You get a timeskip! You get a timeskip! Everyone gets a timeskip!
T.A. 1975, July
Glorfindel absently patted his horse's neck, soothing him with soft-spoken Elvish words. The horse calmed, glancing at Glorfindel with a beady eye, before tossing its head forward again with a snort. The battle was expected to begin soon. Glorfindel personally didn't enjoy fighting in the dark, but it was more than likely that an army made up primarily of orcs would prefer to fight at night. Under his command were two-thousand and four-hundred Elves of Lindon, all brave and glorious in their elfin might.
"Heya! You must be Glorfindel!"
Glorfindel turned around to find two Men. One was a woman, with raven-dark hair and a warm smile, and the other a redheaded giant of a man, standing almost as tall as Glorfindel himself. Both of them wore worn, but sturdy traveling cloaks over their armor. Glorfindel blinked. The lady was wearing chainmail - she surely didn't expect to participate in the battle?
"Do I know you?" Glorfindel asked warily.
"You might have heard of us, unless Harry and Fleur decided to be little shits and didn't brag about how awesome their bestest friends ever are," the woman snorted.
"You are… Katherine? And Ronald?" Glorfindel blinked. "Have the two of you come to fight?"
Ronald, the redhead, grinned as he hefted a war-staff almost as tall as himself. "Well, we have been off far beyond civilization for some time now, and we wanted to meet you. Plus, what's better for team bonding than a little genocide?"
"I am surprised that Harry and Fleur did not come but you did," Glorfindel said. "Still, it is a pleasure to have you here."
"Harry came down with a cold at the last moment," Ron said, as Katie chuckled. "Fleur stayed with him so he wouldn't be the only one who felt like missing out. He was… rather upset about it, too."
"A bit of deflating his head would do him some good," Glorfindel grumbled. Ron laughed.
"Well, yes, you're right. Ronald Weasley, at your service," Ron said, thrusting out his hand. He and Glorfindel clasped arms.
"Katherine Bell," the woman beamed, shaking Glorfindel's hand enthusiastically. "Wow. You really are as pretty as Fleur said you were."
"Thank you?" Glorfindel shook his head even as he smiled. "So. What could the two of you do to increase our odds of survival?"
They glanced at each other. "We didn't think that far, actually," Katie shrugged. "What's the plan? Are you going with the classic cavalry flanking maneuver? I could probably ride with you guys, and Ron can stay with the infantry."
"How did you-? Ah, legilimency," Glorfindel muttered. "Please don't."
"Sorry, just getting a hang of the plan. And proving to you that we're actually warlocks," Katie said. "Anyway, I'll ride with you guys because Ron sucks at equestrianism. Also, Ron can be pretty intimidating when he wants to be, so he'll be a massive morale boost for other terrified men."
"Other terrified men?" Ron scoffed. "I'm not scared."
"Sure, whatever you say, Ronnie," Katie smirked. They turned back to Glorfindel. "Anyway, Ron is what you would call a berserker. He's an absolute monster once he starts picking up steam. You see, there was a period in his life where Ron thought that he could get away by seducing the only daughter of a war god… what did you learn, dear?"
Ron grumbled. "Don't tease any gods, even if they were severely weakened due to lack of worship."
"Good, I'm glad you still remember," Katie sighed. "So yeah. Ron is cursed - or blessed, in some people's view - to slowly lose his humanity while he's in battle. Considering what we're up against this time, it might not be a detriment, though."
"As long as he won't harm our own side," Glorfindel said.
"He can differentiate between friend and foe. Right, Ron?" Ron shrugged awkwardly. "...we'll take that as a yes. Just have the men keep a small distance, especially considering the higher his bloodlust, the more unhinged his magic. He still got off easy from his deal, I say."
"You're not doing a very good job of convincing me that having him on the battlefield is a good idea."
"Yeah, he's small fry compared to me anyway," Katie grinned, as Ron glowered. "My magic is a lot cooler than his berserker rage. I can hide your cavalry under magic weaves and I can muffle footsteps. Perfect for a flanking maneuver, am I right?"
"Yes…" Glorfindel rubbed his chin. "That will be extremely useful, actually. How much magic can you do during the battle, Ron?"
