T.A. 2602, June
It was a strange sight. All around him, sorcerers possessing magic different from the Istar stood, and demonstrating just as much by using their staves as umbrellas; a dome of wispy, silver magic covered them, protecting them from the rain. Gandalf was of the small minority that was getting wet.
Soon, though, the crowd dispersed. The great majority of these Sorcerers of Mount Gundabad had never met neither Ronald nor Katherine personally; they only knew the tales told by elder sorcerers and only the Headmaster or Headmistress had met them personally. Soon, only close friends that had attended the ceremony were left; Gandalf, Glorfindel, Celebrian, and the two remaining Warlocks.
A great statue stood before them, in the courtyard of this hidden academy. A man and woman, fifteen feet tall, embracing, unseen winds tugging at their scarves and cloaks. The man's left arm was constructed of steel and glowed dully in the rain. Their eyes were closed, their lips twitched upwards at the corners, in expressions of silent bliss. Upon the pedestal upon which they stood, a large, smooth panel of silver, were etched the words-
"'Nothing gold can stay.'"
Harry glanced at Gandalf. "Do you approve?"
"I think it is fitting," Gandalf said quietly.
"I thought so too." Harry and Fleur were among the minority that had chosen to be soaked. The rain was falling harshly now. "I'm terribly confused. It's something I haven't felt in a very, very long time."
"How so?"
"A part of me still refuses to recognize that they're dead," Harry admitted. "I've lived a long time, and I know a lot of things, and I have many answers. But one of the things that's always been certain in my life, just disappeared. They've always been here, yet they are here no longer."
Gandalf nodded. "Few things are as confusing as the departure of loved ones."
Fleur remained silent, but she brushed her fingers at her wrist. An old bracelet made of plant fiber and adorned with faded beads of ivory. Harry hesitated, before turning to Glorfindel. "Having died before and come back, tell me what you think of death."
Glorfindel stood in contemplative silence. "Death is inexorable," he said finally. "But legacy is not. If we wish to maintain the echoes of their life, we must live ourselves, to the best of our ability."
Harry nodded, slowly. "Yes, that makes sense. Have I ever told you that I've died before, too?"
Gandalf, Celebrian and Glorfindel blinked. "You have not," Glorfindel said, surprised.
"Yeah. This was back when I was… seventeen? Eighteen? I can't remember. But I was still a kid, fighting against a Dark Lord who specifically sought to kill me. I took a killing curse, and I died. I remember… my old mentor, Dumbledore, was waiting for me at a train station, not that you'd know what it is. Everything was white, even the robes that he wore. Dumbledore had died a year before I had, and he was one of the wisest men I've known, even after all these years. He told me I had a choice, either to move on to the afterlife, or return and finish my mission." Harry breathed out. "I chose to go back."
"It was not the easy choice," Gandalf said in a low tone, "but it was the right one."
Harry huffed in laughter. "You remind me of that old man so much, sometimes. That's almost precisely what he told me, once upon a time." He looked up at the sky, at the rainclouds. "I choose to stay, now, as well. I'll keep living. And I'll complete my mission, whatever it might be, and then I'll die happy."
"I think that's a good way to live," Celebrian said with a slight smile.
"We'll all die in the end. Memento mori," Harry said. "But we can also live before that. So that's what I'll do."
Harry bowed his head towards the statue and went silent. The others also clasped their hands and remained, the sounds of ever-increasing rain seeming appropriate for the moment of mourning. Five minutes later, utterly soaked, the visitors left the statue, heading inside the great spires of Gundabad. It had been carved from the very face of the mountain by mighty magic, the first generation of sorcerers to come here having been trained by two mighty Warlocks.
"What is Memento mori?" Celebrian asked. "It sounds not like any tongue I have heard."
"A dead language from our world," Harry gestured to himself and Fleur. "Remember death. A reminder of our mortality."
Celebrian nodded. "A promise."
"I suppose you could interpret it that way."
Fleur snapped her fingers and the moisture was blown off of the five of them; the others nodded to her gratefully. They stepped into a hallway, the ceiling so high that the murals carved into them were only visible to Harry and the two elves. They pushed past various students wearing robes with different colored linings. They stared, and whispered behind their hands, at the procession of students. Fleur found herself locking eyes with one girl who had pale skin and dark hair, not unlike Harry's own features.
Ambition. Frustration. Churning darkness.
The girl swallowed and looked away; Fleur's aquamarine eyes did not leave her face for a good moment, boring into her. The eye contact was broken but Fleur could see the threads of fate. Potential to return to the good, but a much higher likelihood of falling to darkness. A possible ambition to rule, to dominate. Much like Sauron, Voldemort, and Grindelwald before him.
Fascinating… would this one make a bid to become a Dark Lady? Fleur pushed the thought to the side of her mind and continued, following after the others through the halls of the Academy.
T.A. 2637, February
Within the town of Bree was an inn called the Prancing Pony. It was located in a good intersection of the town, bound to get the attention of most who passed through the town and thus, got plenty of clients. Dwarves, Men, even Hobbits, such that they had special rooms with furniture that was two-thirds the size that it was for other rooms, to cater for the exceptionally short.
