The Peverells
She watched as the fairies flew in and out of the surrounding trees, and Morgana shook her head amusedly. Despite the antics of the creatures, they were very much unlike any other fairy she'd encountered during her time in the forest.
The ones gifted to her by the Lady in the Lake did not merely set up a nest in a suitable grove, and the other fairies seemed rather cautious of the new additions.
If anything, they avoided them entirely, and Morgana couldn't say she blamed them.
There was something deeply disturbing about the magic that continued to mingle with her own, though not in a way that was unpleasant to her.
To most, it would likely be uncomfortable, but with all of the other magicks she had delved into, it did not bother her as much as it should.
The magic of the white fairy was pure, almost too pure to compare it to anything else she'd experienced, but the closest was undeniably Harry's patronus.
The black fairy could not be any different.
Morgana had been around her share of darker magic, and though it was dark in nature, it was without the negative energy that came with what she knew.
What she was expected to do with such creatures, she didn't know but the fairies stayed nearby, the magic of each continuing to seep into her own.
It was by no means dominating hers, but the presence of it was unmissable.
"Are you in there, girl?"
At the sound of Salazar's voice, the fairies darted into her hair, and the man entered the clearing, offering her a relieved smile.
"Is there something you need?" Morgana asked.
Salazar shook his head.
"I just wanted to see how you are," he replied. "I thought I would give you some time after he left before doing so."
Morgana nodded appreciatively.
"I'm fine."
"Are you?"
She shrugged in response.
"I miss him," she admitted. "More than I thought I would."
"We all do," Salazar murmured as he took a seat next to her. "The place isn't the same without him, but I received a letter from him."
"About the fight?"
"You know about it?"
Morgana swallowed deeply as the memory of what she had witnessed in her dream played over in her mind.
Somehow, it was much more terrifying experiencing it now than it had been from Harry's perspective, something that was a testament to how Harry comported himself in such situations.
"I know about it."
Salazar shot her a questioning look and Morgana shook her head.
"I saw it whilst it was happening."
"You were there?" Salazar asked almost angrily as he shot to his feet.
"No," Morgana assured him. "I saw it in my dream."
"Your dream? You're not much of a seer, girl."
"I know, and I don't know how I was able to see it, but I did. I saw Harry fighting. I was Harry."
Salazar frowned at the revelation as he retook his seat.
"What did you do?" he demanded.
"It was just supposed to be a protection ritual we did together."
"And?"
"I think it became so much more," Morgana admitted.
Salazar released a deep, calming breath and gestured for her to continue.
"I set it up as I would any other, under the assumption that what we felt for one another would determine how strong and lasting the magic would be. I carved the symbol into him, and he did it for me."
Salazar frowned as she hesitated.
"What was the sacrifice?"
"Blood from each of us…"
Morgana paused and Salazar folded his arms expectantly.
"And my maidenhood."
He placed his head in his hands for a moment before shaking it.
"Did you even consider that the two of you might just be so deeply in love with one another that it would impact such a ritual, or that giving your maidenhood might just change it? Either one alone would be significant, but both means that what you did was not a simple protection undertaking."
"I didn't know that he loved me," Morgana murmured. "Not like that."
"Then you were as damned naïve as him," Salazar chastised. "Give me some of your blood, girl."
"Why?"
"So I can determine exactly what it is you have done," Salazar sighed irritably. "Love is not something to be taken so lightly, and giving your maidenhood as a sacrifice is something I've not come across in such a way. Might I assume that Harry too had never…"
"He hadn't."
Salazar hissed in parseltongue and held out a hand.
Carefully, Morgana provided him with a vial of blood, and the man set to work for several minutes as he carried out several tests on it.
When he was done, he chuckled humourlessly,
"What is it?" Morgana asked.
"Nothing to be concerned with, as far as I am concerned," Salazar grumbled, "but it could've been damned stupid."
"Well, what is it?"
