Elsewhere
It had been terrible to see her husband in mourning.
As much as Harry assured her he was coping well enough with Rowena's impending death, Morgana could see the pain it was causing him. With each day that passed, he would return back to the cabin from Hogwarts just that little more down, and it broke her heart to see him struggle.
She had no doubt that whilst he was there he managed to maintain his composure, and perhaps even Rowena believed that he had accepted what was to come, but he hadn't.
As much as Harry did his utmost to remain positive and his usual self, Morgana could see it eating away at him.
He loved the woman, all of the founders, with everything he had.
To him, they had become the parents that had been taken from him when he was just a babe, and to lose even one of them felt the very same as losing James and Lily Potter always had.
Morgana did her best to offer some comfort, to give him the peace he needed, and be there for him when he couldn't face the world alone, and yet, she knew he would continue to morn Rowena long after she'd gone.
She released a deep sigh as she remembered her own conversation with the woman shortly after Harry had first left her rooms.
"I know that I do not need to ask you to look after him. Despite my former reservations of you, I can see how much you love him, and him you. For some reason, the stars brought you together, perhaps to save you both from a lonesome fate."
Morgana nodded.
"I will give my life for him if I must."
"I know, but he would sooner give his own for yours," Rowena replied. "He needs you just as much as you need him, and I am truly sorry for how you were treated here in the castle. As I said to Harry, I have few regrets in life, but my distance with you is one of them. You have grown into a fine woman, Morgana, and it is to my shame that I am not one of the reasons for that."
Rowena had been the one she'd been least close to during her stint attending classes.
Morgana had always respected the woman's abilities in magic, but the two of them had just been too different to find common ground until Harry had come along.
Still, she'd admitted her oversight, and Morgana had no intention of holding a grudge against a dying woman.
She herself had made her share of mistakes and assumption of others, and perhaps Rowena was right.
Maybe it was fate that she and Harry had found one another.
Even if it wasn't, it mattered not.
They had found one another, nonetheless, and Morgana had meant every word she'd ever said.
She would give her life for Harry's if necessary, and she knew he would do the same in return.
Continuing to stare into the looking glass, she tucked a thick strand of hair behind her ear, an ear that was now naturally more pointed than it had been before the fairies had come into her life.
Little else had changed about her physically, but she felt them with her still.
With a shake of her head, she peered out of the window.
By now, Harry would be meeting with Carlton Bode in the hope of discovering what had happened to Marcus Gamp.
It was suspicious to say the least, and yet, somehow, it was a trivial matter compared to what would soon come for them.
Guthrum would reach East Anglia any day now, and when his son was returned, the man would simply march his army back to Arthur's camp where another leg of the war would begin.
How the prospective king of Britain would face such a challenge, Morgana didn't know, but if he didn't manage to displace and defeat Eadwulf first, his hopes of uniting the country under his banner might just be destroyed prematurely.
(Break)
"How many do you count?" Arthur asked as he squinted, attempting to see the ships through the fog.
"I see a couple of dozen," Gawain answered, "but there could be more."
Arthur nodded as he continued to watch the ones he could see coming towards them. They paused not so far from land, and a single small boat rowed towards them.
The fog had only grown thicker by the time it landed, and a lone figure began making their way towards them.
"Well, I think it is safe to say that it's not an attacking force," Bors murmured.
"It's Lancelot."
Arthur rushed to meet his most trusted friend and did so as the man began ascending the hill towards the campsite.
"You are well?"
"Well enough," Lancelot grumbled. "Pleased to have my feet on solid ground again."
"And all went without issue?"
Lancelot shook his head.
"Harry secured the fleet as promised, and we took it without trouble, but we came upon a group of Irish ships not so far from here, and Cnut decided we should take them. We had to take a little time to tend to the dead and wounded, but we got them. The army will be supplied for moons with all the food we took. Cnut is going to bring it ashore before he sets up his blockade. Any news?"
Arthur nodded appreciatively before frowning.
"Guthrum arrived, but we used his son to bargain his retreat. He will be arriving back in East Anglia soon."
Lancelot quirked an eyebrow at him.
"He will not stay there."
