Disclaimer: Everything here (besides the few things you don't know) belongs to JK Rowling, creator of the worlds of Harry Potter.
A/N: ((sticks head in and immediately ducks in expectation of rotten tomatoes)) I'M SORRY! Really I am. I know this should have been posted two days ago, but I've been so busy! Real life is starting to catch up with me as my last week of freedom runs away through my fingers… ((pouts))
Either way, this is the first real chapter of Fall from Grace, and I truly hope that you will enjoy it. A few more familiar characters will appear here, and I'm sure all of your would recognize them!
Enjoy!
p.s. any inconsistencies with the earlier chapters of Tale that you may notice are calculation mistakes on my part in Tale. At the time I made a little mess with the ages of the parents of the Founders. The ages here are correct.
Chapter 1 - Unacceptably Young
"As I sit down to write the document that will tell the story of the Order of the Knights of the Phoenix from its very start, I find myself wondering as I never have before. Back in the days before the disbanding of the Order, while I was its Lord Commander, I never thought about the meaning behind our duty. It was just that, duty. It was our duty to protect the people of the Wizarding World from enemies within and without. It was our duty to make the Wizarding World a safer place for children to grow in. I never once doubted the truth of it - not even now.
"Then what am I wondering about? I wonder what our world would do now that there is no longer an Order to protect them. While still in command I never thought about it because I never considered the possibility of the Order no longer existing. What now, however? What will our children do now that they are not protected, now that the Muggles can get to everyone without the Order coming to their help, saving, or in less happy occasions, avenging? Who will fulfill that sacred duty now?
"I wonder if I had done the right thing when I had told my men to disband the Order after my collision with Ambrosius and the now half-witted Lord Fenwick. But then I remember what the two had in mind for us, and I know that I had done right. True, many have died, including my dear friend, Gawain Gryffindor, because there was no longer an Order out there, but it is better that the Knights of the Phoenix are free from the Council's burden and can use their own judgment and help our people in a non-official way. Had I agreed to Ambrosius' terms, they would have been subjected to the Council's will, and then no one, not even our families, would have been safe.
"And still I wonder…"
- The Legacy of the Phoenix, A Study of History (Preface); Ryan Ravenclaw
Twenty years before…
Her laughter teased him through the small patch of woodland she loved so much. It twinkled and jingled between the green-leaved trees, weaving in and out around their stocky trunks, echoing on the rocks dotting the woodland's floor, gliding on the nearby stream. She wanted him to give chase, and she would not make it easier on him, that wench. She never did.
He was not about to oblige her. Not this time.
Standing stock-still, he closed his eyes, held his breath, made sure his hands touched nothing but air, their fingers spread as wide apart as possible, and concentrated on his sense of hearing.
A moment later he let out his breath, let his hands drop and opened his eyes, a mischievous smile on his lips. Gawain Gryffindor was a hunter, and he had just located his prey. She would fall into his trap this time, and he would be damned if he would let her get away again.
Moving on silent feet, his boots sifting noiselessly through the rustling, dry, fallen foliage that could spoil his hunt were he to make one false step. Weaving his way between the trees, he searched for her. And there she was. Standing with her back to him, her dark golden hair falling freely down her back, twigs and leaves stuck in those shiny locks at strange angles. By the silent shaking of her shoulders, he could tell she was fighting to contain her laughter.
Still silent as a shadow, he covered the distance between them, his arms snatching at her waist without warning, encircling her, eliciting a shriek of surprise and perhaps of indignation from her.
"Gawain!" she cried, protesting. "You're cheating! You used your strange Knight Powers on me! You were supposed to chase me, you cheat!"
"My lovely Ceri," he said, still keeping his hold on her with one arm and using the other to move her hair away as he distributed kissed down the side of her neck, "you think that after not seeing you for three months I would waste time chasing you? I'm an impatient youth, as you know, having heard my father say it time and again."
She giggled and snaked her arm back to bring his mouth closer to her exposed flesh. "I just wanted to have some fun, Gawain. Couldn't you have obliged me?"
