The Fog
He watched Owain Peverell as the man entered the room.
His expression was grave, and evidently, he'd not gotten much sleep the previous night. Still, he seemed alert enough, and carried himself with same self-assuredness Myrddin would expect from a man of his stature.
"We have a problem."
"We do?"
Owain nodded.
"The Danes are not alone. They have magicals with them, and even an array of creatures, but the biggest problem of all is the dragon they have in their possession."
"A dragon?" Myrddin whispered worriedly.
"A dragon," Owain confirmed. "A large Welsh Green that almost eviscerated me and Harry last night."
Myrddin frowned.
The dragon was indeed quite the problem.
It would immolate Arthur's men in droves if set loose upon them.
"You sought them out."
"We decided it was best we knew what it was we will be facing."
Myrddin released a deep sigh as he nodded his understanding.
"I suppose I should be grateful you did," he replied. "What other creatures did you see?"
Owain shrugged.
"Hippogriffs, Grindylows, and even some larger cats, wolves, and what I believe was a banshee."
Myrddin hummed.
"It seems as though they are attempting to keep a supply of fresh potions ingredients…"
"Or to use them as weapons against us."
Myrddin frowned.
"Perhaps, but creatures such as you saw are unpredictable and not easy to tame. Those that are controlled magically are not as dangerous as a wild beast, but maybe the magicals with them know something we do not. Regardless, it is a rather disconcerting revelation."
"It is," Owain agreed, "but we will manage. I have a few tricks up my sleeve that will render most creatures useless. I intend to deal with them soon."
"And what of the Danes?"
"Some will inevitably make it to wherever they choose to go, but it is my hope their numbers can be reduced. Me and my men will begin working on that as a priority, starting with the magicals with them. I saw around one hundred in their numbers, a small portion of their force, but close to half of what we have."
Myrddin nodded.
"I will see what I can learn of them as soon as we have met with the others. I would see the dragon not make it to any confrontation."
"We will do what we can," Owain assured him. "I believe Harry has a plan."
"He's quite the odd fellow, even for a wizard."
"He is," Owain acknowledged, "but he has quickly earned the respect and admiration of my men. He is a warrior through and through."
"How did the two of you meet?"
"Harry was born in Godric's Hollow."
"I see," Myrddin murmured.
Owain was being evasive, but there was more to be concerned with than the origins of the Crow.
Myrddin did not doubt Owain was telling the truth about what they saw, and such a threat needed to be negated before it was unleashed upon Arthur's mostly-muggle force.
"It would be most appreciated if you and your men could ensure the magicals did not reach any final battlefield."
Owain nodded his understanding.
"We will see to it that they don't. Am I assuming we are keeping this between us for now?"
Myrddin nodded thoughtfully.
"I do not think it would do the morale of our own men much good if they were to learn of it. Most are unaware of magic, and those who are would not take the news in good spirit."
"No, I don't expect they would," Owain chuckled. "For now, my lips are sealed."
They said little else and waited for the others to join them.
Arthur was the first to do so, followed by Garth, and close to a dozen more men from various keeps across Wales trailing not so far behind the king.
He looked tired.
It is one thing to defend Camelot from any attackers, but to lead men into any battle away from the security of the castle was indeed daunting, especially given the disadvantage they would seemingly face.
Myrddin could only hope that Owain's reputation preceded him, and he would be able to make the fight much less of a one-sided affair.
Still he had faith.
Myrddin did not believe that his efforts were destined to fail at such a premature obstacle.
No, Arthur would be King of all Britain.
The stars had been very clear on that, if nothing else.
"How many men do we have?" Garth asked.
"Around two and a half thousand, but we are hoping more will arrive today," Myrddin answered.
Garth nodded gravely and released a deep breath.
"It won't be enough."
"Yes, it will," Arthur interjected firmly. "The Danes are not as unorganised as we can be, and our warriors will be superior in our own lands. We just need to use both to our advantage. It is not as though we are going to meet them on an open field."