"It is difficult to say exactly, but the ritual the two of you undertook has created quite a significant bond. Your magic has remained very separate, but a part of his is with you, and I expect he has some of yours. It is not enough to impact either of you in any significant way, but there is undoubtedly a bond that has been formed."
"What does that mean?"
"I cannot say for certain what can come of it. That will be for the two of you to discover, but, for all intents and purposes, you are married."
"Married?" Morgana asked nervously. "I never meant…"
"I know," Salazar comforted, "but the bond you have created is at least the same you will find in any who give a magical vow of marriage, perhaps greater. You have shared your blood and magic, and your bodies accepted the ritual as a vow to one another."
"For me," Morgana replied thoughtfully. "It might not be the same for him."
Salazar offered her a pointed look.
"Your magic would not have accepted such a one-sided outcome. It would only have allowed what happened if Harry was equally receptive to the ritual."
"But I didn't intend for that to happen!"
Salazar grinned as he stood.
"Well, sometimes, magic has ideas of its own other than its intended use. You should take this as a lesson, girl, and be careful in your future endeavours."
"Can I not fix this?"
"Do you want to?"
Morgana worried her lower lip as she pondered the question.
In truth, there was no part of her that wished to undo what had been done, but she wasn't sure how Harry would respond when she told him about it.
It wasn't as though she would keep something like this from him.
"If you want my advice, then you should tell him as soon as you can," Salazar sighed. "I do not think he would be so upset. Any fool can see that the two of you love one another deeply, and it seems that your magic, and his, agree with that sentiment. You need to tell him, and don't dawdle, girl. He has as much right to know as you did."
"I will," Morgana promised, already considering just how she would do so.
It truly had not been her intention for the two of them to be tied together in such a way, but if she was honest with herself, she was neither upset nor angry by the unexpected development.
If anything, there was a part of her that was undeniably happy, and she just hoped that Harry would be too when he learned of what had happened.
(Break)
It truly filled Myrddin with pride to see how far Arthur was coming along.
His men looked to him as their leader, and the longer he remained on the throne, the wiser he became. What was clear was that he was no longer a boy, but a man grown, and Myrddin knew it would not be long before he was unleashed upon the world.
Still, he could not ignore the sense of unease as his gaze drifted to the seemingly loyal Lancelot, and the queen whom he'd yet figured out how to dispose of.
Guinevere was protected by Arthur, and despite how much the young man looked up to Myrddin, he could not compete with the affection he had for his wife.
It was quite the conundrum, but as things were, Guinevere had been a woman of her word.
She supported Arthur in every decision he made, and on the surface, was very a devoted wife.
There was a part of Myrddin that wished he'd remained ignorant to her infidelity, but it was not to be.
He could not forget the vision he'd seen, and though in it he'd seen the demise of the dragon, he held out hope that he could prevent such a tragedy.
Too many would suffer if that came to pass, and Myrddin could not focus on that possibility without a sense of fear filling him, and his thoughts shifting to preventative measures.
Perhaps Strenger could be convinced to act against the queen?
Myrddin shook his head as one of the guards entered the great hall, and whatever news he brought, caused the king to smile widely.
"Leofric has returned," he announced, "and he has Tristan with him."
Myrddin was taken aback.
The man had left more than a fortnight prior and there had been no word from him since.
Why had he not sent a letter?
The wizened wizard frowned as the tired, unshaven commander joined them only a few moments later with an equally exhausted and seemingly traumatised Tristan in his wake.
The second man, however, was not alone.
Following him was a beautiful, young woman; the Irish princess he'd been sent to retrieve on behalf of his father.
"Leofric!" Arthur greeted the soldier warmly. "Come, sit. I didn't expect you back."
The man nodded grimly as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Well, we weren't exactly welcomed with open arms," he sighed.
"You weren't? But you were there to help the locals."
"And we did," Leofric replied, "but that didn't count for much, Arthur."
Arthur seemed displeased by the revelation.
"Ungrateful bastards!" Gawain cursed.
"Aye, we should go across there and kick their balls into the throats!" Bors added.
Arthur held up a hand to silence to two men.