The fact that it was a popular and trustworthy pub also meant it also received plenty of customers of various queer personalities. Jesters and jugglers often came to drink here and in the process entertained the mob; Rangers of the North, dour and quiet, drank away their sorrows in the corners; hunters and trappers discussed their recent achievements and argued over who was the best.
This was one of the reasons the young woman had been assured that the Pony was best for not arousing suspicion. Certainly better than frequenting the less reputable, dingier bars that could be found in various other parts of town. She hurried up to the barman, Tom (she was assured that all the barmen of the Pony were called Tom, for some unfathomable reason) and caught his attention.
"Two ales, please," she said, pressing four little copper coins onto the polished wooden bar. "One for myself and another for a friend, who… should be coming soon."
"Of course, dear," Tom said, filling up two mugs with the foamy beer.
"Thank you," the woman said, with a polite smile, and took the two beers, crossing the barroom towards the edge of the establishment, aiming for a less illuminated region.
She passed a drinking contest in which three - well, two now, that one fainted - strange figures were competing. One was a noble-looking elf, another was a greyhamed old man, and the last a giant with piercing green eyes. The old man had drunk himself to unconsciousness, the elf was supremely red in the face, and the green-eyed one was trying to talk trash but all the words came out as a single uninterrupted syllable.
She sat down at the edge of the table. Most of the bar's attention were focused among themselves or in the admittedly impressive drinking contest - more than a few bystanders had dropped like stones trying to match the current contenders. From under her cowl, her eyes darted every which way, constantly alert. Yet, for all her paranoia, she never detected the tall, slim figure leaning against the wall behind her, slender fingers idly twisting a needle-like knife between them, flipping and spinning, reflecting the candlelight placed at strategic positions about the inn.
Eventually the figure confirmed that the young woman had not been tailed, and stepped out of the shadow, and dropped gracefully into the chair opposite her. The woman flinched violently, and her hand twitched at a dagger on her belt. The newcomer, a cloaked and hidden figure, made an amused sound.
"Is that a dagger in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?" The newcomer teased, and the young woman flushed before forcing herself to lay her hands on her lap. "I was checking if you were followed. You were not. Good work."
"Are you…" the young woman licked her lips. "You are the Belladonna?"
"Indeed I am," the 'Belladonna' said, lounging upon her chair, crossing her legs off to the side. "And you must be our ever mysterious Blue."
"Y-yes," Blue replied quickly. "Are you… are you certain we should be speaking here?"
"The people in this town recognize me on sight," Belladonna replied, amusement evident in her voice. "They know enough that to interfere with my business will have rather unsavory consequences. This place will suffice, though I recommend you keep your voice down."
"I understand," Blue whispered.
Blue got her first good look at Belladonna, now that she was feeling confident enough to try and meet her eyes. The woman was entirely concealed, from head to toe; she wore a pair of leather trousers and expensive-looking leather boots, and her upper body was concealed by a heavy, armored trenchcoat. Her hair and eyes were hidden by a hooded cowl, and her lower face was hidden by a dark scarf. The only thing that was not entirely dark about her was the small, pretty silver pendant that hung around her neck and over her vest. Blue took a sip of her ale to try and reassure herself, to calm her nerves somewhat.
"I have heard a little about your situation," Belladonna said casually. "I would not have joined you without knowing. But like I said, only a little. I need you to explain better."
Blue curled her fingers around her mug once more, than took a swallow of the liquid. "I come from a family of sorcerers," Blue admitted quietly. "I live in a village north of the Grey Mountains. Cold, arid, but there's enough vegetation to keep cattle."
"Hm. Very interesting. Continue."
Blue flushed. "My grandparents, on my mother's side, attended an Academy on the peak of Mount Gundabad. It was founded hundreds of years ago when the original school was decimated in a sort of civil war in the far east; they'd fled with a third of their original number to the west, so they might find peace. They did, and the school began seeking out and finding children with the potential of magic, and began to educate them in the many magical arts. However, only first-generation and second-generation sorcerers with both magical parents got their tuition waived, meaning third-generation sorcerers like me cannot attend unless we come from an affluent family. As such, even while magical blood began to spread among the various settlements around the Grey Mountains or the Misty Mountains, a magical society began to form, with a magical hierarchy."
"Fascinating," Belladonna leaned forward, and Blue could tell she was being genuine this time. Her tone also seemed… hungry. "I suppose you did not go to magical school. What does this magical upper society look like? Do you know?"
"My mother was briefly part of it, having been courted by a wealthier young man when she was still in school," Blue admitted. "She said it was very pretentious. Elfin jewelry, dwarven gold molded into statues and animated… so on. About four hundred years ago, the self-proclaimed 'noble' houses began to transfigure their blood blue to signify their nobility." Blue paused. "I should probably explain what transfiguration is-"
"No, it's quite alright," Belladonna interrupted quickly. "Continue with the story."
"O-okay. Well, others began to proclaim that they were direct descendants of Ronald Stark and Katherine Bell, the founders of the school, when it is clearly documented that neither of them had children - it's just that neither of them visited that often, so it looked like those two weren't denying the claims, and that began to reinforce their ego," Blue muttered. "Others claimed they were descended from the drakes of the Withered Heath, despite how ridiculous that is as a concept, claiming they were dragon-blooded and superior…"
Belladonna sighed slightly. Blue picked it up, and blushed.