"You have a plan?" Garth chuckled humourlessly. "The boy king who never fought a war will lead us to bloody greatness!"
"Shut up, you limp-pricked idiot," Owain broke in. "He is your king, and you should afford him the respect of his title. There is no point bickering amongst yourselves. Now is the time for you to come together, to fight a mutual threat. If you can't do that then you might as well hand yourselves over to the Danes so they can bugger you with their poleaxes."
Myrddin was surprised that Owain of all people would interject in such a way, but his words seemed to resonate with the others and they nodded their agreement.
"Do they really do that?" Garth asked worriedly. "Do they bugger people with axes?"
"If we lose, that will be the least of your worries," Owain snorted. "Have you ever been somewhere the Danes have taken? I have, and let me tell you, it's not something you want to experience. That is why you must fight with everything you have. If you don't, they will rampage across these lands. They will take your wives at a whim before cutting them in half, and they will slaughter your children just so they cannot come back in years to come to seek revenge. This is not something to take lightly, and they are as dangerous as any other foe you will meet."
Those within the room sobered significantly, and they turned towards the young Arthur, seeking the guidance of the king they'd chosen.
"Then let us begin," he declared, unrolling a map he'd been carrying since he entered the room.
(Break)
It wasn't unfamiliar to Harry to feel Fawkes' magic about himself.
Although he'd not known it at the time, but since the incident in the Chamber of Secrets during his second year at Hogwarts, he'd had a connection to the phoenix.
Now, however, he felt it even more strongly within himself.
Having been liberated from his prison, Fawkes had remained nearby.
Harry couldn't see him, but he could feel the phoenix just on the edge of his consciousness.
For now, the bird was enjoying his freedom; hunting, chasing other birds, and simply enjoying flying but would often send Harry feeling of reassurance.
Not that he believed he'd saved the life of the magnificent creature.
For all intents and purposes, Fawkes was immortal, but Harry wouldn't deny it was comforting to have something from home so close to him.
"You almost broke my wrist!"
Harry frowned as he turned to look up at the hulking man bearing down on him.
He'd decided to make a pass around the keep to familiarise himself with the place.
It was likely he would find himself at odds with those within, after all.
"I could have stuck the blade in if I wanted to," he returned with a shrug. "Maybe you should've kept your mouth shut."
The man scowled deeply at him.
"Maybe I should shut yours up for you now."
"Aye, give him a bloody hiding, Bors," one of the other men, Gawain if Harry remembered correctly, encouraged.
Lancelot shook his head, but the rest of the group seemed to be baying for blood.
"I would suggest you walk away," Harry urged. "Next time, I will not be so polite, and then you'll have to explain to your king why you attacked one of his allies."
"Arthur wouldn't give two shits for you, Crow," Bors snorted.
"Maybe not," Harry said dismissively, "but I think he might be just a little upset if he was to find your balls resting on his throne."
The others laughed, and that only seemed to anger the larger man, who drew his equally large sword and unleashed a stream of incoherent cursing.
"I'll fucking fillet you like a kipper!"
For a man of his size, he moved quickly, but Harry was able to avoid the first swing of the sword as he drew his own to parry the next few that followed.
Shaking his head irritably, he waited for another attack and defended himself once more when it came.
"Fight back!" Bors growled, not relenting in his attempt to remove Harry's head from his shoulders.
"I am," Harry replied, dodging an overhand swing before hitting Bors on the back of the knee with the flat edge of his blade.
The man roared in fury and barrelled towards him, lunging, and crashing to the ground as Harry stepped out of his path.
Bors, however, was quickly to his feet once more, breathing heavily, but no less determined.
He wasn't a terrible fighter in any sense of the definition, but he relied too much on his size and presence when he needed to think about his attack more.
Yes, he was fast, and most would be taken aback by that, but he didn't use his assets in the correct manner when fighting someone who wasn't.
As expected, Bors charged again, but this time, Harry didn't sidestep. Instead, he moved just enough to not bear the brunt of the man's ample frame and drove his elbow into his jaw.
Bors sword clattered to the ground as the man slumped forward, not moving after he crashed to the ground.
"He'll be fine," Harry sighed as the man snored. "He's just taking a nap."
Gawain guffawed and slapped his knee whilst Gaheris and Tristan checked on Bors.
"That was impressive," Lancelot commented. "You show great restraint."
"I didn't see any need to hurt him," Harry replied.
"But you could've."
"He would've been dead after he swung his blade for the first time if I wanted him to be."
Lancelot nodded.
"Lancelot Du Lac," he introduced himself.
"Harry Potter."
"But they call you the Crow."
Harry snorted amusedly.
"I suppose the pommel of my sword is recognisable."
"Why a crow?" Lancelot asked.
"My wife," Harry said fondly. "She has a things for crows."
"So, you became one."
"Something like that."
Lancelot chuckled.
"Ah, the things we do for love," he mused aloud. "Well, Harry Potter, it is nice to meet you. Leofric has mentioned you more than once, as has Tristan."
"He's still intent on marrying his father's bride-to-be?"
Lancelot hummed.
"It's causing problems. Mark is a bitter old git as it is, and this hasn't helped that. It will end badly, but for now, they seem to be more focused on the Danes."
"As they should be."
"I heard the rumours of what they did in Aricon," Lancelot murmured.
Harry frowned.
"The Danes didn't do that. They arrived after what happened."
"They did? But Myrddin is certain it was the Danes. He said he saw them there."
"I don't doubt that, but it wasn't them. That was another group."
Lancelot shook his head confusedly.
"Why are men so insistent on killing one another?" he sighed.
"It is the way of the world. If you step out of the safety of the castle, you'll see it at every turn."
"I have seen it," Lancelot said darkly. "It is why I became so proficient with my blade."
Harry nodded, and his attention was drawn to the groaning Bors as he regained consciousness.
"Is he going to continue being a problem?"
"Most likely," Lancelot sighed. "He holds a grudge but give him ale or mead and he'll leave you alone."
"Ergh, my head," Boys muttered as he stumbled to his feet. "Where is he?"
"I think you've had enough," Gawain snorted. "Come on, let's get you a pick-me-up. You look as though you could use one."
Bors nodded his agreement, and the two left the room as Owain entered it.
"Making friends, I see," he commented amusedly.
"I seem t make them wherever I go," Harry said with a shrug. "So, is it as we expected?"
Owain nodded.
"Aye, we'll take some time to get ourselves together and we'll move out. I see no reason to linger."
"You're leaving?" Lancelot asked.
"Straight for the Danes," Owain confirmed. "We have our job to make it easier for when they inevitably reach where we intend to engage them. Don't worry, there will be plenty of them left to kill when they get there. I'll see you back at the camp."
He left the room and Harry chuckled.
"I shouldn't have expected anything less."
"So, just you and your men are going after them?"
"It seems that way," Harry answered. "Maybe I'll see you soon."
Lancelot nodded.
"Don't die, Crow," he requested. "I'd quite like to test my blade against you when this is all done."
"If we both live through it, I'm sure the opportunity will present itself."
Harry was certain that would be in a way Lancelot did not expect.
Given that Myrddin was destined to become his foe, it was inevitable that some of the men he'd met here would like turn from allies to enemies, but he was prepared for that.
As fond as he was of Owain and some of the others he'd gotten to know, the one person that truly mattered to him was Morgana, and when all was said and done, he intended to return to her where he intended to spend the rest of his life.
"So, what happened to Bors?"
"He picked a fight with the wrong person," Lancelot sighed. "He'll be fine soon enough. The Crow didn't hurt him so much."
Arthur turned to look at Harry, who did his utmost to hide the sudden surprise he felt.
"I apologise for his behaviour. He seems to think that he needs to either prove or assert himself over anyone he meets. Even now after the better part of three years, barely a week goes by that he doesn't challenge Lancelot."
"It's fine," Harry said dismissively. "Men like him are useful if put to task correctly."
Arthur nodded his agreement, and Harry took the opportunity to leave the room whilst he pondered what he'd learned.
"What is it?" Owain asked curiously. "I know you well enough now, Harry, to see that something is bothering you."
"Not bothering me," Harry denied, "but I just learned a very important bit of information."
"You did?"
Harry nodded.
"I know who fathered Gwyneth's son."
Owain's eyes widened in realisation.
"The king?" he whispered, taking hold of Harry's forearm. "Are you certain?"
"He looks just like him," Harry murmured. "That is why she was doing all she could to hide his face. She was terrified someone would recognise him."
"That makes sense," Owain mused aloud. "Do you think Arthur knows?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, and as things are, I am not inclined to tell him. Maybe it is something we can use to our advantage, if such a thing becomes necessary. Besides, there's a reason Gwyneth has not let it be known, but I'm surprised her father hasn't noticed it. The resemblance is uncanny."
"Maybe he's not laid eyes on the boy for some time," Owain pointed out. "What are you going to do, Harry?"
"Nothing," Harry answered. "I gave Gwyneth my word that she and her boy will be safe, and I intend to stick to it. For the most part, it doesn't matter who his father is."
Owain nodded his agreement.
"Then we keep our mouths shut," he murmured. "Anything else you've learned?"
"That Lancelot is sleeping with the queen."
Owain scoffed at the very thought.
"Surely not. That would be monumentally stupid. Are you sure?""
"Completely," Harry assured him. "When we arrived, I sensed something magical on her. She's not a witch, but it was familiar. Lancelot has that magic on him, and it is too strong for the two of them to be mere acquaintances. He has been having prolonged exposure to that magic, and for it to be so strongly on him, it has been happening for a long time."
"Maybe he is her personal guard."
"No," Harry denied. "They would have to be very intimate for what would only be minimal ambient magic to be so prevalent on him, especially because he is not in possession of the item exuding it."
Owain shook his head once more.
"Bloody hell, and I thought our lives were complicated enough without fucking your best friend's wife who happens to be the queen. That wouldn't happen with our lot."
"Scandal in the court," Harry said with a shrug. "I bet every keep in the country has their share of it."
Owain nodded thoughtfully.
"And such information could be useful to possess," he murmured. "Maybe that is something we can consider for future security, but for now, we have some the Danes to deal with."
"Any plans?" Harry asked.
"Too many and not enough all at once, but we will think of something. Come, let's get out of here before you discover anything else you shouldn't know. Bloody hell, you'll get a reputation for gossiping."
(Break)
She stared at her leg in a state of confusion.
The dream had been so vivid once again, much like the others, but by the time Morgana had woken enough to ponder what had happened clearly, the odd, phantom pain had vanished and she couldn't remember the dream at all.
Fire.
She remembered only fire before she'd woken up.
Harry was fine.
She could sense it within herself that, despite being around Myrddin, he was not in any danger.
"You seem thoughtful."
Morgana gasped as Godric emerged into the clearing close to her home, and she once more made a note to move again, Being snuck up on repeatedly was becoming tiring.
"It's nothing," she said dismissively. "What brings you here? Has something happened to Harry?"
"Not as far as I am aware, but Salazar informed us of your decision to get married. I was hoping you would consent in joining me to prepare a gift for Harry. You will get something of your own from me."
"Where are we going?"
"Just to visit an old acquaintance of mine. I can assure you, it will be worth it."
"Why do you need me?"
"Because there is something you can contribute, and you may find the experience enlightening."
"Something I can contribute?"
"Just a little of your blood."
Morgana quirked an eyebrow at the man.
It was unlike Godric to delve into blood magic, and she could not deny that she was rather intrigued.
"Now?" she asked.
"If you're ready."
Morgana nodded as she stood.
"Aren't you going to tell me what it is you plan on giving him?"
"No."
"Of course you're not," Morgana grumbled. "Is it such a big secret?"
Godric nodded.
"Where I am taking you is somewhere that very few wizards have or will ever see," he explained. "I have been only twice, and fortunately, I have been granted another visit. You will understand why it is so special when we arrive. Come, we must be clear of the gates before we activate the portkey."
Morgana followed, and she noticed that Godric seemed to be somewhat nervous, which was much unlike him.
Where they were going, she didn't know, but somehow, she knew it was going to be one of those exceptional experiences that she would unlikely have again in her lifetime.
(Break)
"We should've known they wouldn't be here," Hook huffed irritably, kicking at an errant helm that had been left behind.
"They can't be far," Owain pointed out. "Moving out with so many people means they won't be moving quickly. At least we know the direction they headed in."
"The direction some of them headed in," Harry broke in. "There isn't six thousand set of footprints here. I'd say less than half of them went that way."
"Then where did the others go?"
"Into the forest. There's more cover there, and probably a place or two the magicals have placed protections around. They know that we know about the creatures now."
Owain hummed thoughtfully.
"Myrddin seems to think they are using them for potions ingredients."
"Maybe," Harry said with a frown, "but they'd be more useful as weapons against us, or for…"
He broke off as he pondered the possibilities.
Morgana relied on creatures for some of her own magical practices, none of which would be good news for Arthur's forces.
"Or for what, Harry?" Owain pressed.
"Nothing good," Harry murmured, "but we don't have time to waste. We should go after those in the woods, but we have to keep our wits about us. They'll be expecting something."
Owain nodded his agreement.
"Then let us make sure they get it," he said darkly, leading the men towards the treeline only a short distance away.
(Break)
"I would like you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you."
The Dane standing before him was enormous, one of the biggest men he'd laid eyes on, and Mark couldn't help but believe Cnut would snap his spine in half with only his hands if he felt the need to.
"Because I can help you," he replied, doing his best to steady his voice. "Arthur knows he cannot defeat you, but there is a group of people that arrived at Camelot. Myrddin sent for them himself."
Cnut's nostrils flared and he looked towards another man garbed in a grey robe.
"Myrddin will be a problem," the man beneath the hood murmured. "He could lay waste to most of your forces by himself. That is why you brought in druids of your own."
Cnut grunted.
"Hear that?" he chuckled. "I have my own monsters to deal with Myrddin. He won't cause much bother."
"What about two hundred more of them?" Mark asked.
Cnut frowned and once more turned towards the other man.
"That changes things," he said worriedly. "If they are competent. Who is leading this group."
Mark shrugged.
"A Welshman…Penfold, Percival…"
"Peverell?"
Mark nodded.
"That's him! Owain Peverell."
"You know this man?" Cnut asked.
The hooded figure nodded slowly.
"Peverell might just be more dangerous than Myrddin on the battlefield," he warned. "You must question if losing most of your forces, if not all of them, is worth taking this land."
Cnut quirked an eyebrow in response.
"What makes this Peverell so dangerous?"
"Death," the hooded figure answered. "It is said that the Peverells convey with Death himself, that they summoned him and pledged their souls into his service for his blessing. I visited the village they live in when I was a boy, and it is something I will never forget. Death lingers there, Cnut, and wherever a Peverell goes, he follows, like a cursed guardian to claim the souls of the enemies of the family."
Cnut nodded interestedly before chuckling to himself.
"I have my own gods of Death, and neither Odin nor Hel would side with a Welshman over a Dane. We do not fear Death, we embrace it and dine with as one in Valhalla as an equal. I'll will put my axe through Owain Peverell's skull and hand him to his own weak god."
"You should not be so dismissive," the cloaked figure urged. "Many a man has been dismissive of the Peverells, and none were long for this world."
"Are you doubting my gods, druid?" Cnut asked dangerously.
"No, but you are doubting the gods of others. The belief they have in theirs is as strong as the belief you have in yours. Besides, the Peverells are not mundane. They're druids who believe in a god. That in itself is reason to be cautious."
Cnut hummed before turning his attention back towards Mark.
"Perhaps you can be useful to me," he mused aloud. "You will return to Camelot, and you will pass on anything you learn."
"How will I do that?"
The hooded man stepped forward and placed an owl on Mark's arm.
