Chapter Seven
Disc: Nothing belongs to your humble servant) (viz me). It's either JK Rowling, or Marion Zimmer Bradley, both gods in their own rights
It had been three days since they had last seen Morgaine and Harry and Ron stumbled back to their room panting with exhaustion. Harry threw himself down on his bed, and looked at his best friend with weary eyes, his hair matted with sweat. "I hate Draco Malfoy!" he groaned. "Why does the son-of-a-bitch have to be so damn good at sword fighting? Why does he have to beat the living daylights out of me every single time we fight?"
Ron broke into a tired grin. "Well he's been learning for six years, and you've been learning for three days. That may have something to do with it."
Harry grunted. "Was that supposed to make me feel better? My ass is still getting kicked, you know."
"Oh yes, I know. Difficult to miss it, my dear chap. But if it makes you feel any happier, you are amazing when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. I had no idea you were that good. I mean, you totally decimated that poor guy who was training you."
Harry glanced up with a smile. "Yeah, I was rather good, wasn't I? But let me tell you something Ron, my boy. The only reason I defeated him was because I played dirtier than he did. I had some tricks up my sleeve that he didn't expect. Next time he'll be prepared, so I'll have to improvise. I have to dream up new ideas which he won't be able to foresee."
Ron stared at him with awestruck eyes. "When on earth did you start thinking like that?"
A sneering voice spoke from the door, "Yes, Potter, I'd almost say that you were looking at things like a Slytherin."
"Malfoy, I'm totally beat. Are you here to preen about your damn victory, 'cause if you are, then I admit it, ok! I admit you're infinitely superior when it comes to anything to do with clashing blades. Happy? Now, for the sake of peace, go away."
"Flattering as that is, Potter, I'm not here to flaunt my victory in your face. I just came to tell you that I thought your fencing was improving. Some day, you'll be very, very good."
Harry sat up with a jerk. "Did I just hear Draco Malfoy compliment me? Ron, catch me, I swoon."
"Oh very funny Potter. I also came to tell you that the Lady of the Lake wishes to see a demonstration of our newly acquired fighting skills tonight. So try and get all the rest you can. I have a feeling you're going to need it."
With that parting shot, Draco swaggered away. Harry fell back on his bed, and Ron clutched his hair in dismay. "Harry, this is going to be a long, long day." Harry's only response was an exasperated whimper.
Before Harry knew it, it was nightfall and several priestesses came to his room, the one at the head carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. He looked at her closely and saw it was Nimue. He shot her his most charming smile. "Hello, Nimue. Are those for me?"
She returned his smile. "Yes, they are, Mr. Potter. They are ceremonial garments. The lady wishes you to wear them to the feast tonight."
"Harry, it's Harry and what feast?"
"The feast preceding your exhibition of fighting. It has been very long since something like this has happened in Avalon. We are all very intrigued. I have never seen a duel. Please hurry. The feast is due to begin in half an hour." She put the clothes on his bed, and left, followed by the others. Harry picked up the clothes. They were elaborate, the white breeches, the red and gold tunic belted at the waist with a phoenix clasp. The boots were red and gold as well, ankle high, made of fragrant leather. Over this went a robe of ivory silk, sheathing his shoulders, falling in folds around his feet, smooth and ceremonial. He quickly donned the given clothes, and inhaled sharply on finding what lay below the pile of clothes. It was the most magnificent scabbard he had ever seen, wrought in threads of crimson, gold and silver, the hilt encrusted in jewels, carved with mystic signs he couldn't interpret, but could feel their power. He drew the sword out, and held it up as it shone in the dim light, he caressed the leaf shaped blade and he felt power course through him. He put the sword down and then was human again. There was a note with it, anonymous, in a slanting script. The note simply said, "Use it wisely." Harry lashed the sword to his waist, draped the robe around him, ran a comb through his unruly hair and was ready to go.