"At the beginning, before the initial clash? I should be able to do enough," Ron said. "After that, it will get much more difficult."
"Could you create a bright light in the sky just before the battle begins?" Glorfindel asked. "Not only will it improve visibility for us, it will also hurt the orcs."
"Yeah, I can do that," Ron nodded. "That's a good idea."
"Very well. We predict the battle will begin as the sun disappears. Be ready until then - do you require anything? Food? Armor and weapons?"
"Nothing much," Ron shrugged. "Is there somewhere to sleep?"
Katie and Ron disappeared into the camp, following one of Glorfindel's aides. Glorfindel took a deep breath, and turned, realizing that someone was calling his name. One of his lieutenants. "Yes?"
"An additional two companies have arrived from the Grey Mountains, Lord Glorfindel," the elf said. "Said they are here under orders of Queen Gabrielle, first of her name. There are about one thousand in number, all of them pike infantry. They are marching towards our camp as we speak."
"I see," Glorfindel blinked. "I should visit them. Thank them for their participation."
"Of course, my Lord." The elf turned around and began to guide Glorfindel to the outskirts of camp. Glorfindel followed; reaching the entrance, he came upon a most impressive sight.
Ranks of men sixteen wide marched in complete synchronity as they approached. Half of their members were carrying polearms almost four times long as they were tall, while the other carried ordinary pikes. Their footsteps sounded like the coming of a dragon rather than an army, as perfectly in time as it was.
A bugle called a quick note and the men slammed to a stop. Glorfindel approached, his eyes gazing to the tip of the massive lances, before a man dressed in well-made armor approached. He wore a helmet that had a long black plume on its crown. He removed the helmet and approached.
"Hail, Lord Glorfindel!" He called. "I am General Pollux of the House of Black. We come to the aid of our westerly neighbors in their time of battle!"
"Hail, General Pollux," Glorfindel smiled as he approached. "Some mighty impressive infantry you have here. Have they seen battle before?"
"A skirmish, once or twice, with some wandering orcs, but nothing major," Pollux shrugged. "This will be their first real test in them, but I have faith they'll do well."
"I think they will too," Glorfindel replied, thinking back to the perfect synchronization of the men. "Very good. Let us retreat to our command tent, and you may join our battle planning."
"Excellent," Pollux grinned as he and Glorfindel began to walk.
Elion, son of Eliur, was no stranger to conflict. As a professional soldier of Gondor, he was tested and proven to be worthy of fighting for his homeland. Of course, this battle was perhaps one of the farthest held from his homeland, but still.
As he marched in a massive army tens of thousands strong, he could only feel nervousness. It was strange - he was marching in a massive army that should have brought him courage and strength, but all he could think of now was the image of a charred battlefield, thousands of men slain with every fell blow of the Witch-King's sword.
The redheaded man noticed his emotions and grunted. "You'll be right. Just focus on surviving and don't let yourself be disarmed."
Elion nodded quickly. The man wasn't a Gondorian, clear by his accent, and neither was he a Gondorian soldier, since his armor, unlike that of his own, was blood-red and decorated with a metal wolf's head on its pauldron. He was also a giant, nearly easily over six feet tall. He carried a wicked-looking poleaxe made of what looked like cold iron. His black cape reached down to his knees.
For whatever reason, the man had been permitted to stand at the very center of their army, even if it meant one less man in the unified Gondorian front ranks. Then there was also the 'Snowfolk', apparently a people that had recently settled in the Grey Mountains, marching right behind the redheaded man with their massive polearms. Their footsteps sounded like claps of thunder; Elion wondered what kind of warriors they would prove themselves to be.
"If you want to live, friend, keep close to me," the redheaded giant said, his braided beard swinging with each step he took. Elion glanced at the man's dark-red, spiked gauntlets, and nodded again. That seemed like some pretty good advice.
"Where are you from, friend?" Elion asked.
"I am from a land very far away. You wouldn't know of it," he replied. "And you?"
"From Gondor," Elion said proudly. "And we now march to restore the Kingdoms of Men from wicked sorcerers."
"Don't underestimate those 'wicked sorcerers'," the man grunted. "They are feared for a reason. If the Witch-King shows his ugly mug in front of us, don't be a hero. I'll take him on."
