Chapter Six
Disc: Nothing is mine. This is fanfiction. Wake up and smell the flowers.
When Harry woke early next morning, at first he didn't realize where he was. He lay in bed for a minute listening to the bells chiming somewhere far away. Then he sat up and studied his surroundings carefully. He hadn't really seen it properly the last night, and he duly appreciated the stone walls, hung with fine tapestries, the large windows, through which weak sunlight filtered in, the Spartan furnishing of the room, the single bed, the cupboard and the desk. Last he noted a fine harp, which stood for some reason at the corner of the room. "So I really am in Avalon," he wondered aloud. Then a rumbling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten for virtually twenty-four hours, and he decided to change and go dig out something to eat. He opened the bag that Dumbledore had given him and gaped at the clothes that lay there. "Why does he want me to dress in Muggle clothes rather than robes?" The answer came to him almost immediately. "It gives you the freedom of movement. It will probably make our training easier." Harry selected a dark green shirt, and teamed it with black trousers. Since there was no mirror in the room, he didn't stop to appraise himself, but immediately left to hunt for food.
Walking down the winding corridors, he looked desperately around for any sign of a kitchen. He was about to give up and return to his room, when he heard a voice. He turned around a saw a girl dressed in the priestesses robe standing at the end of the passage. She was tall, slender, her red hair banded away from her face, her eyes a dark, steadfast gray. "Were you looking for something?" she asked.
He smiled at her, "Well, to be quite honest, I was hungry and was longing for something to eat. Do you think you could help?"
She returned the smile. "Certainly I could. You must be thinking us most inhospitable for not offering you anything. But I must say you're awake uncommonly early. Follow me."
Harry obeyed, saying as he matched her pace, "I hope I didn't wake you or disturb you."
She shook her head with a laugh. "Oh no. I meant you were awake early for a visitor. We wake at the crack of dawn. That is the time for our first prayer."
Harry looked at her wistfully, "I would love to see your prayers sometimes. Do you think I could?"
She looked shocked. "Oh no, only the priestesses have entry to the Ritual of the Light. Except of course on the eve of Midsummer. Then one man is chosen. He is known as the King Stag. However this tradition has not been upheld for several years now."
Harry nodded, understanding and respecting their beliefs. She led him in silence into a massive kitchen. "Wait a minute." She said. "I'll just light the fire and then you can have something to eat."
He bowed and grinned at her, "Let me do the honors." He pointed his wand at the fireplace, and muttered, "Fierus." Flames sprang up, licking the dark wood, and she glanced admiringly at him. He returned her look with a twinkle and she laughed. "Now that the fire is lit, may I please have something to eat?" he whined.
She nodded. "Of course." She bustled over to the table and swiftly prepared a meal. In a few minutes she handed him a hunk of bread doused in butter and honey, along with a mug of rich creamy milk. Thankfully he gulped them down, muttering a 'Fank you." through a mouthful of food. She smiled down at him almost maternally. Just then another, louder bell rang, and she gasped.
"Oh I really do have to go. It was nice meeting you. I will see you again, won't I?"
Harry nodded, "Oh yes, I have a feeling you'll be seeing a lot of me. Oh, by the way, what's your name?"
She was at the door by then. Over her shoulder she shouted, "My name is Nimue." And with that she disappeared.
Harry now made his way back to his room, where he found Ron perched on his bed, waiting for him. Ron was also dressed in muggle clothes, a white shirt and dark brown trousers. As Harry entered, his friend looked up impatiently at him. "Where were you? I've been waiting for you for years. The Lady of the Lake has summoned us. Our training is about to begin. Hurry up, we don't have much time." Harry nodded and the two of them left.
When they reached the large enclosure, almost a stadium, where they were to be trained, they found the others waiting for them. Draco leaned casually on a stone, his eyes mirroring his disdain for the silver gray shirt and black pants he found himself forced to wear. Hermione and Ginny stood huddled in a corner; both dressed in white shorts and blue shirts, talking in low tones. There seemed to be tension in the air. Harry and Ron walked over to the girls. But before they could say anything, Morgaine's voice reverberated in the rarefied morning air, "Welcome."
They turned to her and as if by necessity were drawn to her. They stood around her, and she looked at them one by one. "Your training," she said, "Is not going to be easy for any of you. You will learn to control your powers, to harness them, and to direct them, as you will. You will learn to fight, to defend yourself without your magic. You will eat, drink, sleep, breath as we of Avalon instruct you to. We can only train you. The war is yours to fight. Now we will start with self-defense. I want you boys to strip to the waist, so that I can gauge what defense is best for you. Once you are finished with self-defense, we will move on to magical warfare and dueling. After that we will study more specific things, such as Harry's Magid training etc. Does everyone understand? Excellent! Now let us determine your weapons."
