CHAPTER 17:
BLOODSTAINED REUNION
It had gone so badly wrong.
Kirk watched from that ethereal place Darkwraiths lurked in via Red-Eye Orbs before they invaded through weak points in space as his assassins were overcome. And it was partly thanks to the intervention of the Hornet. For a moment, he had quailed, believing himself and his comrades to be outmatched. Their intention had been to abduct Potter, and lure the others to New Londo, whereupon they would be slaughtered. Any who lingered here would be slain later, save for his beloved Quelaan, with Kaathe promising a potion to erase any recent memory of Quelaag or the others, ensure she was only for him, and him alone. But they hadn't expected such a vicious counterattack.
But he thought about it rationally. Ciaran was no longer a member of the Lord's Blades. It had been centuries since her prime, and she had clearly aged. It was possible that, while still superlative, her skills had dulled.
In addition, Kirk was no stranger to using dirty tricks, and while scouting out Quelaag's Domain with the other Darkwraiths, he had seen the blonde girl present. He was under the impression that the blonde was a friend of Potter and the Crossbreed. As a last-ditch effort, he could use her as a hostage.
With that in mind, he emerged into reality behind the blonde, with his arm snaking around her throat. As the others started, Kirk ensured that he kept the blonde between them and himself. "Let's keep this simple," he rasped. "This girl is coming with me. If Potter wishes to see her again, he is to come to New Londo."
Quelaag glared at him. "You insolent fool…I grant you the hospitality of my domain, and for what?"
"I care little about anything but your sister. Anything else can rot. That includes you, Quelaag. I can just claim some stray Undead killed you to her. She'll believe anything I tell her when I am done. And I wouldn't try anything. The moment you try to hurt me, I'll open up her throat with the thorns on my armour. Revenge will serve Potter well for a motivation."
The blonde chuckled. "You really think I am defenceless? You must be more filled with Wrackspurts than I thought." And then, suddenly, Kirk felt like he was squeezed through a tube. With a whipcrack noise deafening his ears…
…He was in mid-air, plummeting down. He recognised the ramshackle walkways of Blighttown in the distance. In his shock, he actually released the blonde, who moved away from him in mid-air with a "Wheee!", before disappearing with another whipcrack noise.
Kirk watched the ground coming up to him like a pie to the face. If he hit the swamp, it wouldn't be that less likely to kill him, not at the height he was falling, and even if he did survive, he might lose consciousness and drown, or else die of the poison infesting its waters while he recovered. However, he was going to hit the ground in front of Quelaag's Domain.
He noticed the blonde down there, her wand out, and a spell hit him, slowing him to a halt a few metres above her. And when he looked at her expression, he knew very well that this was no mercy. Her smile had become vicious, her silvery eyes gleaming with madness.
"I am Luna Lachesis Lovegood," the blonde declared. "And you, Kirk, have now officially become my bitch."
"Crudely put, but well-said, my protégé," came a hateful voice, and a raven landed nearby, changing into the dark-haired bitch goddess Velka, who looked up at Kirk. "Well, well…the Knight of Thorns…bested by a young mage who is not Undead. Tell me, Kirk…doth it sting thee to have been beaten by a mere chit?"
"I have nothing to say of a whore who sucks the cock of Lord Gwyn," Kirk sneered. Unwisely, perhaps, but he knew he was beaten. He knew that he was going to get a painful and humiliating death. He couldn't make anything worse than it was already going to be. "You allowed for the shackling of Humanity, and you claim to be a goddess of sin? Punish the Lords for their sins…and punish yourself."
Velka sneered. "Every day is a penance for me, Kirk. But do not profess to claim the moral high ground. Thou art an unrepentant murderer who revels in killing."
"And also has the hots for the sexy younger drider waifu," Lovegood said, before smiling up at him. "Harry so called it when he called you a Snape in shining armour. Though at least Snape was willing to die for his cause."
"Speak not of Quelaan like that!" Kirk snarled. "She is too pure to be sullied by your crude words!"
Lovegood scoffed. "Whom Quelaan falls for is her choice."
"No! I have helped her all these years! And then…" Kirk suddenly found that he couldn't speak anymore. Or move.
"Bored now," Lovegood said, lowering the now-supine and petrified Kirk to the ground, before taking his sword.
"And what doth thou intend for him, my protégé?" Velka asked. "If thou slay him, he will revive at a Bonfire, until his will breaks, and he turns Hollow."
"Then I will break him," Lovegood said with an unnerving smile. She waved her hand in an intricate pattern on his sword, and after that, waved a hand at him. Suddenly, he was naked, bereft of his armour. "How many people has he murdered, Lady Velka?"
"Hundreds, at least, and he hath revelled in them."
"Then I won't feel bad about this. I basically enchanted his sword with the essence of the Cruciatus Curse. The blade coming into contact with flesh causes unspeakable agony. One of my friends back on Earth had his parents tortured with this curse until they were catatonic." Luna's smile widened. "And this sword is going where only proctologists dare to go."