"You believe you can?" Elion asked, a little suspicious. The man, while intimidating, had not really proved the strength of his words.
"Don't know. But we'll find out," the man grinned. It was somewhat disturbing.
Elion swallowed as the enemy army came into sight. They were coming over the crest of a small hill, with Angmar being hilly as it was. Not an ideal place to fight, he'd faced worse. The orcs marched until the bottom of the hill, about a hundred and fifty feet away from their own line, and stopped. Orcs were never particularly well-disciplined - they were squirming even in their lines, visibly struggling to hold back their bloodlust.
"Merlin, they're ugly," the redheaded man was muttering to himself.
The orcs roared. It wasn't organzied, but with tens of thousands of them roaring at once, it made for a terrifying sound that reverberated across the hills. Elion was trained. He would not break here, even if it was tempting. He'd follow his fellow Men into the jaws of death itself.
"Pathetic!" The redheaded man scoffed so loudly that Elion flinched. No way a Man could raise his voice so far! "We can do one better than them as we always have, isn't that right, lads?" As the Men got over their initial shock, they began jeering in agreement. "We're stronger, more skilled, and more handsome than they are!" A chorus of cheers. Elion felt his lips tugging upward.
"We'll show them what a real chant sounds like!" He said. "Deus vult!"
It took a few tries for them to get it right, but the combined army of Men and Elves picked it up fairly quickly. Beside the man in question, Elion eagerly took up the chant. At one point, the Snowfolk began to slam the butts of their weapons against the ground. Elion and the other Gondorians joined in on the percussion by banging their sword-hilts against their shields.
As far as pre-battle banter went? They were doing very well. The orcs didn't appear so sure of themselves anymore.
Deus vult!
A Gondorian horn bellowed, and the infantry began to march. Measured paces, shield-walls forming to prevent arrows from taking down the men prematurely. Beside Elion, the giant man seemed eager, even gleeful as he began to march. Elion turned to him. "What is your name?"
"Call me Ron," he said, his voice now back to normal levels. Then he grinned at him. "Don't die. And try to have fun."
A terribly strange man, but Elion felt a lot more comfortable with his chances of survival with him beside him.
Deus vult!
"What does it mean?" Elion asked, as arrows began to fly from the opposite side of the field of battle. "The chant?"
"It translates to, Valar wills it," Ron said simply. "Or something similar."
Elion nodded before focusing on the enemy once again. The army continued to march; occasionally, a man was struck down by an arrow, but the forces of the Free People continued to march forward. A hundred yards turned into fifty, then twenty-five, and at an unseen signal, the line charged.
The sound was deafening. Thousands of shields battered against each other, and Elion could somehow still hear the hundreds of shields splintering or shattering in the clash. The snarling of orcs, the coppery scent of blood watering the fields. He raised his shield, and the axe heading towards his chest glanced off the edge, sending it skittering to the side. Unbalanced, the orc did not have an opportunity to dodge Elion's sword-thrust into the unarmored gap on its neck. Another orc stepped forward to take its place.
Elion continued to fight. He wouldn't die here. He blocked a strike from the next orc, only to blink in surprise as a sound similar to shearing cloth accompanied the sudden bisection of his immediate opponent. He blinked, and spared a glance sideways, finding Ron enjoying himself immensely, it seemed.
"C-c-c-combo!" He was cackling to himself, as three more orcs fell under one mighty swing of his blade. Ron, all on his own, had created a pocket in the enemy ranks devoid of orcs due to the sheer speed with which he was dispatching them. Elion felt somewhat invigorated by this display; he thrust hard into the faceplate of the next orc to approach him, stabbing through its brain.
"Come at me, you cock-guzzling sons of whores!" Ron roared. "Fight me! Bleed at my feet, die by my hand!"
The orcs were definitely not as enthusisastic; Ron snarled in anger as he was forced to chase after targets rather than they come to him. Elion could only stare in astonishment at the man. It could have been a trick of his eyes, but it looked like he wore a blood-red halo like some vengeful Maia feeding on the deaths of these abominations.
"Shit!" Elion stumbled back as an orc wielding a morningstar managed to strike his shield. The shield blocked most of the damage, but it was quite a big orc and quite a big mace; his arm was full of pins and needles. He jumped to the side as the orc dumbly embedded his weapon into the soil, and Elion shouldercharged him, staggering him and releasing his grip on his weapon. After that, he stabbed up underneath the orc's chestplate and kicked him over.