He stepped out into the corridor, drew a deep breath, and entered the Great Hall. He found it already crowded. On the High Table, he could see his friends, looking as nervous as he felt. Nobody had noticed him yet. He stood at the entrance feeling a trifle foolish. Then suddenly he felt rather than saw Morgaine's glance fall on him, he felt rather than heard her sudden gasp. He knew that was his cue. He strode in and straight to her. He knelt in front of her, lifted a glass of wine and whispered, "To you, my lady." And drank. Then he went and joined his companions at the seat they had so thoughtfully saved for him. He could feel Morgaine's eyes follow him across the room.
Now for the first time he had the chance to observe his friends. Ron was dressed in armor, heavy and shining. It suited him, his face framed by the helm, looked incisive and masculine, making him look older, stronger. Hermione was, surprisingly enough, dressed in a gown. The gown was blue, made of delicate muslin. It fell off her shoulders leaving them bare, sheathed the round swell of her breasts subtly, clung to her hips and then flowed in smooth layers to her ankles. She saw Harry staring at her, and shook her head, signifying that she wouldn't be participating in the night's fight. He nodded back. Next his eyes shifted to Ginny and his brows shot up. She was also dressed in armor, every curve of her slender figure emphasized by the sheen of the light metal. It wasn't iron like Ron's, it was something much more malleable and buoyant. It shimmered and gleamed, making her look like a warrior princess. She wore no helmet and her gloriously rich red hair tumbled around her face that was pale and taut with excitement. She had never looked so lovely to Harry before. Finally Harry looked at Draco, and kept looking for a long minute. Draco was dressed exactly like him, but either knowingly or by some uncanny coincidence, his tunic and boots were silver and green. His breeches and robe were black. The dark color offset his silvery hair and pale eyes. He looked insubstantial, ethereal, other worldly. Then Harry kicked himself mentally. Why was he looking like that at Draco Malfoy, of all the people? He returned his attention to the excellent fare that had been set before him and joined desultorily in Ron and Hermione's argument.
Suddenly a voice called out for music. Several others took up the chant and finally Morgaine laughingly held up her hand. "We have the Merlin of Britain with us. Of course we shall have music. Albus, would you?"
Dumbledore nodded. "It has been a long time since I have played for such an appreciative and critical audience. But I will play none the less." He took the harp that some priestess offered him, and ran his fingers lovingly over its curves almost as if it were a long lost familiar lover. Then he began to play. It was the most exquisite sound Harry had ever heard, bringing to live the poignancy and pain of the times. The harp wept as he stroked it. Then the sound shifted bringing to the listeners a feeling of immense peace, of loves lost, found and forgotten, of years of beautiful memories. When finally it keened to a shuddering halt, the entire hall gave silent homage. Dumbledore laid the harp down with tears shining in his eyes.
"I never knew Dumbledore played so well." Said Ron with wonder in his voice.
"Really Ron, he is the Merlin of Britain. What did you expect?"
Harry cut in. "You know Herm, I wondered about that. I mean I always thought Merlin was the original wizard. Then how can Dumbledore be the Merlin?"
Hermione spoke with forced patience, "Harry, Merlin is the title given to the Head Druid and Bard of Britain, the highest honor that can be conferred on a wizard. Taliesin was the most important Merlin in English history and that is why it is a common mistake to think of him by that name. But as anyone who has read anything about that period would know, it is a title passed on from generation to generation."
Harry mischievously saluted and said, "Yes Ma'am." And even Hermione had to dissolve into laughter. Just then Morgaine rang a bell, and the hall became completely still. In her low but carrying voice, she said, "Now we shall adjourn to the arena." She rose, and went out, the rest of the Hall filing up to follow her.
Ron gulped and looked at Harry, "Well mate, here goes nothing." Harry just stared into nothingness as a couple of priests led them to the arena. They stood in the wings, nervously fidgeting. Suddenly a voice rang out. "We will start with the Mace Fight. Would Ron Weasely come forward?" Ron looked pale for a second. Then he gathered himself together, jutted his chin out in a familiar gesture and strode out. From the other side of the stadium came his opponent, and at the sight the viewers gasped in horror. The challenger was at least 7 feet tall with gigantic proportions. His long matted hair had been braided, his face was covered with ferocious face paint, he wore a horned cap on his head.
