A/N: Wow! Updating a little bit faster than I have been as of recent, although this is a day shy of the time that I thought I would be updating. Crazy internet and I had a bit of a dispute, so that's to be expected.. Anyways, I'm updating with a nice long chapter! Hoping everyone will enjoy this one because it finally delivers something - or part of something - that most everyone has been asking for. Pray that y'all think it's just, lol. Anyways, now it's time for the many thanks to my lovely, wonderful reviewers before I let you go on to read. Thank ya to: Hater-of-heartless-critics, DeceptiveFates, Gueneviere, xXxTom4everxXx, Autumn's-Smile, Silver Tears 11, KoolAidNightmare, Charming-Lynn, libaka, LandUnderWave, PhanPhic-adict, Malfoys girl 01, emeraldice77, marauder'sbabe, fatcakes, Alana84, CartoonOni, and SweetChaosandRevenge. Now, onto the chapter...
Chapter 36 – Till Death Do You Part
"Where are you going?" Hermione yelled as Tom mounted a horse hastily and took the reins that were handed to him by Arthos.
"I've got something to take care of," Tom replied angrily as he turned the horse towards the woods where the General and the others had disappeared. Riddle looked to Arthos who mounted his own horse and nodded his ready to his companion.
"This is madness!" Hermione tried to point out as Arthos began to turn his horse in the proper direction. "You're going after some madman on a horse with a gun. This isn't going to turn out good. You tested fate once with Porthos, don't do it again." When Tom only adjusted his feet in the stirrups and made sure that his sword was secure on his belt, she turned to the King. "Father! Reason with him," she pleaded as she thrust a finger in her future husband's direction.
"Aramis," the King began, "please. She's right. We can't have you risking your life. Especially not so close to the wedding. What if something were to happen?"
"My apologies, your majesty," Tom stated stiffly. "But I feel that this is something I must do." With that, Riddle snapped the reins, and the horse reared a bit before digging its back hooves into the ground and leaping forward into a gallop. Arthos followed, much to Mima's sadness. She turned to Hermione who turned and ran for the stables. By the time she reached them, she was breathing roughly after dodging through the haphazard meadow with its frantic and upset people. Putting on a burst of force, she passing the last of them and entered the stables. Things were desolate and messy. Soldiers had left stuff chaotic in their hurry to grab a horse and leave. There were no sounds of neighing horses or stamping hooves.
Hermione wandered speedily down through the center of the building, peering in stall after stall in hopes of seeing a forgotten horse, but she had no such luck. She had ran into one or two frightened children hiding in the wooden compartments where the horses were made to rest, but that had been it. Turning on her heel, she paused a moment and thought frantically about where she could find a horse. She needed to pursue Tom to ensure his safety just as she had with the pistol duel. Running out of the stable, she intended to go into town, but was stopped by the sight of Mima, the King, and the Duke coming around across the meadow and through the crowd, which was started to disburse, followed by Mary, Janessa, and some guards.
"Take to the entrance of the castle," the King commanded. "I will let no one in and no one out until I'm certain that this mutinous General is caught." The tone with which he stated Mardon's rank was full of distaste, and frankly, Hermione had never seen the King look so serious and angry, not even on the day she had first arrived at the castle. "Ana, get inside with Mima and your ladies in waiting. I don't want to see you anywhere near any windows, doors, or the outside until Aramis returns with news of Mardon's demise."
"But, Father, I need to-"
"Now, Ana, no arguments," the King ordered sternly, unwaivering in Hermione's protest.
Mima approached her, grabbed her by the elbow gently, and led her up to the castle and inside.
"It's best to just listen," Mima whispered as they ascended the steps to the front doors. "I'm sure that they'll return. It's a cavalry against one man. Certainly they can't be outdone."
"I don't see them anywhere, Aramis!" Arthos bellowed as he galloped forward on his horse. He and Tom were in the middle of the forest, lost from the chase for the despicable man who called himself a general. "They can't have gotten far," Arthos continued. "The woods thicken to the left and to the right is the countryside. Ahead lies the cliffs."
"Then we'll go to the right. He most likely wouldn't have headed for a dead end in the cliffs and definitely not to the left where he faced getting slowed and caught." Turning their horses, Riddle and his riding partner headed to the east. They rode for what felt like forever, Tom willing his horse to quicken the pace because he felt that they were falling too far behind. Once they emerged from the woods and saw that it was near sundown, they galloped on even more hastily through a field. Finally, the road came into sight and a little further down it was the familiar building that Tom knew to be the University, and from what he could see, chaos had ran through there. "This way," the once future Dark Lord commanded as he headed for the University.
His horse trotted past the open gates to the inside. Dismounting from his steed, he looked around to see that someone had been through there. Hoof prints were stamped in a helter-skelter manner across the dirt floor inside the walls that surrounded the library, church, and other buildings of the University. As he stared at the marks, trying to figure out which way the group had went, Tom noticed a dark substance had stained the ground. Crouching, he examined it, touching his fingers lightly to it. Liquid. It was cool, and when Tom raised his fingers to inspect them, he saw that it was bright, vivid red. Blood. But who did it belong to?
"Look. It trails off to that building over there," Arthos informed as he noticed the mock Aramis staring at the dark spots on the ground.
They headed to the building. Tom could tell that this was the church, but the room that they entered was more for personal worship and confession than a mass gathering of worshipers. Upon a table was one of the monks. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth and was wiped away immediately by one of the surrounding monks, all of whom looked solemn. Riddle and Arthos had gained their attention when they entered, their shadows long and slender in the fading sun. It was an odd sight really. The shadows fell strangely around the room, looking like the embodiment of the Grim Reaper himself. The monks turned and stared, fear in some of their eyes and sadness in others.
"Who did this?" Arthos inquired sympathetically.
"And where did they go?" Riddle added, his tone urgent.
The monks looked at one another for a second before one stepped forward and pointed to Arthos and Tom's uniforms. He then motioned to his own chest and made a sign as though to say he wore a badge of honor there.
"The General," Tom spoke hurriedly, not understanding why this man wasn't talking as the one who had stopped him before when Riddle first came to the University. That monk had made it verbally clear that no weapons could be brought into the University, but now no one was making a sound. However, Tom soon forgot his questions when the monk nodded and stepped past Arthos and himself to the outside as the dying man on the table gasped and sputtered some of his last breaths. A deep buzzing could be heard, making Tom glance back into the room. That's when he realized that this dying monk was of a high rank and the same who had stopped him the first day at the gate. He wore a medal upon his neck in proof, and it appeared that the other monks were trying to honor his final moments by humming a hymn to ease his pain and worry.
Shaking his head, Riddle left and ran towards the gate where Arthos was with the other monk. The robed man pointed southward. This meant that the General and his pursuers had headed back towards the town. Grabbing their horses, Tom and Arthos mounted and rode away rapidly. If they hurried, they might catch up before the pursuit for Mardon got any further away. But this wasn't the least of Tom's worries. He feared that the General might try to return to the castle and make another attempt to kill Hermione.
She paced her room as Mima dozed on the bed. Mary and Janessa had brought them dinner, but Hermione had only picked over a dinner roll and a piece of ham before getting frustrated with the idea of her sitting there while Tom was out possibly in danger.
Hermione walked to the balcony and stared out at the horizon. She hoped to see Tom and Arthos emerging from the forest, but for the many times that she prayed for it, nothing seemed to be answering her yet. No one came riding forth on a steed from the black chasm of thewoods, and no one came knocking on her bedroom door to bring news of their return. Bowing her head, she turned slowly away from the darkening scene before her. She walked into her room and felt exhausted as she heard Mima shift in the bed. Dropping down onto the seat in front of her vanity, Hermione stared at her reflection. She became entranced with what she saw there. She hardly recognized the person staring back with bloodshot, distant, and weathered eyes that were hazed over. They had lost their original luster that spoke of innocence, determination, and spirit. Was she still the same person? Looking to her lap, she shook her head solemnly. That once slightly shy and boisterous know-it-all had been forever changed.
Hermione raised her hands and stared at them for a moment, turning them over and over slowly as she gazed at the lines on her palms and the smoothness of the pale skin on the back of her hands. They once used to be worn and marked from various potion ingredients and lack of primping care. Now they seemed dainty and unlike her own. She sighed and watched them reach out for the brush on the vanity. Stopping as her fingertips came in contact with the cool metal of the handle, she looked back up to the mirror before her as a low, ulterior rumble reached her ears. This place, this time. It had beaten her down, and she was actually starting to fall into the role of the girl that they assumed her to be.
"It's what I had to do," she whispered to herself, almost too quietly for even her own ears to hear as another rumble of thunder sounded.
Her attention was drawn to the door of the balcony, the panes of glass rattling as the door knocked back against the wall with the breeze that flowed into the room. Cotton-like, gray clouds had covered the sky and the first stars which had dotted its once orangish pink expanse. Eyes narrowing, she focused as the first few drops of rain fell to the stone of the balcony, followed by the steady, light drizzle. Hermione's attention was turned once more as someone knocked softly upon her bedroom door. It opened soundlessly and in stepped her ladies in waiting.
"Princess, you really shouldn't have the door open in such weather. You could catch your death that way," Janessa scolded in a concerned manner.
"And you didn't eat," Mary added. "Are you ill?"
"I'm just not hungry," Hermione mumbled sedatedly.
"Why don't you lie down and rest?" Mary suggested as she gathered the tray in which Mima and Hermione's dinner had been brought in upon. "It'll do you some good. You look positively consumed."
"I can't sleep," the Gryffindor girl replied. "At least not until I'm sure that Aramis has returned safely." At this, Janessa and Mary exchanged saddened glances.
"Would you feel any better if I removed the braid from your hair and brushed it?" Janessa offered.
"No thank you."
"We'll prepare a bath, then," the young lady continued. "That should ease your tensions a bit. It's not good for you to be so worried. It'll make you ill."
Hermione sighed. She hated the way that they thought that everything she did or wanted to do would make her sick. Giving no objections to the preparation of some bath water, she watched in the mirror as Janessa laid a blanket over the sleeping figure that was Mima before exiting the room behind Mary. Rubbing her face in irritation, Hermione glanced once more at her reflection.
She wasn't one to sit by idly like this, and it was driving her mad. She needed to know where Tom was and if he was well, or else she would burst. Getting up with a grunt of frustration, Hermione let her feet carry her to the one place where she could find some solitude and peace.
Looking about her surroundings of dusty book stacks and worn wooden shelves, she felt something she wasn't used to feeling while in the library. Emptiness. Her shadow flickered in the wane light of some candles on a candelabra. Seeing that only made her feel even more lonely because it let her eyes witness first hand that Tom wasn't there with her. Feeling that she would find no comfort in the silence of the volumes around her, she turned and left. Her destination was unknown to her as she walked aimlessly, though she hoped to lose the loneliness that surrounded her somewhere along her wanderings.
Finally reaching the town, Tom and Arthos saw frightened faces peering through the dimly lit windows of homes and establishments.
"You there!" Riddle bellowed as he pointed to a man outside a tavern. "Did you see any soldiers or the General pass through here?"
"They went through only a moment ago," a man spoke up from the other direction. Tom turned in his saddle and looked down upon a man with a painted face, or what used to be painted. The light drizzle that had set in had started to wash away the meager, crude paint as it soaked through the performer's clothing.
"Which way?" Tom demanded.
"They rode through the town before heading to our camp just off the eastern outskirts. That man they were all chasing terrorized a few of our jugglers. Injured one and-"
"Which way did they go?" Riddle growled as he reached down and snatched the man up by the front of his costume, his eyes fierce as they bore into the fearful, widened ones of the jester.
"Th-they went on s-s-southward before-re c-circling b-back and v-veer-ing to the woods o-on the we-we-west," the clown-like man stuttered.
Tom released him and drilled his heels into the sides of his horse. With a whinny and a toss of its head, the steed stamped its feet before taking off into a gallop down the center of the cobblestone street. Its hoof beats echoed fourfold by the sound of the horse that Arthos rode closely behind Tom. They passed the castle, Riddle's thoughts trailing momentarily to Hermione, whom he hoped was safe and well within the safety of the castle walls as he and his companion rode once more into the forest. They were getting close; he could feel it.
