Glimpse into the future

Ciaran didn't approve of his brothers ill-tempered state.

Ever since Avia and her siblings left Saldia, Pater started working longer and longer hours. He asked his Mater and knew that Pater missed Avia very much. Wait just a bit, she said, and he will adjust.

Aedan didn't know that and it was probably hormones were kicking in, though if it was, it was a bit late, so he frequently went over the walls and grabbed the sword of Gryffindor to whack some wolves and stray trolls with. That usually didn't work because ever since the Dark War, the orc population was decimated.

Ciaran, being the kind and understanding brother, followed just to keep him out of trouble. (Though, if you asked Aedan, he was just being an annoying sibling.)

This time around, however, Ciaran had a legitimate reason to disapprove. That was a bloody big troll.

"How in Arda did you find that?" he asked his brother, aghast.

Aedan grabbed his brothers shirt and jumped back expertly. The bright colors in his hair only highlighted how much he looked like their father at the moment.

"Stop talking," Aedan whispered. "That one looks blind so its probably got good ears."

Oh right, but he didn't know that. Aedan was the one who wanted to follow fathers footsteps. Ciaran wanted to follow Aunt Enid, or maybe Uncle Hodur.

The skirmish with the troll seemed like it lasted as long as forever and ended in under a minute.

Aedan had dragged him to a safer distance and was doing his best to take down the troll through magic, daggers and knives. Ciaran didn't understand why Aedan just didn't use the sword of Gryffindor. Bloody hell, it was an enchanted sword. Enough said.

Only, his stupid noble brother went at it with those meager weapons as best as he could. And then his knives shattered along with his hand.

Well, his hand really didn't shatter but that's how it looked like to Ciaran. Whatever it was said about him., he head the Potter luck, the stubbornness and that insane heroic streak. So he ran to his brother and tried to help, even if he had no idea how. His only weapon was the dagger Uncle Hodur gave him for his thirteenth birthday that he used to harvest potions ingredients. The troll was definitely bigger – and tougher – than any potion ingredient.

"Get away!" he yelled at the lumbering thing that was getting closer and closer to his brother. Aedan, the neurotic little thing that he was, placed him quite far so the troll really was closer than Ciaran was.

Aedan finally mustered the pain and was standing up. His unbroken arm – not his sword arm, unfortunately – scrabbled for the sword of Gryffindor and finally, finally unsheathed it. It rang with a sharp and deadly promise that would have made other people pause. The troll was too arrogant or too stupid to do so.

His stance was ridiculous and the angle of his arm was awkward. Aedan was breathing too heavily and too erratically. It didn't do his position any favors.

"Get back," the idiot said. Then he jumped and slashed down.

Coincidentally – or maybe he planned it? – Aedan managed to disembowel the troll. He was still covered in troll guts and other disgusting stuff but at least it was finally down.

"You idiot!" Ciaran yelled when he was finally beside his brother. "You bloody – " he bit his tongue because Aedan was swaying where he kneeled. "Hey, frater," he whispered. "Pull yourself together!"

It was a bit of a bind because the bruises added with the broken arm was pushing his brother to an exhausted sleep. But they were too far from the city to ask any sort of help. Aedan really had impressive tantrums but this one was working against his favor.

"Bugger," he cursed. "Avia, Amita Eilys, give me the strength to do what I must for my brother." He used the formal term, hoping it would lend his words some strength. Half the spells they learned originated from Latin, after all.

It seemed to have worked because both of them were transported with a crack! to a large and comfortable sitting room. It had a crackling fire and some food. More importantly, there were bandages and some potions.

Ciaran pushed aside worry and started working. He may not have proper education in healing but every child in Saldia knew at least how to splint broken bones. It was only the work of a moment to send up another prayer to the great-aunt that was a healer and he aligned the broken bones – successfully.

By Merlin, praying to them might have some good.

He still had to force feed his brother some potions then he raced around, looking for pillows and blankets to cover him. He was much too heavy to move.

That was when he found four portraits in what he knew was a library and Ciaran forgot all about the sleeping lump.

"Avia?" he asked after swallowing to get his throat working. "Amita, Patruus…"

As though Ciaran's voice was a key, the sleeping portraits woke with a jerk and after looking around with some disorientation, found him staring at them with awe.

"Oh, it's Ciaran!" one of them remarked.

Then, they all smiled at him, even Uncle Hodur, and it was like coming home. This was worth that troll, he thought dazedly.

Yes, he found the four portraits in the Sanctuary. Lots and lots of clues in this one.

Aedan didn't want to draw the sword immediately because of what Guiomer told him, "This is not a toy. Use it wisely and for a good purpose." He didn't want to draw it because of a mishap with a temper tantrum.