Beside Harry, Hermione gasped, "A Barbarian! I've heard of those. They are the toughest gladiators in the world." She buried her head in her hands. Ginny was watching intently, not missing a single move. Harry himself prayed silently, urgently, hoping his best friend would emerge from his first encounter unharmed. Just then he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. He twisted around to look into Draco's shadowed eyes.
"Don't worry about Weasely, Potter. Nothing's going to happen to him. Don't you know that you stupid Gryffs have several guardian angels working over time to see that you don't kill yourselves in some foolhardy enterprise?" Harry looked at the other boy with astonishment, but whispered, "Thanks for the thought, Draco."
The two combatants circled each other warily, waiting for the other to take initiative. Finally tired of waiting, the Barbarian lunged forward. Thanking his brothers for years of Quidditch training, Ron dodged. The Barbarian lost his footing and stumbled forward. Taking advantage of the situation, Ron swung his mace at his opponent and smashed him in the back of his head. Dazed at first, the Barbarian recovered swiftly and with a cry of wrath rushed forward to attack Ron. This time Ron wasn't so lucky. The mace struck him hard on the shoulder, and he went flying. A cry of commiseration went up, but was stalled by Morgaine's imperious gesture.
Ron clambered to his feet, nursing his aching shoulder in one hand. Now the Weasely temper was up. As the Barbarian bore down on him, Ron veered away, much like a matador does with a charging bull. Again the Barbarian was unable to stop himself and this time Ron didn't contain himself after one blow. He showered blow after blow on the hapless Barbarian, until his adversary slowly collapsed on the ground, unconscious. A slow cheer gathered momentum as the audience saluted the David who had defeated his Goliath. A tired, but blissful Ron made his way back to the wings where Hermione threw herself in his arms in joy. That only made him look happier. Only Harry heard Draco murmur, "One down, three to go."
Next Morgaine's voice announced, "Now I call upon Ginny Weasely to participate in the Fight of the Staff." Ginny stepped forward, much more composed than Ron had been. She picked up the heavy knotted wooden staff that lay before and hefted it swiftly, testing its weight and durability. Apparently satisfied she stepped into the enclosure, and calmly looked at her opponent. The opponent looked back at her equally calmly. The man was dressed in black armor, contrasting directly with her shining form. He overtopped her by several inches. No Barbarian, this one, but no easy match either. Ginny however looked unruffled. As the handkerchief dropped, she almost instinctively leapt out of the way, as the antagonist swept at her with his staff. Then she leapt into action. Watching her, Harry realized why Fred and George had recommended her as the Beater for their side. She was surprisingly strong. She wielded the bulky rod like it was a wand. She made some intricate passes with it, confusing the foe, and then like lightning she struck him in the solar plexus. Now she was gathering impetus. She used it as a pole, moving too fast for him to hit her, striking him when he was least prepared. Ron stared at his younger sister, as she seemingly effortlessly swung the staff at the mans helm shattering it, and before he could react, she struck his weapon out of his hand. The staff went flying and he fell to the ground in front of her, whimpering and, in a voice which suddenly uncannily reminded Harry of Morgaine, she said, "Do you surrender?" As he nodded weakly, she stepped back, gracefully bowed to the crowd and walked back to the wing. As she joined the others, Ron said what he had said to Hermione many years ago, "Ginny, you're scary. Brilliant, but scary." Harry couldn't help chuckling.
"Now it is time for our final event," said Morgaine, "For the event we have all been waiting for - The Duel of Swords. I call upon Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to fight against each other."
"Come on, Potter." Said Draco softly, "It's time."
I got four reviews, the highest number so far. Woo hoo. Please don't stop now, please.
Thanks go to:
Midnightdragon: Thanks for the second review. I'm glad you like it, and I don't understand it either.
Lostgrl:I am with you there, what could be better? They are all so brilliant
Jozefo: Thank you, that really means something. Do keep reading and reviewing.
Mike: Wait and watch, that's all I can say. The next chapter has some romance, so you'll know.