Kirk didn't know what a proctologist was, but as she advanced on him, his sword being aimed for his arse, he knew what was coming. He wanted to curse and scream. He knew pain would feature heavily in his future, and this bitch's curse would ensure he turned Hollow, mindless and ravenous.
He cursed the gods in his head. He cursed the Four Knights, Potter, the Crossbreed, and Lovegood. And he cursed his fate, to never know the tenderness of the Fair Lady he had devoted himself to ever again, to never know her love, which, after all he went through, he deserved more than anything.
And then, there was agony…
The Darkwraiths were soon routed. Only a few emerged into reality after Kirk was defeated. Any others must have decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and retreated.
Thankfully, Eingyi was the sole casualty of the slaughter, on their side at least, though his loss hurt Quelaan and even Quelaag deeply. Quelaag may not have had the same depth of gratitude to the egg-burdened as Quelaan did, especially as her sister nearly killed herself curing them of the Blight, but she treasured loyalty, and Eingyi's outweighed his sycophantic mannerisms considerably.
Still, there were some tensions when both Ciaran and Velka revealed themselves. Velka and Quelana, however, suggested that they wait for any explanations and recriminations until emotions running high from the Darkwraith invasion cooled. Those present agreed, with Quelaag mollified by the sight of a naked Kirk being sodomised by his own barbed sword, enhanced with a version of one of the Unforgivables.
They eventually gathered in Quelaan's chamber, where Quelaag and Priscilla made to comfort her, as did Ciaran and Velka. Then, finally, Quelaag turned to Velka, and asked, archly, "So, when should I expect the forces of Anor Londo to invade? We have already had the forces of the Darkstalker come for us, why not the Blades of the Darkmoon?"
Velka scoffed. "I am beholden to Lord Gwyn by oath, but it doth not mean I am to obey him or his son in all matters. I came along with Lady Ciaran to ensure my protégé, the successor to Ariamis, is alive and well, along with Harry and Priscilla. I mean thee and thine no harm, Quelaag, as meaningless as thou would consider such a declaration. As for Gwyndolin…"
"He collaborated with the thrice-damned Kingseeker on that prophecy that sends Undead to slay me and my sister!" Quelaag snarled. "And to feed unwary souls to the First Flame!"
"Seath told us about how Gwyn caused the Undead Curse," Harry added, glaring (perhaps unwisely) at the Goddess of Sin. "By shackling the Dark Soul within humans…and that he may have had a hand in my father's demise. And you didn't tell us."
"Because I was bound by oath, shackling my soul and my magic," Velka retorted. "The geas enforced by a Lord is not a trivial one, even when I was tricked into it. I spoke to thee as much as I could on the matter without violating that oath."
"But I am bound by no such oath," Ciaran declared, walking forward. "The only oaths I swore were of honour, and Gwyn forswore them when he tried to have my beloved murdered in Oolacile, all for questioning his liege." Her green eyes turned to Harry. "…I would have lost any hope for the future, until my future made itself known to me…or rather, himself. My son…my Harry."
Harry blinked, confused, as she embraced him. It wasn't the hugging that confused him, but there was something about Ciaran's words that puzzled him. As if they had met before…and the only time they would have met would have been when he was born.
His confusion was shared by the others, save for Sif, oddly enough, and Luna, who said, "You met him in Oolacile, didn't you?"
"Indeed. A babe that was only yet quickening in my womb, I met as a grown man," Ciaran said. "Admittedly, there was some brief confusion when we met. But mothers know their children."
"Sorry, are you saying I somehow go back in time?" Harry asked incredulously. Going back a few hours with a Time-Turner was one thing. Going back centuries was another.
"You, Priscilla, and Sif," Ciaran said. "You still have Manus' pendant, the one I left with that odious thief Patches?" On his nod, she said, "Good. In Darkroot Basin, in a lake where a Hydra lurked…there is a portal through space and time. The portal is the work of the Abyss, where Manus has influence, seeking his long-lost pendant across the centuries, even after his demise. That pendant is your key to going to the past. The Bonfires will lead you back to this time at any time you wish, thanks to the Pendant. The portal will take you to Darkroot Garden, back when it was the Royal Gardens near Oolacile, before the lingering remnants of the Abyss, as well as time and tide, tainted it."
"…Wait, I…we've met again for the first time in centuries, and…"
"We'll talk when we're at Darkroot Basin, my son. Time is of the essence…"
Ciaran clearly was able to use the Bonfire to teleport herself, and soon, the quartet of Ciaran, Harry, Priscilla and Sif were walking along the cliffs towards a lake. They had said their farewells, Ciaran pausing only to take one of the gauntlets of the Darkwraiths, and leaving. And Harry, for now, was silent, his thoughts all awhirl, trying to figure out how to speak to his mother.