Gently, and with much reluctance, he disengaged himself from her, and then turned her to face him. "I don't have a long time to be here, Ceridwen. I only have a couple of days at home before I must go back and I have promised to spend some of that time with my parents before they let me go and seek for you."
Ceridwen's beautiful, smiling face darkened, her smile turning into a scowl. She crossed her arms and glowered at him. "Gawain Gryffindor, in case you did not notice, we have started courting two years ago! You have not concluded anything with my father as yet, you are still afraid to the death of my brothers, and to top it all, when you finally come home from your wretched camp, you don't have time for me anymore! You're eighteen, Gawain! Live a little before you become a Knight in every fiber of your body!"
"I am afraid it is too late for that, my love," he said softly, his hand touching her pale cheek, then letting a lock of her leaf-strewn hair slid over his knuckles. "I will speak with your father tomorrow, before I leave for camp again."
"Really?" she asked breathlessly, her bad mood disappearing with the brightest smile he had ever seen on her beautiful face. "Promise?"
"Promise," he said with a grin, pulling her back into his arms.
Years later, Ceridwen would ruefully tell her eager, romance-craving ward that she should have known better than thinking that things were ever that easy, but at that moment, both young lovers were in their own little world of bliss, unknowing that soon events would strive to pull them apart.
The happy couple separated on the crossroads outside the woods, exchanging last kisses and embraces. Then, after finally gathering enough courage to let her go, Ceridwen took the left turn to her father's household, and Gawain took the right one to the Gryffindor ancestral home.
He knew something was wrong as soon as the farmers paying tribute to his family bowed to him as he rode past on his horse. Usually they only inclined their heads, stopping their work for a little, some of them waving and calling greetings. This time they all somberly bowed deeply, their eyes following, uncomfortably trained on his back as he proceeded up the trail.
When he arrived home and dismounted, the man in charge of the stables bowed to him without the usual teasing banter that they had always shared since Gawain was a little boy and had no idea how to approach a horse. At that, a dark dread taking hold of his heart, Gawain hurried into the house, noting with a growing sick feeling that the flirty maid curtseyed to him and that the people always filling the house were looking very somber.
"Millard!" he called as he spotted his father's valet. "Where is my father?"
"In his bedchamber, Lord Gryffindor."
And with that one, seemingly natural appellation, Gawain Gryffindor knew that come night, he would be fatherless. Dropping everything, he raced up the stone stairs and to his father's bedchamber, where he had spent many a pleasant evening, playing Chess against the man, or discussing this or that subject.
Swallowing the lump that had steadily climbed up his throat, he knocked on the polished door and then entered without waiting for response.
"Gawain," his mother said softly from the chair by the bed where she was sitting. "You came." Her voice, normally rich and vibrant, shook with unshed tears, her hands clasping the cloth of her skirts so hard that the knuckles were white against the brown velvet.
Not saying a word, he approached the bed. The person lying there could not be his father. He could not believe it to be so. Only that morning he had seen him, loud and boisterous as always, warning Gawain not to do anything rash with Ceridwen, and to come back home in time for dinner.
"After all," his father had said, "while little Ceridwen may have better claim on you, your doting parents would like to see their only son from time to time as well."
That was that morning, before his father had departed the house for his weekly hunting day, shouting in delight for his men to follow before he would have to do all the killing by himself, his lean hounds baying as they ran with the horses. Now however, the man's breathing was heavy and uneven, coughs racked his body, bringing up blood onto his lips and chin, and his once-bright eyes were closed.
Taking his mother's place, Gawain took his father's hand. He could feel the fingers tightening on his own. Looking questioningly at her, he quietly asked "What happened?"