"What happened, Leofric?" he asked.
The man seemed torn on what he should and shouldn't say, but after releasing a deep breath, he told his tale.
"The battle had already started when we arrived. We ran into Tristan, who'd been sent away to hide the princess."
"The Irish were supposed to take me to West Wales," Tristan interjected. "But they didn't. They used my ship as cover to invade, but the Welsh were waiting for them."
"They were prepared?"
"They were," Leofric confirmed. "Me and my men entered the battle, and we won. Us and the Welsh didn't lose so many men, but I saw things, Arthur, things that you wouldn't believe. These people were not mere men. They had powers. I saw one of them use a light of sorts to tear someone's guts through his arse."
Those gathered around the table laughed heartily but fell silent when they realised that Leofric was not jesting.
"I've heard of these things," Gaheris interjected, "and I'm sure I saw something similar in the north. I just thought my eyes were playing tricks on me."
Leofric nodded his agreement.
"I know what I saw, and my men saw it to. The journey home was a sombre one."
Arthur seemed troubled by what he heard, but Myrddin felt a sense of dread fill him.
What were the Welsh wizards doing interfering in a muggle war?
"What of the Irish?" he asked. "Did they have men like this?"
"They did," Leofric confirmed.
Myrddin could only release a deep breath.
He knew that the two worlds would collide in such a way, but he had not expected it so soon.
He'd hoped that the local magicals would not involve themselves, but with what he'd heard of Guthrum's antics, he should've known his hope was for nothing.
Not that he wished to in any way, but there truly was no going back now.
"There is more, Arthur," Leofric said gravely. "The commander of the Welsh, he made it very clear that the people there believe the lands belong to them, and that they answer to no king. It was made clear in no uncertain terms that these men will not kneel before you."
"Even after we saved their lives?"
"Arthur, I do not believe we did," Leofric murmured. "They would've won without us."
Arthur leaned back in his chair and looked towards Myrddin for advice.
"We must expect resistance, my king," the wizard comforted, "but they will see soon enough that they are much better off as your subjects than your enemies."
Arthur nodded, though he did not seem convinced.
"Tell me, Leofric," Myrddin addressed the other man. "Did you happen to get the name of the commander?"
"I did. After the battle, we broke our fast. For the most part, he was amiable enough, but when it came to our brief discussion of why I was there with my men, he changed. There were two men who I spoke to more than others, and I saw them fight. I can think of no man who would wish to find themselves facing either of them on the battlefield."
"The name, Leofric," Myrddin pressed.
"One of them was named Harry," Leofric replied, a deep frown marring his features. "His sword had a pommel of a crow."
"But he was not the commander?"
"No," Leofric denied. "The commander was another man, Owain Peverell."
Myrddin hesitated at the name given, and felt something of a sense of unease fill him.
He'd heard many stories pertaining to the Peverells and had even taken an active interest in looking into the family.
He'd been rebuffed at every turn, and even Nimue herself had told him that the Peverells were not people that should be taken lightly, that the family had been touched by Death itself in a way that Myrddin could not hope to comprehend.
'Their blood and magic has forever been tainted by the reaver of souls, perhaps it is a curse for such men, or perhaps they will thrive. We will not know until either happens.'
Myrddin had made his own observations of Owain Peverell some years prior.
He'd been little more than a boy then, but one that left him with a lasting, unsettling impression.
The magic the boy wielded had been like nothing else he'd witnessed, and yet, he'd never seen him receiving any instruction.
"You know this man, Myrddin?" Arthur asked.
"I am aware of him, my king, but he is a man like any other."
Leofric shook his head in disagreement, and Myrddin chose to ignore him.
"Britain is yours, Arthur, and all men, women, and children will become your subjects. They will choose to do so when they see the good you will do for them."
Arthur nodded thoughtfully.
"And if they don't we will knock the shit out of them!" Bors declared.
Myrddin did not grace the man with a response, but he knew that there was no man within this room who would stand a chance in a fight with a trained wizard, save for himself, of course.
