Home
He watched the peacefully sleeping boy curiously, his chin rested atop his intertwined hands. They had made their way south with no complaints from Harry. No matter how hard Godric had pushed him throughout the months since he'd arrived, Harry had not once quit.
It was rather admirable.
Godric prided himself on ensuring people felt weak so that they might grow stronger, but evidently, Harry had already been broken before he knew him.
Even when he'd seemingly relived the death of his parents, he'd wept, but he'd not crumbled.
That spoke not only of his Harry's resilience, but also the cruelty he must've endured over the years to develop such strength.
Godric shook his head sadly.
He'd questioned how the boy had possibly known that this was the place his parents had met his end.
He'd been a babe when it had happened, and to him, it was so vivid.
How?
How could someone remember such details from something that happened at such a young age.
It beggared belief, but Godric knew Harry was not lying.
Such pain, sadness, and horror could not be fabricated by even the greatest of mummers.
No, Harry did remember it, but Godric could not fathom how.
Perhaps the others would have an insight, something he intended to discuss with them when they arrived in the evening to celebrate Harry's birthday.
Godric snorted amusedly.
He still referred to him as a boy, but he was all but a man grown.
There were those younger than him already experiencing the violence of war up and down the country, but it wasn't as though Harry hadn't been fighting his own.
Since he'd been a boy, he'd been fighting the demons that haunted him every day of his life.
He was such a remarkable person in many ways, and Godric would see him continue to endure and thrive in a world that had been nothing but cruel to him.
With a nod to himself, he nudged Harry with his foot.
"Wake up," he urged. "It's time to train."
Harry groaned as he stretched, but he was on his feet only a moment later.
"Is it, or are you just waking me up earlier because you get a kick out of it again?"
Godric chuckled amusedly.
"Not this time. It may be your birthday, but that doesn't mean there will be any slacking."
"It's my birthday?"
"July 31st," Godric pointed out. "That is your birthday, isn't it?"
Harry swallowed deeply before nodding.
"It is," he murmured.
"Do you not enjoy your birthday?" Godric asked with a frown.
Harry snorted humourlessly.
"All of the birthdays I remember have been spent with my aunt and uncle. They never remembered nor cared, so I learned to stop looking forward to them," he explained with a shrug. "So, more throwing me to the ground today?"
"Maybe," Godric answered with a forced smile, doing his utmost to not allow his irritation to show.
Harry truly had been treated abysmally, and life would only get harder for him until he found a way to make it better.
If fate would allow it.
"Well, I'll be waiting," Harry declared before packing away his blankets and heading into the clearing a short distance behind them.
They'd camped by the river the night before.
Godric had no intention of sleeping in his old home without his wife, and he would not put Harry through such an ordeal as sleeping in a house his parents had been murdered in.
If he chose to in the future and could once more make it a happy home, that was his choice, but Godric would not force him.
As pleasant as many of the memories he had there were, he truly couldn't care if the place crumbled to dust.
Releasing a deep breath, he fetched his sword and approached the waiting Harry, again forcing a smile to greet the boy.
"Come, let us see how you can fight without a weapon," he suggested.
(Break)
He shook his head as he placed another letter into the fire, the second to have arrived since he'd returned to Camelot the previous day, and the third in all to proclaim Arthur to be a false king that another refused to follow.
"Fools," Myrddin sighed.
Whether it was sooner or later, all who claimed a crown of their own would have to recognise Arthur as their king, be it through alliances or conquest.
Myrddin knew what he would prefer, but it seemed that Arthur certainly had quite the uphill battle ahead of him.
Still, perhaps such opposition would have a change of heart when Arthur established himself as a threat and proved himself on the field of battle.
Until then, however, Myrddin expected he would receive more such replies of men who felt safe behind the walls of their castles.
They would see soon enough that their sense of safety was false, and each would eventually fall to their knees for judgement.
Whether Arthur chose to be merciful would be for the king to decide, but Myrddin knew he could ill-afford to spare them all.
"Who is it?" he asked as knock sounded at the door of his quarters.
One of the pages entered, offering him a respectful bow.
The man came from a magical family, but he was without such gifts.
Myrddin had taken pity on him and had given him a job within the castle. He knew of the magical world and was well-placed to act as an intermediary between the magical and mundane affairs Myrddin needed to attend to.
"A visitor has arrived to speak with you. He claims to be a member of the Wizard's Council."