"It was an accident," she whispered, wiping the blood from her husband's lips with her already soaked handkerchief. "There was a hare… it ran across the road in front of his horse, startling the beast. It reared and he fell. Oh, Gawain!" she burst out crying, sinking to the floor beside the bed, her face in her hands, ignoring the blood-soaked kerchief that left red trails on her cheeks. "He fell on his back, hitting a rock and when he tried to get up one of the hunters thought he was a deer and threw his spear at him," she managed, tears choking her voice.
Gawain could barely process the horror of what had occurred. He never thought his father could die, but there he was, fighting a losing battle over his life.
"The healer?" he asked. "Where is the healer?"
"He's away - taking care of someone who had lost his leg to gangrene, my lord," Millard's voice came instead of Lady Gryffindor's. The valet had entered the room and gently helped Gawain's mother to her feet. "We sent for him, but I don't think he will make it on time. I'm sorry."
"It is all right, Millard," Gawain said softly, turning his eyes back to the prone form of his father. "You have done all you could. Please take my mother away. I do not think she will be able to stay here for much longer. I think that some calming draught should help her sleep for a while."
"Yes, my lord," the valet said, slowly leading the broken woman away.
Left alone with his harshly-breathing father, Gawain sighed. "Is this goodbye, father?" he asked quietly, not really expecting the answer that never came. "I thought we were going to spend a while together now that the Sir Rhys said I could do with a short break. I really missed you, you know? I know you were never happy with my wish to become a Knight, and I know that you were trying to nurture me into your heir at the Council, but truly I… I thought we had so much longer with each other. I thought… I thought there would be time to… to do what's right…" his voice faded. He could see that his father's breathing was becoming more and more laboured, that his deathly pale face was losing what little colour it still had.
Closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall, he was startled to feel those blunt, coarse fingers squeezing his with a force reminiscent of that which he had before - just that morning, in fact. Opening his eyes, Gawain looked straight into the familiar pair of pain-clouded blue eyes. Through the blood staining his lips and chin, through the pastiness of coming death, his father managed to smile.
"Marry your girl, Gawain," Lord Gryffindor said softly, his voice neither shaking nor wavering as he spoke. "Give life to an heir, do your duties. Be happy." And with that he gave his son one last squeeze before letting go.
Several minutes later the new Lord Gryffindor closed the door of the death chamber behind him and leaned his back on it, not allowing tears escape his tight control. It was not time to break down nor was it time to grieve.
There was work to be done.
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A week after his father's death, Gawain was still feeling numb. He had not cried once. His mother did not leave her room ever since they had put him to earth. She had not stopped crying for the first three days, and only at Gawain's insistent coaxing had eaten anything. Now, as he entered the room daily to check on her, all she did was sit almost motionlessly by the window and stare into the distance. He understood her pain, and he was very jealous of her ability to grieve and to let that grief run its course. He could not do it. Not yet, not for a while.
"Mother?" he softly called as he entered her room for his daily visit.
She did not reply, but the subtle shift of her body told him she was listening.
"Mother, I am leaving today. I need to address the Council and take Father's seat there. The Lord Commander and Sir Rhys both said that my duties as a Knight are on hold until I get everything sorted out." She did not say a thing, and he took it as a sign to continue. "It means that I would be gone for a while, Mother. I may not be back for well over a year. There are many things that need taking care of, both in the Council and in the Order. Would you be all right by yourself?"
Still no reply. It unnerved him to see his mother that way. She had always been a cheerful lady with a sharp sense of humour and a lot of goodwill. He was not accustomed to see her so silent and unresponsive.
"Millard would remain here, as well as all the maids," he tried again tentatively. "I don't really need anyone to take care of my needs. I am adapted at taking care of myself, what with being a Knight and all. Millard knows how to contact me, so if there's anything you would need me for…" he trailed off, knowing that there was no point. She would not say anything. For the first time since he had become a Knight, his mother would not smilingly bid him goodbye. She would not wave him off as he rode away on his horse.
Sighing, he shook his head. "That is all, Mother. I love you; you do know that, don't you?" Then he walked to her, planted a kiss on top her head and strode out. His work had only begun.