"He will not," Arthur agreed, "but if god is good, we will have defeated Eadwulf before he makes it back with the dead."
"Do you think the castle will keep us safe from them?"
"No, but it is better than being in the open as we are now," Arthur sighed. "I am not even sure how we will handle them if Harry does not arrive."
"He will," Lancelot assured him.
"I wouldn't blame him if he didn't."
"No?"
Arthur shook his head.
"He and Myrddin are at odds with one another. Myrddin even attempted to kill him whilst he was rescuing Guinevere."
Lancelot's eyes widened at the revelation.
"Why?"
"Because Myrddin believes that he is a threat to me."
Lancelot was taken aback by the explanation and wore an expression of disbelief.
"He saved us at Camelot," he pointed out, "and he even saved Guinevere. What the hell is wrong with Myrddin?"
"I don't know," Arthur sighed, but that is what he believes. I told him how foolish he was being, and I am furious that he tried to kill him, let alone whilst he was saving Guinevere. I just don't know what to do with him."
"What can you do?" Lancelot asked. "Myrddin might not like it, but Harry has been invaluable to us."
"He has, and he even retrieved Guthrum's son so that we might be able to force peace a little longer. That along with his promise to vanquish the dead when the time comes, I cannot see how he is a threat to me. Hell, he told me he believes that I would make a good king for all to follow."
Lancelot frowned.
"Do you think perhaps Myrddin is jealous? I know he has done more for you than any other, and it can't be easy to see Harry do what he probably should be. I just don't see it, Arthur. If Harry wanted you dead, I have a feeling you would be already."
Arthur nodded his agreement.
"As do I, and. Have told Myrddin that he is to not make any further attempt against Harry or his wife. I will not see him as our enemy."
"Will he listen? Myrddin tends to do what he believes is best for you rather than asking for your guidance. Arthur, you are the king, and he must respect your decisions enough to follow your orders. Where is he, anyway?"
"Following Guthrum. Truth be told, I am grateful for his absence. Perhaps when he returns, I will not be so angry with him. For now, let us get the blockade set up. We must defeat Eadwulf before Guthrum turns back."
Lancelot nodded and pulled Arthur into a tight embrace.
"I just have one request."
"Name it."
"Never bloody send me out to sea again," Lancelot chuckled. "As much as it was an experience, it is not one I wish to repeat."
Arthur laughed heartily.
"You have my word, unless it is absolutely necessary, I will not send you back out to sea."
Lancelot breathed a sigh of relief and the two of them waited for the first of the supplies to arrive.
It was Cnut that brought them himself on another small boat, flanked by several others.
"Food," he declared with a grin, clapping Lancelot smartly on the shoulder. "Did this one tell you of our triumph?"
"He mentioned it," Arthur replied, clasping the large Dane's forearm.
Cnut grunted.
"He even managed to save my life. I would see him honoured."
"And he will be," Arthur assured him. "When Eadwulf is defeated, Lancelot, and all of the men who ventured to East Anglia will be given proper thanks."
"Mine included?" Cnut asked with a curious frown.
"All men," Arthur reiterated. "Danes and Britons alike."
Cnut nodded thoughtfully before assisting the others with their loot.
"He seemed surprised," Arthur commented.
"I don't suppose he expected such treatment from a man he must concede his crown to. Most others would wish to lord such a defeat over him. It is the way of the victor more often than not."
Arthur hummed.
"I'd rather be humble in victory, Lancelot. What do I have to gain from smugness?"
"Only contempt, my king."
"Only contempt," Arthur echoed, taking a large bag of grain from one of the Danes and carrying towards the lively campsite.
(Break)
He was surprised to find that Bode had not brought any other along with him for his own security, and as Harry entered the Hogsmeade inn at the ar north of the village, he found it to be as shabby as the outside.
Within was a smattering of people, mostly drinking alone, though there were a few small groups seemingly holding conference in each of the corners.
What Harry realised immediately was this was not one of the places one would frequent to place bets or find similar entertainments. No, this was little more than a shack to drown your sorrows, or, as he saw for himself, conduct illicit business deals.
"Mr Bode," he greeted the man waiting for him at one of the tables.
Bode nodded and took a sip of his ale as he gestured for Harry to join him.