Slightly embarrassed, the three boys took their shirts off. Morgaine studied them scientifically. Ron was easiest to decide about, as he stood there his skin flushed. He was tall, at least 6'3, and built like a young bull. The firm muscles rippled over his frame. The bright red hair had grown out almost to his shoulder and was pulled into a ponytail emphasizing the look of the warrior. The cornflower blue eyes looked up at her trustingly and she couldn't resist smiling down at him. He was so transparent. So loyal, so passionate, so hot tempered. He reminded her irresistibly of Gawaine, her cousin, Morgause's son. There was only one weapon for this brand of fighter. "You, Ron, will learn to fight with the mace." Ron bowed his head and moved back.
Next, her eyes shifted to Draco. Draco was beautiful, as beautiful as Lancelot had been. His body was slim, almost delicately so, but it was deceptive. He was light on his feet and wiry. Morgaine lips curved once more, but this time it was in reminiscence. The silver gilt hair lay flat on his superbly shaped skull, his pale gray eyes blazed in an otherwise expressionless face. The features were aristocratic, refined, perhaps a trifle feminine. Thus had been Lancelot. But no one who had seen Lancelot fight could ever call him feminine again. He was a ferocious fighter using his speed and grace to good advantage. "Draco, would I be wrong in assuming that you have learned sword-craft earlier?" She saw the respect dawn in his eyes as he nodded. "Then it is swordplay that you will continue to learn." Draco acquiesced and moved back.
Then she came to the last of the three, and was hard put to choke back the gasp of pain that came to her lips. Standing below her was the infant brother she had cradled in her arms, the boy lover who had caressed her after the feast of Midsummer and the dying king from whose cold hands she had taken the sword Excalibur. It was no surprise, she mused to herself, that Arthur had been considered the best looking man in Greater Britain, more beautiful than even Lancelot. Her eyes dwelled on his body. It was the body of an athlete, an acrobat, supple, muscular, and lithe. The skin was tanned an even golden, the emerald green eyes met her own with cool amusement. The features were perfectly handsome with neither Draco's femininity nor Ron's overt masculinity, the dark hair tossed in the wind, the lips laughing as Arthur's had even in death. So difficult to know, so easy to adore. She remembered that Mordred himself had once said that 'Even I who have no cause to love him feel the spell he creates around him.' Her memory strayed to the night of the feast when she had spent that passionate night with him, the night that both remembered and never mentioned. No she couldn't go there, not now with this boy staring expectantly at her. She pulled herself up as she found the children staring at her expectantly. "Harry you will learn hand-to-hand combat, as well as swordplay along with Draco." Harry obediently submitted.
Finally she turned to the two girls who waited there. She was amused to note how different they were. Hermione was short, perhaps only an inch or so taller than herself, but with a perfectly proportioned body. The brown, bushy hair was long, falling to her waist, tied away from her face in a severe knot. The face was not strictly beautiful or even pretty. However it was intelligent and attractive, the face of a thinker. A pair of dark brown eyes, sharp and curious, gave character to the face. "Hermione, you will learn to wield the bow and arrow." Hermione nodded crisply. "Also you will learn healing. You have a sharp mind and in times of war, the art of healing is an important one to know."
Ginny waited patiently for her turn, and Morgaine's eyes clouded as they fell on her. The girl was so much like Guinevere in some ways, and in others was totally disparate. She had the same tall, perfect, slender body that drew men's eyes wherever she went. She had the same dainty features. But her coloring was different. Where Guinevere had been white and gold and porcelain, Ginny was fiery red, and blazing amber. Also Morgaine felt something steadfast about Ginny, possibly emanating from her undoubted power, courage, a disregard for danger, something Guinevere had lacked. But she saw another similarity to Guinevere, which was far more frightening than the physical resemblance. It was a dedicated, single-minded devotion to what she desired. She remembered Igraine saying with only a half-mocking laugh - what Gwenwhyfar wants, Gwenwhyfar gets. It was this she sensed in Ginny. "Ginny, you will learn to wield the staff. It's not difficult. You will also learn the rudiments of hand-to-hand combat. However you will be learning little of such craft. Your time will be better utilized with us studying the facets of your gift." Ginny also swiftly assented.
Morgaine drew a deep breath. "Very well then, now that you are all aware of the different facets of your capabilities, let your training begin."
Please my I have more reviews(sniff sniff). Two a chapter is just not good enough
Thanks go to:
Bill Weasely: Glad you liked it. I do have a few surprises up my sleeve. But you'll have to wait and see.
Liz: I know. They are great together. Thanks for reviewing.
Disc: Nothing is mine. This is fanfiction. Wake up and smell the flowers.
When Harry woke early next morning, at first he didn't realize where he was. He lay in bed for a minute listening to the bells chiming somewhere far away. Then he sat up and studied his surroundings carefully. He hadn't really seen it properly the last night, and he duly appreciated the stone walls, hung with fine tapestries, the large windows, through which weak sunlight filtered in, the Spartan furnishing of the room, the single bed, the cupboard and the desk. Last he noted a fine harp, which stood for some reason at the corner of the room. "So I really am in Avalon," he wondered aloud. Then a rumbling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten for virtually twenty-four hours, and he decided to change and go dig out something to eat. He opened the bag that Dumbledore had given him and gaped at the clothes that lay there. "Why does he want me to dress in Muggle clothes rather than robes?" The answer came to him almost immediately. "It gives you the freedom of movement. It will probably make our training easier." Harry selected a dark green shirt, and teamed it with black trousers. Since there was no mirror in the room, he didn't stop to appraise himself, but immediately left to hunt for food.
Walking down the winding corridors, he looked desperately around for any sign of a kitchen. He was about to give up and return to his room, when he heard a voice. He turned around a saw a girl dressed in the priestesses robe standing at the end of the passage. She was tall, slender, her red hair banded away from her face, her eyes a dark, steadfast gray. "Were you looking for something?" she asked.
He smiled at her, "Well, to be quite honest, I was hungry and was longing for something to eat. Do you think you could help?"
She returned the smile. "Certainly I could. You must be thinking us most inhospitable for not offering you anything. But I must say you're awake uncommonly early. Follow me."
Harry obeyed, saying as he matched her pace, "I hope I didn't wake you or disturb you."
She shook her head with a laugh. "Oh no. I meant you were awake early for a visitor. We wake at the crack of dawn. That is the time for our first prayer."
Harry looked at her wistfully, "I would love to see your prayers sometimes. Do you think I could?"
She looked shocked. "Oh no, only the priestesses have entry to the Ritual of the Light. Except of course on the eve of Midsummer. Then one man is chosen. He is known as the King Stag. However this tradition has not been upheld for several years now."
Harry nodded, understanding and respecting their beliefs. She led him in silence into a massive kitchen. "Wait a minute." She said. "I'll just light the fire and then you can have something to eat."
He bowed and grinned at her, "Let me do the honors." He pointed his wand at the fireplace, and muttered, "Fierus." Flames sprang up, licking the dark wood, and she glanced admiringly at him. He returned her look with a twinkle and she laughed. "Now that the fire is lit, may I please have something to eat?" he whined.
She nodded. "Of course." She bustled over to the table and swiftly prepared a meal. In a few minutes she handed him a hunk of bread doused in butter and honey, along with a mug of rich creamy milk. Thankfully he gulped them down, muttering a 'Fank you." through a mouthful of food. She smiled down at him almost maternally. Just then another, louder bell rang, and she gasped.
"Oh I really do have to go. It was nice meeting you. I will see you again, won't I?"
Harry nodded, "Oh yes, I have a feeling you'll be seeing a lot of me. Oh, by the way, what's your name?"
She was at the door by then. Over her shoulder she shouted, "My name is Nimue." And with that she disappeared.
Harry now made his way back to his room, where he found Ron perched on his bed, waiting for him. Ron was also dressed in muggle clothes, a white shirt and dark brown trousers. As Harry entered, his friend looked up impatiently at him. "Where were you? I've been waiting for you for years. The Lady of the Lake has summoned us. Our training is about to begin. Hurry up, we don't have much time." Harry nodded and the two of them left.
When they reached the large enclosure, almost a stadium, where they were to be trained, they found the others waiting for them. Draco leaned casually on a stone, his eyes mirroring his disdain for the silver gray shirt and black pants he found himself forced to wear. Hermione and Ginny stood huddled in a corner; both dressed in white shorts and blue shirts, talking in low tones. There seemed to be tension in the air. Harry and Ron walked over to the girls. But before they could say anything, Morgaine's voice reverberated in the rarefied morning air, "Welcome."
They turned to her and as if by necessity were drawn to her. They stood around her, and she looked at them one by one. "Your training," she said, "Is not going to be easy for any of you. You will learn to control your powers, to harness them, and to direct them, as you will. You will learn to fight, to defend yourself without your magic. You will eat, drink, sleep, breath as we of Avalon instruct you to. We can only train you. The war is yours to fight. Now we will start with self-defense. I want you boys to strip to the waist, so that I can gauge what defense is best for you. Once you are finished with self-defense, we will move on to magical warfare and dueling. After that we will study more specific things, such as Harry's Magid training etc. Does everyone understand? Excellent! Now let us determine your weapons."
