Escape
Morgana watched as Harry's brow furrowed in his sleep, how he fidgeted in discomfort, and how he began to perspire at the hairline.
She allowed him to continue resting and closed her own eyes as she cupped his cheek.
She could not see what he could, but she could feel his turbulent emotions, shifting from worry to concern, to anger, and outright fury.
Harry had told her of the dreams that had plagued him as a boy, how he was terrified of sleeping from fear he would once again relive the death of his mother and have to hear the maniacal laughter of the man who'd taken her life.
Now, he didn't fear the dreams, even if they had become more prominent in recent days.
Only one night out of eight since they'd left Godric's Hollow on horseback had he slept peacefully. The others, he'd found himself venturing into Riddle's mind, and Morgana suspected that there was a part of her husband that wanted to be there.
Harry would never be able to let go what happened to his parents, would never be able to be at peace with their murder until he found a way to bring Riddle to justice.
He barely spoke of it beyond explaining what he saw the man do, but Morgana knew Riddle's continued existence wherever he was mocked her husband so, and she did not doubt Harry would find a way to reach the Dark Lord.
She would be with him.
She would never try to stop him from doing what needed to be done and would go as far as to say that she too would do whatever was necessary to get justice for James and Lily Potter.
Morgana was pulled from her thoughts as Harry woke.
He offered her a weak smile and shook his head.
"I can find him easily enough, and he doesn't even know that I am there, but I can do little more."
"Perhaps your connection to him being so far away from him magically is not strong enough," she said thoughtfully.
Harry nodded as he sat up and poured himself a cup of water.
"I think you might be right," he sighed. "Sometimes, I don't mean to find him. It just happens."
"Because you are now aware of what it is that connects you. The magic of what he did that night binds you together, but with his death, that binding will break."
"Or with mine."
Morgana shook her head.
"You are not allowed to die, Harry Potter. You do not have my permission."
Harry chuckled amusedly as he peered across the hills.
"Anything?"
"No, and there won't be until Guthrum decides he is ready. I expect he marched the dead into Daneland intentionally to alert Cnut and the others to his presence. There is no other reason he would expose himself when he can remain hidden;"
Harry hummed as he nodded his agreement.
They had not yet entered Daneland themselves but had remained on the border.
It was the largest of the territories across Britain, and though it could change at a moment's notice, was still held by Cnut. Not that he truly had control of the lands.
He'd lost too many whilst attacking Camelot to hold it against a significant force, so, it was only a matter of time before Guthrum, or perhaps another managed to wrest control of the lands from him.
"Anything else?"
Morgana frowned as she looked towards the stars before closing her eyes.
Drawing the knife she kept in her boot; she carefully ran the blade across the top of her thumb and placed a drop of blood on each of her eyelids.
"Mars is bright," she whispered. "Blood will be spilled soon enough, but it continues to flow through veins of the men who wish to spill it."
"So, it is peaceful then?"
Morgana nodded.
"But not for long."
Harry released a deep sigh as he stood.
"Then we should see what we can learn amongst the Danes," he urged. "We must be ready for when Guthrum attacks."
"If he uses the dead."
"They are his greatest weapon," Harry pointed out.
"And Cnut is weak. He may choose to save the dead for greater threats."
Harry hummed as he climbed atop Tempest.
"That doesn't mean we should not be ready," he said tiredly.
Morgana nodded as she climbed her own mount.
"We will be," she assured him. "We have one another. That is all the preparation we need. Whether it is Cnut, Guthrum, or Eadwulf we find o0urselves against, we will kill them and feast on their blood."
"I'll leave you to the feasting."
"I did not mean literally, but then again, there is power in the blood of a king," Morgana mused aloud. "Perhaps I might just harvest some for my experiments."
Harry simply shook his head as he dug his heels into the side of his horse, urging Tempest on towards Daneland.
Morgana followed shortly after, pondering just what they would face on the road ahead.
Inevitably, they would meet the horde Guthrum's witches had raised, and perhaps, but everything else was indeed a mystery.
Harry had made his thoughts clear on who he believed should reign over the kingdom, but in truth, Morgana could not care less. She wanted only to return to her little corner of the Forbidden Forest with her husband, so that he might give her the many children he promised.
Usually, nothing else would matter to her, but it mattered to Harry, and that was why they were both here.
Harry would always fight for what he believed in, and Morgana believed so devotedly in her husband.
His beliefs were her own, but one day, soon she hoped, his belief would only be that they should be at home, having babies and continuing in the art of the magicks they each loved as much as they would love their babes.
(Break)
Arthur scowled at the map rolled out before him.
It was of a crude design, but depicted the nearby rivers and hills well enough, along with the known enemy positions.
There were many of those, and his own forces seemed insignificant in comparison, especially if the Danes here had allied themselves with Eadwulf.
"Who is leading the Danes?" he asked curiously.
"A man who goes by the name of Erik. He's as cruel and merciless as any other Dane, but not so foolish that he wouldn't work with Eadwulf to be rid of you, my king," Myrddin answered.
Arthur hummed.
Myrddin had made no further mention of what had happened on the ships when he'd ventured out to rescue Guinevere, so, Arthur remained frustratedly in the dark as to what had transpired between his most valued advisor and his friend.
"Well, if we cross the river, we will find ourselves between the two forces, but if we attack the Danes, Eadwulf will be forced to leave his keep to assist them."
"He won't do that," Lancelot broke in. "He might allow an alliance between them, but that will only go as far as it suits Eadwulf. He will not risk his men for the Danes."
"He would if it made sense strategically," Arthur mused aloud. "Whilst we would be occupied fighting the Danes, he could take advantage of that to attack. We'd struggle at best to fight on two fronts."
"I expect that is what they are waiting for," Myrddin sighed. "Neither will move until you do, Arthur."
Arthur released a deep breath as he contemplated his options.
He knew that if he moved towards Eadwulf's keep, the Danes would follow, and if he engaged the Danes first, Eadwulf would use the distraction to his own advantage to attack Arthur's men.
Regardless, neither outcome was acceptable, and there seemed to be a lack of solutions available to him.
It was a sudden disturbance amongst his men outside of the command tent that pulled him from his thoughts, and Arthur frowned as he exited into the damp morning.
"My king, we captured this man spying on us from the trees on the hill," one of the scouts explained.
Arthur shifted his attention towards the man being escorted by two burly guards of the camp.
He'd already taken quite the beating, but he looked at Arthur defiantly.
"Is this true?"
The man spat on Arthur's tunic and groaned as he was brought to his knees by a heavy blow to his ribs from the pommel of a sword.
"Enough!" Arthur said firmly. "Who are you spying for?"
"I'm no spy! I own a farm across the way. Eadwulf and the Danes can go hang for all I bloody care. I just want to be left alone. They already took my father and two of my brothers. It's just me and my lad left."
Arthur looked towards Myrddin who nodded.
"He speaks truthfully, my king."
Arthur sighed as he helped the man to his feet.
"You have my apologies. This is not how I wish for my men to conduct themselves. If we are to be better, we must be different, and we will be. Please, I mean you no harm."
The man seemed unsure at first but nodded after a moment before shrugging.
"It's no worse than we get treated already," he grumbled. "Eadwulf takes what he wants from my lands."
"And I intend to take nothing that will leave you poorer," Arthur assured him. "I want all men to live well enough that they can feed themselves and their families and stay warm in the winter. I have no use for riches unless they make my people rich."
The man nodded thoughtfully.
"Then perhaps you should know that I heard a rumour of more Irish coming across the sea. They were supposed to land more than a week ago, but a storm left them stranded, delaying their arrival."
"How do you know this?"
"Because Eadwulf's men are stupid braggarts. They cannot keep their mouths shut. I expect Eadwulf is sore that you got to the Irish here before the rest made it, but it's the Danes you need to watch out for. They're waiting for you to cross the river so they can take this land from you. From there, they will force you north where Eadwulf is waiting."
Arthur nodded and placed a coin in the man's hand.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "You are free to leave."
The man did so, and Arthur returned to the command tent to consult the map.
"More Irish coming from the coast, the Danes, and Eadwulf. We are severely outnumbered by more than two thousand men already."
"The farmer could be lying," Bors pointed out.
Arthur shook his head.
"He was being truthful," he said with certainty. "Perhaps we can trick the Danes into coming out into the open. If we make it look as though we are crossing…"
"It won't work," Lancelot interjected. "They will not move until they are certain we are across. By then, it will be too late for us. They will block us from returning to this side of the river."
"So, what do we do?" Bors asked.
Arthur frowned once more.
"I cannot be certain, but we will figure it out. For now, I want more scouts sent in all directions, especially to the coast. I want to know the moment the Irish arrive."
"I will personally see to it," Lancelot offered. "It's better than freezing my balls off around here."
He left the tent to prepare, and Arthur nodded towards Bors.
"I want you and Gawain to go with him. Send Tristan east with Gaheris. I want to know what the Danes are doing before we decide what our next move will be."
Tristan nodded and Gestured for Gaheris to follow.
"What about me, my king?" Myrddin asked.
Arthur wasn't sure what he wanted the man to do.
In truth, with his insistence on keeping what happened on the ships to himself, Arthur felt for the first time that he could not fully trust Myrddin.
"I want you with me," he decided. "I need you to help me figure out this mess," he added, pointing to the map. "I'm out of my depth here, Myrddin, and I'm struggling to decide what should be done."
"Then allow me to help you, my king."
Arthur nodded appreciatively, though he once more found himself wondering just what it was that had occurred during Guinevere's rescue to leave Myrddin injured, and undoubtedly out of favour with Harry Potter.
(Break)
"This really isn't what I was expecting," Harry murmured as he and Morgana passed through the third village into Daneland.
He'd almost envisioned this place as a large gathering of shacks, and men and women roaming around in filthy rags with little else more than an inadequate meal in their bellies, but he'd been proven wrong.
Daneland was a collection of thriving communities where men and women farmed, fished, and raised their families.
From what Harry had seen thus far, it was perhaps the most civilised of people he'd been around since arriving here, and they all spoke rather highly of Cnut and his leadership.
Still, despite being surprised by those living here, it was not them that concerned him.
No, lurking somewhere in his periphery, Harry could feel the presence of the dead.
"They're here, aren't they?" Morgana asked.
Harry nodded and narrowed his eyes as he scanned the surrounding area.
He could see nothing, and though he could feel them, they were no longer here.
"Why would Guthrum nit attack them?"
"The dead are no good at working the land," Morgana said darkly. "He will not wish to slaughter all of the people here, not when he needs them for his supplies. He will keep them alive, so long as they answer to him when he kills Cnut, which we both know is inevitable."
Harry nodded grimly.
Victory for the Saxon from the east was all but assured, and yet, perhaps there was something to be salvaged from this.
"Where are you going?" Morgana asked as he urged Tempest forward.
"To see the only man who might just be able to save the lives of everyone here," Harry answered tiredly.
"Cnut? What do you expect to achieve from that? He will want to gut you."
"Maybe," Harry conceded, "but the people here do not deserve to die. If he is as they speak of him, he will hear me out before attempting to gut me."
"And what of you gutting him? I know you haven't forgotten what he did to Owain."
"I haven't, and I am certain Cnut and I will settle our differences, when the time is right. For now, we have a common interest, much like me and Myrddin did."
Morgana's expression darkened at the mention of the man, and she cursed him under her breath.
"Fine, but do you think we might manage this without spilling blood?"
Harry shrugged.
"If the stars will it, blood will be spilled, but I am hopeful it will not become necessary."
"And if it does?"
"I will make sure that it is not my blood staining the ground."
(Break)
He pulled the venison from the fire and blew on the meat to cool it down.
They'd managed to hunt a deer on their way to the top of one of the large hills overlooking the sea to the west, and Bors and Gawain had already eaten their fill.
They were both much larger than Lancelot, and their appetites were veracious to the point that there was often little left for anyone who shared a meal with them.
"What do you think is going on between the king and Myrddin?" Gawain asked curiously.
"None of our business," Bors grunted, stretching his legs out so that his feet were closer to the fire, "but something ain't right. Myrddin didn't come back with the queen. Potter did."
Lancelot nodded.
He hadn't missed that either, and he had been there when Harry had returned Guinevere to Arthur's side. He'd been furious with Myrddin, so much so that Lancelot thought that he might throttle Arthur for whatever it was the man's mentor had done.
"You know, I might ask Potter about that green knight," Gawain sighed. "It must be some kind of magic."
"Or a trick of the devil," Bors returned with a shake of his head. "How can you remove someone's bonce and he climbs back on his horse like nothing happened? Only the devil could do that."
"And I have to be the one to face him."
"You're going?" Lancelot asked.
"What choice do I have?" Gawain snorted. "If I don't, I shall be branded a coward. I would sooner die than have that happen."
Lancelot chuckled amusedly.
"Do you really think he will give you an uncomfortably close shave?"
"Aye, I'm thinking he might, but we all have to go some time."
"You were just saying you were going to ask Harry about it?"
"Do you really think we will see him again after what happened? I'd bet Potter and Myrddin will end up having words, maybe a scrap. Who would your gold be on?"
"I would not make such a wager," Lancelot denied. "I like them both well enough."
"Aye," Gawain agreed. "I'd still like to ask Potter."
"Did you ask Myrddin?"
Gawain nodded.
"He just said I was a damned fool for accepting the challenge and that I should use it as a lesson to humble me."
"He's not wrong," Lancelot murmured. "I think we have all learned much these past years, but there's more for us out there. The executioner's axe might be waiting for all of us."
"Not me," Bors declared as he stood up. "I'll carve up any executioner who'd try to take Bors' head."
Lancelot chuckled amusedly, though he sobered as he looked towards the horizon.
"Over there," he huffed, pointing to the ships coasting along.
"There's bleedin' ten of them," Bors groaned.
"Aye, we will be surrounded."
"Just means we can swing our swords in any direction," Bors said with a shrug. "I'll stick a few of the bastards before they get to me."
"With the numbers we are facing, that is the best we can hope for," Lancelot chuckled humourlessly. "Us men either die on the field with our guts trailing around our ankles, or with our heads lopped off. I'd sooner take the first. Come on, we'd best get back and tell Arthur what fate awaits us."
It took them only a few moments to mount their horses, and Lancelot peered towards the night sky as they set off on the return journey.
"That bloody red star is bright tonight," he muttered irritably, his thoughts inevitably slipping towards the present queen in the camp he'd left behind in Camelot.
He thought that perhaps some time away would give him the opportunity to cool his urges towards Guinevere, but Lancelot knew he'd only been lying to himself.
No amount of time or distance apart could cure him of the longing that plagued him, even if it would end with his head rolling across the floor at Arthur's feet.
(Break)
"Are you sure about this?" Morgana asked.
They'd spent the better part of two days searching for Cnut, and thanks to an overheard conversation in an inn off the beaten track, they'd learned of a rumour that the man was indeed in Daneland and had taken his men to a nearby lake to plan for the defence against the invading Guthrum.
Not that any defence Cnut could muster would be of much use.
He certainly did not have the manpower to fend off the Saxons, and certainly not the dead, especially if he had been abandoned by his druids as was said to have happened.
"I'm certain," Harry answered. "Cnut cannot win here, but he might be able to save his people."
"How?"
Harry released a deep breath.
"You'll see, and so will he, if he is smart."
Morgana frowned, but Harry couldn't really explain his idea, not until he'd met the Dane he'd already found himself at odds with.
He didn't expect Cnut would be pleased to see him, not at first, at least. It could be argued that Harr was the key reason he'd failed to take Camelot, but given what had been done to Owain, perhaps the two could see themselves on even ground, for now.
"Well, that won't be long," Morgana replied. "They're not so far away."
Harry could hear it too, the low murmuring of voices sounding from afar, and they walked towards them, finding a much larger gathering of men and women either had expected, gathered by the shore of the lake.
"Odin will not allow his servants to harm us!"
Cnut, who was standing by a large fire close to the water's edge spoke with confidence, and Harry could only shake his head at false hope he was showing.
Not even the gods of any man could do anything about the dead.
It would be up to the living to destroy them.
"Where is Odin now?" Harry called. "The dead already walk through your lands, and no god is stopping them."
Cnut squinted into the darkness, and his eyes widened as they came upon the approaching Harry.
"You!" he growled as he stalked through his people towards him.
The Danes began murmuring amongst themselves as they too realised who it was who'd arrived, but Harry stood his ground, despite Cnut being a head taller than him, and considerably wider.
"The great dragonslayer," Cnut scoffed, "or do you prefer to be called the Crow?"
Harry shrugged in response.
"It doesn't matter to me," he answered. "I am not here as your enemy, not today."
Cnut snorted.
"Why would I believe you? You are the very reason I am here now."
"Because if I wanted you dead, you would no longer be breathing," Harry replied.
Cnut chuckled as he nodded.
"From what I saw, I expect that is true," he conceded. "So, what do you want, Harry Potter?"
"To help you save your people. You will all die if you attempt to fight Guthrum. I saw with my own eyes what the monsters he command can and will do to you all. They will tear flesh from bone, and even limb from body. Neither arrow nor blade can stop them, and even without the dead, you face an army much bigger than yours. You cannot win here."
"Then we will make our final stand!"
"Is that your pride speaking?" Harry asked. "Is that what all of your men want, even those with wives and children waiting for them at home?"
Cnut scowled and stood at his full height.
"We do not flee!"
"I'm not asking you to flee, I am asking you to see sense so that you might bloody live. I will destroy the dead, but you and your army are no good to me without help."
Cnut laughed mockingly.
"Help? We have no allies, Crow."
"But you could have. As we speak, Arthur is in Northumbria. He finds himself facing Eadwulf and Erik, along with a large force of Irish, who are en route. Go to Arthur's aide, and he will see that you and your people are taken care of. Extend the hand of friendship, and it will be returned. He is a good man, and the past you have shared does not have to be reflected in the future. You cannot win, and you cannot even defend your own crown here. Save your people, and see your crown handed over on your terms knowing your people will not suffer. Do you think Guthrum or Eadwulf will care for them the way you do? I have heard how they speak of you, how they admire you. Don't let everything you have done here be undone because of your pride."
Cnut flared his nostrils as he seemed to ponder what Harry had said.
"And what about us, Harry Potter? Do we allow our pasts to simply dissipate?"
"No," Harry answered. "We will have our day, and I will ensure you have your place at Odin's table when I take your fucking head, but that day isn't today. I would sooner defer the animosity between us so that we might just help your people."
Cnut nodded thoughtfully as he turned to face what remained of his army after their defeat at Camelot.
"What say you?" he asked. "Do we all die here and dine with Odin, or do we make a deal with the Celtic swine so that we may live?"
The men and women murmured amongst themselves, and Cnut held up a hand.
"I would see no woman become a widow, nor a son or daughter without their father. I am willing to put my pride aside if it will see you all live for those you love."
"This man killed many of ours," one of the Danes called out, pointing towards Harry. "Why would he help us? It could be a trick?"
"To what end?" Harry asked. "If I wanted you all dead, I'd just allow Guthrum to do it. Why would I come here to dissuade you all from fighting?"
"I suppose that is true," the man conceded.
"And we shall trust the Crow, for now," Cnut declared. "I say we live to fight another day, with allies at our back. I may no longer remain your king, but you will all live, and I would sooner be remembered for that than a man who sacrificed those who looked to him to protect them. If you are lying to me, Crow, I will crawl from Hel's cunt to slit your throat!"
Harry nodded.
"Then you'd better start moving your people on," he urged. "We will stay to help."
Cnut grunted and clapped Harry smartly on the shoulder, almost knocking him to the ground.
"I don't think there are many men as big as him," Morgana commented as she watched the large Dane go about the task of sending off messengers.
"No," Harry agreed, "but I knew one who'd dwarf him. He was half giant."
"Half giant? Surely his mother must've…"
Harry nodded.
"It couldn't be the other way around, and believe me, I have no idea what the hell Hagrid's father was thinking, or even how it was possible, but it happened, and I'd rather not think about it beyond what already disturbing thoughts have crossed my mind."