"You know, it's quite intimidating learning that the dragonslayer is looking for you," he snorted humourlessly. "I suppose you are here because of Gamp."
"Did you have anything to do with his murder?"
Bode appeared to be affronted by the very question, and he deflated.
"I fear I was, but indirectly. I liked Gamp well enough. We often gambled together or visited some places our mothers would not approve of. I did not mean for anything I said to get him killed. If truth be told, the man that sought me out asked about you first."
"Me?"
Bode nodded.
"When I couldn't tell him anything about you, he asked if I knew of anyone else who might. I knew you and Gamp used to spend time together at Hogwarts, but that was all I told him, I swear it."
Harry frowned at the revelation as he pondered who might wish to know more about him.
With the reputation he had inadvertently cultivated for himself, it could've been anyone.
Guthrum would have reason to, as would Eadwulf, and even Cnut.
"Do you remember what this man looked like?"
Bode shook his head.
"It's funny, I thought I would, but the moment he was no longer in front of me, I couldn't."
A magical then.
"He was more interested in me than Gamp?"
"He was," Bode confirmed. "I think Marcus was only killed because whoever wanted to know more about you found him, and Gamp refused to talk. He was foolishly loyal. Even when people first began whispering your name, he never let on that you knew one another back at school. If he had, he wouldn't have been granted a moment of peace. People are interested in you, Potter, some so much that they're willing to kill to know more."
"Only an enemy would go to such lengths," Harry mused aloud.
He'd certainly accumulated several of them over the years.
"Then it should be your enemies you look to. I didn't kill Gamp, and I don't know who did, but he went by the name of Mr White, a moniker, undoubtedly."
"Do you remember anything else?"
"Only that we met in this very inn. He arrived, stayed only a few moments, and when he left, my mind felt very queer. Even now, when I try to think about that conversation, it is not as clear as it seemed at the time."
Harry nodded appreciatively as he stood.
"Thank you, Mr Bode. I will find who did this."
"Please do," Bode implored. "I liked Marcus, really. He was a friend, and I would see who did this be brought to justice. If there is anything else I can do, you need only ask, and I am sorry I have been less than helpful."
"You've been more helpful than you might think," Harry murmured, his mind drifting to those who might go to such lengths.
Only a few names seemed likely, but he was granted little time to ponder them as he caught the tail end of a hushed conversation near the entrance.
"How many?"
"Thousands, and they will pay good gold for each one made, so long as it is of the finest craftmanship."
"Well, I won't be involving myself in it. If the goblins want wands, they will have to go elsewhere. Why don't they just make their own?"
"Because they are inferior. They want wizard-made. Listen, you could make a fortune from this. Think about it, at least."
Harry frowned as he continued on his way.
He hadn't forgotten of the threat of the goblins and learning that they were attempting to acquire wands was troubling indeed.
It seemed that they were evidently intent on going to war, and Harry knew it would become one of many in the future.
He may have spent most of his time in History of Magic barely paying attention, but the Goblin Rebellions were something Professor Binns had droned on about, and some of what the man had said had sunk in.
It was a rather grim sign that even if Arthur was successful, his reign would not be a peaceful one. It would be fraught with rebellion from some of the nastiest creatures, determined to stake a claim on Britain for themselves.
That only meant further bloodshed, further death, and less peace in the years to come.
Still, it was a problem for another day.
For now, Harry had the dead to contend with, and that was more than enough to keep him occupied until Guthrum was defeated.
(Break)
He'd kept his distance from the travelling party, but Myrddin did not doubt his presence had been noted.
Thus far, and to his surprise, Guthrum had kept his word and was indeed returning to East Anglia, despite the protests of the two witches accompanying him.
They simply did not understand the power of love, and how it could deter any from a chosen path if it ensured they safety of another someone cared deeply enough for.
The pleas of the two women fell on deaf ears, though Myrddin knew Guthrum would only remain in his homeland until his son was safely returned.
Then, there would be no further bargaining to be had.
The battle between Arthur and Guthrum would be inevitable, even if the king was able to dispatch Eadwulf and his forces.
It was a worrisome realisation.