"Right, right. Well, there's one family called the Nightingale family. They're one of the richest, having married into a fairly wealthy merchant family, and using their magic, they were able to expand the merchant family's holdings further. As a result of their wealth, they were able to produce many children and still send all of them to school. This made them one of the most powerful and influential families since perhaps the mid-twenty-third century. They gained a reputation for being rather cutthroat, as all successful merchants do, I suppose, but they had ambitions. The idea of a Nightingale legacy has existed for a while, now. And their current heir, Olivia Nightingale, is one of the most powerful witches seen in recent history."
"And so, they felt this was an opportune time to spread their might," Belladonna finished.
Blue nodded jerkily. "The Nightingales hired mercenaries… plentiful gold and promises of high-ranking positions in a new Nightingale dynasty. Villages were subsumed under their control, and any opposition was quelled with violence, by both blade and magic. Nightingale vassal families joined them, as did some families that the Nightingales bullied into capitulation. And they have bullied many families - those who resist are generally killed on the spot, or captured then flayed alive. Entire villages refuse to speak their name, as frightened as they are. Besides the Academy itself, they are the greatest force of magicals to exist. They call themselves noble. The rest of the magical world call them evil."
"So this Olivia Nightingale is leading the effort?" Belladonna inquired.
"Madam Khawen - the leader of the resistance, I suppose - she believes that Olivia's father still advises her on how to proceed," Blue said. "However, Olivia was known to be cunning and very intelligent, so it may be possible that she is doing the planning herself."
"Hm," Belladonna said, locking her fingers together. Silence stretched. Blue swirled her half-full mug, watching the ale spin. Then, Belladonna tugged down her scarf, revealing a sharp, pale chin with beautiful, full lips that Blue could not help but envy; she picked up her mug and began to down the beer. Blue watched in surprise as she drained the beverage without taking a single breath in between.
She slammed the mug down on the table again. Blue noticed the slightly unhinged grin that Belladonna was wearing, and swallowed involuntarily.
"Very well," Belladonna said. "Done. I shall burn down this Nightingale dynasty into ashes for you and your friends. I detect no deception from you; you have told the truth and only the truth. These Nightingales are evil, for most people's definitions." Belladonna leaned forward. "You came to speak to me. Did you understand, before we spoke, that should I have detected any amount of lie in your tale, I would have killed you?"
Blue swallowed. "I've heard."
"Good. So you risked your life to meet me. To save your friends," Belladonna said. "I shall help you. I suggest you stay here. It is relatively safe, this town, and it would also prevent the news of my coming from reaching Nightingale ears."
"I… I understand. I don't think I have the money to live here for so long, though."
Blue's eyes widened as Belladonna drew a single gold coin from her sleeve, and curled Blue's fingers over it. "I shall consider this a loan to you; should I succeed, which I most assuredly will, I will include this in my final payment."
Blue nodded quickly.
"Very good. Now, tonight, you and I will rest. Tomorrow, I will disappear, and in six months, your problem will appear as if it had never existed." Belladonna smiled a cold, thin-lipped smile. "Come."
Blue only felt a growing sense of trepidation as she followed Belladonna into an upstairs room.
T.A. 2637, April
There was a small cottage on the slopes of the Grey Mountains, the doorway illuminated by a single oil lamp. Niflheim was no more than a day of walking away, and on the door was etched a single dwarf-rune. A small company of dwarves had been notified of such a home that might have such a rune on its door, and four cloaked dwarves entered the cabin with a slight creaking of the door.
The first thing that Gror noticed about the woman was how utterly beautiful she was. Fair hair tied into braids, pale skin that gave off a slight glow like silver, and cold blue eyes that pierced into his soul and seemingly dissected it with the precision of a trained physician. His eyes wandered down, to her left arm, covered - no, entirely made of quicksilver, shimmering with every small movement.
"Ah," she said in an angelic voice that Gror suspected that pious men heard after their deaths, "you're here."
"Gror, at your service," Gror hurriedly said. His companions - Oin, and Borin - all gave their murmured greetings as well, and bowed.
"I am Belladonna," the woman replied. Gror had not heard that name before, but beside him, Borin stiffened; he would have to inquire later. "And these are your coworkers; Astoria Black, a Snowfolk Sorceress, Thorondir, a Ranger of the North, and Robin Took, a famed Hobbit hunter."
Both of the males were dressed in heavy, dark clothing, though the former was significantly taller than the latter. However, the Hobbit was surprisingly tall for one, and well-muscled, sharply contrasting against what Gror knew of the peaceful people. He carried a strange contraption, likely a weapon for what else could it be? The woman, fairly short and dressed in heavy, concealing robes, carried a staff with runes engraved into it. He grunted in acknowledgement.
"Seven," Belladonna said, pleased. "Fortune will be on our side."
Gror seated himself at the table, his friends taking up the spaces between himself and the three other… coworkers. The Ranger's eyes were hidden by the shadows cast by his hood, but Gror did not doubt that the Man's gaze was on him. Gror tried to keep his face a mask of neutrality, but it was difficult; it was unnerving.
"Now that all of you are here," Belladonna spoke, "I would like to begin our meeting."