Disc: Nothing belongs to your humble servant) (viz me). It's either JK Rowling, or Marion Zimmer Bradley, both gods in their own rights
It had been three days since they had last seen Morgaine and Harry and Ron stumbled back to their room panting with exhaustion. Harry threw himself down on his bed, and looked at his best friend with weary eyes, his hair matted with sweat. "I hate Draco Malfoy!" he groaned. "Why does the son-of-a-bitch have to be so damn good at sword fighting? Why does he have to beat the living daylights out of me every single time we fight?"
Ron broke into a tired grin. "Well he's been learning for six years, and you've been learning for three days. That may have something to do with it."
Harry grunted. "Was that supposed to make me feel better? My ass is still getting kicked, you know."
"Oh yes, I know. Difficult to miss it, my dear chap. But if it makes you feel any happier, you are amazing when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. I had no idea you were that good. I mean, you totally decimated that poor guy who was training you."
Harry glanced up with a smile. "Yeah, I was rather good, wasn't I? But let me tell you something Ron, my boy. The only reason I defeated him was because I played dirtier than he did. I had some tricks up my sleeve that he didn't expect. Next time he'll be prepared, so I'll have to improvise. I have to dream up new ideas which he won't be able to foresee."
Ron stared at him with awestruck eyes. "When on earth did you start thinking like that?"
A sneering voice spoke from the door, "Yes, Potter, I'd almost say that you were looking at things like a Slytherin."
"Malfoy, I'm totally beat. Are you here to preen about your damn victory, 'cause if you are, then I admit it, ok! I admit you're infinitely superior when it comes to anything to do with clashing blades. Happy? Now, for the sake of peace, go away."
"Flattering as that is, Potter, I'm not here to flaunt my victory in your face. I just came to tell you that I thought your fencing was improving. Some day, you'll be very, very good."
Harry sat up with a jerk. "Did I just hear Draco Malfoy compliment me? Ron, catch me, I swoon."
"Oh very funny Potter. I also came to tell you that the Lady of the Lake wishes to see a demonstration of our newly acquired fighting skills tonight. So try and get all the rest you can. I have a feeling you're going to need it."
With that parting shot, Draco swaggered away. Harry fell back on his bed, and Ron clutched his hair in dismay. "Harry, this is going to be a long, long day." Harry's only response was an exasperated whimper.
Before Harry knew it, it was nightfall and several priestesses came to his room, the one at the head carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. He looked at her closely and saw it was Nimue. He shot her his most charming smile. "Hello, Nimue. Are those for me?"
She returned his smile. "Yes, they are, Mr. Potter. They are ceremonial garments. The lady wishes you to wear them to the feast tonight."
"Harry, it's Harry and what feast?"
"The feast preceding your exhibition of fighting. It has been very long since something like this has happened in Avalon. We are all very intrigued. I have never seen a duel. Please hurry. The feast is due to begin in half an hour." She put the clothes on his bed, and left, followed by the others. Harry picked up the clothes. They were elaborate, the white breeches, the red and gold tunic belted at the waist with a phoenix clasp. The boots were red and gold as well, ankle high, made of fragrant leather. Over this went a robe of ivory silk, sheathing his shoulders, falling in folds around his feet, smooth and ceremonial. He quickly donned the given clothes, and inhaled sharply on finding what lay below the pile of clothes. It was the most magnificent scabbard he had ever seen, wrought in threads of crimson, gold and silver, the hilt encrusted in jewels, carved with mystic signs he couldn't interpret, but could feel their power. He drew the sword out, and held it up as it shone in the dim light, he caressed the leaf shaped blade and he felt power course through him. He put the sword down and then was human again. There was a note with it, anonymous, in a slanting script. The note simply said, "Use it wisely." Harry lashed the sword to his waist, draped the robe around him, ran a comb through his unruly hair and was ready to go.
