his foot was really itchy and he wanted to scratch at it but Sal, Solomon damn him, had stolen his sword.
"You do not touch people's things!" he yelled, "Especially their swords!"
Yes, his mind noted the unintentional double entendre, but a half second too late. Salazar's cackling laughter echoed through the sunlit trees. Godric cursed again. He was getting out of breath by this point.
His wand at the ready (14 inches, unyielding ash, and a mysterious core he would take the secret of to his grave) and his eyes alert, he waited for any brief glimpse of Sal as he ran.
He almost stepped on a squirrel.
Whoops, his mind noted.
There, a flash of pale, skinny arm through the trees. "Petrificus Totalus!" the massive bearded man yelled. The spell rebounded off of a glimmer of silvery blue. "Damn," he cursed. The edge of the anti-apparition wards was getting closer. It was get the thrice-accursed thief now, or never.
Grinning devilishly, Godric wordlessly caused the earth beneath Sal's feet to slowly become stickier. By the time his friend noticed what was happening, it was too late. He used the foothold (heh, he thought) the earth already had to swallow Sal's feet.
He heard his friend curse viciously under his breath. "That was a new trick," Sal said, almost conversationally, as Godric disarmed him.
"A shame I had to waste its debut on you," Godric grumbled. He then looked pointedly at Sal's belt, which, rather conspicuously, lacked his sword. "Where've you put it?"
Sal just looked steadily at him.
Sighing, Godric said, "If you needed it for some mysterious ritual, I'd understand. But why couldn't you just ask?"
He shrugged. "I needed the weapon of a friend, unwillingly taken." Seeing Godric's confusion, Sal cracked a small smile. "I know, it is a strange combination." Godric harrumphed, then stiffened. "Sal, we have company," the big man said quietly. The mirth in Salazar's eyes faded to steel. Without another word, Godric released Sal from the ground and tossed back his wand (12 inches, redwood, selkie hair core, flexible). They stood back to back, scanning the trees. Godric was acutely alert of how unprotected they were at the moment. Medieval England, after all, was a dangerous place.
Especially with unbound rogue wizards running around. Wizards and witches bound to caravans, or to lords, or to towns—they followed rules. The ones that gallivanted throughout the countryside, much like Sal and himself, lacked any unifying oversight.
Godric was prepared for any rogue wizards, however. He'd run into enough of them in the seven years since he'd been released from his apprenticeship, along with Sal.
What Godric was not prepared for was the sudden appearance of what appeared to be a young muggle woman tripping out of the bushes to his left. She was really rather pretty, with long, wavy red hair, a voluptuous figure, and creamy skin. What was a woman like her doing so far in these woods? Godric wondered. Perhaps she had gotten lost?
She landed on her hands and knees and cursed rather vehemently, ruining the illusion of a delicate maiden. Godric cringed inwardly. He really needed to stop underestimating beautiful women.
Sal had stayed perfectly alert the entire time, obviously, because he was Salazar Slytherin and probably the only wizard who could beat Godric in a fair duel. Not that Sal ever played fair, of course, but by this point Godric's mind was rambling.
"Who're you?" Sal asked suspiciously, wand twitching in his hand. The woman picked herself off the ground and flipped her hair back from her face. "A nobody," she said smoothly, but her hand, which had been going for her own wand, froze. Pretty, and smart, Godric noted.
Sal gave a tight-lipped smile. "How'd you get through the wards?"
"What wards?" asked a voice full of laughter.
Godric whipped his head upwards, Sal's gaze also slipping for a fraction of a second—
The woman on the ground had her wand pointed at him in an instant, and another woman in the trees (crouching, her black hair cut short and wearing...were those men's trousers?) already had her wand trained on Godric.
"Easy, ladies," Godric said. "We're not looking for any trouble."
The woman crouched on a branch above them tilted her head, midnight hair swaying in the afternoon breeze. Her eyes narrowed in calculation. "Neither are we. Where is Ragnuk's blade, Godric Gryffindor?"
"At home," Godric lied smoothly. It wouldn't do to let them know of his current quarrel with Sal. But why was this woman familiar to him? She knew his name and his sword—which wasn't that uncommon, since he'd won several duels and competitions across England—but there was a memory lurking there.
The woman then shifted slightly to look at Sal. "Where is Ragnuk's blade? I can see the imprint of its magic on your palm."