Nobody said anything; Belladonna nodded to herself and began to speak.
"Usually I would work on my lonesome; I have gathered the six of you together today, for our enemy will be strong, both in power and in numbers." Belladonna paused. "Our opponents for the next few months will be sorcerers, and those under the servitude of the sorcerers."
Gror listened intently as Belladonna began to explain the history of their enemy, the Nightingale clan. Olivia Nightingale, one of the most powerful sorcerers in recent history, with pale skin, raven-black hair and green eyes. Known as the first Dark Lady. Women with great power were rare in Middle-Earth, the only such examples Gror being able to think of being the various she-witches in Elven clans.
"Our job is to burn down this dynasty into ashes and scatter them in a storm," Belladonna said. "We have been promised a sizable reward for this contract. Not only that, but anything we wish to loot from the Nightingale is also ours. I have been assured that the family is very wealthy indeed, and my scouting seems to agree with that."
"Can we truly fight a small army with the seven of us?" The Hobbit grunted.
"I have faith," Belladonna replied simply.
"Or the magic-users?" The Hobbit continued.
"We have magic-users on our own side," Belladonna shrugged. "Astoria Black is rather powerful in her own right. Dunedain Rangers have some magic of their own, though most of them are passive effects such as resistance to mental influences. I, of course, have my own tricks."
Robin Took simply grunted again and did not object. Belladonna glanced around. "Any other complaints? No? Good."
"I have a question," the witch said. "When they say as much Nightingale loot I can carry, it means I can shrink stuff, right?"
"If you want," Belladonna replied. "But you don't steal from under your teammates' noses. Finder's keepers."
"That's fair," the raven-haired maiden said. She was dressed in all black - a corset, fur coat, pants and boots made from expensive-looking black leather. A dull silver pendant on a black choker. She smelled faintly of a perfume… lilac?
"The majority of the Nightingale combatants are unpowered mercenaries. As such, we expect that cutting the head off the snake would kill the whole rotten body," Belladonna explained. "Hence, our mission is infiltration and assassination, rather than guerilla warfare. The Nightingale clan's historical estate is located three miles southwest of the village of Alois."
Belladonna paused for a moment, then gestured to the map spread out on the table. "Both Alois and the estate lie on the west bank of the same river. It isn't particularly large or difficult to ford, but since it is used often to transport cargo and personnel, it will be heavily watched and thus we must avoid it where possible. The north side of the estate could be graciously called a cliff. I doubt the majority of us could climb it, especially weighed down by armor and weapons."
"A frontal charge?" Borin asked.
"Absolutely not. Aside from having to scale the walls, we'd have to fight large numbers of mercenaries and sorcerers both," Belladonna snapped, and Borin shrank back. "As much as I have faith that your thick skull could knock down the reinforced gates, the other parts of your plan are not so easy."
Gror and Oin shared glances before giving Borin a pitying look.
"No. Instead, we will be entering through their escape routes." Belladonna jabbed her finger at the map, pointing at the southwest of the estate. "They have hidden escape tunnels that are not as hidden as they seem to think it is. See, they didn't conceal it with magic because they thought that would make it easier to detect by other accomplishes sorcerers. That meant it made it easy for me to find. The Nightingales converted a small cave system into a wine cellar, and the wine cellar itself connects near the main bedrooms."
"How do you know all this?" Thorondir spoke for the first time, his voice raspy.
"I snuck into the cellar," Belladonna smirked. "My first plan was to blow the whole estate sky-high using magical explosives, but then I discovered a trap-door. Upon investigation, it led to the general direction of the estate and, at the opposite end, I found a different trapdoor, rather small, probably disguised. As for whether it's connected to the main bedrooms - it's an educated guess. No point having a secret entrance that you can't reach quickly in the event of a surprise attack."
Thorondir nodded, apparently satisfied. The Hobbit wore a thoughtful expression on his face. Gror looked around at the others, and swallowed. All of them seemed utterly unperturbed by the thought of taking on a small private army; even as a princeling of Erebor, and oft taking part in boar hunts - and sometimes orc and goblin hunts - with the most bloodthirsty of dwarf warriors, he had not met such casually terrifying folk as these.
"Tell us how you plan to get into this wine cellar," Astoria Black said, hushing all other conversation.
"And how you plan to get us out," Robin Took grunted.
"The guards posted at the cellars are, I assume, mostly to deter thieves. I believe that the Nightingales have told few people of the existence of their tunnels, and thus have attempted to paint a picture of normalcy surrounding their hidden tunnel. So nobody looks for it. Hence, we will be fighting perhaps four guards at most, as we enter - then we will break into the cellar and get in. This shan't take us more than four minutes, I think."
"And the way out?" Black urged.
"Assuming all goes well - we eliminate members of the clan, no guards are alerted, and we all grab our respective treasures - we shall take the same entrance out, as soon as possible. If it does not go well, we will barricade ourselves in the mansion and hold the Nightingale children hostage. Do not take any chances with the adults, however, and certainly not with Olivia Nightingale herself."
"Very well," Black sniffed and leaned back into her chair. "I shall expect fighting. But if this turns into a full-blown siege, I will abandon you. That's not what I signed on for."
