Together
"How is it possible to hide hundreds of wandering corpses?" Godric grumbled, placing another water repelling charm over himself to fend off the heavy rain.
"Don't tell me you're so keen to see them again," Salazar chuckled humourlessly.
"If I ever see them again it will be too soon. I'm just curious how they can be hidden."
For three days they'd continued to venture throughout the east of Britain in search of Strenger, who Harry assumed had left not long after fleeing the dead, likely stopping only to get a message to Myrddin to inform the man what had happened here.
"I don't know," Godric," Salazar sighed. "The fog has cleared, and I've felt nothing of them for two days now. I suspect that they're being concealed to be used at Guthrum's behest."
Harry shuddered at the thought.
It had been terrifying enough facing close to six thousand Danes with a dragon at the forefront of their forces, but there was something deeply disturbing about the prospect of hundreds of dead men who could not be cut down and were resistant to most magicks.
"What do you think, Harry?"
"I think that you're right," he answered. "I think Guthrum has likely had them hidden. The people here think highly enough of him, for the most part, and he would not want to turn them against him with an inevitable war approaching. It would serve him no purpose to use the dead against his own people."
"Then why the bloody hell are we still here?" Godric huffed. "Guthrum is hiding the dead that we are not even prepared to fight, and we haven't seen hide nor hair of Strenger. He must've fled."
"I think you are right," Salazar mused aloud. "Any thoughts on where he might be?"
Harry shook his head.
Strenger could be anywhere, though if he was indeed acting on Myrddin's behalf, it wouldn't be beyond Britain.
"Then I say we return to Hogwarts until we get word of the dead moving or anything about Strenger. We are just wasting our time here."
"I agree," Godric replied, giving Salazar's shoulder a squeeze. "I want him too, old friend, but he will not fall into our hands so easily. When he does…"
He let the threat towards Strenger hang between them.
If Strenger had been a man of any respectability, Harry might just feel sorry for him for what would inevitably happen when Godric and Salazar did catch up with the man.
Having seen and experienced for himself what Strenger was capable of, however, he felt nothing but the shared malice towards him as his companions.
"What of the dead?" Godric asked, addressing the most pressing of matters. "Can we just leave them here?"
"What choice do we have?" Salazar asked. "If they are indeed hidden, I do not think it will be to our benefit to seek them out. Even outside of whatever protections they are being housed within, we do not have a certain way to combat them, not until Harry…well, if Harry decides to learn the spell."
Godric did not seem pleased at the prospect, but the man was not foolish enough to insist that such a thing wouldn't become a necessity.
One day, Guthrum would unleash the dead upon his enemies, and someone needed to be equipped to destroy them.
"I will do it," Harry declared. "I don't how we can practice such a thing, but if I can learn how to wield it to fight off the dead, I should do so. No one should have that type of force at their beck and call."
Salazar offered him an encouraging smile.
"So, we return to the castle?" Godric asked.
Salazar nodded.
"For now," he answered. "I can see no use in us remaining out here with Strenger gone and no sign of an enemy we are not even ready to face."
"Then that is what we will do," Godric declared. "Come, let us not linger here any longer."
Harry too was keen to leave the area.
Not only was the presence of the hidden dead an unsettling one that afforded him little sleep, but he was also aware that he needed some time with Morgana before returning to Godric's Hollow to check on Owain.
What would come after that, he wasn't certain but given the most recent developments he had become aware of, he knew that his journey was far from over.
The threat of Guthrum, who might just make a move on the weakened Daneland with an army of dead was a very real prospect, and the rumblings of an impending goblin rebellion were only two of the problems he would likely face in the near future.
That was without his own efforts of foiling whatever Myrddin would eventually do to cross their paths once more being considered.
Harry shook his head tiredly.
Myrddin had made no effort to find them here again.
Maybe he would return in the coming days, but Harry didn't expect him to.
He would realise that he was all but powerless against such a threat without delving into magic he would see as abhorrent and immoral.
No, he would find another way to combat the dead without dirtying his own skewed moral obligations, but for now, Harry didn't care.
As promised by the Lady of the Lake, they would one day come to terms with how their fates were tied to one another, but until then, Harry had more than enough to occupy his thoughts.