Godric's mind did a quick double-take as he stared at the woman. The only woman sensitive enough to see magic imprints he had ever heard tales of…a memory of a drunken night in a tavern pushed its way to the front of his mind. A woman, with black hair done up in coiled plaits,and a fine-looking dress, with a wand in her boot and a tinkling laugh…
"Rowena?" he asked, incredulous.
"The one and only," Rowena said, a small smile finally stretching across her austere face.
"I'm here too, you realize?" said the woman who had taken a tumble. Her hand was on her hip and her eyes sparked with malice. "I really hate being ignored."
Sal paled as her wand hand twitched.
"What in Solomon's name are you doing out here?" Godric asked, still flabbergasted. He lowered his wand hand and motioned for Sal to do the same.
"Looking for you," Rowena said, grinning wryly. "Or, to be more specific, your sword." She then glanced at Sal. "I'm Rowena Ravenclaw," she told him. "And I would shake your hand, but it took an awful lot of work to get up here in the first place. Unless you'd like to come up…?"
Sal shook his head. "A pleasure to meet you, Rowena," he said instead, his gaze calculating.
"We were looking for magical plants, too!" chimed in the other woman, gaze narrowing at Sal's wand hand. "You're not going to attack, are you?" she asked suspiciously.
Sal looked at Godric, who shook his head. "No," said Sal, and the woman also dropped her wand hand. "Helga Hufflepuff, at your service," she said, and dropped into a shallow curtsey. Her smile was huge and blinding as her pretty blue eyes crinkled.
"Salazar Slytherin," Sal said, taking her hand. He smiled crookedly, but his eyes were still cold. "My friends call me Sal." he kissed the back of her hand, and Helga's smile widened.
Rowena was watching them interact from the trees, leaning against the trunk and smirking. "Helga, darling," she said, "you're making poor Godric jealous." Godric flushed and Helga began to laugh. She took her hand from Sal and offered it to Godric, who turned it into a handshake. He winked at her, and she blushed.
"Now that introductions are completed, I really would like to ask if we may borrow your sword," Rowena said. "Ragnuk had quite an interesting idea for what it could do in a blood ritual, and he was so kind as to share it with Helga and I."
"Ragnuk never tells anybody his secrets," Godric said, surprised. Helga laughed. "No, he never tells. But he is a goblin, and goblins are rather partial to gold."
"You bought a secret from Ragnuk?" Sal asked, now his turn to be incredulous. "How much gold do you even have—wait, that's the wrong question. How little gold do you have now?"
"Actually, quite a sizeable amount. Mercenaries are paid rather a lot, you see," Helga grinned.
Godric started to laugh. "Of course. Of course you two are mercenaries." His deep, booming laugh filled the trees. "I'd expect nothing less from you, Rowena."
"And what of you?" Rowena asked. "What have you been doing since we parted ways?"
Sal smiled slightly. "If you want to talk, we should probably do it at my cottage. That's where the sword is, after all." Godric turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. "But I looked there!" he cried.
"Did you notice anything in the northwest corner?" Sal asked.
"No."
Sal's grin rivaled Helga's. "Well, I've got a surprise for you, then," he said, rather excitedly. "Come on," he then said to Rowena, and beckoned to Helga. "It's only a ten minute walk away."
"I'll follow through the trees," Rowena replied, and Helga was perfectly content to walk.
"What are you doing?" Godric muttered quietly to Sal. The wiry man was up to something. Sal shrugged. "It was either duel in the middle of a forest, where we'd be at a disadvantage, or figure out if they're trustworthy on our home court. Do you trust Rowena?"
Godric thought for a second. "No," he admitted. "Neither do I," said Sal. "Better to feel them out at my house than when we have two wands trained at us, right?"
"Right," Godric agreed.
Rowena's smile flashed through his mind. She was scary intelligent, that woman. He trusted her less than he could throw her (which, alright, was probably pretty far). And why would she need his sword, especially for a blood ritual? Those were dangerous, as they could go terribly wrong.
And Helga was a mystery. Frightening one minute and oddly cheery the next...where had Rowena picked this woman up, anyway? She was powerful, Godric knew. He could sense a strong magical aura around her. Plus she had a translation rune hanging around her neck, much like the ones Godric and Sal kept in their pockets. So she must not have been from around here.
They would have to tread lightly around these two. Mercenaries. Hmph. Always far too mysterious for their own good.