"Oh, please. If it turned into a bloodbath, you'd be the one most enjoying themselves," Belladonna laughed, and Black smirked in response. "But fine. Be that way. Are the rest of you happy with this arrangement? Suggestions?"
No objections were raised.
"Excellent. We leave at dawn. It should take us a day of travel - we'll arrive at dawn the next day. We'll rest throughout the day, and we'll sneak in at night. I trust all your weapons have been sharpened and the dents in your armor banged out?"
Gror silently nodded alongside the others. Belladonna smiled. It was beautiful - but not particularly kind.
Two Days Later
Darkness had fallen about four hours ago. Robin was known as Honest Rob back home, but even his friends certainly wouldn't call him that if they knew of his little side-profession. He sorted through the various copper casings, examining them in the light of the small campfire, checking for signs of rust.
The Guild of Bulletmakers did their best, Robin was sure, but it just wasn't good enough. Or consistent enough. It wasn't so bad that it damaged his 1873 Winchester, but it did make his aim off at times. Furthermore, the Guild of Bulletmakers in turn could not control the quality of the gunpowder - that was made by a different guild, located in the Grey Mountains somewhere, their processes guarded ferociously by both the guild itself and outside factions seeking to minimize the influence of gunpowder on the world.
"Is everyone ready?" Belladonna asked. She received a chorus of nods in return.
Robin tucked his grandmother's old rifle under his cloak, hiding it from view; Thorondir threw dirt atop the campfire until the flames died out. They moved quickly towards the direction of the estate, using the cover of trees to hide from the occasional patrols. Astoria Black was leading, using her mage sight to detect any magical traps or alarms, of which there seemed to be very few.
After an hour of walking, Belladonna, now cloaked entirely in blue so dark it may as well be black, gestured toward an armored pair of wooden doors. "Wine cellar," she said softly. The others nodded. Belladonna glanced at Robin, who lined up his sights and held his breath. He need not worry about the thunderclap that would follow; the sorceress had used her magic to make it silent.
He pulled the trigger.
The firing pin fell upon the priming compound, igniting the gunpowder and propelling the bullet (rather explosively, heh) at its target. The thin steel plate over leather covering the man's chest was not enough to stop the .357-inch wide lead shard from likely shattering his ribs into tiny fragments that would then pierce his lungs and heart. As the first man fell, the other two guards glanced in shock at their fallen comrade.
Robin pumped the lever and fired thrice more in quick succession. The second struck the lower chest of the guard, and his third shot missed by a couple of inches, but he redeemed himself with a headshot to the last guard before he was able to call for help. All three guardsmen fell with dull thumps to the ground. The second one wheezed in pain.
"Quick," Belladonna hissed, and sprinted across the clearing. The Ranger was hot on her heels. As for the four people of a shorter kind, and the woman who was neither a dwarf nor Hobbit but was regardless shorter than either the mercenary or the Ranger? It was a little irritating.
Belladonna slashed the second guard's throat with what appeared to be an elven knife. The wheezing stopped immediately, replaced with low gurgles. She glanced at the sorceress, who nodded, and she quickly but carefully pushed the door open. Robin shouldered his rifle and followed the three dwarves inside the cellar.
"Shall we take one of the torches?" One of the dwarves muttered.
"Do so," Belladonna agreed, and one of the two torches adorning the entrance of the cellar was stolen. Thorondir led the way with the torch, his footsteps deceptively silent despite not even being a Hobbit or an elf. The sorceress followed closely behind, looking for any traps. The trapdoor was located on the far end of the cellar, as Belladonna had reported, and it was quite well designed, blending in with the wooden flooring.
"Watch your step," Belladonna whispered as they descended into a cave system.
This time, Robin and the Dwarves were the smug ones, considering the other three had to duck their heads to walk through the cave. Thorondir swapped out with the Dwarves who was instead elected to lead the way as they were in their natural habitat. Belladonna softly called out directions from the rear of the group. Two minutes of tense silence was rewarded with a barely-visible light that turned out to be coming from a chink between panels.
"Is this it?" Oin muttered.
"Yes," Belladonna replied. "I don't see any magic on it, but just in case - Astoria?"
"Nothing," Astoria Black replied.
"Good to know. Thorondir, you first, myself second, Astoria third. Then Oin, Borin, Gror, then Robin. Clear?" All nodded. "On three."
Thorondir shouldered open the trapdoor which made a hideously loud freaking noise; Robin was not the only one to wince even as Thorondir rolled gracefully onto his feet and Belladonna quickly followed. Astoria clawed her way out of the trapdoor and she immediately raised her staff.
"Guards investigating from that corridor," Belladonna hissed, gesturing to her left. "Buy us time. Astoria needs to take down any magical defenses."
"Aye," the Dwarves said, jumping out of the cave, Robin quickly following. The three warriors glanced at each other, before taking positions behind pillars, or hiding behind suits of armor. Robin pushed himself to the side of the corridor, tightly clutching the polished walnut-wood.
There were three corridors; the one that Robin and the Dwarves were guarding, one that led to the opposite direction, and one that was perpendicular to either of them. The one opposite to theirs likely led to the front of the estate, while the perpendicular corridor that the sorceress was examining led to the sleeping quarters.