For now, Myrddin seemed to be a problem for another day, but it wasn't as though he would ever forget it.
It was why he had been brought here, after all, though Harry couldn't help but wonder if there was indeed much more to all of this.
It wasn't as though the path he'd travelled thus far had not been without incident, and yet, somehow, Myrddin found a way to be involved in just about every step of it already.
It was a troubling thought, and one that would undoubtedly plague him, but with the prospect of returning to Hogwarts taking precedence, he couldn't care less about Myrddin Emrys right now.
(Break)
He slammed the book he'd been perusing shut and muttered irritably under his breath as he reached for yet another.
Not even the most obscure tomes he owned mentioned the raising of the dead, nor how to defeat such creatures being controlled by a most pleasant adversary.
It was frustrating to feel so clueless about a type of magic when Myrddin prided himself so deeply on his intimate knowledge of all things magical, and yet, here, he was out of his depth.
Had he not already happened upon Salazar, with Harry Potter of all people, Myrddin would've likely pressed the man about the threat in the east, but the opportunity had not presented itself.
He'd been taken aback by the presence of Potter, and the very thought of the young man caused his brow to crease thoughtfully.
Could the meeting between the three be coincidental?
If Myrddin were an objective man, he would agree that it was.
Marsh reed was plentiful in the east, and of the very best quality, so Potter's explanation was certainly logical, but Salazar and Godric both being there was not so, not unless they had discovered that Strenger was Pelleas and was operating in the region.
Myrddin hummed as his frown deepened.
Both made sense, but the later was indeed troubling.
If they managed to locate Strenger, the man would undoubtedly reveal more than Myrddin was comfortable with.
His association with Strenger should not be allowed to become known, especially after all the man had done since Myrddin had brought him under his employ, albeit under duress.
It was an unsettling thought, but with Strenger having left the east, it was not a pressing matter, certainly not as urgent as the horde of dead roaming Britain just as Arthur was preparing himself to finally leave on his own campaign.
Daneland was ripe for the taking after all, and it would be foolish to allow Cnut to consolidate and build his power again.
No, the time was right for Arthur's campaign to begin, even if it wasn't perfect.
Shaking his head, Myrddin discarded yet another book.
He would find nothing amongst his own works.
He'd never delved into such abhorrent practices, not even for benefit of gaining knowledge, and now, he found himself in quite the bind.
If Guthrum chose to head west into Daneland with the dead, there was little that would be able to stop them, and yet, Myrddin knew Arthur could not deny his own march any longer.
For now, he needed to hope the forces did not meet on the battlefield.
The dead would be the deciding factor in that fight, not to mention the excellent Saxon warriors under Guthrum's command.
No, Myrddin needed to find a way to ensure the dead would pose no threat, and given his most recent experiences, there was only one other outside of Salazar who might just be able to help him, though he dreaded to think what the man's price might be.
Or perhaps Ignotus Peverell would understand the threat the dead posed and help him willingly.
Somehow, Myrddin had his doubts, but with his back truly pressed against the wall, he knew he had little choice in the mater.
He had to swallow his pride and arrange a meeting with the ominous man in the hope they could once more find common ground against a common foe.
(Break)
She stared curiously at her reflection in the lake.
Morgana looked no different than she had before, but with a little manipulation, her features began to change.
Her eyes changed from the light grey they'd always been to a bright blue, a purplish hie, and even to a green much like Harry's before she reverted them.
From there, she changed her hair, nose, ears and mouth in various combinations, her appearance changing significantly as she did so.
She'd never been able to do such a thing before, and now, it felt as natural as breathing to her.
For several moments, she continued to alter her features through various combinations and shook her head.
Her relationship with nature had intensified, she could change her appearance, and the magic she'd always felt within her environment was accessible to her as her own.
It was her own.
Everything she could feel around her, Morgana could use at a whim, but perhaps the most useful of her newfound skills was something she intended to put to use immediately.
Ducking back into the forest, she waited for Harry to arrive.
As much as she wished to meet him halfway across the grounds, she fought the urge to do so, and grinned as she heard his approaching footsteps.
He paused as he entered the clearing in front of their home, and a deep frown formed. His gaze swept across the length and breadth, and he even drew his wand.
"I know you're here," he murmured. "You can't hide from me."
He cursed loudly as Morgana pounced, sending them both sprawling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Harry groaned.
Morgana laughed as she sat on his chest, and reappeared.
Harry merely shook his head n response, though he frowned once more.
"There's something different about you."
"Is there?"
He yelped in surprise and extracted himself as she manipulated her features once more, resembling someone not familiar to her husband.
Harry appeared to be rather horrified and he swallowed deeply.
"What did you do?" he asked.
He didn't seem angry or even upset, but he was cautious.
"Nothing," Morgana answered honestly. "After you left, I got sick again, worse than I have been, and when I woke up…"
She broke off with a shrug.
"The fairies."
Morgana nodded.
"They died, Harry," she said sadly. "I think this was their gift, what they were supposed to do."
He immediately pulled her into a tight embrace, and Morgana revelled in his warmth.
"You know, they were annoying little shits at times, but I think I might actually miss them," he sighed.
"Me too," Morgana murmured.
Neither of them said anything for several moments, and it was Harry who eventually broke the silence.
"What else can you do besides turn invisible and change the way you look."
Morgana had been waiting for him to ask, though he did not seem best pleased as the two of them were seized by a nearby plant and hoisted into the air.
"I've not finished exploring it all yet, but I've already found some useful things."
"Useful for you," Harry huffed. "I suppose I'll have to get used to you attacking me with plants and whatever else you can set on me."
"Would I do that to you?" Morgana asked sweetly.
"You just did," Harry snorted. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get down."
She pouted at her husband, but relented, and Harry backed away from the plant, ignorant of just how easily she could snatch him up again if she wished to.
The thought brought a grin to her lips, and Harry quirked an eyebrow at her.
"I suddenly fear for my life," he chuckled. "Are all men afraid of their wives?"
Morgana shrugged.
"Am I so terrifying?"
"To most you would be. I've seen what you are capable of, the magic you use that so few would even consider delving into. People who do would usually terrify me."
"But I don't?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, not me, but I do not doubt what you would do to others."
"Much like you."
Harry swallowed deeply as he nodded.
"Much like me," he agreed. "What do you know about Necromancy?"
Morgana was taken aback by the question.
"I know that it should be left well alone."
"As glad as I am to hear that, what do you know?"
Morgana shook her head.
"Not much," she answered. "I do know that using it can taint your soul in irreparable ways, but that depends on what you do."
"What if you raise the dead?"
Morgana frowned, and she was immediately reminded of one of her feverish dreams.
"Has someone raised the dead?"
Harry nodded gravely.
"Two witches in the east. We watched them complete a ritual where they killed seven people and raised hundreds of dead bodies from the ground. I've never heard of anything like it."
"Inferi," Morgana whispered worriedly. "There are so few things that can destroy them. They're resistant to most magics, and muggle weapons are almost useless against them."
"Fire," Harry replied.
"Fire? No, unless it is hot enough to destroy the corpse entirely, it will be just as useless."
Harry nodded as he released a deep breath.
"You're right, but there is one type of documented fire that can do it. Godric and Salazar both believe I need to learn how to wield it, but I'm not so sure. It is so dangerous and unpredictable. It has a mind of its own."
"And yours is strong," Morgana comforted. "If there is anyone that can master that kind of spell, Harry, it is you. Look at your patronus charm. You did that when you were just a boy, and it takes incredible control to achieve. How long did it take for the Founders to learn it?"
"Almost a year."
"And they are all exceedingly brilliant people," Morgana pointed out. "Maybe Godric and Salazar are right."
"Maybe," Harry murmured, "but there is a difference here you're not thinking about. Fiendfyre is not the patronus charm. If this goes wrong, a lot of people will die. I'm just not sure anyone should have that spell to hand, not even me."
Morgana nodded.
"Well, what is the alternative?"
"I don't know."
"Then it is something you should be prepared for, Harry, because if the worst comes to the worst, a lot of people will die at the hands of the dead, and I'd say that will be more unpleasant than being suddenly engulfed by flames that will kill you instantly."