If what Leofric had said was true, then taking the lands in the west of Wales would be no easy feat, not with Owain Peverell and other magicals seemingly safeguarding it.
What could be done, Myrddin was not sure, but he did have a few options available to him.
Strenger was in the area, so, he could use the man to his advantage, and he had gathered quite the force of magicals himself.
Myrddin hummed and nodded as he began piecing a new plan together.
He would send Strenger to Godric's Hollow, only to scout it for now, but with the intention of a future attack.
Peverell nor any other would-be leader could be seen to be getting away with dissent, and Myrddin would see the man intercepted before he could gain any traction in what would likely become a deeply unpleasant rebellion in the region.
Nonetheless, hearing the name Peverell was indeed rather troubling, and Myrddin would rather the ominous family stayed clear of his affairs.
(Break)
It had taken several days to sort and clear the dead from the beach. They'd simply allowed the tide to take the Irish, after removing anything of value from them, and the ships they'd arrived on had also been confiscated.
Owain believed that they could be put to use, and they were well-made.
The men from the village had sailed them away, leaving Harry and Owain to travel by land back to Godric's Hollow.
"That is a fine horse you have," Owain commented, patting Tempest on the side of the neck.
"He was a gift from Godric a few years ago. We've been to most corners of the country together and he's never let me down."
Owain nodded approvingly.
"It is good for a man to travel. I spent some moons on the continent, but the Hollow will always be my home. The heart always call for where you belong, Harry. Where do you consider yours?"
Harry pondered the question, though it took him little time to answer.
He may have been born in Godric's Hollow, but his best years had been his most recent at Hogwarts. Still, perhaps it wasn't the school itself that was his home.
That honour belonged to one person.
"Wherever Morgana is," he answered.
Owain chuckled.
"She's a beauty then?"
Harry nodded.
"Like no other I've ever seen."
Owain offered him an approving smile.
"My Anwen is the same," he said fondly. "She's the reason I did not travel as long as I intended. I missed home, and my father, but it was Anwen that compelled me to get on a ship and return. It's fortunate that I did. Her father had agreed for her to marry another man in my absence."
"I don't suppose he took you taking his wife well."
Owain shook his head.
"I killed him, Harry," he admitted shamelessly. "It was a sanctioned fight, and I used only my sword. As painful as it would've been, if Anwen had given him her heart, I would've accepted it, but she chose me, Harry. There is not a thing that I wouldn't do for her, and that babe she is carrying."
"I understand," Harry replied. "When I was a boy, I threw horse shit at a wizard who insulted Morgana. I wasn't ready to face him in any kind of duel, but I couldn't allow him to insult her."
Owain chuckled amusedly.
"We do what we must to keep them safe from all threats. I do not long for war or violence, but I shall never shy away from it to keep her safe. Ah, here we are. You will have the opportunity to meet her now."
"Is that her?" Harry asked a woman rushed from the large house they had stopped outside of.
"That's her," Owain confirmed with a bright, unguarded smile as he dismounted his horse.
Anwen all but threw herself into his arms, and they spoke to one another in their native tongue for several moments.
It was a rather wholesome moment that Harry felt he was intruding upon, but Owain gestured for him to join them.
"My love, you haven't met yet, but this is Harry. Harry, this is my Anwen."
She was indeed a beauty, and her smile was so warm and receptive that Harry immediately understood why Owain was drawn to her.
"Harry, Ignotus has spoken of you," Anwen greeted him. "Thank you for being with my husband."
Harry nodded.
"Someone has to keep him out of trouble, but I'm afraid I failed."
Anwen grinned as she nodded.
"I have been falling since I met him when he was just a boy and stealing apples from an orchard that didn't belong to him."
"Again with the orchard," Owain huffed. "Well, we have our own now, so, I won't have to steal others."
"I insisted on the orchard," Anwen explained. "Please, come in, we are about to have lunch."
Before Harry could protest, she held up a hand to silence him.
"I will not take no for an answer."