He stepped out into the corridor, drew a deep breath, and entered the Great Hall. He found it already crowded. On the High Table, he could see his friends, looking as nervous as he felt. Nobody had noticed him yet. He stood at the entrance feeling a trifle foolish. Then suddenly he felt rather than saw Morgaine's glance fall on him, he felt rather than heard her sudden gasp. He knew that was his cue. He strode in and straight to her. He knelt in front of her, lifted a glass of wine and whispered, "To you, my lady." And drank. Then he went and joined his companions at the seat they had so thoughtfully saved for him. He could feel Morgaine's eyes follow him across the room.
Now for the first time he had the chance to observe his friends. Ron was dressed in armor, heavy and shining. It suited him, his face framed by the helm, looked incisive and masculine, making him look older, stronger. Hermione was, surprisingly enough, dressed in a gown. The gown was blue, made of delicate muslin. It fell off her shoulders leaving them bare, sheathed the round swell of her breasts subtly, clung to her hips and then flowed in smooth layers to her ankles. She saw Harry staring at her, and shook her head, signifying that she wouldn't be participating in the night's fight. He nodded back. Next his eyes shifted to Ginny and his brows shot up. She was also dressed in armor, every curve of her slender figure emphasized by the sheen of the light metal. It wasn't iron like Ron's, it was something much more malleable and buoyant. It shimmered and gleamed, making her look like a warrior princess. She wore no helmet and her gloriously rich red hair tumbled around her face that was pale and taut with excitement. She had never looked so lovely to Harry before. Finally Harry looked at Draco, and kept looking for a long minute. Draco was dressed exactly like him, but either knowingly or by some uncanny coincidence, his tunic and boots were silver and green. His breeches and robe were black. The dark color offset his silvery hair and pale eyes. He looked insubstantial, ethereal, other worldly. Then Harry kicked himself mentally. Why was he looking like that at Draco Malfoy, of all the people? He returned his attention to the excellent fare that had been set before him and joined desultorily in Ron and Hermione's argument.
Suddenly a voice called out for music. Several others took up the chant and finally Morgaine laughingly held up her hand. "We have the Merlin of Britain with us. Of course we shall have music. Albus, would you?"
Dumbledore nodded. "It has been a long time since I have played for such an appreciative and critical audience. But I will play none the less." He took the harp that some priestess offered him, and ran his fingers lovingly over its curves almost as if it were a long lost familiar lover. Then he began to play. It was the most exquisite sound Harry had ever heard, bringing to live the poignancy and pain of the times. The harp wept as he stroked it. Then the sound shifted bringing to the listeners a feeling of immense peace, of loves lost, found and forgotten, of years of beautiful memories. When finally it keened to a shuddering halt, the entire hall gave silent homage. Dumbledore laid the harp down with tears shining in his eyes.
"I never knew Dumbledore played so well." Said Ron with wonder in his voice.
"Really Ron, he is the Merlin of Britain. What did you expect?"
Harry cut in. "You know Herm, I wondered about that. I mean I always thought Merlin was the original wizard. Then how can Dumbledore be the Merlin?"
Hermione spoke with forced patience, "Harry, Merlin is the title given to the Head Druid and Bard of Britain, the highest honor that can be conferred on a wizard. Taliesin was the most important Merlin in English history and that is why it is a common mistake to think of him by that name. But as anyone who has read anything about that period would know, it is a title passed on from generation to generation."
Harry mischievously saluted and said, "Yes Ma'am." And even Hermione had to dissolve into laughter. Just then Morgaine rang a bell, and the hall became completely still. In her low but carrying voice, she said, "Now we shall adjourn to the arena." She rose, and went out, the rest of the Hall filing up to follow her.
Ron gulped and looked at Harry, "Well mate, here goes nothing." Harry just stared into nothingness as a couple of priests led them to the arena. They stood in the wings, nervously fidgeting. Suddenly a voice rang out. "We will start with the Mace Fight. Would Ron Weasely come forward?" Ron looked pale for a second. Then he gathered himself together, jutted his chin out in a familiar gesture and strode out. From the other side of the stadium came his opponent, and at the sight the viewers gasped in horror. The challenger was at least 7 feet tall with gigantic proportions. His long matted hair had been braided, his face was covered with ferocious face paint, he wore a horned cap on his head.