Four guards emerged from the corner, spotted Robin, and charged him.
They were well-armored, he'd give them that, but it wouldn't be much use against his weapon. A full tourney knight's armor might have mitigated the damage, but even then he wasn't certain. The lead guard fell, his viscera painting the polished helms of his comrades, and the other three stared in dumbfounded shock.
At that moment, the three Dwarves jumped out from their hiding places and crunched their broad, heavy axes into the knees and hips; the guards that weren't almost cleaved in half raised agonized gasps. The second blow, when necessary, struck at their neck, and they didn't miss. The Dwarves, thankfully, were quiet throughout the whole affair. Robin had been afraid that they might give into their berserker urges.
"Good work," Belladonna stage-whispered from their corridor. "Come. The path is open, but expect resistance."
The four rushed around the corner and found Thorondir standing over the corpse of a man dressed in simple but expensive-looking robes. Likely not one of the clan; perhaps a chamberlain? They glanced at each other then at the heavy wooden doors at the end of the corridor. The leader of the Nightingale clan would unlikely be located behind these doors. They nodded to each other, and Thorondir again led he way, shouldering the door open violently.
On the other side were three people. One was undoubtedly Olivia Nightingale herself, looking harried in her sleeping gown, clutching a staff made of some type of wood. Her beautiful face was twisted into an expression of rage. On either side of her were another mage, a tall man with his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, and someone who was likely the guard captain; bald, scarred, and dressed in armor that had gold ornaments.
"You dare?" Olivia Nightingale hissed.
Robin - and judging by her expression, Nightingale as well - was not expecting Belladonna to launch herself into combat with incredible speed and ferocity. No dialogue, it seemed - she drew a wicked-looking black sword from somewhere under her cloak. It snapped out like a serpent's tongue, and the mage who had stepped in front of his mistress cried out in pain as his hand was sheared off. Robin shuddered as the blood appeared to seep into the blade - as if the cruel-looking thing was thirsty.
Thorondir also struck out at the guard captain, whose own honed reflexes allowed him to parry and avoid his coworker's fate. Nightingale snarled and twirled her wand; the four suits of armor decorating the hall came to life, jumping off their pedestals onto the thick carpet with a muffled thud, drawing their swords with perfect synchronity. The dwarves roared and charged at them, chopping with their heavy axes.
As Belladonna flickered out of the sorcerer's way to attack Nightingale, Robin quickly raised his gun and fired twice. The first bullet bounced off whatever shield the mage had raised, but the force of it had shattered it; the second struck the man's shoulder, unfortunately for the same arm that was injured earlier. He staggered backward, teeth gritting in obvious pain, and he swung his own staff one-handed at Robin, lashing out with a sickly violet bolt of light. Robin thanked his shortness as he easily ducked under it and brought his weapon to his shoulder once more, taking a moment to aim and fire.
A decent chunk of his head was blown off and he collapsed. At around the same time, Thorondir had managed to behead the guard captain. The dwarves had also disabled the four inanimate constructs and eyed Nightingale nastily, slapping the heads of their weapons into their palms like they were clubs. Robin raised his weapon to point it at Nightingale.
Nightingale noticed the demise of her allies and swung her staff around her, releasing a powerful telekinetic blast; Robin himself and the Dwarves were knocked off their feet, Thorondir struggled not to, Astoria cast a shield around herself in time and remained upright. Belladonna, closest to Nightingale, took the hit point-blank and was thrown backwards.
"Bastards!" Nightingale roared, and made a circular motion with her staff. A glowing line of blue traced itself in midair, and when the two ends of the thread connected, a dark portal winked into existence with a violent rush of air. "Faquarl, I summon thee!"
"A magician," Astoria spat in disgust. "Should've known I'd be fighting someone weak enough that they must summon demons."
Nightingale sneered. "Your arrogance will be your death."
"I could say the - whoa!"
Astoria dived to the side as a fairly ordinary-looking man - well, if his hands did not split apart into cephalopodic tentacles instead of fingers, and a complete lack of any features above his seemingly sown-on mouth - shot a tentacle at her. Robin noticed that, despite being completely flexible, it was also hard enough to pierce the stone wall behind Astoria. Meanwhile, Nightingale laughed hysterically and began to animate the headless body of the guard captain. Belladonna seemed mildly dazed as she returned to her feet, and Thorondir charged the tentacled freak.
Robin fired twice at the creature, the first pinging off one of the tentacles as if they were made of steel, and the second striking its gut; it didn't react at all, as if it hadn't felt anything, and continued fighting without even looking at Robin. It was focusing its attention of Thorondir who was trying his best to keep the whip-like appendages away from Astoria, who in turn dueled Nightingale in a battle of not physical, but magical prowess.
He instead turned to the headless captain who was being engaged by the three Dwarves; the corpse, no longer capable of feeling pain, had taken to moving faster and harder should be humanly possible, going so far as to dislocate its own limbs so that it had a wider angle of attack, likely tearing its own tendons and ligaments into fragments that would undoubtedly cause great pain if it still lived; Robin watched in horror as the corpse kicked Borin away, then coiled its whole body like a spring in an impossible feat, and then sprang, blade lashing out, with so much force that the sword crunched through Borin's leather-and-steel breastplate and his mail coat underneath.