How many orcs had he managed to kill? He was fairly certain he'd gotten at least fifteen, most of them during the initial clash where the two opposing ranks were still somewhat coherent. Now, the participating population had thinned out and the ranks weren't so clear anymore as soldiers from either side began fighting more one-on-one fights rather than as groups. He stumbled back a few steps and tried to take in the battlefield.
The Snowfolk, despite being inexperienced, were faring very well. The front few ranks hacked and slashed with shortswords, but the remainder of them fanned out their massive lances to crate bristles like on a hedgehog, checking the enemy. Archers had stationed themselves on two nearby hills, sending out volley after volley into the reserve ranks of the orcs. Elion could see Men, Elves, and even the usually introverted Halflings on that hill.
As the sky continued to get darker, choked by smoke, Elion came to the decision that it definitely was not a trick played on his eyes; Ron was definitely wearing some sort of blood-aura that let him glow in the darkness. It seemed to pulse with every enemy combatant that he cut down. Also, the blood on his armor quickly turned to steam, and rose into the air. Combined with the aura, it looked like he was on fire.
"Blood for the Blood God!" He roared, as his polearm cleaved another orc in half, tearing through armor like linen.
He was a literal whirlwind of death. Somehow, he was inhumanly fast, inhumanly strong, and had inhuman resilience; Elion could see arrows piercing into his armor but also into the gaps in-between; Ron, despite his ever-increasing battle-lust, had undoubtedly taken a lot of damage already. Elion gaped as the enemy sent an eleven-foot tall troll at Ron, armored in spiked plate and wielding a spiked club.
The man stabbed his weapon into the ground, and charged barehanded at the troll. And started wrestling with it! And he was winning! Ron let loose a massive roar that was equally as loud as that of the troll as they entered a contest of strength; Elion saw the straps of Ron's right gauntlet pop loose as his muscles doubled in thickness. With a final grunt, Ron spun, pulling down with his left arm and pushing up with his right, leading to the troll strumbling onto its knees as it lost balance. Ron let go of the troll's massive hands and wrapped his arm around its neck. The troll bucked and panicked, until with a snort of effort, Ron twisted its head to an unnatural angle with a series of crackles.
"By the Valar," Elion breathed.
"That can't be it!" Ron roared at the terrified enemy. "Come on! Fight me! Hurt me! Make me bleed!"
Elion shook his head and focused on taking the enemy down. The battle was not yet over.
Glorfindel stared at the aftermath of the battle.
It had gone well - extremely well, in fact. The Angmari army had been completely decimated in the previous night. For every one Man or Elf felled in battle, at least thirty orcs were destroyed. The Witch-King of Angmar had sadly escaped him, fleeing to Mordor, but the destruction of the entirety of Angmar was a decisive strike against the forces of darkness.
Katie and Ron rode beside Glorfindel, on sturdy beasts - Ron's armor must have been too heavy for any ordinary warhorse. As they rode back to camp, Glorfindel's heart fluttered at the sight of a familiar woman.
"Fleur!" Katie grinned, jumping off of her horse and tackling the blonde into a hug. "Come to see our handiwork?"
"Hello, Katie," Fleur said, amused. "And yes. I forced Harry to stay in bed."
"Poor him," Katie said without a hint of sympathy. "So! The battle went very well. The Witch-King unfortunately escaped because Glorfindel can't shoot a bow, but I did confirm that the Patronus charm is effective against them, though not by much." Her face lost her levity and became serious. "The Witch-King was a lot stronger than I expected. Definitely stronger than either myself or Ron, although I suspect the two of us together can take him down if we're clever about it."
"Oh? How so?" Fleur asked, also serious.
"Strong magical resistance. I suspect mundane spells like Stupefy won't work on him. He doesn't have biological functions like we do, so any spell that targets the nervous system, for example, are out. Physical damage will affect him, but won't necessarily hurt him. I tried an AK on him. That didn't work either - his life-force, or whatever remains of it, is in that ring-horcrux of his."
"I see," Fleur hummed. "He wasn't wearing the ring, I suppose?"