"You need only write your message and tie it to his leg. He will find me."
Mark nodded his understanding and wheezed as an enormous hand closed around his throat. He felt his feet lifted off the ground and found himself staring into the burning gaze of the Dane.
"If I find you are lying to me, or you deceive me, your death will be most unpleasant. I will crush your skull, smash your legs, and shatter your pelvis with my boot. Understood?"
Mark nodded as he fought for air, and what little of it that remained in his lungs was forced out as he was hurled to the ground.
"GET OU!" Cnut roared.
Mark did not need telling twice.
He sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him from the tent and mounted his horse.
Setting off into a gallop, he rubbed his aching neck and shook his head as the owl landed on his arm once more.
Perhaps it had been a mistake coming here, but Arthur and his own bastard son had done nothing but disrespect him.
Iseult was to be his bride, and if it meant Arthur's budding kingdom had to fall for that to happen, Mark would ensure that it did.
(Break)
"Are you going to tell me where we are going?" Morgana asked breathily. "We've been walking for miles."
"You know, you never struck me as someone to complain," Godric huffed. "You'll see soon enough, and I can promise, it will be worth it."
Morgana scowled at the man and began wondering if he even knew where they were.
She was certain they'd already walked over the hill they found themselves on, but then again, they all looked the same.
"Where even are we?"
"South. As far south as you can come in Briton without finding yourself overseas."
Morgana nodded as she watched the sea below lapping at the cliffs, but before she could speak once more, Godric placed a hand on her shoulder.
"God grief your magic is cold," he murmured, nodding towards something moving towards them along the edge of the hill.
It was small, whatever it was, but it stood upright as any man would.
For a moment, Morgana thought that it might be a child, but as it lowered its hood, she couldn't have been more wrong.
"Godric Gryffindor," the odd creature greeted the man in a low, gravelly voice.
"Bolga," Godric returned with a smile.
"I see you brought a friend."
"I did."
"Your timing couldn't be worse," Bolga sighed worriedly, "but as a friend of mine, what can I do for you?"
Godric frowned.
"What is happening?" he asked.
Bolga shook his head as he released a deep breath.
"Things are changing, Godric, and I do not just mean the war between your own and the mundane here. My own people are facing troubling times, and I fear that things will only get worse. Why do you think I am meeting you here instead of welcoming you in my home? I suspect that you would not live to see another day, old friend."
Godric's frown deepened.
"Then you can do me two favours, and I will never ask of anything from you again."
Bolga nodded thoughtfully for a moment.
"Very well," he agreed. "You saved my people, and it is not something I will forget, even if the others have. What is it you need?"
"A blade, much like the one you forged for me. It is for a man I consider to be my son. He is as worthy to wield it as any man I know."
Bolga nodded.
"Consider it done. Any additions?"
Godric handed the creature a wrapped package before gesturing to Morgana, who drew her blade across her hand to provide some blood.
"You must be loved by this man for it to be of use," the creature warned.
"Harry loves me more than anything else in this world."
"And you know it with such unwavering certainty," Bolga said almost amusedly. "The blade will be forged…"
"With a crow as the pommel."
"An eerie creature indeed," Bolga murmured, "though it is not for me to question, but I expect it has something to do with you, young lady."
"It might."
Bolga laughed but sobered quickly as he looked over his shoulder.
"What is happening, old friend?" Godric asked.
Bolga shook his head.
"Things have changed, Godric," he said worriedly. "My people are no longer content with living underground and existing as we do. They, especially the younger ones, want more, and there is talk of an insurrection. Already, my influence is waning and it is only a matter of time before I am killed an replaced with one more bloodthirsty than me. There is talk of an uprising against humans, and I fear that there is no longer enough of us wiser goblins to prevent it."
"They intend to go to war with us?"
Bolga nodded.
"I believe it is inevitable. Some years ago now, one of the leaders began encouraging us to breed more, to produce five or six children per couple. Those children are now grown and have done so in a world that despise and blame humans for the way we are made to live. They want more, a home above ground to call our own where we would be in charge of our own laws, are allowed to possess wands, and are not at the behest of humans."