He had spent the past week going through his father's papers with Millard's help. He needed to quickly learn how the Gryffindor lands were handled, and while his father's valet was well adapted in the art of governing the lands, having worked with the older man for years, Gawain had a vague sense of knowledge that he had to do at least some of the work himself.
When he was younger he kept disappearing whenever his father even mentioned the matters of their estates and lands. It did not interest him, and as he had told his father on his deathbed, he had always assumed that there would be time enough to learn everything that he would need in order to take over the title of Lord Gryffindor one day.
Now he had less than two weeks to grasp that knowledge. By Council Law, he had to present himself to the Council three weeks from the time of his father's death in order to claim his seat and duties as a member of the Council, or forfeit that seat entirely. He needed to have the approval of at least two other members in order to take his hereditary seat as a First House Lord. The Gryffindor line had been in the First House from the very start of the Council, and he was not about to change that. He would not be the one to lose that inheritance.
As he set course for the stables, he felt a sharp pang of guilt at not telling Ceridwen that he was going, or what was going on. The last he had seen her was when they put his father to the ground. She had come with her parents and brothers to pay their respects to their old neighbour and friend. She had given him a sad smile then and a reassuring squeeze of his hand as she went past him to offer his mother her condolences. They had not spoken.
He loved Ceridwen. He truly did, and he had definitely had every intention of going to her father the day after they met and make sure he knew that they wanted to wed, but right now… despite his father's last words, despite the fact that his heart told him he was being a fool and his mind screamed at him to reconsider, he could not go there. Not for a while still. He had duties to perform. There was no question about it. There were more important things at stake.
Ceridwen would have to wait, as would he. Sometimes you needed to sacrifice your own happiness on the altar of duty. This was one of those times.
Hardening his treacherous heart, he entered the stables.
Half an hour later he was gone, only the marks of his horse's hooves in the muddy trail leading through the Gryffindor lands mute testimony that he had been there.
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"He is unacceptably young, my lord!" one of the Second House lords said vehemently, his flashing eyes fixed on Gawain. He did not recognize the man. "He is a boy. What does a mere boy know of the matters of governing the magic community?"
Gawain, standing on the cold floor of the Chamber of the Council at Stonehenge before the entire Council of Warlocks, just stared at the ground, not caring. He knew most of the Second House lords did not want him to take his father's place in the First House, longing to be elevated to that position instead, but he was far from caring. He wanted nothing more than for his burly, cheerful father to come back to life, taking his rightful place in the Council, tease him about his behaviour, or even scold him.
He had considered it all through his long journey to Stonehenge and had come to the frightening conclusion: while his trip there was decided on rather impulsively, he was a fool for doing so. He had no idea what he was doing. He had no idea what would happen once he arrived at Stonehenge. He had no idea what to do.
Gawain was no Council Lord. He was a Knight. Politics never interested him growing up. He had a feeling that all the men now watching him knew that very well, and that the Gryffindor line will lose their place in the Council forever - and all because of him. He could not let that happen - he vowed to himself not to let it happen, and yet… what could he possibly do? Then a quiet voice alarmed him out of his brooding, taking everyone in the chamber by surprise.
"What did you know of the matters of governing when you took your father's place, Ardghal?" the man asked.
Looking up, Gawain saw that the man standing was the tall, dark-haired Searlas Slytherin. Gawain had met him occasionally growing up. He lived not too far off from him, his father's lands bordering those of the Gryffindors. A few years older than him, they often played together as children. But then Gawain became a squire with the Knights, and their casual friendship was ended. Searlas' father was still alive, but his madness forced Searlas into taking his seat at the Council almost two years before. Right now, his silvery-grey eyes were trained on Lord Ardghal, his quiet voice penetrating the silence.
"You may have been a decade older than Lord Gryffindor, but you knew little more. This is the seat of his fathers, and by all laws he is of age and qualified to sit in this Council. Don't you agree with me, my lords?"
At this point, Searlas did not look at the men sitting on the two lower semicircles of stone, but at the four men sitting with him at the top level. The First House Lords all nodded solemnly, though Gawain, his interest now piqued, noticed that one of them, a large, tall man who looked both regal and impressive, did so only half-heartedly, the gleam in his eyes disdainful.
"Therefore," Searlas continued, his eyes now narrowed and staring directly at the large man Gawain had seen, "I say that we accept this man's right to his seat here at the Council. I say he should receive all the duties and privileges that come with this seat, and I daresay that he shall fulfill said duties as required. Who will second me?"
For a while no one had said anything. The First House Lords were the only one who could call for this decision and they were the only ones who could second it. Had the Gryffindor line been of the Second House or the Lower House, those Houses would have had a say in it as well, but as it were, only a First House lord could second Searlas' call.
His eyes moving from one face to another, Gawain could see the hesitation and uncertainty shining through their eyes. Not one of them wanted to deny him his right (except, perhaps, to that tall, foreboding man whom he did not recognize), knowing that it would create a dangerous precedence that may take away their own seats from their lines one day. However, they were fully aware of their duties for the magic community, and none of them was certain if it would be a good idea to have a mere child in their midst.
Finally, when Gawain thought that all was lost and that he was the one to bring his family down, one man raised his hand, making the entire Council gasp. It did not take him long to realize why they were so surprised. He had only seen Lord Fenwick once in his life. It was when he had been very young, and the proud man had come to pay his respects to Gawain's father. It was immediately after Lord Fenwick had taken the position of Chief Warlock.
It was unheard of, that the Chief Warlock would second a motion. He was supposed to be impartial, taking the role of leader and arbitrator, not taking sides in the Council. This was an unheard of precedence, and Gawain found himself wondering what exactly it would mean in the coming future.
"My lord…?" the tall man asked apprehensively, obviously more surprised than the rest. "It is-"
"Unprecedented. Yes, I know that, Ambrosius," Lord Fenwick said confidently, putting a name to the face. "It is not the place of a Chief Warlock to do so, but I, apparently unlike you, can see the potential in this young man." Smiling benevolently at Gawain he said "I don't know how many of you have heard of young Gawain, or should I say, Lord Gawain's doings in the past few years, but I have often heard about him, both from his father and from the Lord Commander of the Order of the Knights of the Phoenix, who should be here today, but is tied up elsewhere, protecting our realms.
"Lord Gawain here is in fact one of the most accomplished Knights living today. He is barely eighteen and is already on his way to getting his first command ever-"
Lord Fenwick continued talking, but Gawain's mind only gave it cursory attention, ready to alert him if something important would be said. Instead of doing as he should, listening respectfully to the Chief Warlock, he was dwelling on that one sentence.
Command? Already? Sir Rhys had said nothing about it when he gave Gawain his leave only three weeks before. Admittedly, there was a strange twinkle in his eyes when he had sent him home for a few days, but nothing that would even lead him to suspect that the Lord Commander already deemed him ready to receive his own command.
And Lord Fenwick knew about it before him!
It was only when he heard the murmur of assent coming from the rest of the Council that he resurfaced. Apparently he had missed the entire speech, for the next thing the Chief Warlock said was "Take your seat in the First House, Lord Gawain. It is yours to have."
Dazed, Gawain barely stopped himself from stumbling up to take the seat of the Gryffindor line up between Searlas and the Chief Warlock himself. He could not believe that it was over that quickly. He did not even know what to say to the Chief Warlock in order to thank him for his intervention.
Lord Fenwick, however, waved off his feeble attempts at expressing his gratitude and only gave him a small smile. "Don't prove me wrong, Gawain," he said quietly. "I have put my honour at stake here. Do your best to make this world a better one for our people."
What Lord Fenwick could not possibly know, was that by saying this, he had given Gawain the courage to make his line proud, the courage to dare and defy backset minds, the courage to stand up for those without a voice, no matter the repercussions.
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"I am very sorry for your loss, Gawain," the Lord Commander said, putting a fatherly hand over Gawain's. "If you would like a while to yourself, I will relieve you of your duties for a few weeks."
"No," Gawain said vehemently, startling the man. "I will not shirk my responsibilities because of a personal tragedy, my lord. I will not ignore the oath I had taken."
As soon as he grew a little more comfortable with his new position as a Lord of the Council, aided by Searlas who turned out to be an endless fountain of necessary knowledge, he made the trip to the main encampment of the Order, seeking out the Lord Commander. There was a lot that needed to be said, now that Gawain had to divide his time between Council and Order, for he would give up neither.
"You must have enough on your shoulders, my dear boy!" the old man said in surprise. "What with the duties thrust upon you now that you are a First House Lord, not to mention the addition of those that come with you becoming a Head of House. Are you absolutely certain?"
Taking a deep breath, Gawain nodded. "It is true that I have a lot hovering over my head but, my lord, without the duties of a Knight, I would no longer know who I am."
The old man smiled at that. "Very well, my boy. Very well. I am very proud to hear you say that." There was a moment of silence, and then he continued, his face sobering. "As I am very much aware, Lord Fenwick had let slip something that was intended to be kept secret. All in all, it had been for a good cause, but I really hoped to make it more ceremonial for you."
Gawain's breath caught in his throat. He had no doubt what his commander was about to say. His command.
"You, Gawain, are one of the best Knights I have come to know in my term as Lord Commander. You have the talent, the intelligence and the skill. Though you are very young indeed, you surpass many of our older, more experienced Knights in many ways, and I am proud of you. Very much so. Therefore, despite the fact that normally command is only received after at least five years of Knighthood and only to the most talented of Knights, I have decided - dear Merlin, boy! Could you get into anymore trouble!"
Gawain, who had stopped breathing by then with the excitement of what the Lord Commander was about to say, whipped around at the sound of a pile of metal objects falling and rolling on the ground outside the tent they were sitting in. It sounded like a thunderstorm, so loud and disturbing.
"Sorry!" a sheepish voice said from outside. It sounded like a very young boy whose voice had not changed yet. "I didn't mean to!"
Turning back to the Lord Commander, Gawain saw him burying his face in his hands and sighing in exasperation. "What was that?" he asked.
"That," the man said ruefully, "was my squire, Gawain. A very, very clumsy boy."
"A squire?"
"I had to do something with him," the old man said mournfully. "I couldn't just let him run around unwatched, and he has to be in the Order."
"Why?"
"Tradition," he said, as though it explained everything. "As I was saying, however, I have decided that it is time to give you command, Gawain, young as you are. If you are ready to resume your duties without taking time to recuperate, then in a week's time I want you geared up and ready to go. You will be taking over the Wing Division on the border of Scotland. There were several executions there - a rabid group of Muggles happened to rightly recognize a wizarding family. At least two are dead and they are now conducting a thorough search of the countryside in order to try and flush out more of us. The Wing Division is to stop it at any price. Are you up for it, Gawain? Are you truly up for it? There will be twenty men under your command. Are you ready to take responsibility over their lives?"
Meeting the Lord Commander's eyes without flinching, blinking or looking away, Gawain carefully nodded.
He was ready. Oh, yes, he was ready. He would prove everyone right. The Lord Commander for entrusting this important mission in his hands, the Chief Warlock for putting his faith in his abilities and breaching procedures, creating a precedence that could prove dangerous, Searlas Slytherin for giving him the chance to begin with, his father, whom he would have given everything to have back.
But more than all, he would return victorious, with the laurels of the victor on his brow, and Ceridwen's father would have nothing to complain about. He would return for his love, and they would be happy forever after.
My, oh my, but they do talk a lot about duty, don't they? But I promise it won't be all like that… What will happen now do you think? Who will we meet next? Why, Rosalind and Seraphine, of course! Stay tuned for the next chapter (promise it would be up on Tuesday, really I do!).
Hugs and kisses to all!
-Star of the North