"Couldn't tell. He had gauntlets on, and we didn't see it on top of them."
"He can be hurt with enchanted weapons, funnily enough," Ron said, as he dropped to his own two feet and approached the women. "Magic on its own didn't work that well, but magical weapons worked better. Light-magic worked the best. Needless to say, death-magic is counterproductive, and he seems more affected by fire- than ice-magic."
"I didn't try because I didn't want to burn the whole continent down, but I suspect Fiendfyre will be just as effective against the Nazgul as everything else," Katie said.
"And his Scream? What about that?"
"Terror aura," Ron said. "He, and the other Nazgul, have a constant fear aura that affect the limbic system. The scream enhances that, causes paralysis in the less strong-willed. It also has a magical component to it, because covering your ears doesn't help at all. Keep your Occlumency up at all times - it's bad enough when he uses it as a demoralization tactic, it might be deadly if he uses it in the middle of battle and creates an opening against you."
"Understood," Fleur nodded once, sharply. "How did Fawkes' magic fare?"
"Definitely effective. The Witch-King was pissed," Ron said. "Fawkes represents everything that he and the other Nazgul stand against. Life, rebirth, cleansing flame."
"I thought as much, but it's good to have it confirmed," Fleur said. "Any information on the so-called Easterlings?"
Glorfindel watched the back and forth with interest. A lot of information was being exchanged - he hadn't expected it. So this had been an information-gathering expedition, not just coming to battle for the sake of it? He wouldn't have expected it of the carefree group of warlocks.
"Solid armor, good strategy and practiced drill maneuvers," Ron reported. "Definitely worth more than the orcs. I struggled against them where I could be swarmed by twice as many orcs and have no trouble. I captured a few Easterlings on the field of battle, I'll interrogate them and learn more about them. If we can overthrow their regime…"
"We'd have a powerful nation's backing," Fleur agreed.
"I doubt it will be so easy," Katie argued. "From what I've seen of their military? They're like the offspring of Mongols and Romans with a Chinese aesthetic."
"They also span a lot of territory," Glorfindel interjected, though he admittedly did not know much of the Easterlings. "Even if their capital was conquered, I'd imagine plenty of city-states will rise up against you."
"We're not… inexperienced with politics. I'd imagine with the right push we can kickstart the War of Three Kingdoms in Rhun as well," Katie said. "Only problem is ingraining ourselves in there."
"We will have to hold a proper meeting," Fleur said. "We need to discuss what our roles are going to be in the times to come."
"I understand. We need to make sure our butterflies create advantages," Ron nodded.
Glorfindel watched Ron and Katie retreat to their tent. Only Fleur remained, watching them disappear. After a moment, she turned to face him, and Glorfindel subconsciously sat up a little straighter on his horse. She was wearing a dress that sparkled with the light from the rising sun - his elfin eyes allowed him to see the impossibly small steel chain links that made up her dress. It was chainmail, then?
"It's good to see you again, Glorfindel," she said finally.
"It's also very good to see you again, Lady Fleur," Glorfindel said, dismounting. "It has been… eight years, has it not? What have you and your lord husband been doing recently?"
"We've been exploring the far west," Fleur said. "We've been trying to find ruins of what used to be Beleriand. See what kind of ancient magics we might find."
"Beleriand? From the First Age?" Glorfindel blinked. Admittedly, his memory of his previous life was lacking in many places. "Have you found anything?"
"Most of it is underwater, and neither Harry nor I are as effective underwater as above it," Fleur said dryly. "That being said, yes, we have discovered a few interesting things. For example, we sailed quite the distance northwest and found the lands where Ungoliant was rumored to have hidden herself."
Glorfindel grimaced. "I trust you had the sense not to delve too deeply."
"Oh, please, you underestimate Harry's stubbornness," she laughed. "No, we dug deeper. And guess what we found? Spiders that had adapted to an aquatic environment, can you believe it? They would weave cone-like webs, really like those fish traps, that allowed fish to swim inside, but not back out. Thankfully, most of them were smaller spiders."
Glorfindel shivered. "I hope that they do not resurface again."
"I don't think we'll have to worry about that for some time. Harry found and exterminated four colonies 'as a favor to Ron'." Fleur exclaimed with a large grin. "Oh! By the way, did you know Ron and Katie found spiders bigger than the average house roaming like horses in the Dark Lands?"
