Here's another part of this story. Remember that I practice English and not everything will be grammatically correct. I hope you like Vivian and I can assure you that whatever you find strange and unusual I will try to explain. Sirius would like to know what's going on too.
The story is OOC, not everything will coincide with the books.
The world of Harry Potter and its heroes belongs to Jo Rowling.
Vivian Lake is mine.

Fire.

Fire and blood.

Fire, blood and mud.

The swish of swords and cries of the wounded.

Wet earth under my boots, under my fingernails.

Blood in my hair, my eyes, on my hands.

Screeches, whistles, and shouts surrounded me from all sides. I felt the pain and fatigue of my soldiers, their fear and determination. They have to win.

They have to win.

One more step, one more push. One more death, and the next and the next, until finally there is none left to kill and the green fields and meadows turned into a river of blood and mud. I felt blood dripping from my face and shoulders; it also covered the glowing green runes carved on my sword with scraps of skin, bones, and blood, blood, blood…

My eyes only saw red. It reduced the entire world to a single point on the horizon where I focused my gaze, unable to breathe for a moment.

But it passed, the soldiers shouted, no - yelled, raising dirty banners from the ground; the spoils of war. Those standing closest looked at me in amazement, as if they couldn't believe that I fought alongside them.

I had to.

I always had to fall in the middle of the battle, feel the terror and despair of an imminent end. Feel that I could be like my soldiers. For once. It reminded me about the transience of time, the day on which I wouldn't be able to see the next sunset, as part of my army today. But the only thing I saw now was blood, and for a moment, I wished I lay among the fallen soldiers. But the moment passed as swiftly as it came. The red also blurred from my vision, gradually pumped out of the body.

Through my thoughts came the voice of one of my generals barking orders for healers and soldiers. I saw the tired eyes of men, falling from fatigue when fear ceased to propel their bodies into action. A pink glow still flashed at the edge of my vision as I took a few steps forward, trying to focus my eyes forward.

The battlefield was a terrible place.

If I ever was an ordinary woman, I would never watch something so gruesome. Sitting in my castle with my mother and servants, I'd be waiting for news. But I was not ordinary. I'll never be ordinary.

I was born a fighter, all my life carved into a queen, a warrior, a leader; to take the throne after my father, as the eldest child. But, I was born with magic, and my brother was not. That's why our world was now battle after battle, an endless flood of death and choices.

In Avalon, I'll have to face the old mothers and tell them how their children fought; provide orphans with a roof over their heads, a hot meal and work in the future. This was what we were fighting for - a better world for our kind. Am fyd o hud.

Cadfael appeared after a while on his black horse and took me in with experienced eyes, assessing my injuries. I smeared my white hair with blood as I pushed my way through the soldiers, and my leather armour looked no better.

Boots slid in the mud as I took a few steps forward, trying to feel my wounds. My right side hurt like hell, I felt blood in my mouth from a cracked lip, and my left cheek I couldn't feel at all.

"I'm tired," I grimaced, seeing his unhappy look.

Pulling at my torn sleeve, I drew a healing rune with my bloodied finger. The symbol seated in the flesh glowing icy blue and disappeared after a moment. The flesh on my face knitted itself together, red sparks gliding over my skin as I let the magic flow through my tired body. Cadfael only nodded at the display of magic as my eyes shone for a heartbeat golden.

"Lady," he began. "Pellinor was wounded in battle. He'll not survive the night," he stated after a pause, eyeing me with concern. "His men were captured and are waiting for your arrival."

"Good," I nodded my head, looking at the remains of my army. "Burn the dead. Pay them respect."

"Of course", he bowed his head and turned his horse. His hand slipped although to my shoulder and squeezed hard. His long black hair fell, shielding his eyes, but I knew he was concerned.

"Everything's all right," I said, dropping his hand from my shoulder and making my way through the battlefield.

I tried to surpass a shiver when I looked at the fallen men. Blood was everywhere, as were body parts, and armour threw over the ground, bent and smeared. Chopped up bodies lay under my feet like a grotesque carpet. Sometimes I had the impression that their cut-up faces - devoid of noses, jaws torn out, with bits of muscle hanging in bloody cheeks - were grinning at me. We fall at your feet, great queen! Lead us to victory! Glory, glory, great queen! The eyeless corpses were staring at me, stretching their handles arms forward and trying to embrace me, congratulating me on my next bloody victory. How many people must die before my stupid brother realises I am not his enemy?

Ravens and crows shrieked, snapping me out of my thoughts going in circles over my head, waiting for their share. The standing soldiers greeted me with a bow and went to their work - looking for survivors, trying to find something valuable in the mass on the ground.

But something was trying to break through into my consciousness when an icy ball of terror filled my stomach. Something went wrong, some undefined threat lurking nearby. I didn't know what it was. I'd learned to believe my gut and intuition, so now, feeling the hair bristle at my neck, though there was no danger nearby, it meant that something sinister was about to happen soon.

There were always so many things to plan, so many things to think about and draw on maps before the battle, that I didn't think about Pellinor - a friend, but Pellinor - the ruler who stood on the other side of this hopeless war.

Pellinor, who stole apples from the castle's kitchen for me.

Pellinor, who taught me and Arthur to saddle a horse and gave me his hunting knife with a silver inlaid hilt.

Where were Merlin and his knights now? Loud words were meaningless if they left a man alone at the end of the road. Merlin didn't stand next to his friend. He left it to God, for all he's worth. He left him to die alone on the battlefield in the mud and blood. A minor loss, according to him. A sacrifice for the greater good.

Of course, it didn't matter looking at the bigger picture. I'll win this damn war and rise from the ashes and rebuild this country with magic, sword and blood, then maybe people like me will live peacefully outside of Avalon, too.

Why did this old fool interfere? Everything was fine until he tightened his fingers on Arthur's shoulder and heart and led Camelot to war.

I saw men gathered near a pile of corpses in front of a row of dirty banners, hands clasped and mouths tight. The haunted glances cast at the surroundings spoke for themselves. They didn't know what to do, lonely amid the sea of bodies, looking for someone to direct them.

So I came to them when one man nodded his head and gave me a wine bottle. I accepted it gratefully and took a good sip. The wine was tart and sour, but the gesture mattered. As I handed the bottle back, I noticed others around looking curiously. Some stared hypnotised at my glowing sword still held in my right hand. Quickly wiping the blade on my tunic, I tucked it around my waist. Dirty faces of people who were ready to give their lives away for a better future, looked at me in silence.

They have magic in their veins, so many talents, and so many possibilities before them. Men and women alike, elves, goblins, werewolves, vampires, centaurs.

My people.

I pressed my fist to the place above my heart, straightened up with my head raised, raised my fist up above my head, towards the grey sky.

"Buddugoliaeth!", I shouted to the still increasing crowd.

The roar that filled my ears was like a storm crashing down on the battlefield, like chilly rain on a scorching afternoon in the middle of summer.

I spread my hands wide up to the clouds, palms pointing to the grey mass above us. My tattooed fingers glowed bright yellow, eyes changing gold for a lifetime of pure magic in my veins, as the rain came down on the battlefield.

"Rho nerth iddyn nhw, gwella eu clwyfau", I whispered, and the last thing I saw were my glowing hands in the red dirt beneath me, as the world twisted into a black abyss.

I opened my eyes to a horse's muzzle poking my cheek. I pushed it away quickly with my sore hand and tried to sit up. All muscles protested. I felt light-headed, like after a major blood loss, but tried to focus on my surroundings. Shouts. People were shouting around me, giving orders, stomping their feet, horses snorted, smacked their shod hooves and hit the ground. Swords and armour clinked. Somewhere to my right, I heard a fire crackling. It smelled like wet earth after a rain, blood, blood, blood, horses and a lot of burned bodies.

"She's awake!" I suddenly heard someone yelling.

Big hands slid under my back and neck, pulling me up, then moved onto my shoulders and shook me slightly.

"Lady, you must come with us!" The voice was urgent, hands warm on my body. Finally, I focused on the face in front of me and saw a red beard, green cat eyes, a scar on the chin and left cheek. Caradoc.

Something's wrong. Something was very wrong. My ears were still ringing as Caradoc's firm hands pulled me upright and shoved a wet cloth in my hand. I looked at my blood-smeared fingers. My stomach felt like a tangle, hundreds of tight knots coiled inside. My back was straight, muscles tense in anticipation of an attack. I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to think back.

We won the Battle of Listenoise.

Pellinor may not survive the night.

The soldiers were waiting for orders.

Something's wrong.

Why am I here?

I was ... where?

Certainly not in the castle. I fought in a stone circle underground. A veil fluttered at the edge of my vision. What was I doing in the courtyard between soldiers? I shouldn't be here! Not in this time or place. A pale face, unshaven and with a mop of dark hair, flashed in my mind.

I knew that face.

Sirius Black.

Where are the Ministry and the Room of Death?!

Caradoc shook me again, but released me immediately and took a step back as I opened my eyes.

I was not in the mood to be jostled around and take orders.

The Veil!

Why am I here?

My actual memories flashed back in an instant.

I should be in London at the Ministry of Magic.

I wasn't in the right time and place because I've passed through the damned veil after Sirius Black. So he's also here somewhere. Gods, I had to find him. And I had little time.

People lost themselves and forgot about the world outside by recreating their memories - the worst, most emotional, the most ashamed and regretted ones. They couldn't break out of the wheel of thought, reliving their greatest failures over and over until they died. Unaware of where they really were and what was happening to them. The trick was to realise just that. That everything around was not real and then breaking out. And for this, you had to have a lot of residual magic inside you. It allows you to maintain a grasp of your own body and awareness within yourself.

"My Lady…," Caradoc's eyes were on the ground as he took a step back, hands clasped behind him.

Deep breaths.

I raised my hand and my sword and scabbard glided from a nearby tent right into my outstretched hand. I sighed with relief as I felt the worn leather and metal under my fingers. It was a comforting weight in my palm. Passing soldiers stopped around us in surprise. However, they hurried on, seeing my expression. All covered in blood and mud, with my sword glowing green, my clothes torn, and eyes bright gold, I looked dreadful. Caradoc already tried to lead me towards the inner courtyard of Pellinors castle.

Where is Sirius?! For the fuck of all gods, how will I find him in this endless mass of solders?

If he's gone too far, nothing could save him. His mind would stay here reliving his memories and his body would die, without water and food. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck! If I hadn't been dealing with fucking Lestrange, I'd have gone over faster and found Black by now. But things turned out differently and now I've to get down to work.

I sat back on my cot and looked meaningfully at the red-haired man with a raised eyebrow. I was tired, exhausted even, and would appreciate a moment of peace and silence and a cup of water, even though I knew there were still unfinished things that would require my attention for the next few hours. But that didn't diminish my annoyance as Caradoc stamped his foot impatiently in place.

I had the impression that I existed on two different levels.

One of me was sitting with Caradoc and wondering what all these people wanted from me. He will tell me in a moment that Pellinor survived after all. My body will react, my memory will recreate, and I will go with my friend, as it happened so many hundreds of years ago.

The other me watched everything impatiently, like someone who knew the outcome. She had been through too much and seen too much. Anyway, she had a completely different mission. Find Sirius Black and bring him back. She doesn't have to save the kingdom from a war; she doesn't have to watch her friends die. She doesn't have to kill innocent people anymore. Because she is a different person.

So as the first woman looks at Caradoc, the second, clenching her fists, stands up and takes a wobbly step forward. A simple matter, nothing complicated, but the body resists, and my magic doesn't help much. The memory blurs for a moment. I feel as if I am swimming through a thick fog. Suddenly I'm flying forward, standing on shaky legs, trying to regain my balance. It's a nasty experience every time. The body does not want to move, its shape and purpose are the same as in the recalled memory. For it, it's unnatural to be anywhere else. One glance at my body made sure it worked. My clothes were from the twentieth century, my watch was on my left wrist, and the rings were still on my fingers. I quickly reached for the silver necklace with the compass, not paying my surroundings any more attention.

So Alfheim for direction, concentrating on the second arm of the Vegvisir. Muspelheim for finding one's way, concentrating on the fourth arm.

"Dangos y ffordd i mi. Sirius Black."

Nothing happened at first. Magic pulsed around me, but it couldn't take any direction. I looked at my first version, the eighteen-year-old queen of a piece of rock, the one from my memories. Gods, how young I was. Stupid. Inexperienced. I believed I would change the world. How did I even control all of this? There were at least a hundred soldiers around us. Twice as much in the lower courtyard, five times as much in front of the fortress gates. Almost twice as many dead in the funeral pyres. And this was supposed to be a victory? This is what glory, honour and a fight for a just cause should look like? For a better world?

What I had in that empty brain of mine to ask for so many lives?

The compass twitched in my hand, a thin blue line of magic flowing from it straight into my younger version. Interesting. I came closer.

"Talk," said the woman.

It was a command, ice-cold and reminding him he was still talking to the queen, not to a friend.

The knight sighed in resignation and kneeled before her on one knee.

"Pellinor went berserk. He's in the throne room with a handful of knights and…"

She sprang to her feet, startling him, and dashed forward to the inner courtyard. Seeing now clearly that the compass was pointing to my younger version, I ran after them but looked around for Lord Black, nonetheless. Caradoc was right behind us, shouting at the men to make way for us. Aedion, one of the centaur bowmen, came to our side.

"Lady, we thought he was going to bleed out in a few hours." The buzz and hum of people around us couldn't damper the rhythmic sound of his hooves. "He could barely breathe. Helia thinks he had some healing potion with him..."

A blood-restoring potion, more likely. And some Essence of Dittany.

"It's not your fault," the other me said, clearly distressed. "I take care of him."

Pellinor, you fool.

Furniture that served as a temporary barricade blocked the entrance to the throne room. The main door was breached, and it dotted the corridor with broken wood and arrows. There were screams and clangs of metal from within the hall as Pellinor's soldiers noticed our arrival. Where the hell was Black? The blue thread on the compass still pointed to the other me, but nothing else happened. Of course, my soldiers were trying to break into the throne room and capture Pellinor. But Caradoc wanted to stop me. Suddenly I realised that if I had just listened to him, then everything would have turned out differently. Cadfael would be alive. Arthur would be alive. Merlin would lie forgotten in a pit, lost and lonely, nothing more than rotting flesh and broken bones. I saw Caradoc leave me with his head bowed, a solemn expression on his face, and return with the rest of our soldiers to the courtyard, passing my adjutant on the way.

Cadfael was never one of the powerfully built, but something drove him forward as he walked. When the corridor cleared, only me, my younger version, and he remained. It was all strange to see. He was going to die in a moment. My best friend. And I felt nothing. Why? Was I indifferent enough not to worry about another death, even of my closest friend?

The compass twitched in my hand again, tighter this time, snapping me out of my unpleasant thoughts. You'd think I was out of the daze, the death spell that prevailed in this world. Yet, consciously, I was stuck in the memory, wondering about all the "what if's". Gods, I was pathetic. I just shook my head in resignation. What was in the past should stay in the past. I followed the blue thread that disappeared between the doors of the throne room. Cadfael's last words rang over my head.

"You know one wave of my hand is all I need."

"Yes, my lady."

"You don't have to go there. I'll do it myself."

"Yes, my lady."

"Got my back?"

"Always, my lady."

With a heavy sigh, I crossed the threshold. The world wavered, everything turned to one side, twisted, shook. Instead of stone walls, soldiers surrounded me. The battle was still going on around me. What in Hel's name was going on? Shields and swords clashed around me, but the soldiers didn't pay me any mind. The noise was unbearable. I searched frantically for my younger version, but the white hair and the green sword were nowhere to be seen. I quickly glanced at the compass in my hand. The blue thread kept pointing the way, somewhere between the two armies, so wasting no more time, I ran forward.

Gods, he was lying under a tree in the middle of the battle. The magic thread stuck right into his heart without hurting him, unlike the sword sticking out of his stomach. Black hair was sticking to his forehead, and a thin trickle of blood ran from his mouth. His eyes were fixed on the branches of the tree and the ravens that circled over our heads.

Cadfael. He was wearing Cadfael's tunic and colours. And had Pellinor's sword in his side. Blood ran down his tunic and chain-mail, staining the grass and earth beneath him. He reached out a trembling hand, so I grabbed it quickly and squeezed it tight.

He hasn't woken up yet. Sirius still experienced everything that was happening around him without understanding. He truly thought that, at this moment, he was dying on the battlefield.

"Dewch yn ôl atoch chi'ch hun."

Nothing happened. Not a twitch, a spasm, nothing.

He looked like Cadfael before he died. Choking on his own blood, with his fingers wrapped around my arm. Only the place was different. I tried not to panic. Not to think that I was losing my best friend again. After all, I didn't know Sirius Black at all.

Cadfael I've known all my life. How much I missed him, Odin help me, how I missed him.

Focus, damn it. I shook my head hard, pushing aside the panic, the tears trying to fill my eyes, and the helplessness I felt. It wasn't about me and my regret. It was about Sirius Black, about Potter, and about not losing another life. So I took a deep breath, then two more, packed all the unwanted and unnecessary feelings into a box and pushed them back into my mind, closing the door behind them.

As I raised my hands over the man's body, the tattoos on my hands moved and formed a pattern. A binding spell. I placed my hands on his chest above the stabbed sword wound and chanted the words of the spell like a mantra several times.

"Clywch fy llais, dewch ataf, galwaf arnoch. Enaid i enaid, corff i gorff, meddwl i feddwl. Dewch ataf."

The runes moved to his body and pulsed with a soft golden glow there. I gathered some magic within myself and thrust it into the spell, charging it with energy. Now a sacrifice to make. I couldn't give up my blood. It would be a disaster if I had bound Black with a blood spell. So what else?

From my pants pocket, I pulled Bellatrix Lestrange's wand. That'll do. When I laid it on the runes, it burst into a fountain of golden sparks and disappeared with it.

The world wavered, everything turned to one side, twisted, shook again. Darkness pressed in on all sides, and at one point I thought I went blind. Darkness and nothing else. Someone grabbed my arm suddenly and spun me around with dizzying speed. Sirius Black stood in front of me with dishevelled hair and grey eyes wild. I saw him try not to panic as he gasped one breath after another.

"Where are we? Who are you? You know what happened to Harry?"

He looked distractedly from side to side, and before I could utter a word, shapes sprang from the darkness.

Stone walls.

Cell bars.

Mad chuckle.

Water dripping from the ceiling.

The scrape of a twisted key in a rusty lock.

The crunch of shuffling feet.

And that smell. That fucking smell.

A Dementor came out from behind the nearest wall, swimming towards us. I couldn't move, pinned to the floor, stiff and drenched in a cold sweat. Someone's hands gripped me tightly and pulled me to the nearest door, out of the way of the spectre. Bloody hell! I leaned heavily against the nearest wall and tried to breathe steadily as I listed all the Welsh clans alphabetically in my head. A quick glance to the side confirmed that I was not the only one having a hard time.

Here's the deal with the whole binding spell. I pulled Black out of one memory, lucky me. Bound by magic with me as an anchor, he floated back to the surface of his consciousness. And we hit another fucking memory.

They say we're always looking for someone whose demons play well with ours. Well, then, I found my fucking soul mate. Maybe when we finally get out of here, we'll do a little heart-to-heart and spit all this pain out of ourselves. But for now, we needed to open the arch.

Focus, woman.

Focus.

It's always harder to get out. It's like a prison. Well, it's literally a prison.

Azkaban for six months was a disaster. But fifteen hundred years behind the veil was much worse.

I tried to centre the magic inside me. It has been flowing in my veins since I was born. It allowed me to gain so much, save at least part of my world for which so many lives have fought. It allowed me to be who I am now. I pictured it running down my arms and to my fingertips. I put my hands out in front of me. Magic trickled down between them like water, liquid, warm. If Black was looking at me now, he would be surprised. It wasn't his magic. Wands and Latin were, after all, what was left over all the centuries. Wands, Latin and old books.

Focus. Breath. Breath.

One breath in. Balance is everything. One breath out.

The runes on my hands lit up, and finally, my mind was at peace. I pressed my fingers against the cold stone as the marks seeped into the wall and flashed blue. The relief I felt would be hard to describe. Black, however, did not share my opinion, sitting on the floor with his hands pressed to his ears. I grabbed his arm, dragging him through the already open doorway.

"Dead," he whispered to himself. "By me."

I quickly concluded there would be time for self-pity afterwards.

Two steps forward and we were gone.

Buddugoliaeth! - Welsh: victory

Rho nerth iddyn nhw, gwella eu clwyfau - Welsh: Give them strength, heal their wounds

Am fyd o hud - Welsh: For a world of magic

Dangos y ffordd i mi. - Welsh: show me the way.

Dewch yn ôl atoch chi'ch hun - Welsh: come back to yourself

Clywch fy llais, dewch ataf, galwaf arnoch. Enaid i enaid, corff i gorff, meddwl i feddwl. Dewch ataf. - Welsh: Hear my voice, come to me, I call you. Soul to soul, body to body, mind to mind. Come to me.