Harry frowned at her.
"How is it that you make so much sense even when we are discussing something so ridiculous?"
"Because I am always right," Morgana answered smugly. "Now, Sir Harry, I expect you won't be staying long, will you?"
"Not as long as I'd like."
"Then you will spend some time with me alone before we leave."
"We?"
Morgana nodded.
"From now on, I go wherever you go," she said firmly. "I'm tired of waiting here for you to return home. I should be at your side."
Harry appeared as though he was going to argue, and Morgana placed her finger against his lips.
"Don't," she warned. "Don't even think about it. Whatever is coming, we will face it together. This is our journey, Harry, and this is how it was always meant to be. Besides, I'm quite looking forward to learning of all you have been up to during those long moons away."
"You already know what I have been up to."
"Only from what you have told me."
"Do you think I am hiding things from you?"
Morgana hummed thoughtfully.
"Are you?"
Harry frowned before shaking his head.
"Do you think I have been seeing other women?"
"Most men do when they are away from home. Don't tell me you haven't seen it for yourself. I may have spent most of my life at Hogwarts, but I am not ignorant of the outside world."
Harry shook his head.
"I have seen other men use those places, but I haven't. Have I ever given you the impression I would?"
"No," Morgana sighed, "but if you did, it wouldn't matter. It's not as though we ever discussed it before you left."
"It's never even crossed my mind to be with anyone else."
Morgana met his gaze and did not doubt that he was telling the truth.
Still, she'd had her fun torturing her husband and she laughed amusedly.
"I know," she assured him, "and if you ever did, I would kill any woman who had put their hands on you."
Her tone had been light, but she had meant every word.
Harry belonged to her, and she had no intention of sharing him with anyone else.
"You really are quite terrifying."
Morgana leaned closer to his ear.
"You have no idea yet, Harry Potter," she whispered.
(Break)
Owain groaned as he pushed himself from his chair and walked the dozen or so steps towards the fireplace. When he reached it, he leaned against the wall and released a deep breath from the effort he'd exerted.
"A step out at a time," he reiterated to himself.
Although walking remained difficult, he'd not fallen over in several days now, and he was managing to make it just that little further with each attempt.
Often, Anwen would have to tell him to slow down and not push himself too much, but Owain was determined to be fully mobile again as quickly as possible.
"It's alright, lad, I'm coming," he called to the fussing baby in the other room.
Owain made it to the basket his son was resting in, and he took a seat before pulling the boy into his arms.
Aeron looked exactly like him from the thick, dark hair, down to the greyish hue of his eyes.
Of all the things he'd experienced in life, his son was his greatest gift, and not a day went by that he wasn't grateful to be here to see him grow.
Owain shook his head.
He felt as though he was letting Harry down with his decision to no longer fight, but he knew the man would understand and not hold it against him.
Nonetheless, Owain felt as though leading the men here was his responsibility, and yet, he could find no reason not to hand command over to Harry.
The men admired and respected him, and he'd proven himself time and again that he was capable of leading them.
Anwen claimed that it was merely his own pride that had planted the seed of his doubts, and Owain could not disagree with his wife. He was a proud man, and he saw it as his responsibility to keep the men and women of his homeland safe.
It was what the Peverells did, but now, it was indeed time to pass the torch.
He wasn't an old man, but Owain could not deny that he was broken now and may never be as he once was.
"He will be a fine man."
Owain nodded and handed Aeron to his own father as he reached them.
"He is a Peverell through and through."
Ignotus smiled, a gesture returned to him from his grandson.
"I received a message."
"From Harry?"
"Someone much less welcome."
Owain frowned and he noted that his father's expression was rather grim.
"Myrddin?"
"The very same."
Owain shook his head.
"Tell him to stuff it. We're not interested in what he has to say. We held up our end of the deal."
"It seems to me that he intends on making another."
"It's like I said, he can stuff his damned deals."
Ignotus chuckled.
"For the most part, I would agree with you, son, but it concerns something rather dire happening in the east. If the rumours I have heard are true, it is not something that can be ignored."
"The east? Isn't that where Harry is?" Owain asked worriedly.
"Indeed, so, perhaps it is best we meet Myrddin to hear what he has to say."
Owain frowned but nodded his agreement.
His concern for Harry won out, and if Myrddin had news of his friend, he wanted to hear it.
"Then we will meet with him, but if Harry has come to any harm and he is involved, I tear is fucking throat out myself."
His father nodded.
"I do not think Myrddin is involved in what I have heard. He neither has the knowledge or the stomach for it."
"What have you heard?"
"That the dead walk amongst us."
Owain was not sure whether his father was making a crude joke, but his expression lacked any sign of humour.
"The dead?"
"It seems as though some damned fool has created an army of the dead in the east. Whether or not that is true, I cannot be certain, but it is a rather farfetched thing to use to gain an audience with us."
It was, but Owain's main concern was with Harry.
"Has something happened to him?"
"I don't know," his father answered honestly, "but I do not think so. This is Harry, Owain."
"He does have a penchant for trouble and getting out of it equally," Owain sighed. "Still, I don't like this. He's damned foolish enough to involve himself."
"He is, but wise enough not to get himself hurt."
Owain quirked an eyebrow at his father.
"No, he isn't," he disagreed with a humourless chuckle which Ignotus echoed.
"Perhaps we should get a message to him."
Before Owain could respond, the two of them were startled by the appearance of an ethereal crow that burst through the wall, and Aeron reached for the bird as it flew above them, giggling amusedly.
"It seems that we don't need to," Owain pointed out, flooded with relief.
"It seems not," his father agreed. "Does that mean he is on his way back here?"
Owain nodded.
"It means that he will be here in the morning."
"Then we can ask him what he knows of what is going on in the east, and he should be there when Myrddin arrives."
"He does seem rather cautious of Harry, just as much as he is us."
"As he should be," Ignotus said darkly. "He has every reason to be cautious of Harry."
He left the room, and Owain frowned thoughtfully.
Harry seemed to be rather cautious around Myrddin, and it was almost as though the two of them were circling one another at times, probing for any weaknesses they might find.
From what Owain had seen, Harry did not seem to possess any.
He was courageous to a fault, loyal, and certainly did not lack the skill or tenacity when it came to magic. Owain had already witnessed the man do unthinkable things, but he'd also heard of the feats of Myrddin Emrys.
The man was an exceptional wizard, wise beyond his years, and equally tenacious.
Whatever was happening between him and Harry, Owain didn't know, or if there was truly anything at all, but he did not believe he was merely imagining what he had seen thus far.
Perhaps he would one day learn of something that had occurred that he didn't yet know of, but until then, the most pressing matter was of the rumours of an army of dead wandering the east.
If they proved to be true, it was most unwelcome news indeed.
(Break)
"We really cannot keep doing this! You saw what he did to Mark. What do you think he will do to us if we are discovered?"
"You do not fear my husband do you, Lancelot?"
Lancelot shook his head and swallowed deeply.
"No, I fear no man, but I fear losing his friendship. He is a good man, Guinevere, much better than either of us deserve. Loving you is so painful for me because I love Arthur equally, like a brother."
The woman grinned in response as she stepped closer to him.
Lancelot could smell her flowery scent, and try as he might, he could not pull away from her gaze.
"Then please us both," Guinevere whispered seductively. "Love us both in your own way. I feel no shame for our love, Lancelot, and nor should you."
Lancelot could no longer trust himself to speak, and as he foolishly did since the first time Guinevere had summoned him to her chambers, what little control he had faltered as he allowed her to fall into his arms.
Arthur would be away for some hours yet.
He'd gone on a hunt with Bors and Gawain, and the trio would not return until that caught a suitable stag to make a feast of.
Still, despite being unable to fight his most carnal urges towards the king, Lancelot could not forget what he was placing in jeopardy here, and yet, as he lost himself in the woman he loved, he couldn't bring himself to care, though it wouldn't be so when the deed was done.
As ever, the guilt would continue to eat away at him until he felt as though he couldn't take it anymore, and then, Guinevere would summon him once again, and Lancelot would find himself here, uncaring and stabbing his friend in the back in the worst way possible.