"Best listen to her, lad," Owain urged. "She may have a beautiful face, but she is as fierce a Welsh-woman you will ever meet."
Harry chuckled before nodding.
"Thank you," he offered sincerely, following the pair into the house.
It ended up being a rather casual affair, and Harry learned more about Owain and his wife whilst they ate.
Attached to the property was a modest farm that both tended to, the orchard that Anwen had mentioned, and even a stretch of river where Owain would often fish.
It all seemed so simple, and yet, Harry took none of it for granted.
When the fighting was done, and if he survived, he could envision something similar for himself, though he knew there would be many inclusions to keep Morgana happy.
She would like somewhere she could keep a variety of creatures, and likely an outdoor bath she had created in the forest.
Harry could almost see it all being built in his mind, and when he finished the cup of ale Owain had poured him, he stood.
"Are you leaving, Harry?" Anwen asked.
"He is," Owain answered with a knowing smile. "He needs to go home."
"I do, but I won't be gone long."
"There is no rush," Owain assured him. "The men won't return for a few days at least. Give your Morgana my best and let her know that we would like to meet her."
"I will," Harry assured him gratefully.
Owain nodded and clapped him smartly on the shoulder.
"I will care for Tempest whilst you are away. My Shelagh could use the company."
"Thank you," Harry replied, and thank you for lunch," he added to Anwen before hurrying from the house.
Being away from Morgana was never easy, but seeing Owain and his wife living the blissful moments away from the fighting and every other unpleasant thing happening in the world had only served to make Harry miss her more.
Even if it was only for a few hours or days, he would take the moments as they came.
He could apparate, after all, and Godric had told him to use the skill wisely.
It was only a few moments later that he was standing outside the gates of Hogwarts, but it was not the castle he was looking towards.
He would always miss the castle, attending lessons, and being a student, but it was the forest he was looking towards, and as the gates opened to admit him, it was where Harry's feet carried him.
(Break)
He'd gotten used to the desperate screams and pleading of those he condemned many years prior, so the many men and women begging for their lives, or those of their children fell on deaf ears.
Myrddin wanted chaos, and Phillip intended to give him more chaos than the revered wizard could handle.
'What are we to do with these?' Lott, a particularly brutal man Phillip had recruited from the south of the country.
Phillip frowned thoughtfully as he considered his next course of action, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he spotted the church only a short distance away.
'Lock them in, Lott,' he instructed.
The man chortled as he gestured for the others to lead them towards the building, and those taken prisoner continued to plead for their lives.
'What will you do with us?' one of them, a frail, limping man asked.
'Old friend do not worry yourself,' Phillip urged comfortingly. 'I will spare you. Someone must live to tell the tale of what happened here, after all. Tie him to the tree.'
The man's fighting was for naught, and only a moment later, he was indeed lashed to the bark of a yew tree in the churchyard whilst the others were led inside the great building.
It was odd the lengths these muggles would go to build something so impressive for a god who would never answer their prayers.
Phillip chuckled at the thought and waited for his men to return after the doors had been barricaded.
When they did, Phillip drew his wand before turning his attention to the old man.
'I wouldn't want you to miss this,' he murmured.
The man screamed as his eyes were forced to remain opened and Phillip chuckled.
'The pain you are feeling now is nothing compared to what they will experience. You will hear it for yourself, old man.'
Snapping his wand upwards, he hurled a ball of fire towards the church, and in only a matter of moments, the entire build was aflame.
Shortly after, the shrieks of agony began, and old man fought desperately against his bindings to help his people.
Those within the church suffered for several moments before all that could be heard was the crackling of burning wood, and the occasional sound of heavy stone thudding against the floor.
'Monster!' the old man croaked, pulling Phillip from his curious observation. 'May God and the Devil himself punish you for all eternity!'
Phillip and his men laughed heartily.
'Where is your god now?' he mocked.
'He is everywhere,' the old man said defiantly. 'Perhaps he will not come for you himself but will act through another. Your own ending will be an accumulation of all the misery you have exacted upon others. I hope it is the devil that finds you first, you bastard.'