Godric released a deep breath as he shook his head.
"Such an uprising would mean death for many."
Bolga nodded.
"I am sorry, old friend, truly, but in only a matter of years, my people will emerge from our home with the intention of taking what they want. The war now is a terrible thing, but it will only get worse."
Godric offered Bolga an encouraging smile.
"Then we shall be prepared for it," he declared. "I only hope I do not meet you on the other side."
Bolga shook his head.
"I will be long dead before that happens, but it will be my honour to create your blade for your son, just as it was to forge yours. Be well, Godric Gryffindor. I do not expect we will meet again."
The goblin crashed his fist against his chest, and Godric followed suit; a mark of deep respect between the two.
Bolga once more vanished within his robes and made his way back to wherever he came from as Godric watched the goblin helplessly.
"Do you think he is telling the truth?" Morgana asked.
"I do," Godric murmured, "and any war brought to us by the goblins will be a bloody, violent affair. They are not known for their kindness, and they will take no prisoners. They will come with the intention of killing us all."
"What can we do?" Morgana questioned.
"We can prepare as best we can. We are not entirely helpless, and though we may find ourselves out numbered, we have many advantages we must put to use. I will speak with a few acquaintances of mine, and then we get to work. Let us just hope it doesn't come to war."
"But it is likely."
"Almost inevitable," Godric said gravely.
(Break)
"Is it just me or is this place somehow eerie at night?" Hook whispered.
It was.
As the sun went down, a thick fog had rolled through the trees, and Harry could barely see a few feet in front of him, and yet, he was left in no doubt that there were things nearby that didn't belong.
In a way, it felt as though they were being stalked from the shadows, that every movement in the trees was something waiting to pounce on them, and yet, it never did.
Nonetheless, something, or many things were here, and although that's what the group were looking for, it still felt odd in woods.
"Shut your trap," Owain hissed.
The men fell silent once more, and the only sound that could be heard was a gentle wind disturbing the leaves.
Not that the silence was any better.
When it was silent, the lurking danger became only more prominent, and Harry held tightly onto his wand in one hand and sword in the other as he continued on his way, ready to strike at anything untoward.
"I don't like this," Owain murmured. "Something isn't right."
"A trap," Hook whispered. "They're just waiting for us to fall into it."
Owain didn't seem so certain, but Harry was taking nothing for granted.
Something was indeed out there, but what that was, he couldn't be sure, and it wasn't until he heard the subtle sound of a bow being drawn that he realised they had indeed fallen into a trap.
They'd been so certain the Danes and the companions were fleeing in a bid to preserve what work they'd done in preparation for their attacks that they'd not even considered that it could be anything else.
It was an error, and a foolish one at that, or so the men they were pursuing would believe.
"Well, shit," Hook muttered irritably as he too became aware of what had happened.
"You should never have come, Peverell," an amused voice addressed them from within the fog. "With so few men, it was foolish."
"Perhaps," Owain replied, "but what you fail to realise is that we do not need so many men."
The voice laughed.
"Oh, the temerity to be so confident when you are surrounded on all sides," it goaded.
Harry turned sharply as he heard a low growl, followed by several more.
They were canine in nature, but as he saw something move swiftly through the fog, the glimpse he got was an unpleasantly familiar one.
"Wolves," he murmured. "Big bloody wolves."
Owain nodded as he continued to peer into the fog.
"Lower your wands," the voice commanded. "Surrender and you will be allowed to pledge yourself to King Cnut."
"What did he just call me?" Hook grumbled.
Owain snorted and he looked towards Harry before offering him a subtle nod.
"You mistake us for cowards," he sighed. "We are not going to lay down any of our weapons. I'm afraid you're going to have to take them from us."
"I was hoping you would say that."
The growling turned into a cacophony of baying, and Harry readied himself for what was to come.
"Mars is bright tonight," he mused aloud as he peered towards the sky, raising his sword as an almighty beast lunged at him from within the fog.