(Break)
"Now you're just showing off," Harry chuckled as Morgana grew a red rose in her hand from a seed until it was in full bloom. "Can you reverse it?"
Morgana frowned thoughtfully as she focused on the plant, but instead of reverting back to a seed, it wilted and died.
"I guess not."
"No, but that is more terrifying," Harry murmured. "You killed it with just a touch. It's like you have a rotting curse at your fingertips."
"Then you'd best behave," Morgana warned, rubbing the remains of the rose from her hands. "We wouldn't want to rot away certain things, would we?"
Harry winced at the thought and the woman giggled amusedly.
"You know, I think I might enjoy being with you away from here. I'm interested in seeing how the world views Harry Potter. I wonder if they know that you're just a very sweet man who helps me wash my hair."
Harry shrugged.
"I don't care if that's what they think."
Morgana smirked as she shook her head.
"That's not how they see you. I've heard people in the village mention you, and to them, you're this enigmatic figure who slays dragons, fights Danes, and is braver than any other man," she finished dramatically. "Do you know what they call you?"
"The Crow," Harry snorted. "Because of my sword."
"That isn't it at all," Morgana replied. "They call you the crow because of all the mystery surrounding you. The pommel of your sword may have inspired the moniker, but it is you that makes it what it is."
"Like Batman," Harry chuckled.
Morgana frowned confusedly.
"What is a Batman?"
Harry waved his hand dismissively.
"Some superhero from where I came from. I don't know much about it, but my cousin used to pretend to be him in the garden until I referred to him as Fatman. That was the second time my uncle hit me with his belt, but it was worth it to not have to see Dudley prancing around in tight clothes and rolling on the floor."
Morgana scowled.
"I'd quite like to meet your uncle," she said thoughtfully. "I think I'd quite enjoy torturing him."
"Then I thank god that won't happen. I left all of that behind me."
"That doesn't mean I wouldn't like to be his comeuppance."
"I know, but you don't have to protect me from all the horrors of the world."
"You protect people from them, usually at your own expense."
Harry shook his head.
"Will you ever let me win an argument with you?"
"No. I'm your wife, and it's just never going to happen, so, you'd better get used to it."
She placed a kiss on his cheek and Harry offered her a smile.
"Come on, we'd best be heading out. Owain will be fuming in his damned chair if we are late for lunch, and I don't need to see his red face glaring at me."
"I'm sure he will just be glad to see you. Besides, I need a few moments to get ready."
"Get ready?"
Morgana nodded as she removed her wand and styled her hair before transfiguring the dress she was wearing into something a little fancier.
Harry wouldn't complain, but he didn't understand the need for it.
"The Peverells are an old family held in high esteem," Morgana explained without being prompted. "This is the same as meeting a king in the muggle world."
"Don't let Owain hear you say that," Harry urged. "The git will become unbearable and I'll have to tip him out of his chair."
Morgana shook her head.
"There are still customs, Harry. You know Owain and Ignotus well enough, but I don't, and I will not have anyone think badly of me or you because I didn't make a little effort. Now, don't argue or we will just be even later than we are. How do I look?"
"As beautiful as ever."
"Good."
She said nothing else as she threaded her arm through Harrys, and the two of them made their way towards the gate whilst Morgana fussed over him, cleaning his robes, but giving up quickly when it came to trying to tame his hair.
"Better?" Harry asked.
Morgana hummed.
"It will do," she said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
(Break)
"You're nervous."
"I'll be less nervous when Harry gets here."
"He's coming," Ignotus assured his son.
Owain frowned.
"How do you know?"
"When you have been alive as long as I have, you develop a sense for these things."
"Really?"
"No," Ignotus said amusedly. "I can see him approaching from the window. He even brought his wife."
Owain shook his head irritably.
For a moment, he thought his father had indeed sensed Harry's approach, but he should've known better. Despite the man's usually reserved demeanour, he occasionally made jokes.
"You did not tell me he would be bringing her," Anwen huffed as she entered the room, adjusting her hair in the looking glass.
"I didn't know he was," Owain protested.
Anwen scowled at him and Ignotus did his utmost not to laugh.
"I didn't have time to prepare."
"It's only Harry," Owain pointed out. "He was there whilst you gave birth to this one."