Slightly embarrassed, the three boys took their shirts off. Morgaine studied them scientifically. Ron was easiest to decide about, as he stood there his skin flushed. He was tall, at least 6'3, and built like a young bull. The firm muscles rippled over his frame. The bright red hair had grown out almost to his shoulder and was pulled into a ponytail emphasizing the look of the warrior. The cornflower blue eyes looked up at her trustingly and she couldn't resist smiling down at him. He was so transparent. So loyal, so passionate, so hot tempered. He reminded her irresistibly of Gawaine, her cousin, Morgause's son. There was only one weapon for this brand of fighter. "You, Ron, will learn to fight with the mace." Ron bowed his head and moved back.
Next, her eyes shifted to Draco. Draco was beautiful, as beautiful as Lancelot had been. His body was slim, almost delicately so, but it was deceptive. He was light on his feet and wiry. Morgaine lips curved once more, but this time it was in reminiscence. The silver gilt hair lay flat on his superbly shaped skull, his pale gray eyes blazed in an otherwise expressionless face. The features were aristocratic, refined, perhaps a trifle feminine. Thus had been Lancelot. But no one who had seen Lancelot fight could ever call him feminine again. He was a ferocious fighter using his speed and grace to good advantage. "Draco, would I be wrong in assuming that you have learned sword-craft earlier?" She saw the respect dawn in his eyes as he nodded. "Then it is swordplay that you will continue to learn." Draco acquiesced and moved back.
Then she came to the last of the three, and was hard put to choke back the gasp of pain that came to her lips. Standing below her was the infant brother she had cradled in her arms, the boy lover who had caressed her after the feast of Midsummer and the dying king from whose cold hands she had taken the sword Excalibur. It was no surprise, she mused to herself, that Arthur had been considered the best looking man in Greater Britain, more beautiful than even Lancelot. Her eyes dwelled on his body. It was the body of an athlete, an acrobat, supple, muscular, and lithe. The skin was tanned an even golden, the emerald green eyes met her own with cool amusement. The features were perfectly handsome with neither Draco's femininity nor Ron's overt masculinity, the dark hair tossed in the wind, the lips laughing as Arthur's had even in death. So difficult to know, so easy to adore. She remembered that Mordred himself had once said that 'Even I who have no cause to love him feel the spell he creates around him.' Her memory strayed to the night of the feast when she had spent that passionate night with him, the night that both remembered and never mentioned. No she couldn't go there, not now with this boy staring expectantly at her. She pulled herself up as she found the children staring at her expectantly. "Harry you will learn hand-to-hand combat, as well as swordplay along with Draco." Harry obediently submitted.
Finally she turned to the two girls who waited there. She was amused to note how different they were. Hermione was short, perhaps only an inch or so taller than herself, but with a perfectly proportioned body. The brown, bushy hair was long, falling to her waist, tied away from her face in a severe knot. The face was not strictly beautiful or even pretty. However it was intelligent and attractive, the face of a thinker. A pair of dark brown eyes, sharp and curious, gave character to the face. "Hermione, you will learn to wield the bow and arrow." Hermione nodded crisply. "Also you will learn healing. You have a sharp mind and in times of war, the art of healing is an important one to know."
Ginny waited patiently for her turn, and Morgaine's eyes clouded as they fell on her. The girl was so much like Guinevere in some ways, and in others was totally disparate. She had the same tall, perfect, slender body that drew men's eyes wherever she went. She had the same dainty features. But her coloring was different. Where Guinevere had been white and gold and porcelain, Ginny was fiery red, and blazing amber. Also Morgaine felt something steadfast about Ginny, possibly emanating from her undoubted power, courage, a disregard for danger, something Guinevere had lacked. But she saw another similarity to Guinevere, which was far more frightening than the physical resemblance. It was a dedicated, single-minded devotion to what she desired. She remembered Igraine saying with only a half-mocking laugh - what Gwenwhyfar wants, Gwenwhyfar gets. It was this she sensed in Ginny. "Ginny, you will learn to wield the staff. It's not difficult. You will also learn the rudiments of hand-to-hand combat. However you will be learning little of such craft. Your time will be better utilized with us studying the facets of your gift." Ginny also swiftly assented.
Morgaine drew a deep breath. "Very well then, now that you are all aware of the different facets of your capabilities, let your training begin."
Please my I have more reviews(sniff sniff). Two a chapter is just not good enough
Thanks go to:
Bill Weasely: Glad you liked it. I do have a few surprises up my sleeve. But you'll have to wait and see.
Liz: I know. They are great together. Thanks for reviewing.