"Thank you, Marcus. Send him in."
With another bow, the man left, and Myrddin wondered which of his influential associates had arrived.
He knew each member of the Wizard's Council well enough.
They had even invited him to join their ranks, but he had little time to dedicate to such an important role. Camelot and Arthur required his attention, but that didn't mean Myrddin was bereft of the council's influence.
"Ah, Wilfred," he greeted the robed man who entered a moment after Marcus's departure. "I must say, it is good to see you."
"And you, Myrddin," Wilfred responded in kind. "I shall not dither. We are holding a meeting this evening, but I have managed to find you a few contacts around the country who are quite willing to assist you in your venture. I know two of them personally, and a mutual acquaintance recommended another," he explained, handing Myrddin a roll of parchment. "They understand discretion, but they expect to be compensated for their efforts."
"Of course," Myrddin assured Marcus. "They shall be paid well enough for any information they can provide. I fear we will soon find ourselves facing dark times indeed."
"And you remain confident that you shall be successful?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Good," Marcus declared, clapping his hands together. "Because if you are not, Myrddin, your friends on the Wizard's Council will be most displeased. We do speak with one another, you know. If you fail, we will deny any affiliation with you beyond our original extended invitation to join us. Remember, some of us may be your friends, but we are few of many. Your failure will be your burden to bear."
Marcus offered him a bright smile; a warning if Myrddin had ever received one, before he took his leave of the room.
Myrddin clenched his jaw in irritation before shaking his head.
He did not appreciate being threatened in such a way, but he did not fear the possibility of failure, because it did not exist.
Myrddin would succeed in uniting the country, and then he would untie muggle and magicals alike for an enduring peace.
No ominous Storm-bringer would stop him, nor would threats from a gathering of wizards who shared his vision yet were too cowardly to make the necessary sacrifices to ensure success.
(Break)
She cast another warming charm in the pool of water she floated before sighing and plunging her head beneath the surface. Morgana had found this pool after a few months of moving into the forest.
It was a hidden gem with a large colony of fairies that kept the surrounding trees well-lit, and a few strategically planted bushes gave her all the privacy she needed.
Better yet, it filled through one side from one of the mountains in area and drained away to a river south of the castle, ensuring it remained from at all times.
Using magic, she could heat it up at a whim, a during the hotter days in the summer, she could even cool it down.
She'd not been here much in the last months.
With Harry visiting regularly, she'd opted to stay closer to the lake, and hadn't even moved her house in some time.
Morgana went through the rigorous process of washing herself and her hair, before squeezing the excess out of her locks, keeping an eye on the sun through a gap in the trees above.
When she saw that it would be setting soon, she climbed out of the pool to dry herself off and made her way back to her humble home to dress.
She'd never given much thought to the clothes she wore.
When she'd been a girl, she'd barely had rags to get by, and even now, she dressed for the lifestyle she lived.
Delicate dresses were of no use to her here, but she had felt the need to prepare something at least for her seldom time away from the castle.
It was Harry's birthday, after all.
Pulling the simple, dark green garment over her head, she made some final adjustments with her wand before drying her hair.
When she was done, she reached for the box she had made only this morning out of a piece of ebony she'd salvaged from the forest to place Harry's gift in.
It was then that she suddenly felt the anticipatory nervousness begin to seep in, and Morgana began to question if she should go at all.
What if Harry didn't want her there?
She frowned at the thought and shook her head.
No, she would not let that intrusive thoughts of uncertainty deter her.
Harry would be pleased to see her, well, Morgana hoped he would.
Despite her reluctance to admit it to herself, even in her own mind, she had been missing him, and she'd been looking forward to seeing him since Salazar, Helga, and Rowena had taken the time to convince her to the previous day.
With a final nod to herself, Morgana began following the path from the forest and made her way across the grounds to the gate where the Founders were already waiting for her.
Salazar offered her an encouraging smile as she approached, and her grip tightened around the box she held in her hands.
"Ready?" the man asked.
Morgana nodded, and Salazar removed a portkey from within his robes.
"I expect this will be quite unpleasant," he said amusedly. "We will arrive a short distance away from where Godric and Harry will be. Do try not to fall," he added with a chuckle.
Morgana offered him a glared, but took hold of the wooden Hogwarts crest, and it was only a moment later that she felt and odd hooking sensation in her navel before the small group were pulled away from the castle grounds.
(Break)
It had undoubtedly been the best birthday he remembered.