Myrddin had not believed Guthrum would take such drastic measures, nor that he would involve himself in the ongoing conflict between Arthur and Eadwulf.
Strategically, it made no sense, but if the man could defeat both armies, a distinct possibility with what he had at his disposal, it would paint the man in all the glory he could hope for.
Without Arthur and Eadwulf to contend with, the entirety of Britain would be ripe for the taking.
There was no other army across the country that had the numbers to compete with him, and certainly not his dead.
Although he was loathe to admit it, Myrddin knew Arthur would once more need the services of Harry Potter, or the Storm bringer, as he'd come to think of him.
Even so, Myrddin knew he could rely on Potter to follow through with his vow to rid them of the dead.
Without them, Guthrum was still a dangerous foe, but considerably less so.
What would happen in the coming days and weeks, Myrddin could not be certain, but the very future of Britain would likely be decided in the outcome of the battle of the three kings.
He could only hope that it was his own chosen who would emerge victorious before he shifted his own attention to the prophecy that continued to haunt him in the form of a man he was destined to kill.
(Break)
The Blacks had always been a curious family.
Shrouded in mystery and plagued by the most unpleasant of rumours, most of which had proven to be true over the centuries since they'd come to prominence in Great Britain.
Being in the residence of many of the former lords of the family, Albus could not help but believe even the most outlandish of what had been said of them.
Number twelve Grimmauld Place had indeed once been a lavish home, but it was now in a state of disrepair, something Sirius did not seem eager to address despite living here once more.
Unpleasantness lurked in every corner of the dwelling, and Albus would not be here unless it was necessary.
The home was nigh on impenetrable to any who would wish harm upon the occupants, and that is why he'd asked Sirius for permission to use it as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.
Still, he did not relish being granted so much access to the inner workings of the House of Black.
The magic here itself was disturbing, and man of the trinkets now belonging to Sirius should never have been created.
On his admittedly short inspection of the home to determine its suitability, Albus had come across a muggle-hunting kit, vats of blood belonging to various creatures, and even humans, and many other things that would make most squirm in discomfort at just learning what they were.
Nonetheless, this was the most secure building to hold their meetings.
Even Hogwarts was not safe from the ears and eyes of potential enemies who would report back to Tom.
Albus could only shake his head as he pondered the man.
He'd always known he would return, though not the circumstances nor the odd turn of events that led to where he was now.
Were it not for Alastor managing to leave him a hurriedly scratched note in the wood at the bottom of the trunk he'd been held captive in, Albus, and those he'd convinced of the truth would be backed further into a corner than they already were.
For now, Tom was content to operate in the shadows, and despite Albus's best efforts, Cornelius continued to ignore all the signs of his return.
Already, the dementors had abandoned Azkaban upon the Dark Lord freeing his imprisoned followers, and the creatures had carried out several attacks up and down the country.
Still, Cornelius continued to fail to listen to reason, citing there was no evidence that Tom was involved, and continued to insist the Dark Lord had perished some fifteen years prior.
The man was a fool, and it seemed that it would be left up to Albus and the brave men and women who deigned to join his cause.
However, what remained mysteriously absent was the one boy who could end Tom's reign of terror.
Albus shook his head sadly.
As brilliant as many believed him to be, he'd failed to find any trace of Harry after he'd entered the lake to begin the second task of the tournament.
He'd scoured every inch of the lake, spoken to each of the champions, and even the merepeople, who insisted Harry had never arrived in the village, nor had he been seen by the scouts on the outskirts.
The boy had not returned to Privet Drive, and no gold had been taken from his account at Gringotts.
Much to his frustration and concern, Harry Potter had seemingly vanished without a trace, and yet, Albus knew he was out there somewhere.
Had Tom managed to kill him, he would ensure the world knew of it.
No such thing had occurred.
One of the very first things Albus had done was make enquiries with the Department of Mysteries and had confirmed for himself that the prophecy remained where it was, unfulfilled and still eligible.
For that to be so, Harry must be alive, though Albus could think of nowhere else the boy might be.
Not that he'd shared that kernel of information with anyone else.
He did not wish to give the others hope that Harry was alive and well, not when they'd already grieved for him, all except Sirius, who refused to believe Harry was gone.