The old man spat at Phillip's feet but cowered against the tree when a strike with the back of the hand was returned.
'Your god does not frighten me, muggle,' he hissed. 'No man frightens me. Have you not considered that I might just be the devil you speak of?'
'Then it will be god who comes for you.'
Phillip laughed heartily and was joined by his men.
'You still believe there is a god. After all you have seen here today, you hold onto the foolish faith. What stands before you is the closest thing to a god you will ever see, old man.'
"And does this god have a name?'
Phillip leaned in closer to as another smirk played at his lips.
'They call me, Pelleas.'
To see the man's eyes widen in recognition meant that Phillips efforts had not been for nothing, and that the moniker he'd adopted had even made it this far south.
If anything, he was proud at the fear he saw in the old man's eyes, but he would not remain here long enough to truly enjoy it.
No, there were other places he needed to be, after all.
"Why does it seem that you have not listened to a word I have said?"
"Because I haven't," Phillip replied with a shrug.
Myrddin shot him a glare of irritation, and Phillip fought the urge to grin triumphantly.
It was rather easy to get under the man's skin, especially when he was uncharacteristically out of sorts.
"Peverell, Strenger," Myrddin whispered. "You must tread very carefully where that family is concerned. They are not like the others."
"How so?"
"Have you not heard their story?"
"About Death?" Phillips snorted. "Every damned fool has heard the story, but that is all it is, a story. You don't truly believe that there is any truth to it, do you?"
"I am not certain, but the mystery surrounding them cannot be denied, and there are undoubtedly forces in this world that so few have any understanding of. I have seen some for myself, and yet, have no understanding of how they came to be. Strenger, you must not take them for granted. Ignotus, if he yet lives, may be old, but his son is in the prime of his life. People fear them for good reason, and it would do neither of us any good if you were to find yourself on the wrong side of them."
Phillip frowned.
"Perhaps it is too late for that," he chuckled. "Word of what we have been doing in Wales will undoubtedly reach the man."
"Then the consequences shall be yours to bear," Myrddin sighed. "I will personally be investigating the matter in the hopes of finding a way to neutralise them. For now, avoid them, Strenger. That is my final word on the matter."
Myrddin left the bar, and Phillip finished what remained of his drink before following suit.
It was rather lifting to see the wizard panicking in such a way, and though he'd been explicitly told to avoid Peverell, Myrddin had failed to instruct him to leave Wales.
An anticipatory smile crested his lips as he approached the place his horse was tied up, and as he took his leave of another village only a short distance away, he allowed his mind to wonder back to the incident that occurred a little over a week prior.
The smell of the burning church remained on his clothes, and when he closed his eyes, he could still hear the screaming of the locals as they burned alive.
Undoubtedly, Myrddin knew what he'd done.
The wizard was an expert in the Mind Arts, and it was inevitable that a report of the incident had made it to Camelot days ago.
That he hadn't mentioned it or chastised Phillip only spoke of Myrddin's character.
He professed to care for all men, and yet, he had no words for anything Phillip had done thus far to antagonise the people of Wales nor had there been any objections.
Myrddin may claim to be a better man with a higher purpose of sorts, but Phillip had met many others like him throughout his years on the continent, though admittedly, none with such talent or brilliance with magic.
Perhaps he would not be the one to bury Emrys. Perhaps the likes of Myrddin were so far beyond him that it would never be, but inevitably, he would meet his match, and Phillip hoped beyond hope that he would see the downfall of the man who'd all but forced him into the life of servitude he was living now.
The very thought brought another smile to his lips, and as he mounted his horse, the only prevalent thought in his mind was that although there was little he could do to remedy his own situation, he certainly could make Myrddin's life much more difficult.
(Break)
"I'm glad you're here," Morgana whispered as she buried herself deeper into Harry's chest.
The moment she had seen him, she had immediately flung herself into his arms, and something rather carnal and needy had taken over her. Not that Harry had complained. They'd both readily given into their desire for one another, and now, Morgana felt as though she was whole again.