Looking about the desolate, circular room in which she stood, Hermione recalled her first visit there. The shock that she had experienced upon discovering Megalise Christian rolled over her in faint waves. Hermione was in the tower room where she had first met the other witch. Feeling a hopelessness rise in her chest at the realization of Meg's absence and Tom's as well, the young Gryffindor witch turned and left the room. She descended the stairs of the tower and kept going until she was in the entrance hall. Wandering along, she spotted a door that gave her the slightest inkling of warmth with its carvings and oddly shaped handle. Entering, she frowned. Where were the butterflies? No nearly weightless insects with beautiful wings fluttered about the large cage. None that she could see anyways.
Entering the enclosure, she sighed a bit as a few took flight when her skirt folds brushed one of the bushes, but there weren't as many as there normally were. Looking about, she noticed something odd clinging to the walls of the garden coop and branches and stems of plants and bushes. Cocoons. And as she looked interestedly at the tiny casings, momentarily distracted by their unusual forms, she caught sight of something. In the corner behind a pruned rose shrubbery was a wooden bucket; something one would use when scrubbing floors. But what filled the container certainly wasn't water or scrub brushes. Colors, though fading and motionless, mingled within the depth of the arboreous pail. Butterflies. Deadened ones.
Rising from her bent examination of a rather prominent cocoon, she approached the hidden vessel. Bending down, she reached forward a hand and touched the wing of a blue and black one. She half expected it to flinch and take flight, but it never did. The color was not as vibrant as she thought it should have been, and as she stared, she noticed that a black powder had been brushed onto the blue of the wing. Looking to her fingers, her eyes met the source of the smudging culprit. The powder that was mingled with the blue of the winds was dusted on the ends of her fingertips as well, and once more, she was lost in scrutiny of her hands. She wished then, as she inspected the underside of her digits and the intricate and delicate lines of her hand, that she had paid attention in Divinations. Maybe then she would know a little more about palm readings and that would allow her to access the future. It might even give her insight on what to expect and if she could anticipate Tom's secure return.
"Look there!" Arthos yelled from behind Riddle as they raced through the forest. Tom strained his eyes to see through the darkness as water ran down his face and into his eyes, blurring his vision. However, he was able to catch a glimpse of the end of the chase party that was pursuing Mardon. They were almost upon them.
"Quick! This way!" he commanded to Arthos. They veered right, Tom knowing full well what was ahead as they splashed through a stream. He and Hermione had crossed that same small body of slowly flowing water before just after witnessing the death of their fellow witch, Meg. The drizzle began to permeate the canopy of the trees around them. They were nearing the end of the woods and would soon be upon the rocky crags of Siren Hollow Cliffs.
Tom leaned forward as the sound of pounding hooves reached his ears from the left. He and Arthos were right beside the pursuit now, and the two parties would soon be atop each other. The edge of the forest was in sight. Bracing his feet in the stirrups, Riddle was prepared for his horse to run through the brush, but instead, it leaped the leafy bramble. He remained in the saddle, though a little shaken. Nevertheless, he recovered quickly and drew his sword as the General and his chasers came into sight finally. Fire burst in Tom as he saw the madman who tried to claim Hermione's life riding ahead of all the soldiers freely with his face contorted into a maniacal grin as he willed his mare onward. Urging his own stallion to put on a burst of speed, Tom found himself gaining on Mardon who glanced back wearily as they raced along the edge of the drop-off.
"You can't catch me, boy!" the General laughed loudly with an insane tone. He snapped the reins, and his horse went ever faster, pulling ahead of Tom who had almost been beside the older man. Making his steed get closer, Riddle swiped his sword, cutting into the General's back and leaving a gash on the hindquarters of Mardon's horse. The mare neighed furiously in protest, slamming its hooves into the tender, wet ground as it stopped in pain. It reared in fear, tossing the madman from its saddle before stamping and taking off along the edge of the cliff. Mardon clambered to his feet in the mud as lightning lit up the sky. Tom was a few feet ahead of him, slowing his own horse to a stop before turning back towards the General who drew his weapon. "Even if you did manage to throw me from my horse," he yelled somewhat breathlessly, "you'll never capture me!"