After Godric had spent several hours putting Harry through his paces, mostly to the man's amusement, he'd taken the trouble to show him around Godric's Hollow.
Harry had experienced many conflicted feelings throughout the tour, but he'd listened keenly to the many stories of his mentor, his childhood, and the family he'd raised here.
For Harry, he'd all but fallen in love with the charm of the village, and he could understand why his parents would have liked it too, if it retained what made the place what it was over the centuries.
Still, he couldn't ignore the tragedy that had befallen the Potters here.
As much as he was falling in love with Godric's Hollow, there was a bitter edge to the village.
Nonetheless, despite what Riddle had done here, Harry was enjoying his time here.
"Thank you," he said gratefully as Godric lit a fire by the river they would be camping by.
The man offered him a smile and nodded.
"It truly is an exceptional place," he sighed. "It is difficult to be here, for both of us, but I can feel my soul healing from the fractures."
Harry nodded his agreement.
Had he known this would be the place he'd been born and ultimately lost his parents, then he likely wouldn't have come, but he was glad he had.
It hadn't given him the closure he'd always sought, and he'd learned that he'd never be able to fully let go of the hurt he carried, but he felt somehow better for confronting it.
"Ah, I believe our guests have arrived," Godric declared, pulling Harry from his thoughts.
"Guests?"
Godric merely offered him a warm smile.
"It is your birthday, Harry," he pointed out. "Did you not think that the others would want to be here?"
Godric chuckled at his dumbfounded expression as Rowena, Helga, and Salazar emerged from the trees with a fourth person in tow.
Harry felt his mouth suddenly dry at the sight of Morgana.
Not a day had gone by since he'd left the castle that he hadn't thought about the time they'd spent together by the lake, and to see her here was indeed a most welcome surprise.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Helga said affectionately, wrapping her arms around him.
"The boy seems to have frozen," Salazar said dryly, shaking Harry by the shoulders.
"You're all here," Harry snorted.
"Where else would we be," Salazar huffed. "Come along, boy, it is rude to make your guests wait. Pour me a cup of mead."
"Pour your own," Rowena cut in, "and pour one for Harry while you're at it. He looks as though he needs a drink."
Salazar grumbled under his breath as he did so, and Harry found himself pulled into another embrace from Rowena.
"Well, you don't look any worse for wear for being with Godric for so long. A few too many bruises for my liking, but you're in one piece."
"No thanks to him," Harry chuckled, nodding towards the grinning Godric.
Rowena hummed and levelled a glare at the man.
"And I suppose he didn't relent today either."
Harry shook his head as his gaze shifted to Morgana, who had remained behind the others.
"Go on," Rowena urged, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement.
Harry nodded and made his way towards the girl.
"Surprised?" Morgana asked.
"I never thought I'd see you so far from the forest."
Morgana shrugged.
"Maybe I wasn't given much choice."
Harry chuckled as he shook his head.
"We both know nobody could force you to do something you didn't want to. Thank you."
She looked radiant.
For Harry, there had always been something about seeing the girl in the light of the moon, and the fire only added to her beauty.
"You made a new dress," he observed.
"I did, and a gift for you."
"For me?"
"Yes, but you're not getting it yet."
"Why not?" Harry asked petulantly.
"Not until we have eaten."
She stepped past Harry who followed her with his gaze and shook his head.
The Founders were busy setting up a large enough table to sit them all, and it was a sense of warmth he'd never experienced that filled him.
Harry imagined that this was what having a family felt like, but before he could lose himself too deeply in the moment, Salazar broke into his thoughts.
"Just because it is your birthday, that doesn't mean you get to just stand and watch us work. Come here."
Harry chuckled and accepted the box of cutlery the man handed to him.
"I suppose you convinced her to come."
"She didn't take as much convincing as you'd think," Salazar replied quietly. "I hope you realise how fortunate you are. She doesn't take to people well."
"I know."
"Good, then you also know that if you break her trust, even once, you will never get it back."
Harry nodded and frowned thoughtfully.
"You care about her."
"As though she was one of my own children," Salazar murmured. "I only ask that you take care of her. She is stronger than you can imagine, but she has her own demons, just like you."
"I understand."
Salazar offered him a nod before squeezing his shoulder.
"You'll be a good man, Harry, I do not doubt it. Now, get to work. You know my thoughts on slacking."
Harry laughed as he set about the task of setting the table, and as he past her, Morgana nudged him with her shoulder.
"Would you like me to curse Godric for you?" she asked with a smirk.
"No, he'll only make me suffer for it."
"Sounds to me as though I'd get a double victory."
"That's it," Harry muttered. "Make my life harder."
Morgana laughed and Harry shot her a playful glare.
"Fine," she sighed. "I won't."
"You're so kind."
"For now," Morgana added.
Harry quirked an eyebrow at her as she took a seat at the table.
He followed suit, and they were quickly joined by the Founders, though Godric remained standing and raised his cup.
"To you, Harry," he declared. "Happy birthday, for now, and for the many more to come."
"Happy birthday!" the others echoed, and once more, Harry felt that unfamiliar sense of familial warmth fill him.
(Break)
It was a little late in the evening for Arthur to be holding court, but Myrddin arrived in the throne room to see the young king sporting a grave expression as a frantic woman struggled to explain her plight.
"P-please, my father is too proud to ask for your assistance, but if help doesn't reach us soon, they will get into the castle and slaughter us all. We have little food left, and several sick. Without being able to fetch supplies, they too will die."
The woman's clothes were torn and her bare feet filthy from where she'd evidently hurried to Camelot through the forest.
Myrddin recognised her immediately, though it had been some years since he'd laid eyes on her.
"Princess Gwyneth," he greeted her curiously. "What brings you here?"
"You know this woman?" Arthur asked.
"Princess Gwyneth is the daughter of King Garth who claims the lands to the north of here as his own. If I remember correctly, Arthur, you received his response to your invitation in which he proclaimed you a false king."
Arthur frowned as he nodded.
"I did."
"And now Garth is asking for the help of another king," Myrddin mused aloud.
"Please," Gwyneth pleaded. "If not for my father then for the innocent men, women, and children the Danes will kill."
"Danes?" Arthur questioned.
Gwyneth nodded.
"They sailed the river and reached us before we could harvest our crops. They already took them and my father even gave them gold. They took it and tore the guts of the messenger before nailing him to the drawbridge. We are not a rich kingdom, but we have many mouths to feed."
"Where are your soldiers?" Myrddin asked.
"Waiting to attack but they are outnumbered considerably. We have only three hundred men-at-arms nearby. The others are fighting in the east."
"And how many Danes are there?" Arthur questioned.
"Around five hundred or so."
Arthur released a deep breath.
In Camelot, there were only around three hundred fighting men, and one third of those were Leofric's.
After a moment of pondering the situation, Arthur nodded.
"Fetch me a map," he instructed. "Lancelot, tell Leofric to ready his men and sound the horn."
Lancelot grinned as he sprinted from the room.
"Are you sure about this, Arthur?" Myrddin asked. "You owe Garth nothing."
"No, but if I am to be king of all Britons, I must fight for them when they need me to. I cannot, in good conscience, hide behind my walls when others will soon crumble. Us doing this will send two messages. It will show the Danes that their ways will no longer be tolerated, and Garth will be in debt to the people of Camelot. He may be an unwilling ally, but an ally, nonetheless."
Myrddin nodded approvingly at the king's logic and peered at the map that was placed in front of him before placing a finger on a point a little to the north of Camelot.
"That is Garth's castle," he explained.
Arthur nodded.
"Princess Gwyneth, can you show me where your forces are?"
The woman nodded, quite relieved that Arthur was agreeing to help her.
"Here," she explained, indicating a point on the map to the east of the keep.
"How long would it take us to reach them?" Arthur asked.
"Around two or three hours," Myrddin said thoughtfully.
Arthur hummed and was startled as a loud horn sounded across Camelot.
"What did I miss?" Lancelot asked breathlessly as he rejoined them.
"Garth's forces are here, that is the castle, and it will take us around two to three hours to get there."
Lancelot frowned as his gaze roamed over the map.
"I assume the Danes are here?" he asked, pointing to the sprawling hills around the castle.
"They are," Gwyneth confirmed.
"So, there ships will be here," Lancelot murmured, sliding his finger to a wider part of the river. "The waterway would be too narrow for them anywhere else. I say you send a rider ahead to Garth's men and bring them here. We burn the ships first so the Danes can't flee, and as they come, we rain arrows down on them from the hills here. We can use this part of the forest to attack from both sides."
"Dividing the forces like that is risky."
"But less so than facing the Danes head on," Lancelot returned. "It will work. I will even lead one of the groups."
"What do you think, Myrddin?" Arthur asked.
"It is risky," Myrddin acknowledged, "but I think Lancelot is right. My only concern is how many Danes have been left to guard the ship?"
"I will ride ahead and scout it," Lancelot declared. "I can get there and meet you back on the road before you reach where you need to be. We can decide how many men shall take the ships then."
Arthur nodded.
"Go," he instructed, "and send a man you trust to relay the message to Garth's men."
Lancelot did not need telling twice, and he left the room immediately.
"I need my armour," Arthur declared as Leofric entered the room shortly after Lancelot had departed. "Are you and your men ready?"
Leofric was already dressed for battle and offered Arthur a nod.
"I am," he declared darkly.
"Then let us prepare for our departure," Arthur replied. "Princess Gwyneth, I urge you to remain here. You will be fed and a bath drawn for you. I will send word as quickly as I can."
Gwyneth offered him a smile of gratitude and allowed herself to be led away.
"Have you considered that she might be lying?" Leofric asked.
"I did," Arthur assured him, "but when Myrddin recognised her as Garth's daughter, it set my mind at ease. He would not risk her in such a dangerous ploy."
"He would not," Myrddin broke in. "Garth is a fool and an unpleasant man, but he cares deeply for his family. He knows that it would be his daughter's life if he attempted such a trick."
Leofric nodded.
"Then into battle we go," he murmured ominously. "May God be with you, King Arthur."
"And with you, Leofric," Arthur returned, clapping the man smartly on the shoulder.
(Break)
"How has your time been on the road?" Salazar asked curiously as he trailed the retreating form of Harry and Morgana as they went for a walk along the river.
Godric nodded.
"More than I expected it to be," he murmured. "Harry has surprised me more than I expected."
"How so?"
Godric checked to ensure that Helga and Rowena were out of earshot before continuing.
"You of course know about Kaia, but there was another incident before that. We were camping in a village north of the Roman wall, and a group of Danes attacked a village nearby. Harry didn't even hesitate to mount his horse and ride to the aide of the people there."
Salazar frowned unhappily.
"And?"
"He took his first life with his sword," Godric sighed.
Salazar shook his head.
"I know your blasted hat placed him with me, but he is too much like you for my liking."
Godric chuckled.
"He did well, Salazar. Much better than I did during my first fight. Harry only got a minor wound on his chest."
"How was he after?"
"A little quiet," Godric admitted. "We stayed to help for a week before moving along, and he was fine by the time we left. It wasn't until we got here that it changed."
"Here?"
Godric released a deep breath.
"My house. Harry was born in my house, and…"
"His parents were killed there," Salazar deduced. "Why would he not mention it?"
"Because he didn't know until we got here," Godric murmured. "It wasn't until he saw it that he knew."
"But how?" Salazar whispered, frowning thoughtfully.
Harry had been only a babe when his parents had been killed. He couldn't possibly remember, not unless…
Perhaps it wasn't his own memory he remembered, but an imprint or an instinct from the fragment of soul belonging to Tom Riddle.
It wouldn't be a memory, but tearing the soul was undoubtedly a traumatic thing.
Perhaps it was the soul that carried that trauma.
Salazar was not sure, but it would coincide with his own thoughts on what had happened to Harry.
Still, he would need to ponder what had happened further and discuss it with Harry when the time was right.
"I would urge you not to mention what happened with the Danes to Helga or Rowena. They would only overreact."
"Agreed," Godric declared immediately. "He was brilliant, Salazar, and he continues to surprise me. His instincts have always been exceptional, but he is beginning to develop true skill with a sword and his magic."
"He will need it," Salazar replied.
Godric nodded.
"Yes, he will, and even if it is the last thing I do, I will give him a fighting chance at vanquishing what he faces."
"As will I."
Godric clapped him appreciatively on the shoulder as he looked in the direction Harry and Morgana had vanished in.
"The girl?"
"I was as surprised as you."
Godric chuckled.
"They met by the lake shortly after Harry arrived," he explained. "He's not very good at hiding it. He's always looking to see if she's there when we are training."
Salazar shook his head.
"You are not opposed to their friendship?"
"No," Godric denied. "I think they could both use someone they can trust and rely on."
"As do I," Salazar returned. "As do I."