"Since Oolacile, and knowing that my son would be lost to me, I struggled to understand how my Homeward Miracle, when misfired, would send you to another world. However, I am no scholar, and I decided to accept it as it was, knowing that you would come back to me," Ciaran said, before shooting Harry a sad, tired smile. "You've grown into a fine young man, Harry. You are no warrior on a par with my beloved, but you match him in strength and conviction, and perhaps surpass him in courage. To my eternal shame, none of us tried to free Lady Priscilla from her exile. We were bound by our oaths to Gwyn. Leal, to a fault."
"…Where hath thou been all this time, Lady Ciaran?" Priscilla asked.
"In hiding, no mean feat, considering the company I keep," Ciaran said. "However, for the past few years, I have mostly resided in Farron, as a guest of the Abyss Watchers. I have tried to ensure that they follow my love's legacy in a manner Artorias would have been proud of. Before that, I resided at Archdragon Peak for a time with your uncle, the one Gwyn denounced and whose name he erased from history's page. I wiled away unbearable centuries, waiting for my child's return to this world."
"But couldn't you have come to me sooner?" Harry asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"You spoke to me in brief of what you did upon arriving in this world. I dared not expose myself at Anor Londo, for I am not yet ready to confront Gwyndolin for following his father's legacy so blindly. Once I learned of your kidnapping by the Paledrake, I then made myself known to Patches, and after some…misunderstandings, I paid him to give you the Pendant. I did not know when I should intervene when Kirk and his fellow monsters attacked Quelaag's Domain, and I am sorry I was not there in time to save Eingyi."
They fell into silence as they approached the lake, only for Harry to see a massive figure at the lake, clad in armour, whittling away at a lump of wood while sitting crosslegged. Priscilla was large, but even standing, she was still dwarfed by the sitting figure. His coarse, brutish features nonetheless had a soulful, intelligent quality to them, his greying hair a tangled mane.
Nearby was a relatively normal-sized man, dressed in armour seemingly carved from grey stone. He too was old looking, but neither he nor the Giant looked remotely frail. Indeed, he looked a bit like Brian Blessed with his burly, hearty frame, a strange stone club over his shoulder.
"…Strike down the Darkstalker's vile minions wherever they pop up!" the man snapped.
"With that, I will agree, Havel," the Giant said, his voice a low rumble, but an eloquent one. "While I doth not subscribe to some of the more brutish ways of my kin, Darkwraiths make a most excellent crunching noise when trampled underfoot." He noticed them approaching, and gave a warm smile. "Ciaran! Thine expedition was a success, then?"
"But not an unqualified one, Gough," Ciaran said to the Giant. "One of Quelaan's most treasured servants perished, saving their lives."
Gough nodded. "A shame, then. But tis good to see the four of thee hale and hearty. Thou hath not met me yet, Harry, but I hath met thee in the past. I am Gough, the Hawkeye, and once one of Gwyn's Four Knights. I was to be thine godfather, but fate is a fickle mistress, and thou were taken from this world. Even though we knew it would happen, it did not stop it from hurting. And this is Havel the Rock, the former warrior-bishop and dragonslayer of Gwyn."
Priscilla cringed away, but Havel scoffed. "You needn't fear my wrath, girl. I despise your sire, and I despise your grandfather. But you apparently showed your mettle in Oolacile. In any case, leaving you to rot in that damned painting of Ariamis' was one of my liege's greatest regrets. And my liege is not Gwyn, may he burn forever for what he did. No, tis your uncle, the one whose name was stripped from him by his father."
"Did the Hydra give you any trouble?" Ciaran asked, indicating the lake, which Harry realised had the corpse of a massive monster floating in it.
Gough chuckled, the sound like distant thunder. "Disappointingly easy. Scholars claimed they art kin to dragons, but while a challenge, that beast was nothing compared to the Everlasting Dragons."
"Speak for yourself," Havel grumbled. "You could at least snap their necks with your hands. I'm wearing stone armour against a lake-bound beast."
As Gough chuckled again, Ciaran turned to Harry, Priscilla and Sif. "Come. We have much to speak of, ere you make your journey to the Oolacile of the past. We have little time, but it should be enough…"
CHAPTER 17 ANNOTATIONS:
So, the Darkwraiths have been repulsed, and Ciaran has brought her son to meet her comrades. We'll get to the mother-son bonding in the next chapter.
Review-answering time! Honest Lunar Raven: …Holy shit, that was wonderfully poetic, and a good summary of the situation. Kudos!
Vampirelord101: A meaningless question. Ciaran had only just fallen pregnant and only knew it when Oolacile came around, and as she had met her future son, who was called Harry, she decided, "Okay, why not?" It also avoids the whole time-loop paradox problem of where the information originally comes from, as it was Lily who named the infant Harry in the first place when he arrived.
No numbered annotations this time.