Nonetheless, the General's words didn't seem too sincere as the party who had been chasing him began to surround where he was standing. Riddle's horse trotted triumphantly forward to the center of the circle of soldiers where Mardon stood panting and poised for combat.
"Odd," Tom began as he dismounted from his horse and sent it away from where the two stood with a slap on its hindquarters. "That you, who killed an innocent on these very crags, should find your end here as well." The words made him sound valiant and righteous, something he had never expected to be let alone think about saying something to make him so.
"The only one who will be meeting their end here is you, you insolent excuse for a soldier and a man," Mardon yelled as thunder rolled through the darkened sky above.
Each soldier stayed put upon their steed as the General and Tom began to circle each other. It was almost like a judgment day trial of wild animals. The scene emanated masculinity and adrenaline as the drizzle thickened and finally began to soak the heavy uniforms of the men there.
"Give up, old man," Tom called from across the encircled area as he and the General continued their lion-like sizing up pace.
"Why? I could easily defeat you!" the General bellowed back. "I will not fail where my son did. I will come out victorious!"
"The only victory you'll see it when I run my sword through your black heart!" It was a phrase that Tom had expected to hear from an adversary of his own like Potter, but now here he was saying it to another. Strange the turn of events that had occurred.
"Bah!" Mardon roared as he rushed forward, and the clash of metal on metal filled the air. Blow after blow, strike after strike, the two battled things out. At first, it would appear that Tom had the upper hand. He was faster and more agile than the aged men he was dueling, but as time wore on, Riddle began to slow. His sword was becoming heavy, and despite age, Mardon had some power behind his attacks which made Tom's arms buckle a bit when he blocked them. "Tiring, boy?" Mardon growled as he and Tom locked glares and swords for a moment.
"Not in the least!" the younger of the two retaliated as he ripped his sword from the entanglement with a grinding of sharp metal blade on sharp metal blade. This taunt made him put on a burst of speed, and he lunged at the older man, slicing at his shoulder. The General managed to block, and as Riddle stumbled past, Mardon whipped around and made a quick, slicing attack of his own.
An anguished groan filled the thick air around them as Tom winced and cringed. the General's sword had cut through the thick material of his uniform and left its mark in the younger male's back. Sweat mixed with rain stung at the wound as the once future Dark Lord painfully flexed the muscles of his back while turning to face his attacker. Blood, warm on his cold, wet skin began to trickle down and soak his already drenched jacket.
"You'll pay dearly for that," Riddle uttered angrily as he gripped his sword tighter and concentrated even harder on injuring Mardon fatally.
With a laugh, the General stabbed forward with his dripping weapon, but that proved to be a mistake as Tom's sword clashed against it. This knocked Mardon's blade aside, and in the second that he was left vulnerable, Riddle spun quickly forward and slashed through the older man's thigh. A scream of agony filled the air as the more aged of the two dropped to his knees before laying down flat and rolling out of the way just in time to miss the descending blade of his opponent. Tom grunted furiously as he stabbed the earth while Mardon staggered to his feet, panting heavily as he wiped mud from his face.
"Is that the best you've got?" he taunted as he limped to the right and away from Riddle who had pulled his brand tempestuously from the ground, flinging mud, dirt, grass, and rain from the tip.
"Not quite!" A fury of blows followed these words as the two came dangerously close to the encircling soldiers who scattered back a good five to ten feet. The harder and longer they fought, the more each blow showed their wear, but neither would give in before taking the next strike at their opponent. With each passing second, they came ever nearer to the rockier part of the area, making it tenfold the peril. Their muddy boots. The slick grass. Sharp, protruding rocks partly covered in slippery moss. Each thing seemed to reach up and grab at the ankles of the combatants, trying to make them slip and live their final moment in slow motion fear while their adversary brought their weapon down in a death dealing blow.
"You're slowing!" Mardon barked as he swung his sword out before him, trying to lash Tom's abdomen. He was trying to get into Riddle's head, and the younger man knew it, but he wouldn't let him.
"No, I think it's you who is!" Tom argued as he got in two swipes, cutting the General's sleeve, but no flesh.
"You should have just tended to your own business, Aramis! You should have stayed out of the way and let my son marry the Princess! You could have had a good life even then. But no! You had to take the glory and the throne all for yourself! You could have been general or second ranking once my son was king and I retired from my post!"
"Lies!" Tom roared, bringing his sword down in a powerful, overhead stroke. "I would never help you to take the throne and bring harm to the Princess or the current king!"
"Oh, but I recall a time when you would have followed me! You and dozens of the fools who surround us!"
"Not now. They see that you're losing, and who wants to follow that?" Riddle fought, angering Mardon enough that the older man was caught off guard. The tip of Tom's sword pierced Mardon's right shoulder just so, causing him to bellow his pain and retaliation. He backed away, removing the younger's sword from his flesh. Grabbing at the wound, the General yelled before going into a furious series of swipes, cuts, and jabs. Tom was quick though, jumping back and maneuvering with the flexibility of a cat, missing each attack. But his luck ran out, and he slipped on a rock. He tried to regain balance, but Mardon stabbed forward, and as Tom dodged, he fully lost control of what little equilibrium he had.
Riddle hit the ground hard, his left shoulder blade slamming excruciatingly into a rather hard stone. He winced and lost grip on his weapon, his ears pounding with the sound of his rushing blood. His eyes shot open, trying to find his adversary, but he was blinded by the rainfall. Trying to blink it away, he groped the ground to his right frantically for the handle of his blade.
"Aramis!" yelled Arthos who quickly dismounted from his steed and drew his sword, stumbling as he hit the ground and slipped a little.
"A pity and a shame that you won't get to see your bride walk down the aisle. Oh well... till death do you part," Mardon said in a deep, intimidating voice as Arthos rushed forward, slipping again on the mossy stones.
"Aramis!" the young soldier yelled again, knowing that he wouldn't reach his friend in time to stop Mardon who was bring his weapon down upon Tom as he was still trying to see and find his own sword. Unsure of just what to do, Arthos threw his sword, hoping it would hit and stop his companion's attacker, but it missed. It sailed past the older man and out over the cliffs as it dropped to the crashing water below.
"Ha!" Mardon boomed as he paused just short of striking Tom. "Fool," he added before turning back to Riddle and lifting his sword again. "Ready to die, boy?" the General laughed madly as his blade descended once more.
"No!" Tom yelled as he brought his arm up, rock in hand and smashed it into the knee of the General who dropped instantly to the ground with a grunt of protest. His sword, however, had stabbed through Riddle's forearm, making him scream in torturous suffering. Reaching up, he gripped the handle tight and pulled as hard as he could, only dislodging it partly. This sent a shot of pain through his throbbing arm, and he grit his teeth as he yanked again, finally freeing the brand. He sat up, only to have the newly acquired weapon ripped from his hand by a huffing Mardon who shoved Tom back to the ground.
"Impudent little bastard!" the General roared as he staggered to his feet while Riddle rolled away, finally finding his own blade as he clambered to his feet and shook away the rain that was partially blinding him.
"Aramis! Can you make it?" Arthos bellowed.
Tom ignored him and leaped toward Mardon who backed away, getting hazardously closer to the edge of the drop-off.
"I told you, I will not be the one to lose and die!" Riddle growled forcefully as he swung his sword, trying to ignore the exhaustion and pain he was being tormented by.
"You've met your end. Face it!"
"You face it!" Tom shouted, knocking Mardon's sword aside as it sailed at him. "As you said to me," he continued while he stepped forward emphatically. He drilled down blows on the older man in a quick paced fashion so that the older man teetered on the edge of the crags. "Till death do you part!" With that, Riddle rained down such an assertive force with his weapon that it made the General stumble and slip upon the slick, wet boulder on which he stood. Mardon let out a terrified cry as he fell backwards, knowing that there was no ground beneath him on which to fall, but only the enormous, knife-like boulders below in the pounding waves. If the fall alone and the unforgiving rocks below didn't kill him, the waves surely would overtake him and beat him mercilessly off the cliff wall until he went unconscious and drown.
Tom looked over the edge, Arthos rushing forward to see as well, but all they saw was the white foam of a wave which burst on the cliffs before disappearing back into the ocean. They searched the waters for a moment, but saw even less as fog began to drift in. However, even if they didn't see the General die, they knew he was surely gone with no hopes of return. A just death had certainly parted him from this world.