Glorfindel covered his face in his hands and let out a heavy sigh.
T.A. 1980, September
Khana placed the reed mat on the low wooden tabletop, before placing the teapot on top of it. The bottom of the ceramic pot was still hot, and she didn't want to catch Mistress Katherine's ire by burning the polished wood surface.
The doors slid open and Mistress Katherine stepped forward. She was a tall woman, and obviously foreign but spoke perfect Hithli with a Dormun accent. Long, straight black hair, a slightly beakish nose, and her sharp eyes were a cold brown. Khana could count the number of times that Mistress Katherine had smiled in the past seven years on one hand.
Khana dutifully placed two cups, one in front of herself and another in front of her Mistress', before pouring three and a half fingers' worth of amber liquid in each, just as she had been raised to do since she was a child. Mistress Katherine folded her legs underneath her, as graceful as a serpent, and watched Khana's work.
"Thank you," Mistress said as Khana finished pouring. Together, they took their first mouthful of tea. It tasted excellent, as it always did.
"How has your Occlumency progressed?" Mistress asked. These weekly meetings allowed Mistress to connect with her students. Khana appreciated this; while she was harsh, she was never cruel, and often took her students' feedback into consideration instead of dismissing them as another mistress might have. For a woman so powerful, Mistress was exceedingly humble.
"Well, thank you," Khana responded. "I believe I have begun to reach what you call 'Level Two' - conscious control over emotional influences."
"Good," Mistress said. "You have been progressing beyond my expectations. I applaud your efforts and drive." Khana preened inside, but allowed no sign of it to escape onto her face, instead giving a respectful bow. "How are the newest generation of students?"
Khana had become something of a caretaker to several dozen young girls, now. She was one of the oldest students under Mistress Katherine's tutelage, and thus was expected to take responsibility for the younger ones. It didn't bother her; it wasn't much different from taking care of her seven siblings when she had yet to be orphaned, just on a bigger scale.
"Talia shows the most promise," Khana reported. "She has taken to the studies with vigor, and shows a lot of natural talent. While I hesitate to say this, the other students are quite… lackluster in their efforts and results."
"It's to be expected," Mistress shrugged. "This is your first year teaching the younglings, is it not? I have noticed that generally, the newest members aren't particularly focused on anything that isn't their next meal. They don't have the same loyalty to the institution as the elder students do, after all."
Khana disliked that. She, like Talia, had been one of the children that had taken to the magical studies with enthusiasm from the very beginning. After all, Mistress had taken her and her siblings off the streets, giving them shelter and food. Khana and two of her sisters had been nominated for study in this sect of female magicians - 'witches', Mistress called them - and while magicless, her other sisters had been permitted to work for a bed and food, and her brothers had been handed over to Mistress' husband, who was a sorcerer of his own and also a powerful warrior.
It grated on her that some children would be so dismissive of Mistress' actions that way. The majority of them were orphans, taken off the street where the supply of food was just as irregular as beatings from adults were regular. Khana's mother had died birthing her youngest brother, who also no longer lived. Her father had been conscripted by King Khamul the Black to invade a nearby nation, and never returned. She was forever grateful for Mistress in giving her a new home.
"Still…"
"Give them time, Khana. They're likely feeling conflicted about all the change that has recently occurred in their lives."
"Of course, Mistress."
A minute or two passed in silence, each of them simply enjoying their tea.
"May I ask you a question, Mistress?"
"You may."
"Where did you learn to wield your magic?"
Mistress paused and contemplated. She seemed to take another sip of her tea to help her think of a suitable answer. Khana wasn't expecting one, at least not a clear answer, considering how secretive she seemed to be of her past. It was somewhat of a surprise when she did answer, and not entirely enigmatically.
"I studied in a school run by talented wizards and witches," she said. "We had a professor for each of the major fields of study. We attended the school for seven years in total - the first five years, we'd receive a general education, and in the final two years, we'd specialize, going into courses that were permitted as per our performance."
"You learned all that magic in seven years?" Khana blurted incredulously.