(Break)
They moved as silently as three hundred armour-clad men could along the path towards Garth's castle, not saying a word. Nothing needed to be said until Lancelot and the other scout returned with news, something Arthur was grateful for.
He felt sick with nerves, and he was grateful that he'd opted to wear his helm so that none could see the fear he felt in his eyes.
Firing arrows from atop the walls of Camelot was one thing, but to lure a host of Danes into battle on an open field was another matter entirely.
"You will succeed, Arthur," Myrddin assured him.
"How can you be certain?"
"Because your gods watch over you."
Arthur took comfort in the words of the man, and he breathed a sigh of relief as Lancelot returned only a few moments later.
"The ships?"
"Only ten men on each," Lancelot chuckled. "They feel safe enough not to leave men behind to defend them."
Arthur shook his head.
"Fools," he sighed.
"I want you to take fifty men and Myrddin ahead and deal with them as quietly as possible. I will get a message to you informing you when we are in position. When you receive it, burn them."
Lancelot grinned and Myrddin placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder.
"Are you sure you wish for me to go with him?"
Arthur nodded.
"If the gods are watching over me then you are better served burning the ships."
"It will be done, my king," Myrddin assured him before following Lancelot to retrieve the required men.
They would likely succeed with less than Arthur had instructed them to take along, but the Danes needed to see more than a paltry group to give chase. If they fewer men, they would suspect a trp.
Ser Ector had taught Arthur much of military tactics over the years along with Kay.
It was not something Arthur had paid much heed to at the time, but now, he realised how invaluable the man's wisdom was.
"My king, the other scout has reported in," Leofric informed him as he fell into step to Arthur's right. "Garth's men will follow our lead."
"Good," Arthur declared. "Now, we just need to make it there without being spotted."
"Or we will be fighting for our lives."
"I fear that is already inevitable," Arthur chuckled humourlessly. "May the gods watch over us, Leofric."
The man nodded before returning to his own men, and Arthur braced himself for what was to come.
Bloodshed, violence, and death.
All were necessary to establish a lasting peace.
(Break)
Lancelot held a finger to his lips to ensure the other men would remain silent.
Although it was at a considerable risk, he'd instructed them to remove most of their armour to avoid being detected.
When he saw that the other groups were in position with twenty-five men to take each of the two ships, he held up a hand and began lowering digits whilst saying a silent prayer for their success.
The Danes were vicious and if they were unsuccessful, Lancelot did not wish to consider the cruelty he and the other men would be subjected to.
As he dropped the final digit, he lunged forward with his sword, burying the blade into the unsuspecting Dane's chest.
The man grunted, and his eyes widened in shock as his large axe dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
With his first victim dying, he hurried to assist the others, and though they were heavily outnumbered, the Danes were evidently determined to fight until their very last breath.
Parrying a wild swing from a much shorter sword than the one he carried, Lancelot smashed the pommel of his sword into the face of another foe before seizing him by his mailed vest and ramming his knee into his groin.
Less than a moment later, he'd claimed his second kill, and the rest of the fighting seemed to be ebbing away.
It had been a fast and violent coup on the ships, and with the Danes quickly dispatched, the two groups converged back on land to await Arthur's signal.
"How many did we lose?" Lancelot whispered.
"Three on my side."
"We lost two."
Lancelot nodded.
"Five of fifty isn't so bad," he sighed, cleaning the blood from his blade in preparation for the next wave of fighting. "Best retrieve our armour. We will need it soon enough."
The group of men did so, dressing themselves for battle once more whilst they continued to wait.
"What is taking so long?" one of the men asked impatiently.
Lancelot shook his head.
"They won't quite have reached the spot yet," he reassured him. "Let's prepare some points across the ships to burn. We don't want the fires to not catch after all this."
"There is pitch on the ship," one of the other men informed him. "They will light easily enough."
"Then all we can do is wait," Lancelot murmured restlessly.
It proved to be the most agonising part of the ordeal thus far.
When it was quiet on a battlefield, it gave on time to think, and thinking allowed intrusive thoughts of being wounded, killed, or facing defeat that much more tangible.
Every possible scenario played out in Lancelot's mind as the group stood in silence, but he would not allow such thoughts to prevail.
The Danes did not know what awaited them only a short distance away, and they would be crushed for their ignorance.
"The king says to light the fires," a heavily breathing man instructed, arriving from the trees to their left. "All are in position and ready."
With a nod, the men accompanying Lancelot set about the task, and in only a matter of moments, two roaring infernos lit the area around them.
