Eye For An Eye: Part I: Ron and Hermione
Disclaimer: Characters from the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. All original characters belong to ladykyo and the separatesisters.
NOTE: This story will jump around from pov to pov, so I'll let you know whose pov is being used at the start of each new section/ where the povs change.
ladykyo
Chapter 5: Whence Salvation Comes
Ron's pov
It seems to me that it is high time to tell of the wretched trickery played on me and Harold. Of the barter and the trick that led to my ridiculously long life and pseudo-slavery.
Harold and I had been working for perhaps two centuries, eradicating the roving bands of the Tuatha dé Danann, the followers of Danu and Llyr, the ones who would aid Morrígan in her conquests over man and god, should she not be stopped. We were on our way back to Scáthach and Dôn for supplies and rest. Back in those times, we still took our nourishment from the foods we enjoyed as mortals, and we still walked in the light of day.
When we arrived back at the Isle of Skye, the stronghold of Scáthach and the earthly home of the Dôn, it was as if history were repeating itself. We felt no brush of a scan to identify who we were. We had never met our other brothers and sisters in arms, but we knew that they existed. No one came out to escort us back to the castle, and we missed the comforting presence of Uathach, the beloved and only daughter of Scáthach, our own beloved teacher. She was not our master, only the Dôn could claim that title, but she figured just as much into our way of thinking as he did.
We stalked closer and closer to the castle, and the scene was the same: the place was razed. The only casualty: Uathach. Morrígan herself had stormed our stronghold, and she killed Uathach in cold blood as Scáthach was restrained and made to watch.
Morrígan had not come as the ultimate death-bringer. Instead, she had come as the killer of hope; she had come to steal the souls we had all bartered one way or another in order to gain our revenge our protect those we loved.
But Morrígan had failed. She had wanted to destroy those souls and therefore our free will and willingness to subject ourselves to Scáthach and the Dôn's rule, and she failed, thanks to Scáthach. They fought in the souls' room, a room none of us knew about. Morrígan had the souls in her grip when Scáthach had landed a lucky strike. The vessel of souls flew from the dread-goddess's grip, shattering against the high ceiling. The souls escaped, happy to be free of their prison. Like she had never been there, Morrígan disappeared.
It wasn't until we were sitting in a makeshift temple while the others rebuilt the stronghold that Scáthach informed Harold and me of the danger and hope of the situation.
"Ah, me boyos, listen well tae me," she began, leaning back to rest her nearly-ruined body. It wouldn't be for another century or so before the Dôn would restore her to herself. "I doona wan' tae tell ye dis, bu' Ah feel Ah moost. Yer souls hae escaped, 'n Ah ken that they'll roam until they fin' a home in the bodies o' the girls who will complete ye. Ye'll know the girls by the abilities that they share wit' ye, 'n the heaviness they'll feel, especially when yer near tae them. but tae caution with them, for if they shall fall 'n ye not be there tae save them, ye'll have lost all over again, 'n ye'll roam forever as wraiths."
I heard a scream as I had never heard before; I thought it was Harold, but when I looked around after it ended, I realize from how Scáthach and Harold looked at me, it came from my own mouth. I was scared and frustrated, and I felt betrayed. Uathach had been like a sister to me, helping fill the void Gin had left. I had hunted and fought and trained all those years, and the damn warrior goddess had lost my soul!
"How could you have let this happen, Scáthach? Where was the Dôn why didn't he stop Morrígan?" I shouted; I couldn't control the volume of my voice, and Scáthach winced at the sound. Harold looked as if death walked beside him, skin gray and eyes haunted. I was livid and I wanted answers.
"Ah'm soory, Ronald. But ya know that the Dôn can not alway' be here, and me own pow'r is no' alway' enough. For the love o' the Dôn, me own daughter wa' killed!" Scáthach screamed, raising herself up from the reclining position Harold had lain her in. "That is it! Get out of here! Go fin' yer lass and make yer own way. I never should have saved you, you ungrateful git!"
I had stormed out, completely intent on never going back. Harold had stayed with Scáthach a while longer, while I packed my meager belongings.
"Ronald, you had no right to do that to her. She lost her only daughter, along with the only things that bind us to her. You don't seem to remember the terms of our agreement: we handed our souls over to her to be held in trust in exchange for an extension of our natural abilities. In the time we've spent training and hunting, trying to erase Morrígan and Llyr's taint, Scáthach has been our beloved teacher and has acted as a mother to us and the others that she trains," Harold said in a quiet voice.
"Oh, and when exactly have we ever seen the others that she supposedly trains?" I was angry, and Harold would bear the brunt of it if he wanted to get into this with me. I wanted to leave, but I wanted to know how to fix things more than that.
"Ronald, we're kept separate from the others because we each have different abilities, and we come from different eras and cultures. You and I are together because we come from the same place and culture, and we knew each other before Scáthach took us. You never guessed this before? There are others under Scáthach who have been our enemies," Harold said, his eyes growing hard and cold.
"Fine. You want me to believe that not only has Scáthach got other men under her, but that they are men who've also been our enemies?" I scoffed.
"Come with me, before you leave," Harold grabbed my arm and pulled me from my room, through a doorway I had never seen before, down a long, dark hallway decorated with somewhat familiar items. We finally stopped outside a door painted crimson, covered with runes I definitely didn't recognize. Harold pushed the door open, and I hissed at what I saw.
"Romans? She saved Romans!" I yelled, crashing into the room, ripping down all the things on the walls, slamming the lewd statues to the floor.
"Not many. Just the one, as a matter of fact. I don't know his name, but I do know that the one saved is a wizard like you and me. I don't know where he is right now, probably out on a mission, but he should be on his way back; Scáthach has alerted all the others. The stronghold will be full, crowded even, when they all get back. And you're just going to leave. How are we going to find Gin if we just leave?" Harold was getting louder, and I stopped my rampage to look at him.
"No one's making you leave, Harold. You're more than welcome to stay here and use the resources available to you," I said, looking Harold directly in his eyes.
"Gin would kill me if I let you go off on your own. Besides, I'm all you've got at this point. If you go, we both go. We'll find Gin and get our souls back. Maybe then we'll be able to live and age and get out of the agreement. And how exactly would you survive without me?" Harold smiled.
"Well, I'm set. Get your things it's time to set things right."
And that's how we left the stronghold. We never did meet the others who served Scáthach and the Dôn. We left the Isle of Skye and headed for the Irish Highlands. Harold and I made camp wherever we wanted, away from the changing cultures of the people. Harold and I didn't age, but humanity was evolving and growing, learning. The villages we had known were falling down, and castles were springing up in their wake.
We took refuge in a village that had seen its end long ago, thanks to a local tribal war. We used it as a base, hunting close at first, then roving farther in an effort to sustain ourselves. We gathered berries and other edible plant matter along with what we hunted. We took very little with us when we left the stronghold, but our abilities filled in what we needed to get by.
At least, until we could no longer survive on what we had enjoyed as men.