"He wasn't in the room."
"Lucky bastard," Owain grumbled, shrinking as Anwen's glare intensified.
"I'll show them in, shall I?"
Owain nodded and pushed his way out of his chair.
He wouldn't greet Harry and Morgana from it, not when he was able to stand well enough.
"It's only Harry," Ignotus echoed.
Owain shook his head.
"And I will greet him on my feet."
"Yes, you will," Ignotus said proudly.
His son was a proud man, and stubborn to a fault, a similarity he shared with his uncle Antioch.
Ignotus smiled as Harry entered the room with his wife.
He'd never met the woman, but he could immediately sense the magic she possessed.
It was indeed an interesting mix, and he did not doubt that she possessed considerable talent.
"Does this mean I won't have to push you around in that thing anymore?" Harry asked amusedly, pulling Owain into a tight embrace.
"I'd sooner you leave me on the ground to rot."
Harry snorted and capped Owain on the shoulder, catching him before he fell to the ground and helped him back into his chair.
"Not as well as you tried to show," he sighed. "You'll get there."
"One step at a time," Owain replied. "Is this the poor woman who was lumbered with you then? We met only briefly last time, but she certainly made quite the impression."
"Morgana," the woman introduced herself.
She was a beautiful woman.
She possessed high cheekbones, and piercing light grey eyes that seemed as though they could stare directly into one's soul, and yet, there was a kindness to her, especially when she looked upon her husband.
Still, Ignotus did not doubt there was a fire within her, one that would burn many should it be stoked.
"And this is my wife and mother of my son, Anwen," Owain said reverently.
"The poor woman who was lumbered with you," Harry broke in.
"Aye," Owain agreed with a smile. "We have that in common, Harry."
"He thinks because he's in a chair that I won't thump him."
"That's it, pick a fight with the cripple," Owain huffed. "It's good to see you back here. What is going on in the east? We heard rumours about the dead or something else similarly ridiculous."
Harry deflated as he nodded.
"I saw it for myself. What you heard is true. Guthrum had some witches perform a ritual to raise and army of corpses, and they just about decimated Strenger's men."
Morgana narrowed her eyes at the mention of the man.
"I don't suppose they got him," Owain grumbled.
"No, he escaped, but I did meet someone else familiar there."
"Myrddin," Ignotus interjected. "He has already requested a meeting with us. I was hoping you would come."
Harry frowned but nodded.
"This is too coincidental. Wherever Strenger is, Myrddin is never so far behind."
"You think that Myrddin is the one Strenger is working for?"
"I do," Harry said confidently. "He wouldn't want to be associated with him openly, but everything Strenger has done has benefitted no one but Arthur. He was attacking Wales when Arthur was seizing power here, and then he heads all the way east to Guthrum's lands instead of Daneland which is already weakened. Why would he do that?"
Ignotus hummed thoughtfully.
"What you say rings true, Harry, but it is impossible to prove unless either Myrddin or Strenger admit it. I would urge you to use it to your advantage when it can be of most use to you. For now, we should meet with Myrddin. I am interested in what it is he has to say."
"He is going to ask for help," Harry sighed, "or he thinks that you know something about raising the dead."
Ignotus shook his head.
Cadmus knew a thing or two about it, but what he'd achieved with the Stone gifted to him was much different than raising an army.
If Myrddin thought he possessed such knowledge, it wasn't that he would be wrong, but he would be leaving this place in disappointment.
Ignotus had nothing to say on the matter, not when doing so would only make his deceased brother appear to be something he wasn't.
Cadmus was no monster, but he'd undoubtedly done things he should not have in the pursuit of bringing back the woman he missed so terribly.
He'd managed it with the Stone, but his journey in doing so had begun long before that fateful night, but Ignotus had no intention of speaking of such things with any man, let alone Myrddin Emrys.
Still, he would entertain him, if only to reiterate the agreement that was in place between them.
"Then let us see for ourselves what he wants," Ignotus decided.
Harry nodded and began pushing the protesting Owain from the room, and the patriarch of the Peverell family followed, his thoughts drifting back to the night his life had begun a downfall for his kin they might never recover from.