Morgana nodded her agreement.
"And sending Cnut to Arthur? I thought you were not going to interfere in his campaign."
"Arthur is their only option, unless he wishes to side with Eadwulf, who will only use the land here for what he can get from it. Arthur will not let Cnut keep his crown, but he will spare the people their dignity and not take everything from them."
"I think you're right, but what about Guthrum. Do you think he will attack the people here?"
"I don't think he will allow them to leave quietly."
"Then we can expect the dead."
"I can almost feel them approaching already," Harry replied darkly, his hand twitching towards his wand in anticipation of what was to come.
It would be unlikely that he could put an end to the vile magic whilst assisting Cnut with the retreat of his people.
Too many things could go wrong if he was to cast the fiendfyre, but Harry had a few ideas how they could stall the Guthrum and the dead long enough that they would reconsider continuing the pursuit.
(Break)
Arthur frowned as he scanned the maps laid out before him once more.
He'd become bleary-eyed with how much time he'd spent at the table with his very best advisors these past days, and yet, they seemed to be no closer to a solution.
"Where will the Irish land?" Lancelot asked.
"As close to Eadwulf's keep as possible. They will not want to find themselves anywhere near us, not after what happened to the others we caught up to here."
Lancelot hummed thoughtfully.
"So, if the Danes move, we will find ourselves stuck between them and the enemy to the north. We will be crushed between them."
"Not if we find a place we can use to our advantage," Arthur returned. "We do not wish to find ourselves with our backs to the river, but both Eadwulf and Erik must cross to reach us."
"But they do not have to do so nearby. They can cross anywhere and find themselves here," Lancelot pointed out, tracing the several possible routes each of the forces could take to bring them closer without risking a crossing in the area. "We do not have the men to man all of these points."
Arthur released a deep breath as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"Myrddin?" he pressed.
"Faith," the man murmured with an unhappy frown. "We must have faith in moments like these, Arthur. I will…"
He broke of and his frown deepened as an ethereal crow darted into the tent, and Arthur was taken aback by its arrival.
'You must engage Erik to the south. Do so three mornings from now, and you shall succeed. Arrive at the river north of his camp, and it shall be yours soon after.'
The crow vanished and Arthur blinked, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.
"Was that…?"
"The Crow," Lancelot chuckled. "Can we trust what he is saying?"
Arthur nodded, though it was clear Myrddin was not pleased.
"You said to have faith," he pointed out. "I've never been given any reason not to have faith in Harry."
Myrddin opened his mouth to talk, and Arthur held up his hand to silence the man before he could do so.
"Unless you are going to tell me what happened on those damned ships, and why Harry cannot be trusted, I will not listen to your advice concerning him, Myrddin. I do not know what happened between the two of you, but Harry has never failed me yet."
"Have I?"
"No," Arthur denied, "but Harry has never told me to ignore your advice, or even spoken poorly of you. I would ask you offer him the same courtesy unless you have something to say to the contrary of all he has done for us."
"I do not."
"Then we will do as he advises," Arthur declared. "We will make haste towards Erik's camp, and we will have faith, Myrddin, just as you urged me to."
(Break)
She continued to peer towards the stars for the first time in as long as she could remember.
Ever since Helena had been killed, Rowena had not been to the top of the tower. She had all but lost faith in what she might see, and she could not handle another cruel message.
Now that her daughter had been returned to her, though not as she hoped, she no longer feared what she might see.
"Mars is bright tonight," Helena commented.
It was.
It had been bright for some years now, but it seemed to burn brighter than usual.
"Blood is to be shed soon. War will be upon the country."
"The school is safe?"
"So long as we are here, it always will be."
"What about when you are gone?" Helena asked.
Rowena shook her head.
"We must ensure it is left in the hands of someone who will love it and protect it as much as we do."
"Is there such a person?"
Rowena smiled at her daughter, and shudder at the cold touch of her hand.
"There is," she reassured her. "Hogwarts shall be in the best of hands when we are no longer able to serve it."
"And I will be here," Helena promised. "I shall watch over the school in perpetuity."