Beside Harry, Hermione gasped, "A Barbarian! I've heard of those. They are the toughest gladiators in the world." She buried her head in her hands. Ginny was watching intently, not missing a single move. Harry himself prayed silently, urgently, hoping his best friend would emerge from his first encounter unharmed. Just then he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. He twisted around to look into Draco's shadowed eyes.
"Don't worry about Weasely, Potter. Nothing's going to happen to him. Don't you know that you stupid Gryffs have several guardian angels working over time to see that you don't kill yourselves in some foolhardy enterprise?" Harry looked at the other boy with astonishment, but whispered, "Thanks for the thought, Draco."
The two combatants circled each other warily, waiting for the other to take initiative. Finally tired of waiting, the Barbarian lunged forward. Thanking his brothers for years of Quidditch training, Ron dodged. The Barbarian lost his footing and stumbled forward. Taking advantage of the situation, Ron swung his mace at his opponent and smashed him in the back of his head. Dazed at first, the Barbarian recovered swiftly and with a cry of wrath rushed forward to attack Ron. This time Ron wasn't so lucky. The mace struck him hard on the shoulder, and he went flying. A cry of commiseration went up, but was stalled by Morgaine's imperious gesture.
Ron clambered to his feet, nursing his aching shoulder in one hand. Now the Weasely temper was up. As the Barbarian bore down on him, Ron veered away, much like a matador does with a charging bull. Again the Barbarian was unable to stop himself and this time Ron didn't contain himself after one blow. He showered blow after blow on the hapless Barbarian, until his adversary slowly collapsed on the ground, unconscious. A slow cheer gathered momentum as the audience saluted the David who had defeated his Goliath. A tired, but blissful Ron made his way back to the wings where Hermione threw herself in his arms in joy. That only made him look happier. Only Harry heard Draco murmur, "One down, three to go."
Next Morgaine's voice announced, "Now I call upon Ginny Weasely to participate in the Fight of the Staff." Ginny stepped forward, much more composed than Ron had been. She picked up the heavy knotted wooden staff that lay before and hefted it swiftly, testing its weight and durability. Apparently satisfied she stepped into the enclosure, and calmly looked at her opponent. The opponent looked back at her equally calmly. The man was dressed in black armor, contrasting directly with her shining form. He overtopped her by several inches. No Barbarian, this one, but no easy match either. Ginny however looked unruffled. As the handkerchief dropped, she almost instinctively leapt out of the way, as the antagonist swept at her with his staff. Then she leapt into action. Watching her, Harry realized why Fred and George had recommended her as the Beater for their side. She was surprisingly strong. She wielded the bulky rod like it was a wand. She made some intricate passes with it, confusing the foe, and then like lightning she struck him in the solar plexus. Now she was gathering impetus. She used it as a pole, moving too fast for him to hit her, striking him when he was least prepared. Ron stared at his younger sister, as she seemingly effortlessly swung the staff at the mans helm shattering it, and before he could react, she struck his weapon out of his hand. The staff went flying and he fell to the ground in front of her, whimpering and, in a voice which suddenly uncannily reminded Harry of Morgaine, she said, "Do you surrender?" As he nodded weakly, she stepped back, gracefully bowed to the crowd and walked back to the wing. As she joined the others, Ron said what he had said to Hermione many years ago, "Ginny, you're scary. Brilliant, but scary." Harry couldn't help chuckling.
"Now it is time for our final event," said Morgaine, "For the event we have all been waiting for - The Duel of Swords. I call upon Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to fight against each other."
"Come on, Potter." Said Draco softly, "It's time."
I got four reviews, the highest number so far. Woo hoo. Please don't stop now, please.
Thanks go to:
Midnightdragon: Thanks for the second review. I'm glad you like it, and I don't understand it either.
Lostgrl:I am with you there, what could be better? They are all so brilliant
Jozefo: Thank you, that really means something. Do keep reading and reviewing.
Mike: Wait and watch, that's all I can say. The next chapter has some romance, so you'll know.