"Then why are you so worried?"
She swallowed deply at the question.
As pleased as she was to see him, he'd returned sooner than she'd expected, and Morgana had barely begun to comprehend what it was that had happened between them the night they'd completed the ritual.
"What makes you think I am worried?"
"Because I can feel it."
"Feel it or sense it?"
"Both."
Morgana released a deep breath as she leaned up to look at him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"For what?" Harry asked with a frown.
Morgana could only shake her head as she searched for the words that eluded her.
"The ritual. I think it did much more than I intended it to do."
"You mean creating a bond between us," Harry sighed. "I can feel it. I could feel it during the battle, and I can feel what you are now that you are closer. Is it breakable?"
"No."
"Good."
Morgana was taken aback by his response and couldn't be certain if he was making one of his poor jests.
"Good?"
Harry nodded.
"It means that no matter what happens, you will always be a part of me."
As it often was with Harry, his explanation was brief, but a sense of warmth filled her as he spoke the words.
"So, you're not angry?"
Harry shook his head.
"No. I should've known it wouldn't be as simple as you intended, and I think I did when you explained that the protection the magic would give was dependent on how much we cared for one another. I even thought it might protect you more than me, but I was okay with it."
Morgana hid her smile from him, but she knew he could feel exactly what she was in the moment.
"I discussed it with Salazar," she admitted. "I dreamt about the fight, and it felt so real."
"Because it was."
Morgana nodded.
"Do you..?"
"Do I?"
"Harry, I was terrified, but you weren't. There was a part of you that enjoyed what was happening. Is that normal?"
"I don't think so," Harry chuckled, "but I have found myself in so many life-threatening situations that I suppose I don't react like most people would. Besides, I can only think of one other time that I have felt more alive than I am when I close to death."
"When?"
"Do I need to answer that?"
Morgana blushed and hid her face once more before swatting him on the chest as he laughed at her.
"I know it might seem strange, but there is something about being in those moments of danger that is exciting," Harry spoke. "A part of me wishes that I didn't feel that way, but there is another pat that thrives in the chaos."
Morgana could not say that she truly understood the appeal, but she had experienced it through Harry, so she did, somewhat.
"So, are we married?" he asked amusedly.
"Salazar seems to think so," Morgana sighed.
"I bet the git had a good laugh about it," Harry snorted. "Not that I'm complaining. It's not as though I'm ever going to meet anyone else who could give me everything you have."
"You mean some clothes and my maidenhood?"
Harry shook his head and tutted at her own jest.
"A place to call home," he answered sincerely.
Morgana did not know what to say, and in lieu of any words, she simply rested her head against his chest.
She needed not say anything.
She felt very much the same as Harry did, and she knew he meant it.
Morgana could feel his sincerity within herself, and she knew he could feel hers.
(Break)
"Pelleas," Ignotus murmured as he read the name scratched into the bark of the tree.
It was one he'd heard murmured in a few of the taverns he'd visited; a name as unpleasant as the rumours surrounding it.
"This man died from exposure," Owain growled.
"And those in the church from a magical fire," Ignotus added. "There were dozens of them here to prey on the locals."
"Bastard," Owain cursed.
Ignotus hummed his agreement as he surveyed the scene around him.
"They will be far into the wind, son. It has been many days since this happened."
"That doesn't mean I'm not going to hunt him down."
"I would expect nothing less," Ignotus replied with a nod. "He will not be easy to find."
"Because he will hide from me when he knows that I am coming."
"Indeed, but he has a large group."
"And I have me," Owain said darkly. "And Harry."
Ignotus chuckled humourlessly as his son conjured a shadowy raven and sent it on its way.
"Then Pelleas will not be long for this world when you catch up to him."
Owain continued to look into the sky, and his nostrils flared only a moment later as a white, ethereal crow shot from the ground in front of them.
"He's coming," he confirmed.
"As is Death, my son," Ignotus murmured, his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight.