The meal was as succulent and delicious as always – the sirloin steak was cooked just enough that there was just the faintest pink in the middle, while the top had a healthy spread of sliced peppers. The sweet tang of the red and yellow vegetables complimented the rich flavour of the steak perfectly.
Across the table sat both Remus and Sirius, both eagerly eating their own evening meals. He enjoyed this time in the day, when the tasks of the day were complete, and he could spend time with family. Though, one member of that family was missing, and wouldn't be with them for another week.
It was coming to the end of Harry's first term at Hogwarts, and he couldn't wait to hear all about it. What spells had he learned? What did he get up to with his friends? While it hadn't been that long since the three of them had seen Harry's first Quidditch match, he found himself missing the boy more than he had expected to.
Was it the fear that had settled into the pit of his stomach following the news of the Mountain Troll? The sight of Harry in the infirmary, as pale as a corpse with thick, bloody bandages wrapped around his head, was firmly planted in his mind and hadn't been able to shake itself loose for weeks. He needed to see Harry, to make sure he was safe and happy.
Arcturus had dealt with the stress in the same way he always had – he threw himself into his work, into politics. The Wizengamot was his battlefield these days, and he had charged into it like a rabid Hippogriff. The betrothal between House Black and House Bones was one such result – as Harry grew older, he would need alliances and a secure powerbase to work from, and Arcturus would give him that.
Arcturus cut another slice of his steak and speared it with his fork, his eyes darting between his two companions.
Remus had proven himself time and again as a capable Steward, but also as a friend and confidant. If it were possible, Arcturus would bring him into the family properly, but as the current Wizengamot legislation stood, it was nearly impossible – though he was working on rectifying that.
Sirius had taken to his orders surprisingly well. Many years prior, when Harry had just arrived, and the war was fresh on everyone's minds, Arcturus had tried to persuade his heir to marry and further the family line. Sirius had argued, and claimed Harry was as good as his son. Arcturus had claimed Harry could never further the Black line, as he was a Potter – the last Potter, at that.
A compromise had been reached – Sirius would enter a betrothal contract once Harry went off to Hogwarts. It had seemed Sirius had forgotten that particular agreement, as Arcturus had brought it up almost the second they had lost sight of the Hogwarts Express. It had been a source of amusement for his Steward many, many times since.
There was a small pop, and one of the House Elves appeared at the far end of the table. Deeny stood there, worrying her bat-like ears frantically. Arcturus swallowed his mouthful and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.
"Deeny?" Sirius asked. He frowned as he put his own utensils down.
"Master Arctury, sir – the orb be glowing, sir!" Deeny squeaked, hopping from foot to foot frantically.
Arcturus leapt from his seat and rushed from the room as quickly as his battered body would allow him. There was a moment of silence before two more chairs scraped against the wooden floor just as he left the room.
He scrambled along the corridors, and through a room with a recessed door on the south-side of the manor. The door led immediately into a steep stone staircase that spiralled into the earth. The steps were smooth and worn, and the occasional ball of white light floated within sconces that were bolted to the wall.
The stairs evened out eventually into a series of branching corridors. This was the oldest part of the estate, remains of the castle that had once sat on the grounds, before it had been torn down and modernised by Cygnus Black II in the late sixteen-hundreds.
The passageway split in three directions – on the left was the passage that led to the Ro'rim, while the passage on the right led to a similar room with another artifact. The passage directly in front of his was the one he needed.
His heels clicked against the smooth stone, punctuated by the quiet drip of water from somewhere. At the end of the corridor was a large mahogany door, studded with metal in neat rows. It was slightly ajar, no doubt left that way in Deeny's haste to inform him, and an eerie green light trickled out of it.
In all his years, indeed in all of his father's years before him, never had the Lia Fáil activated. He pushed the door open hard enough that it swung and collided with the wall – Sirius and Remus arrived on either side of him as he took a knee before the squat pedestal.
It was a small thing, only reaching to his waist, though it was as wide as it was tall. It sat on six metal legs that held up a resting basin. Around the edge of the basin were an equal number of small metal claws that would normally hold a floating, dull stone sphere between them.
Now, that sphere was floating almost a foot above its usual resting place, and it pulsed with the geometric lines that were carved into its surface. A wispy cloud swarmed around it, darting this way and that, despite the eerie stillness of the orb.
With the three of them knelt, there was a faint pulse before a form began to take shape before them. The figure had no discernible features, only that of the upper half of a human torso, and spoke with a voice that was neither male, nor female.
"The House of Black is summoned to a Great Council by Viscount Trevelyan."
They had been summoned to the Capitol? It was almost unheard of for a Great Council to be called, though the last had been shortly before the rise of Grindelwald, there hadn't been one before that in centuries.
"Yes, my Lord." Arcturus replied, bowing his head as he brought his fist to his chest.
"You have three days to arrive. Failure to present yourself and your heir will be seen as intent to incite a rebellion."
"A rebellion-" Sirius began, his voice shocked, as his head darted up momentarily.
"Silence, Sirius!" Arcturus snapped. He took a deep breath before addressing the shade once again. "We shall arrive at the Capitol in two days, my Lord."
There was silence in the room, before the dull humming that had been so constant just moments before, stopped along with the green light. The orb gently floated back to its place within the claws and began rotating slowly.
Arcturus was the first to stand, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet. Sirius was next, while Remus stood slowly as his eyes remained fixed on the artifact before them.
"What was that?" Remus asked, his voice quiet.
"That, was a Lia Fáil– a way for our… ruler to summon sworn Lords to his court, no matter whether they be here or through the Ro'rim." Arcturus grunted, pacing back and forth slowly. His hands were on his hips and he chewed the corner of his lip slightly – a habit he had developed as a child that he had never outgrown.
"But the figure?" Remus continued to gesture to the spot where the wisp had been hovering.
"A magical imprint of whoever made that." Arcturus grunted, hooking a thumb at the Lia Fáil.
Remus was quiet as he wandered around the ancient artifact. Sirius continued to stare at him unwaveringly.
"What are we going to do?" Sirius asked. Arcturus rubbed at his jaw absently.
"We have no choice; we have to attend." He sighed. He looked to Remus, who was hovering over the Lia Fáil, gazing intently at the ancient runes along its surface and the deep geometric shapes that intersected one-another. "Remus, you're to manage the estate in our absence."
"What of Harry?" Remus asked, clasping his arms behind his back as his attention returned to the conversation. "My transformation falls on the twenty-third – as much as I love him, it wouldn't be safe to be near me."
Arcturus nodded slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Very well – I'd forgotten about the damned transformation. He'll have to stay at Hogwarts."
"No." Sirius snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "I refuse to abandon him at the last minute because some up-jumped Lord has decided to summon us last-minute!"
Arcturus's head snapped to the younger man, and he fixed him with a hard stare. "You think I don't know that, boy? Very well, call Harry back for the holiday – he can join us when our heads are mounted on spikes for refusing the summons!"
Sirius paled a little as he took a step back from Arcturus's anxious fury. "I taught you better than this, Sirius!"
The room was quiet for a moment, but for the rapid breathing of Arcturus. Sirius nodded slowly before moving to leave the room. "I'll inform the Elves and write a quick letter to Harry."
The door clicked shut, with the small rattle of the handle bouncing against the wood. Arcturus stood there, his hands limp at his sides as he glared at the Lia Fáil.
He knew the stories – he'd read the accounts in the family library. A Great Council wasn't called for just anything. It was a gathering of all the Lords in the dominion of the Capitol, which was vast. There were hundreds of them all – possibly even a thousand, though there hadn't been a census in his lifetime.
Great Councils were used to determine matters of war, rebellion, and the line of succession. The Royal Line had disappeared long ago, and there wasn't a war on the horizon – at least to his knowledge. Had a Lord rebelled? Had a plot been discovered? There were too many variables for him to make accurate assumptions. As much as he loathed to admit it, they would be entering this Council blind.
"My Lord…" Remus spoke softly, stepping to his side. "Arcturus, what is it that you've been summoned for?"
"I have no idea, Remus, and that terrifies me more than you could know."
"I take it this Great Council is an important matter?"
"Aye, you could say that. It's a gathering of all the Lords – it's used to settle issues that The Council and the ruling Viscount can't settle themselves. Declarations of war, lines of succession, you get the gist." Arcturus sighed, running a hand through his loose hair.
"I see. Is there anything I could do to help?"
Arcturus smiled and clasped the man on the shoulder. "No, Remus – just continue to be your usual self, and I'm sure this will all be sorted upon our return."
"And when will that be?"
"It's hard to say – some of these gatherings have been known to take months to come to a decision. Whatever is decided, a clear majority must win. Think of it as a large Wizengamot, but less complicated."
"I see." Remus frowned.
He sighed as he looked around the room one last time. "Come, it seems we have some last-minute preparations to make."
Arcturus led the two of them out of the door, making sure the door was closed after Remus stepped through. Their boots echoed through the quiet hallway in a much more sedate pace than they had when they had raced there. As they climbed the stairs, and stepped into the Manor proper, they were greeted by the six House Elves, all looking up at them with large green eyes.
"Master Arctury been summoned?" Milpy asked, wringing her hands.
"Aye, we've been summoned. We could be gone for a while – you're all to answer to Remus in our absence, is that understood?"
The Elves nodded – all but for Kreacher, who began grumbling about filth. Sirius nodded, ignoring the Elf. It seemed that no matter what Arcturus did, Sirius or even Remus, nothing seemed to overcome the Elf's prejudiced views of the world. He chalked it up to having been Orion and Walburga's personal Elf for so many years – according to Milpy, Kreacher still popped to Grimmauld Place once a week to talk to the portrait of the vile woman – even after Arcturus had confined the crazed with to Grimmauld Place.
Arcturus moved around the small creatures, hearing their quiet pops as they returned to their duties as he moved down the hall. He moved towards his bedroom, jogging up the wooden stairs in some effort to burn off the anxious energy that had been building.
The door to his room practically slammed shut as he moved to the stand that held his armour. He began throwing it on, his fingers still nimble after all of these years, buckling belts and tying straps.
In no less than ten minutes, he was fully dressed in his gambeson, gorget, and leather – his wand strapped securely in its holster on his right forearm, and a dagger sheathed on his belt. The cloak went on last, making sure his arms could still freely move and were comfortable.
By the time Arcturus left his room, Sirius was stood outside, dressed similarly in his own armour. What a pair they made – both dressed as if they were going off to war. Were they? Merlin, he hoped not.
"Did you send the letter?" He asked, eyeing Sirius before him and tugging on a strap that looked a little loose.
"It's sent – Hedwig left just as you were coming up the stairs. It's going to devastate him."
"He'll understand. He's growing up quickly." Arcturus sighed, squeezing Sirius's shoulder through the armour and cloak.
"Too quickly." Sirius grumbled, rolling his eyes.
"Come, we'd best make a move. We'll stay the night and ride hard for the Capitol with an escort in the morning."