"That was fast," Lancelot murmured.
"There are ways to light a fire so quickly," Myrddin said ominously from his right, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Lancelot frowned, but his attention was quickly drawn to the north of their position as the sound of vengeful screaming was heard.
"He they come," he announced, readying his bow.
"Here they come indeed," Myrddin echoed, drawing his own..
Lancelot's grip tightened around the length of wood he held.
Bearing down on the forty-five of them were hundreds of furious Danes, and if Arthur miscalculated his plan even slightly, their much smaller group would be slaughtered.
"Arrows," he instructed.
As one, the men took one from the quivers they carried and lined up their shots, watching the approaching Danes.
"NOW!"
With the very first step the Danes came into range, dozens of arrows were let loose upon them, and many fell, the roars of anger turning into screams of agony as those struck fell to the ground.
Some were immediately limp, but others writhed in the dirt, their final throes of life reflected in the light of their own burning ships.
"AGAIN!" Lancelot instructed, breathing a sigh of relief as he heard the thudding of hooves begin to sound in the distance.
(Break)
It truly was rather surreal seeing Morgana away from the vicinity of the castle. Harry didn't know how long they'd been walking or how far they'd gone along the banks of the river, but it was as though no time had passed at all since they'd last spoken.
It had been a number of weeks now since he'd left Hogwarts with Godric, and so much had happened.
"I should've known you'd get yourself into trouble," Morgana sighed as Harry finished explaining his journey thus far.
"It wasn't my fault," he defended.
"You threw yourself into a fight without thinking of the consequences," Morgana pointed out.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and the girl hummed.
"I suppose that wouldn't be the first time you've done something quite monumentally stupid."
"It would not."
A ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips and Harry offered her a grin.
"I think you quite like that I find myself in trouble."
"Perhaps, but I'd rather you didn't die doing something that isn't worthwhile."
"That's close to sounding like you worry about me."
Morgana quirked an eyebrow at him.
"From what you've told me, it should be the rest of the world I should worry about."
Harry chuckled amusedly as he held up his hands.
"I know a few people who would probably agree with you."
"Friends?"
Harry swallowed deeply.
"They were."
"Were?"
"It's complicated."
Morgana did not press him further, and it was one of the things Harry appreciated about her.
"Well, since you have again proven you have a way of finding yourself in trouble, I expect this will be quite a useful present for you."
"I'm allowed to open it now?"
"I did say after we'd eaten," Morgana reminded him. "Stop grinning."
"Am I not allowed to be happy that you got me a present?"
"You haven't even seen it."
"Is it something you've cursed?"
"Not this time, but, that doesn't mean it won't come in the future."
"I'll look forward to it," Harry quipped.
Morgana merely shook her head before offering him the long, ornate box she'd been carrying since she'd arrived.
Opening it carefully, Harry marvelled at the dagger resting within, and as he removed it, the blade and handle began to glow in the shape of several runes Morgana had etched into it.
"You made this?" he whispered in awe.
Morgana hummed and Harry removed the blade from the box.
It was so similar to the sword Godric had gifted him, down to the black crow with green eyes that acted as the pommel.
"It's amazing."
Morgana nodded.
"I'm proud of it. I even made the deerskin holder for it."
The too was lying in the box, and instinctively, Harry wrapped his arms around the girl.
She stiffened briefly before returning the embrace tentatively.
"Sorry," Harry murmured. "I just don't think anyone has ever done anything like this for me. Thank you."
Morgana's cheeks were slightly reddened and she cleared her throat to compose herself as she adjusted her hair that Harry had discovered during their embrace smelled of flowers.
He wasn't sure which, but now that they had parted, it wasn't a floral scent on the air any longer.
"Can you smell burning?"
Morgana frowned as she nodded, and Harry eyes widened.
Quite some distance away to the north, two large fires seemed to have erupted, but as he drew his wand, Morgana rested her hand on his forearm.
"Not every fight is yours, Harry," she said gently. "There is war up and down the country, and you can't fight every battle. Sometimes, you have to let it go."
Her voice calmed his instinct to spring into action, and though he felt a semblance of guilt for doing so, he returned his wand up his sleeve.
Morgana was right.
He couldn't fight every battle, and in truth, tonight, he didn't want to.
It had been the best birthday he could remember, and he would not see it end in bloodshed, not when he could be walking the riverbank in the place he was born with her.