"Of course not," Mistress snorted. "A school full of children who would rather be talking to friends than doing homework? That school only barely managed to part the essential of magics, I think. Most of my knowledge comes from the research I did as a scholar, and the travels I made with my friends."
"Such as your husband?" Khana asked. "And Lady Fleur?"
"Yes. We've been traveling for… a very long time…" she trailed off.
"Will you tell me about some of your travels?" Khana asked. "...if you are willing, of course."
"I am willing," she said with a twitch of her lips that Khana might interpret as a smile. "So many tales, Khana. We have lived for a very long time, you see…"
Then Khana felt something. In her periphery, like a sensation that someone was looking at her. She doubted any of the other students could feel it, as she was the most advanced in Occlumency out of all the students, and Occlumency increased the user's perception. Mistress Katherine had not reacted, and Khana wondered if she was having a… misfire of her abilities.
"Something bothers you?"
"Yes, Mistress," Khana said. "I sense something, but I'm unsure if it even means anything, or…"
"You're not mistaken. I can sense it," Mistress said, calmly sipping her tea, before turning her head in the exact direction that Khana felt like she was sensing a disturbance from. "The source is far away, but exceptionally powerful magic is at play."
Khana looked down. Mistress called it 'exceptionally powerful', but was her Occlumency so limited that she didn't even know if it was real or not?
"Quit feeling ashamed of yourself. Magic perception is a difficult skill to obtain. Truth be told, I wasn't even certain if you'd sense it," she said. She frowned, and Khana saw another twitch of her lips - a frown? That was just as rare as a smile. "Powerful magic, indeed. An ancient evil is awakening and brings great destruction with it."
"Ancient evil?" Khana exclaimed, alarmed.
"Yes. I believe it is a so-called Balrog," Mistress said, then shivered. Khana blinked at the string of rare behaviors. "...Merlin. I wish the best of luck to anyone facing that monster, but I suspect in this case it wouldn't matter."
"Is this Balrog so powerful?" Khana asked. She had read about them in her history lessons, of course, but it was difficult to contextualize.
"Yes," Mistress said, closing her eyes and rubbing her temple as if nursing a headache. "For context? I would think… at least three sorcerers of my caliber might be required to drive off a single Balrog, and even then death is a possibility."
Khana blinked. "Then if I and all the other students were to fight…?"
"You'd all die," Mistress said bluntly.
There was something else. Khana felt something like a breeze, and looked towards the north. Mistress Katherine sipped her tea. "You definitely felt that, I suspect. That magic was about as far away as the Balrog."
"...but even stronger?" Khana said.
"Yes, but thankfully not evil. It's a familiar signature," Mistress said. "I did tell you about Harry, yes?"
"Lady Fleur's husband?" Khana recalled.
"And the strongest of all of us. So powerful that if Fleur, my husband and I were to fight him together, we'd lose ten times over." Mistress held out her cup and Khana refilled it. "He once decided he wanted a pet. So he… created an egg, I suppose, from which he birthed a dragon."
"A dragon," Khana repeated.
"Yes," she said. "And from what Fleur is telling me, a cold-drake decided to attack a settlement of Snowfolk in the Grey Mountains, and the resident dragonlord retaliated."
"A battle between dragons," Khana breathed. It must be an epic sight to see.
"It's a curbstomp," Mistress supplied, as if reading her mind. Which she might very well be doing. "The invading lizard was dead as soon as Alduin woke up. I almost feel sorry for it."
Khana blinked, then decided to refill her cup. Mistress was powerful. Strong. She'd been targeted by no less than eight assassins (there were probably more of that Khana didn't know of) in the past six years that she'd been in Kabal, the Black King's seat of power. Mistress had barely noticed the attempts to bully her, from rival schools of magic to the Black King's lieutenants themselves.
In the far west, though? According to her, there were beings of untold power that not even three thousand years of practice and cultivated power could defeat.
...Mistress would chide her for it. But Khana wanted to see that power with her own eyes.
Slightly shorter chapter than usual. Should I be studying for my chemistry exam? Yes. Do I want to study for my chemistry exam? No. Which is why this chapter is out today and not later this week. This chapter isn't my favorite, honestly, but Ron & Katie haven't been getting much screentime and the Battle of Fornost is a pretty major event. Also, RIP Khazad-dum and unnamed cold-drake.