Oin roared in fury and spun his axe, taking off one of the corpses' arms after it tried, and failed, to dislodge the sword from inside Borin's ribcage. Borin himself gurgled, choking on his own blood, and fell to his knees, life escaping him. Gror howled as he ran at the flesh-puppet, and cleaved the corpse right in half down the neck all the way down to its navel.
Robin turned to see the demon, Faquarl, fighting on more than even terms against Thorondir and Belladonna combined. Astoria Black was also struggling against Nightingale, although more or less equal. It was truly a sight to see, even if terrifying - Robin had seen many things, but not many sights could compare to a duel between sorceresses, each of whom had the intent to kill the other. Flame and ice danced and countered each other while multicolored streaks of light surrounded them. The very dimensions of the room shifted as each sought to create an environment to their advantage.
Robin took aim at Nightingale and fired; a shield intercepted his bullet, and unlike the older mage from before, the shield was significantly stronger, likely having been built up over time to protect from magical projectiles as well as mundane. Nightingale's eyes briefly flickered to Robin - Robin saw that as clear as day, for Olivia Nightingale's eyes were glowing white, illuminated by the great power storming within her - and she decided that a longer duel with Black was undesirable, especially now that the remaining Dwarves had joined the fight against Faquarl.
The demon suddenly lurched, its tentacles snapping outward in a wave-like motion; everyone around it was pushed back, and the whips shot out in Astoria's direction. The sorceress reacted too late; one of the sword-like projections punched through her midriff, and she looked down in mild shock; her magic bled away, the turbulence fading, and she slumped onto the floor on her knees.
Belladonna charged forward with incredible speed, her elven blade flashing. Faquarl moved to intercept her as she ran down at Nightingale. Belladonna, however, slapped away the serrated edges of the tentacles that had shot in her direction - the fabric of her sleeve tore, revealing a left arm made of quicksilver, as flexible yet durable as any of Faquarl's own limbs, entirely undamaged from the encounter. Nightingale's eyes widened as she saw the arm.
As powerful as the sorceress might be, she was a mere Man in the face of a she-elf; faster, stronger, and more agile than any Man. The blade blurred three times; the first split the staff, the second severed her hand, and the last punched upward through the small of her back into her heart. The tip of the blade disappeared from between her breasts as soon as it appeared; Belladonna practically ripped the sword out of Nightingale, the action causing a neat line of dark crimson blots to splatter on the floor.
Faquarl completely stopped. Then, for the first time, and in the most unnerving manner, it split open its too-wide mouth with too-many-too-sharp teeth, and it grinned.
"Oh, shit," Belladonna whispered.
"Run!" Thorondir shouted, throwing Astoria Black over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes; Oin and Gror picked up Borin between them and began to run. Robin fired until his Winchester ran out of ammunition at the unhinged creature, aiming for its legs, kneecaps - and finding it to no effect, as seemingly its legs were not normal either.
"What in Durin's name is that?" Gror shouted as they rounded a corner.
"A demon!" Belladonna shouted back over the sound of crunching masonry and shattering furniture. They sprinted down the stairs. "We're going out the main courtyard!"
"What?" Robin shouted incredulously.
"No choice!" Thorondir grunted, adjusting his grip on Astoria, one hand slick with her blood. "I'd rather face eighty of the Nightingales' personal guard than that thing."
"It's unbound," Belladonna cried mournfully. "The sorceress kept the creature under a metaphorical chain. Now that the holder of the chain is dead…"
"Watch out!"
"Shite!" Gror swore in a matter not befitting a member of the royal family as he jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding being cleaved in half - just like the floorboards underneath him. The demon was rending the walls and the floors as part of its hunt, to the point that the entire house shook with each of its indiscriminate strikes, and with every passing second the foundations shuddered more worryingly.
"Run!" Belladonna screamed at the shocked guards peering in from the front door. Foolishly, they drew swords and tried to apprehend them.
"Halt!" One of them called. None of them halted, barreling through the guards. They didn't get an opportunity to complain, since the demon within had found even more playthings.
Screams joined the sounds of ripping and tearing as at least half of the guards they'd rudely pushed through were torn apart into confetti, tentacles that were suckered like that of an octopus but significantly stronger and even serrated, grabbed on them and either simply shredded them or tore them apart limb by limb. The other guards ran, save those who were too terrified to move; they were the next to be destroyed. One entire wing of the house crumbled even as the demon - Faquarl - stepped out of the front doors, manic grin stretching to and from each nonexistent ear.
"We're dead," Oin whispered. "It'll catch us on open ground."
"Don't give up," Belladonna urged. Robin spared a glance back.
And from all the way across the front courtyard, Robin watched as time seemingly slowed, his legs painfully dull. The demon leaped, and Robin watched his death come ever closer, faster than he could have ever imagined it move - and he realized that this would be the day that he would die.
Until the demon stopped, its manic grin gone, replaced with an expression of mixed confusion and possibly even fear.
Then a massive shadow knocked Robin down with the wind it created with its passing; great jaws snapped up the demon in its maw and tossed it high into the air. Robin could only barely hear the prayers from Oin as a titanic black dragon spewed green fire straight up, the pillar of flame taller than mountains and piercing the skies. The tortured screams of the demon caused relief to well up within him until the emotion started to overflow in the form of tears.
Robin wiped at his eyes with his sleeve in as someone - Belladonna, most likely - tugged his arm, pulling him through what appeared to a portal, but not the demonic kind - and into somewhere warm and cozy instead of cold and bloody. Then he fainted. He deserved some sleep.
One Week Later
Fleur didn't bother with knocking. Harry trusted her enough with, well, everything, so it wasn't as if she needed to knock beforehand. The only time she did was if she had someone else with her, someone who wasn't Ron or Katie. She felt a pang or melancholy at that. But she'd remember their last wishes. When their jaunt in Middle-Earth was finished, they'd go back to where they came from, and scatter their ashes around the Burrow on a warm summer evening.
Harry looked up and smiled at her. Not the smug smirk he often wore when he knew he was annoying someone and liked it, or the shameless grin he wore when he made a dumb pun, but the soft, appreciative smile that he wore sometimes that melted Fleur's heart.
"Hello," he called, and beckoned her over. Fleur returned the smile and placed the stack of papers on his desk before melting into his embrace. He was cool to the touch. To her, anyway, since she had fire running in her veins, thanks to her heritage. But that was fine by her. She kissed his neck before straightening.
"This was what my golems could find," Fleur said, gesturing at the papers. "Very good shape, honestly."
"Any successful merchant will keep a very well-maintained set of logs and journals," Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't have expected anything less of what was, in heart, a powerful merchant clan. Was there anything interesting?"
"Dear, you know I have no interest in these things. I did read a very sappy love letter that Alicia Nightingale kept from her childhood, however."
"Aww." Harry placed his hands on his chest. "How sweet."
"I know, right? Anyway, I'm going to get something to drink. Anything I can get you?"
"Just water, thank you," Harry replied. Fleur nodded, made to leave, but Harry grabbed her wrist and pulled her down to give her a peck on the cheek first. She laughed, and then left after that with a smile on her face.
Harry leaned back in his armchair. A flicker of his eyes opened up the various logs and journals. He decided he'd start with the most recent transactions, just to get an idea of this so-called Olivia Nightingale. Supposedly formidable, and Celebrian had witnessed her summon a demon. Harry had not been expecting that at all, especially not from Ron and Katie's students - messing with otherworldly creatures was a recipe for disaster. That meant they had either figured out how to do this on accident, or they had learned it from someone else.
That did not bode well.
Harry snapped open Slytherin's locket and Tom Riddle appeared next to him.
"Bored again?" Tom asked, glancing at the paperwork.
"Maybe. I have a question. Did you ever learn to summon demons? If so, when and where?"
"Hogwarts and Hogwarts. Please, Harry, the Restricted Section is one of the largest repositories of ancient and forgotten magics in the world. Summoning was one of the earliest forms of magic, with many modern magical species assumed to be descended from lesser demons that avoided detection. The Mesopotamians used demons, the Babylonians, the Egyptians, the Romans… the list goes on."
"And would you ever use demons for your work?"
"If I were exceedingly stupid or ignorant, yes. You should know this."
"Mm. Celebrian said that the sorceress she'd been tasked with killing had summoned a demon."
Tom paused. His red eyes narrowed slightly. "I see. Is it dead?"
"I called Alduin to kill it."
"Good. If you died attempting to subdue it, I would never achieve freedom."
"Please. I'm sure I can take on most demons. And besides, I'm rather good at Summoning myself. It's just like Pokémon, except with more screaming."
Tom rolled his eyes. "If only I was enslaved to someone with a better sense of self-preservation."
"You'd hate it I were a bore, Tommy Boy."
"Of course, Harry. I'm mean to you because I have a crush on you."
Harry snorted as he flicked through the logs. Business transactions were mostly performed by Olivia Nightingale's father, the patriarch of the clan. It made sense; Olivia was a powerful sorceress but, like Fleur, was more interested in magical power than economic power. There were a few where she personally oversaw the trades, however. Those were usually more personal goods. For example, this one, where she purchased a dragonhide cloak made from the leather of cold-drakes in the Withered Heath. And this one, where she purchased a bronze mirror from…
Harry stilled.
"What is it?" Tom leaned over his shoulder.
"Do you recognize this name?" Harry pushed a bit of magic out to highlight the letters in golden light.
Decorative bronze mirror from
Raiano Faer
"Can't say I do," Tom drawled.
"I don't either, but it feels to me like I should," Harry murmured.
"Do you truly feel it's that important?" Tom asked, genuinely curious.
"Maybe." Harry was silent for some time. "But not in a good way."
A/N:
Apologies for the late update. I don't have regular access to my laptop recently, so all the writing is being done on mobile. As you can imagine, this takes some time. That, of course, is not the only problem - I told myself I'd start introducing The Hobbit elements this chapter, and I didn't; I thought it might be a good idea to show how HP magic had influenced the world a little. Then I told myself I'd update within a month, and I didn't; I ended up writing 10k words for a Worm/American Gods crossover that had been taking up my headspace instead. That's also published here, by the way, so go read that if you want.
So yeah. Thanks for waiting, here's a new chapter, sincerely hope you enjoyed. Let me know your thoughts.