"Do you not wish to see the other side?"
"I have seen it, and it is more than you can imagine, but this is my place. I should never have left, and I never shall again."
"Then I will pass peacefully knowing that you are here."
Helena offered Rowena a teary smile.
"Your diadem…"
Rowena shook her head.
"Means nothing any longer. It became nothing to me when you perished."
"It should not be left."
"And when the time is right, it will be fetched," Rowena replied. "I do not wish to speak of it for now. It only reminds me of how our lives were spent at odds with one another. It stands now as only a symbol of our failings, and I would not speak of it any longer."
"Then I shall not mention it again."
Rowena nodded gratefully and looked towards the sky once more.
"It burns brighter than usual," she murmured.
(Break)
Harry shuddered as he felt the lingering coldness push against his consciousness.
It had taken only the better part of two days for the men and women of Daneland to gather at the point of departure. Evidently, they were simple people, who had little of value to bring along; only clothing, food, and some trinkets between each family that arrived.
It would serve them well that they travelled light.
Soon enough, they would need to flee.
"They're here," Harry murmured, his gaze sweeping across the breadth of the treeline in the distance.
He could see nothing, but he could sense the hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, both the living and the dead.
Morgana nodded, as she drew her wand.
"The witches are here. I can feel their magic."
Harry's hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword.
For the better part of the two days they had been granted, he and Morgana had been preparing meticulously for the imminent arrival of Guthrum and his forces.
If he had his way. Harry would be done with it all here and now, but the priority was getting the people of Daneland away as safely as possible.
For that, Harry and Morgana were the best chance they had.
"My people are ready," Cnut murmured as he joined them.
He too peered at the trees, his expression becoming troubled.
"And not a moment too soon," Harry replied as the first wisps of fog began to creep from the woodland, almost as though the tendrils were grasping for them. "Move quickly. They will not be far behind."
Cnut nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.
"The lives of my people are in your hands, Crow. Serve them as well as you do your fellow men at Camelot, and you will have Odin's favour."
He cantered off on his horse, and only a few moments later, the Danes began moving northwest.
As if on cue, the fog began to thicken, and the trees near the banks of the river were disturbed, and the very first of Guthrum's men emerged, led by the man himself, his witches, and other druids.
"Come Death, come," Harry murmured, echoing the words he'd heard spoken by both Owain and Ignotus Peverell.
"Mors vincit omnia," Morgana replied.
"But not today."
With a flourish, Harry brandished his wand, and the ground from the edge of the river split, forming a wide chasm to separate Guthrum's forces and them.
The water from the river began to fill it, and with a wave of Morgana's wand, dozens upon dozens of golems comprised of mud and stone stood ready to fight, and Guthrum laughed mockingly.
"DO YOU THINK THAT WILL BE ENOUGH TO STOP ME?" he called.
Harry said nothing, but raised his arms, and the golems were surrounded by a furiously burning, green fire that crackled loudly.
Were it not so risky, he would've lured Guthrum out into the open and burned his forces until only ash coated the earth, but giving away his eventual plan was not conducive just yet.
He needed Guthrum to feel confident that there was nothing that could stop him, and if Harry were to reveal his intentions now and the man fled into the woods, there was no telling the damage the fiendfyre could cause across the length and breadth of the country.
The fire could spread unimpeded all the way to Hogwarts, leaving nothing in its wake but death and destruction, especially if Harry was killed here and there was none who could stop it.
Eventually, it would come to that, but today was all about getting Cnut and his people clear, though the obstacles in his path did not seem to deter Guthrum.
No, as expected, he sounded the advance, and Harry readied himself for the inevitable violence to begin.
"Ready?" he asked his wife.
Morgana nodded, and a grin tugged at her lips.
"With you, always," she answered, he nostrils flaring as she unleashed a wave of magic that made Harry's hair stand on end.
What it was, he wasn't certain, but the golems sprang into life and charged towards Guthrum's forces, aflame, and replaced by more and more, along with Harry as he joined them, readying his sword as he stepped through fire, and offered his own offence, his wand a blur as his own magic careened towards his foes.