Sirius nodded, and fiddled with the sleeve he knew covered his own wand. The two moved down the stairs, and back into the ancient stone corridor that housed the Ro'rim silently. Remus joined them on the way down, hanging back a step with his arms clasped easily before him. Arcturus watched Remus and Sirius share a small smile and hug before he strode up to the large mirror and activated it with a pulse of his magic.
The glass flared to life, the small ripples of bright colour dancing across the surface in no particular direction. Sirius stepped through almost instantly – Arcturus lingered a moment, giving Remus a short nod before he too stepped through.
In less time than it took to blink, he was standing in that same courtyard he had entered with Harry two years before. The mist swirled around his feet as he followed in Sirius's wake, and the echo of his boots bounced off of invisible walls – there was no larger construct for this courtyard. If one were to leap the high walls, they would simply be swallowed by the void of magic. He had no such intentions. When he arrived on the far side of the stone yard, it was Sirius who activated the mirror, allowing Arcturus through first.
He stepped into the same courtyard he remembered. It was quieter this time, the sun having set some time ago. The Forge was quiet, and the carts remained still – though they were covered from the night-time chill. The horses stirred a little in their stable, but otherwise the courtyard was quiet – serene, almost.
He turned toward the largest building, the main hall, and marched across the cobblestone – Sirius quietly on his heels. The windows of the castle were all a warm orange, and the whisper of laughter and merriment reached his ears. They passed a number of guards on their way, each just as shocked as the last at the unexpected arrival of their Lord. They would stand a little taller at his approach, clutching their staves tighter, or locking their arms behind their backs. One or two fell into step behind them, acting as a small honour-guard.
They stepped into the hall, with large benches being taken up by those who worked and lived in the castle – it was a tradition within the family. Those who worked and maintained their home were welcome at their table. Row upon row of large trestle tables were full of food – there were pies, cooked birds, whole roast game, and an assortment of vegetables. If he hadn't eaten his own meal only a little over an hour before, he'd have pulled up a seat and eaten with them all.
The hall was as large as he remembered it, though the air was heavy with sweat and, with the press of bodies, the heat was almost palpable. He found his hair quickly beginning to feel damp, and he tucked his loose locks behind his ears. It already felt limp and wet, and they'd only just stepped in from the cool air.
All sound ceased upon their entrance, and a hundred or more eyes turned to watch him – some with mouths open in surprise. Arcturus ignored them, instead focusing his eyes on the Captain of his guard. "Donnel Newt – I require a contingent of your best by sunrise. Two dozen at least."
The Captain of his household guard was a stout man, with a bushy mutton-chop beard and a bald head. He wasn't that much younger than Arcturus himself, though he was far more disfigured. Scars littered his face, and his right eye had been replaced with an enchanted sapphire. It was off-putting to look at, and when questioned about it, the man had laughed heartily and claimed that if it could put Arcturus off, it had every chance of throwing off an enemy in a fight. Arcturus couldn't refute him.
"Yes, my Lord." Donnel responded, immediately jumping to his feet, and rushing out of a door on the far side of the room. The door banged open for the briefest of moments, and he could faintly hear Donnel's bellowing voice echoing through the corridors as he moved further into the castle.
"The rest of you, continue to eat and be merry – Sirius and I are simply passing through on our way to the Capitol. Please, continue!" Arcturus called, clapping his hands once. He bowed slightly to the room and gestured for them to continue their meals.
The two of them backed out of the room quickly, and one of the guards closed the door with a dull thud. He and Sirius moved through the corridors of Blackstone Castle with the same familiarity as they did Blackwall. While he had put off coming to claim his seat for many years, with one reason or another, he hadn't been idle when Harry, Remus and Sirius had visited the Capitol.
He had seen to the needs of the castle, ordered a handful of changes and improved the Wards and defences where he could. In that time, he had committed the many hallways and rooms of the large stronghold to his memory. As it was, he led Sirius to the Family Wing of the castle with sure feet. The Family Wing was on the eastern side of the main keep, on the fourth floor.
It was a little removed from the regular day-to-day happenings of the castle, but the Lord's room had a small stone balcony so that anyone could look out on the castle first thing in a morning and soak in the warm rays of sunlight. Whoever had the forethought to design that feature was equally genius and stupid. For while it was excellent in times of peace, there was every chance an assassin could climb through the window and cut his throat.
They arrived at the Lord's Chamber shortly. It was at the end of a long corridor, with portraits of past notable family members hanging regularly between doorways. The heir's chamber was directly opposite his own. Donnel must have been busy, as there were already guards posted outside their chambers.
"This is yours." Arcturus said, pointing at a room directly opposite his own. Sirius nodded before moving toward it, already in the process of shrugging his cloak off. Arcturus dismissed the two guards that had flanked them through the halls with a small smile and a thankful nod.
While it hadn't been quite as late in Nottingham, Arcturus felt his eyes beginning to feel heavy. Perhaps it was his age, or the stress of the day. Either way, he found himself stepping into the Lord's Chamber, with a nod to his two guards for the night and shrugging his cloak off with a grunt.
Tomorrow would be a hard day of riding – if the weather was good, they would make the journey to the Capitol in a day. If the weather turned, they would have to camp for the night and finish the journey the following day. He'd prefer to get it over with in one day – his aged body just couldn't deal with sleeping rough.
His fingers went through the regular motions of removing his armour while his mind pondered the travel they would be facing in the coming days. The gorget came undone easily enough, and he grunted as the gambeson lifted over his head, the heavy leather a dead weight in his arms. The chainmail was easy enough, and his boots were kicked off unceremoniously. He stored his armour and cloak on the awaiting mannequin at the side of the hearth – the solid wood taking the weight of it all easily enough.
Arcturus found himself dressing in a nightshirt and quickly crawling into the large bed, the feather pillows soft and welcoming to his tired neck and head. The quilt was light and airy and threatened to swallow him whole – just as he liked it. Even with the light breeze through the slightly ajar window, his eyes closed quickly, though his dreams were plagued with thoughts of the days ahead.
They arrived at The Citadel the following day, just before the evening meal was due to take place. Arcturus had never visited the Capitol before, and for a moment he was in awe of the tall towers, and the glistening white stonework.
When his eyes fell upon the various Lord and Ladies that were watching him from a number of high balconies, such thoughts were banished from his mind and he fought the urge to scowl at them all. It wasn't their fault, he knew that, but the urge to march up to Trevelyan and knock him on his arse was almost uncontrollable.
He grimaced as he swung a leg over his Stallion, his eyes momentarily falling upon the pair of guards who were holding his house banners up proudly.
"Arcturus, so good of you to join us – early, might I add." Trevelyan greeted. Arcturus had never met the man, but Sirius had described him well enough after their last visit.
He ignored the disregard for his title, and simply nodded in return. "Lord Trevelyan. I thought it prudent to make all haste to your wonderful city."
"Indeed. As you are the last of the Noble Families to arrive, the Great Council shall convene tomorrow. Chambers were prepared for you the moment we saw your banners. I shall leave my staff to see you to your chambers." Trevelyan replied, his tone icy and his face impassive.
Arcturus nodded and stepped away from the horse after giving it a final pat on the neck. They had ridden hard throughout the day – stopping for only an hour to feed and water the animals before continuing on.
The journey had started at daybreak, and they had thundered over the drawbridge of Blackstone at a full gallop. It had been many years since Arcturus had ridden in such a way – indeed, he could clearly recall the lessons his father had insisted on when he was a child. He had loved the feel of the wind whipping through his hair, and the rhythm of the horse below him.
As he had gotten older, and he found himself taking on more responsibilities, he had distanced himself from riding – he'd always make time for it next month, or the month after. On and on it had continued for years – at first during his betrothal, then throughout his marriage, and even as a widower. How many years had he made excuses to himself? How long had it simply been a habit?
He shook his head slightly, as if to dislodge the thoughts running amok in his skull. It was the hindsight of age that seemed to trouble him the most these last few years. His eyes flickered to Sirius, who was quickly giving his own steed a quick pat goodbye. He watched as the horses for the entire company were led toward the edge of the courtyard.
Arcturus looked around at the eyes that were still trained on him. There were dozens of Nobles, all displaying a number of various sigils that he recognised from a dozen different tomes. Some were prominent families in Britain, while others had long since retreated into this realm and away from the frontier.
A kindly looking gentleman approached them and offered a short bow. "My Lord, I am Steward Hornette, if you'll follow me, I'm sure you would like to freshen up before the evening meal?"
"Aye, that would be appreciated, thank you." Arcturus nodded in reply, falling into step behind the man, Sirius at his side. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the guards being led to another doorway that no doubt would lead to the Barracks.
The small crowd of Nobles parted before them easily, the slight murmured greetings and the curious stares revealed nothing to him, and so he chose to ignore them.
The inside of the castle was much like Harry and Sirius had described it. He knew Sirius had once visited with Orion when he was a small boy, but it had been once, and Sirius had barely been older than six – hearing the descriptions of the castle was nothing compared to looking upon it himself.
The Steward led them through the corridors, and Arcturus made note of the path in his mind. They travelled down three different corridors and up no less than six floors via spiralling stone steps. When the Steward finally stopped and made a grand, sweeping gesture at a large door, Arcturus had to stop himself from weeping in joy. He didn't know what had been harder, riding all day, or forcing his battered body up all of those steps.
"Your quarters, my Lords." The Steward smiled toothily. "I hope everything is to your satisfaction. The evening meal will be in an hour if you wish to freshen up."
"Thank you, that will be all." Sirius replied, watching the man carefully as he walked away after a small bow. When he finally disappeared around the corner of the corridor, the two of them stepped into the room and took it all in.
Everything was draped in the house colours of House Black, with the silver serpent emblazoned on it proudly. The hearth crackled, and the room was warm and comfortable – a stark difference to the cold and dreary day they had spent atop their horses.
"Wash yourself and be ready as soon as you can." Arcturus grunted as the two of them shrugged their cloaks off. Their leather armour creaked and groaned as they moved – or was it simply his bones? He couldn't tell at this point.
Sirius gathered his saddlebag and made his way to a door on the right-hand side of the room, while Arcturus moved to the left.
He went through the routine of washing and dressing himself absently – all his thoughts focused on the morning to come. What would be discussed? If only he had some way to gather the information for himself. It was a downside to having never cultivated a reputation in the Capitol's politics. In the Wizengamot, he had a number of informants throughout the various families, and as such, he could more often than not make educated guesses based on information he obtained – it allowed him to remain one step ahead of his political rivals. Here, he had no such advantage.
With his hair still damp and tied in a knot at the back of his head, Arcturus stepped from the room and patted down his fresh leather doublet. It was plain and unassuming, cinched at the waist by a dark leather belt with silver accents on it, while the silver serpent of his house was coiled proudly on his left breast.
He entered the room just as Sirius did – his appearance similar to his own. He knew, like himself, Sirius had his wand holster strapped to his arm underneath the long-sleeved doublet he wore.
The two nodded to one another before they made their way back through the door – two of their household guard had taken up position outside their door and stood to attention when they came into view.
He looked at them once, nodded, and began to move back towards the Great Hall. The heavy footfalls of the guards flanking them was a reassuring sound in the otherwise silent halls.
The descent down the stairs was much easier than the ascent, Arcturus noted, frowning when he realised he would have to return to his quarters later on. He let out a quiet sigh as they came to the ground floor and began meandering through the corridors.
When they finally came into sight of the large oak doors, there was a small crowd waiting to be let in. He spotted men and women of all ages – some young with what appeared to be well behaved children, and others older with men and women even older than Sirius at their sides.
"Ah, if it isn't Lord Black." A rotund man with the sigil of a leaping whale on his breast called out – Arcturus rather thought the man resembled his coat-of-arms a little too much. The man had a large, bushy grey beard that appeared a little greasy, and a bald head that glistened with the early signs of perspiration.
"Lord Minks," He replied with a small smile, recognising the sigil easily enough. "An honour." Arcturus inclined his head a little. "May I present my heir, Sirius Black."
Sirius stepped forward and bowed to Lord Minks and placed his hand over his heart as he did so. Arcturus then watched as Sirius turned his attention to the young woman at the Lord's side and brushed his lips against her knuckles. "My Lord, my Lady, truly a pleasure."
Arcturus had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the little sigh that escaped the young lady's lips as she brought her hand to her breast, fanning herself lightly with her free hand. The Lord Minks simply guffawed and slapped his heir on the back heartily.
"I'd heard you Blacks were charmers – you've got my granddaughter all in a bother. Good show, lad."
Sirius appeared to stumble a little under the force of the blow but grinned devilishly at those that had gathered around them. Arcturus noted the assortment of sigils – the Eagle of Ravenclaw, the Lion of Gryffindor, the Unicorn of Snowpear, the Rose of Selpie, the three flames of Shore – there were more than he could count.
Any further conversation was halted by the sounds of the large doors opening, as all the heads in the corridor turned to look. From his place towards the back of the crowd, Arcturus caught a glimpse of the impressive Dragon Throne set all the way in the back atop a tall pedestal – no doubt it towered over all those in the room.
Sat just below it and to the right was Carth Trevelyan, at the high table sat in an opulent chair that was fashioned after the Griffon of his house. A large trestle table was stretched before him, covered in fine silver cutlery. At a lower level were more long trestle tables, though, it seemed, that the cutlery was of a lesser quality.
The crowd shuffled forward as the first names were called, "Lord Tytos Gryffindor, and his heir Lancel Gryffindor!" A pair of broad looking men, each with impressive beards strode into the hall with their heads held high and their shoulders pushed back. Both took a seat upon the high table by Trevelyan.
"Lord Eddard Ravenclaw, and his heir, Jaxar Ravenclaw!" This time, an absolutely ancient looking man shuffled forward with the help of a man much closer to Arcturus's own age entered the hall. They, like those of Gryffindor joined Trevelyan up at the high table. Lord Eddard looked close to dozing off the moment his arse touched his seat.
"Lady Regent Kyra Serrett, and the Lord Markas Serrett!" An attractive, middle aged blonde woman strode forth, with a small child at her side. Unlike the previous Lords, she sat herself at one of the lower tables. If he remembered correctly, the Serrett's were just as powerful as the Ravenclaw's and the Gryffindor's. Perhaps this was a small glimpse at a political rivalry – if so, could he exploit such an opportunity?
"Lord Alix Selwyn, and his heir, Lady Vysenna Selwyn!" A pair of strikingly blonde heads stepped from the crowd, though these too sat with Trevelyan.
The crowd continued to slowly step into the hall as their names were called, until it was only he and Sirius awaiting their turn. Their guards had long since stepped to the side of the corridor, squeezing in alongside the guards brought by other Nobles.
"Lord Arcturus Black, and his heir, Sirius Black!"
Arcturus stepped into the hall and made a quick note of the families sitting on either side of Trevelyan – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Selwyn, Graves, Yaxley, Prince, and Crouch. Some, like Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were large, powerful families, while others, such as Prince and Crouch were smaller houses that could barely muster more than a few hundred men between them.
He moved to one of the lower tables, though he inclined his head slightly in Trevelyan's direction. He received no such courtesy in return – only a cold, calculating glare. There was a seat between Lord Minks, opposite the Lady Serrett, that he moved toward. Arcturus settled himself to Lord Minks's right, and Sirius sat next to him.
There was a small murmur of surprise as he settled himself at the table – it seemed many had assumed he would be seated closer to the Throne and Trevelyan, the up-jumped Steward that he was. He had no such inclination to rub elbows with the man – especially after he had attempted to bully Harry into marrying into House Trevelyan.
There was a specific pecking order in their world, and Carth Trevelyan, it seemed, considered himself at the top of it.
"Lord Black, you surprise us with your presence." Lady Serrett remarked, lifting a brow ever so slightly.
Arcturus swept his eyes across the table and took in the mixed reactions he had gathered. "My Lords, my Ladies. I thought I would seek out your excellent company this evening."
"Indeed, Lord Black. Can't get much better than down here!" Lord Minks chuckled, his three chins wobbling enthusiastically as he slapped Arcturus on the back. A few quiet gasps could be heard from further down the table.
While normally, the likes of Lord Minks and himself would rarely, if ever, interact – he found himself smirking at the reactions. While House Black did have a reputation of power, wealth and prestige, they were still human, and after years of living with Sirius and Remus, Arcturus couldn't help but enjoy the Lord's company. Sirius snickered to his right.
The room quieted as there was a single clap from the high table. Carth Trevelyan's voice boomed out across the room. "Let us enjoy this feast! Begin!"
Food appeared along the large tables instantly and their aromas instantly wafted up his nose. He found his mouth salivating as he simply stared at the food for a moment. There were all sorts – honey roasted venison, links of spicy sausages, stuffed peppers, pies of all sorts and crispy roasted chicken.
Hands reached out instantly, grasping for plates and dishes all along the table. The sounds of tearing meat, and cutlery clinking against one another was all he could hear for a few minutes. Once everyone else had full plates, only then did he reach out with his own hands, making sure to take only what other people had sampled. While he didn't think to be poisoned under Trevelyan's roof, for that was a great betrayal even by wizarding standards, he was still cautious. There had been many instances throughout their long history where guests had consumed tainted food and drink, and he refused to be another.
He speared a juicy venison steak onto his plate, alongside a number of small cheese-stuffed red peppers and some thin-sliced potatoes in a creamy sauce.
Despite the many years their culture had existed, it appeared table-manners were still in the medieval period. Goblets of ale and wine were splashed about as men and women made merry, and the occasional piece of flying food whistled past his nose.
To his left, Lord Minks was busy regaling the Lady Serrett about a recent hunt he had embarked on. Despite how he was warming to the man, the image of the man actively hunting for his food, or even just for sport was unfathomable. The man took up the space of three adults, and likely weighed the same – how could he sit a horse?
Opposite him, the Lady Serrett nodded politely and laughed when it was expected of her – all the while, she took small bites of her food – no doubt limited in how much she could consume through a combination of social expectations, and that uncomfortable looking bodice.
It was moments like this that he found himself longing for his Melania. She had been utterly divine, with her porcelain like skin, and her wavy brown hair. Melania and he had met at a social gathering at an event hosted by the MacMillan family, during the summer of nineteen-twenty-two. It had been a gorgeous day, and the fresh air of the MacMillan estate had allowed them all to relax and mingle.
If he closed his eyes, he could still remember walking alone through the gardens – the crunch of the gravel beneath his boots, the buzzing of the insects in the air, and the sweet smell of freshly bloomed roses. He had rounded a corner, only to stumble upon the most breath-taking woman he had ever seen.
She had been in a summer dress – it had been periwinkle, and her brown hair had been braided elegantly over her shoulder, with small gems interwoven seamlessly. Her hazel eyes had been so focused on the flowers before her, with that small mischievous smile of hers that, for a moment, the world had stood completely still. His heart still thumped painfully against his chest as he recalled that moment.
She had caught him staring, mouth open like a fool, and she had laughed. It had been a rich, genuine one, and from that moment on, he had been doomed. They had talked and meandered throughout the garden for the rest of the afternoon – for so long, in fact, that his father, Sirius, had sent one of their guards looking for him.
For the rest of that year, Arcturus spent as much time at the MacMillan estate as he possibly could. He had done everything he could to show his affections, and to see that smile once again. They had danced beneath the starlight, lay amongst the grass, and stared up at the constellations above. That following Yule, his father had organised a betrothal contract between the two of them, and he had been so happy at the news, he had wept.
They had the most incredible time together, though he remembered the heartbreak on her face when the Healers had warned her off of any more children after Orion. He had been a difficult birth, and Melania had been so incredibly weak afterwards – they worried another child would kill her. She had doted on Orion and showered him with love – as he himself had. Orion had been such a happy boy, always running around the house and playing with the Elves. Sometimes, he wondered if an imposter had returned after that first year at Hogwarts.
Orion had returned cool and distant – he treated both himself and Melania with a distance that hadn't been there before. While he had been hurt by it, and often fought to close that growing chasm between the two of them, it had been Melania who had suffered the worst.
As Orion got older, Melania became weaker. She was regularly ill and bound to their bed, covered in a cold sweat and her limbs trembling. He had cared for her as best he could, and even all the magic in the world hadn't been enough to save her. He had wept at her side and cradled her delicate hand between his own as he rocked back and forth on the floor.
She had died in her sleep, curled up next to him. She had looked so peaceful that at first, he thought that she had simply still been asleep. Indeed, she had passed on with the smallest of smiles on her face. He had been inconsolable for weeks – everywhere he looked, he saw her memory. He could smell her perfume on their sheets, and as he walked past her favourite chair in his office.
In that time, his own health had deteriorated as well, and the chasm between himself and his son grew further than ever. He had been bed-ridden for months, years even with the occasional temporary recovery until just before the end of the war.
Then, everything had changed.
Orion was dead, helped along by both his own stupidity, and another Wizard's wand, and Sirius was held in Ministry custody on charges of conspiring to murder the Potters.
He had stormed into the trial of Sirius, freshly recovered from his latest illness – a souvenir of Grindelwald's war, fully prepared to throw curses at anyone who would deny him his heir. Part of him had been hoping for a fight, almost praying for a curse to hit him – but then Sirius would have been sent to Azkaban or executed. No, he had kept it together for the boy – his boy, for that is what Sirius had become over the years. A second son – the boy Melania and he should've had.
He sniffed quietly, tearing his eyes from those around him and skewered a red pepper with a little more force than he had intended. Sirius nudged him, and he found himself looking into the face so similar to Orion, that it sometimes hurt – though there were far more laughter lines around his eyes.
"Are you alright?" Sirius whispered, leaning over to him a little.
Arcturus nodded slowly, and clapped Sirius on the back. "Just the memories of an old man."
Sirius scoffed around his goblet. "Please, if you're an old man, then I'm positively fucked in a decade or two."
Arcturus rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help but smirk. It was true, he wasn't old – not by a wizard's standards, at least. He was really only middle-aged, but he knew he looked and felt far older. All thanks to that damned war of Grindelwald's.
He found himself throwing the pepper in his mouth whole and biting down on it roughly. The immediate sweet tang of the pepper mixed with the savoury cheese in his mouth, and the sensations on his tongue distracted him for a moment.
He looked around the room, his eyes darting from face to face. Which of them were the reason for this Council? Sirius passed him a goblet of wine, and he took a small sip – the sweet fruity taste mixing deliciously with the lingering taste of the pepper and cheese.
The meal continued on, with many a Lord inevitably falling over drunk – some went so far as to pass out there in the hall, their faces buried in whatever dish they had been eating or spread across one of the benches.
With the meal having come to its inevitable conclusion, Arcturus and Sirius quietly excused themselves when it was deemed polite to do so. He had made the decision not to be the first to retire, but also not the last. As long as they were somewhere in the middle, it would pay dividends in the future.
What those dividends were, he couldn't say, nor would he presume to attempt such a thing. For now, he would simply content himself with avoiding Trevelyan's wrath should he feel slighted in any which way.
He found himself half carrying Sirius back to their shared apartment – the man having been taunted into joining a drinking game towards the end. Ever the competitor, Sirius had thrown himself into it, matching each opponent cup for cup until he was barely left victorious. Arcturus, who on the other hand, had kept himself to a single goblet all night, held no sympathy for the agony Sirius was likely to be enduring during the Council tomorrow.
"My Lord, allow me to assist you." One of the House Black guards gasped, seeing him come to the top of the stairs with a giggling Sirius draped over his shoulders. Arcturus grinned and handed him to the woman.
"Yoush pr'ty la'dy." Sirius slurred. "Shame 'm betroiwhatsit…"
Arcturus shook his head as the guard stifled her laughter behind pursed lips. She cocked a brow in his direction, over the head of a now slightly snoring Sirius. He shook his head and chuckled quietly.
The door opened to their apartment easily enough, and he led the way towards Sirius's chamber. He was thrown unceremoniously onto the bed – still entirely unconscious and propped on his side. Arcturus quickly pulled Sirius's boots off and placed a small bucket by the side of the bed.
The guard left first, quickly striding from the room when Sirius began to snore noisily. A small, childish part of Arcturus was actually looking forward to the morning, if only to see Sirius suffering with a hangover.
"All rise for the Lord Trevelyan!" The speaker called into the cavernous room. The morning light filtered in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows and bathed the white marble in its warm light.
The chamber was large and circular, with a small floor-space in the centre. It was eerily reminiscent of the Wizengamot chambers, but quite obviously far older and far better lit.
All around him, Lords and Ladies sat in their family seats, with their heirs sat just head and below them. Each family seat was different, depending on the family it belonged to. Some, for the smallest of families were the closest to the floor and were simple carved marble. Others, such as the Gryffindor seat were on the highest row and were decorated with motifs of the family sigil.
House Black was in an interesting position – traditionally, they were a house of equal standing and power as those such as House Gryffindor, House Potter and House Ravenclaw to name a few – the only house with more power than them were House Trevelyan. However, House Black had gone and sworn fealty to House Potter, making them the most powerful Vassals in the history of the kingdom – it also had the effect of making House Potter much more powerful.
Above them all, however, was a large throne-like chair that was shaped like a Griffon, with its wings flared out on either side. It was there that Carth Trevelyan stood, watching with cold eyes as all the assembled might before him, rose in respect to him. In deference to him.
"Sit." The quiet word echoed around the chamber, and as one, they all resumed their seats. Trevelyan sat stiffly in his small throne, and Arcturus felt his lip curl a little at the sight. There was something about the man that set Arcturus's instincts on edge.
"We are gathered in this Great Council of Lords, to discuss a most dire topic, my friends." Trevelyan began, his voice cold and calculating as his gaze swept all before him. "The intention to incite Rebellion."
Murmuring swept throughout the chamber, and Arcturus found his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open in shock. Rebellion?
Trevelyan sat there for a time and allowed the murmuring to continue. Arcturus watched as his eyes continued to dart this way and that, while his hands interlocked themselves over his stomach. What was he up to?
"My Lords." Trevelyan spoke up once more. The room silenced itself immediately, and the tension in the room was palpable. "It grieves me to say this, but we have been betrayed by the power-grasping ways of one of our most respectable houses."
"Who is the filthy traitor?" A loud voice called out from the crowd of faces.
"Aye, let us know so we can put their head on a spike!" A woman called, furiously.
Trevelyan stood, and took two measured steps away from the throne. He gently leaned against the golden railing that stood between him and a sheer drop of twenty feet. "Lord Black, do you have anything to say?"
Arcturus felt every pair of eyes in the chamber on him in that instant. His back stiffened, and his shoulders were tense under the leather gambeson he wore. What could he mean? He had a few choice words for Carth Trevelyan, but nothing pertaining to the current situation. "Nothing that comes to mind, my Lord – though this is the first I've heard anything of rebellion."
"Indeed. Pray tell then, how it was that you saw fit to swear fealty to the likes of the would-be Usurper!"
Arcturus was on his feet immediately, his fists clenched and trembling in rage. "You dare-"
"Careful now, Lord Black. We wouldn't want you to sully yourself with the likes of House Potter, would we?"
Arcturus felt the presence of guards just behind his family chair. He looked over his shoulder and saw two of the house guards of House Trevelyan stood behind him, both with wands in hand and their steel plate shining in the chamber's light.
"And just what is it, my Lord, that you believe House Potter has done?" Arcturus growled, spinning to look upon the impassive face of the Viscount above him.
This time, Trevelyan addressed the room at large. "My Lords, we are all well versed in our history. Our society, our very way of life is built on a careful structure based on trust, loyalty and fealty." Trevelyan was pacing back and forth slowly, his hands clasped at the small of his back.
"What are we to make of it then, I wonder, when one of the most prominent families in our society – one who has only recently truly returned to the fold, swears fealty to another family of equal standing? I find myself concerned for our very way of life."
Arcturus stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
"We swore fealty to House Potter because he is, for all intents and purposes, a member of House Black! There is nothing we wouldn't do for the boy – if he weren't the last Potter, I would make him Sirius's heir." He spat. He heard the guards take a slow step towards him.
"Trevelyan, call your guards off – let the man speak!" Lord Minks bellowed from the opposite side of the chamber, on the row below his own. Arcturus nodded his thanks once Trevelyan snapped his fingers and gestured for the guards to leave.
"Aye, I'd like to hear Lord Black's side of the story!"
"Where is Lord Potter? He should be here!"
"What do you all know of Lord Potter, my fellow Lords and Ladies?" Arcturus asked, moving to the railing just before Sirius's own seat. "How many of you wondered what became of House Potter following the deaths of Charlus and James?"
"Nothing – nobody has told us a thing!" Someone hollered in return.
"Allow me to inform you of this rebellious Lord, then! Harry James Potter is an eleven-year-old boy! Studying through his first year at Hogwarts in Scotland – he is a sweet boy, who loves to fly and read." There were quiet murmurings throughout the hall. "Pray tell, Lord Trevelyan, were you planning on spinning a tale of a manipulative, power hungry young man?"
Trevelyan was silent, and Arcturus could see the flexing of his jaw muscles.
"Harry Potter is a boy who would prefer to live a quiet life, surrounded by family and live out his days in peace – he is not a rebel."
"Then why haven't we seen him?" Someone called, their voice angry.
"You have, my Lords and Ladies! He visited the Capitol two years ago and feasted in this very castle – he sat on the right hand of Lord Trevelyan himself – my own heir can confirm it, for he was the one who brought him here."
"Your heir will say whatever you tell him to!" The Lord of Gryffindor bellowed, jumping to his feet in outrage.
"My Lord Gryffindor, if you can get Sirius to do something by simply telling him to do it, you are a much more powerful and wiser man than I." There were a number of quiet chuckles in the room, and the Lord of Gryffindor slumped into his seat red-faced and furious.
"You have yet to provide a valid reason as to why you swore fealty to a house of equal standing, Lord Black." Trevelyan spoke up once more. "I do not doubt your sincerity in that you love the boy dearly, but how can we be sure you are not under the Imperius, or other mind-altering influences?"
Arcturus was stunned silent. Did Trevelyan really just insinuate that an eleven-year-old child was capable of magic dark enough as to cast one of the Unforgivables? A child, who had survived the Killing Curse itself?
"Are you implying, my Lord Trevelyan, that an eleven-year-old is capable of such hatred, as to cast an Unforgiveable?" He asked, his voice sharp as he gripped the railing before him in a white-knuckled rage.
"Of course, he isn't!" Someone called out. It didn't matter who they were – Arcturus's vision was focused on the man above him.
"I would hear from Lord Trevelyan, Ser!" Arcturus growled.
"Anything is possible – what do we know of this boy, hm?" Trevelyan asked, waving a hand dismissively in the air.
"You knew enough to attempt to bully him into marrying your daughter." Arcturus spat acidly. The room went silent.
"Lies!"
"Impossible!"
"Lord Trevelyan is honourable – he wouldn't dare!"
"How dare he!"
The voices all spoke out at once, and Arcturus only caught the occasional line from some stranger or another. Many Lords and Ladies stood in outrage, all of them yelling at either Lord Trevelyan, or himself. Trevelyan, simply ignored it all, instead focusing his gaze on Arcturus.
"Silence!" Trevelyan eventually bellowed.
There were a brief handful of moments where the rising tension in the room was thick enough to have been cut by a knife. The magic that swirled within the room was wild, erratic, and intoxicating. This. This was why Arcturus loved politics – of course, he loathed the situation he was currently in. There was nothing worse than being ambushed with false allegations.
"This Great Council was called to put to rest these malicious rumours that reached my ears. I would have us all leave this Council as strong friends allies – stronger than when we arrived, even!" Trevelyan announced.
It was an interesting turn of events. What was Trevelyan's game? What little he knew of the family, he knew them to be shrewd and calculating in recent years, and the powerful performance Trevelyan was putting on attested to such claims.
The Trevelyan line was a powerful one. In the absence of a Royal Family, they had taken Stewardship of the kingdom, and over the many hundreds of years, had built firm alliances and ties to many of the most powerful of the ancient families.
House Trevelyan, through its alliances and oaths of fealty could call on more than three quarters of the power of the realm – so why had Carth attempted to tie House Potter to his own line? There were so many questions that Arcturus simply didn't have the answers to, and it infuriated him to no end.
"Aye, House Trevelyan has always had the best for the realm in mind!"
A chorus of agreement rose up throughout the hall, and Arcturus felt Sirius step up beside him. Arcturus closed his eyes for a moment and simply allowed himself to bask in the presence of his Grandson for a moment.
"Let this Great Council remain until such a time, that we can discover the root of these accusations and take appropriate measures. I shall not have a rebellion, even a rumoured one, break out during my lifetime. It is simply unfathomable to me – what next, Muggle-born husbands and wives for our children? No, we shall be getting to the bottom of this." Trevelyan asked the room, receiving a loud stomping of feet and cheers in response.
"We seem to be in a spot of trouble." Sirius muttered, his eyes glancing around the room. "Do you think we'll be able to get out of it?"
Arcturus sighed. "I don't know, Sirius. I don't know."