Whether or not he could not face such a thing or there was something instinctual telling him that Harry was alive, Albus didn't know, but the boys' godfather would not concede to what appeared to be reality.
"Are we ready to begin?"
Albus nodded tiredly and gestured for Arthur Weasley to take a seat.
The man had evidently arrived here straight from the Ministry, who continued to slander Albus at every turn.
None wanted to believe what he had loudly proclaimed, and his reputation had suffered considerably.
Not that it mattered to the headmaster.
When all came to light, he would be proven correct, though he could not help but remember that times would only become more dangerous when Tom emerged from the shadows.
With Harry absent and unable to fulfil the prophecy, there was truly no one to stop the Dark Lord.
Dark times indeed lay ahead of them all.
Albus watched as the other members of the Order filed in, with Tonks and Kingsley being the very last, both seeming to be as tired as they'd ever appeared.
Being an Auror was no easy task, made only more difficult with Fudge interfering with their work every five minutes to ensure nothing out of the ordinary was made known to the public.
They were facing trying times indeed, and they would only become more so.
"Any information to report?" Albus asked the group at large.
"Only more dementor attacks," Kingsley said darkly. "There have been three in the last fortnight. They're becoming more regular."
Albus nodded.
"Severus?"
The sallow-skinned man's lips curled in distaste.
"The Dark Lord continues to recruit at an alarming rate. The Death Eaters are bringing in their associates in droves. Of course, they do not officially know who they're following, but only the Ministry seems to remain ignorant. Soon enough, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be outnumbered significantly."
Albus released a deep breath.
"And Macnair?"
"Has already returned, assuring the Dark Lord he has secured the services of the giants. I fear many others will join them soon enough, and when it is clear that the Ministry cannot hope to defeat him, more will follow or simply submit. The world knows that Potter is missing, and they remember how close we were to defeat last time before what happened between them."
It was a grim realisation indeed, and yet, Albus could not accept that they were defeated yet.
No, somehow, Harry Potter was still out there, and he had to keep faith the boy would return.
Nonetheless, if that wasn't soon, all could be lost.
"What about him?" Sirius broke in. "What is he doing?"
"Very little," Severus answered. "He is planning something, but he is not being forthcoming with his intentions. He has spent much time with Rookwood since freeing him, and of course, Bellatrix has barely left his side. Azkaban has done her no favours. She was always a sycophant, but her incarceration has only made her more volatile. Were it not for the Dark Lord, she would've murdered Rodolphus already. She is unhinged."
"She always was," Sirius snorted humourlessly.
"But she could once keep a handle on it when needed," Severus pointed out. "She no longer possesses that control. Azkaban has robbed her of what humanity she may have once had. She is dangerous, and should not be taken lightly, Black."
"He is meeting with Rookwood?" Albus asked before an inevitable argument could break out between the two.
Severus nodded.
"Frequently. Either he requires assistance with something he is struggling with, or…"
"He is trying to find a way to retrieve the prophecy," Albus broke in with a frown. "To do so, he will either need me to retrieve it, or he must do it himself, something he will be reluctant to do. It is a considerable risk for him to enter the Ministry of Magic, especially if he wishes to remain hidden."
"But he will do it eventually," Arthur interjected. "He has to."
Albus nodded.
"He will, but only when he no longer cares about being seen. When that time comes, the country will be in great peril."
"What do we do, Albus?" Molly asked worriedly.
"We continue as we are. Until he decides to expose himself, we can only hope to undermine and delay his goals."
It sounded unproductive and impractical, but it was the best they could do for the time being.
There were those amongst the group who were unhappy with his plan, but to keep them as safe as he could, Albus could take no further risks with them, not when he would need each and every one of them when it truly mattered.
(Break)
He looked across the rolling hills to where Arthur had made his camp, and towards the sea below where the blockade of ships remained, many of which, were supposed to bring much-needed supplies to the keep.
Instead, they had been taken by Cnut, and Eadwulf knew their situation within the castle would soon be dire.
It did not help that the Irish that had arrived had brought a terrible sickness with them, and though it had proved not to be fatal, many of the men were weak, in need of fresh water, and food to help them recover.
Where did Arthur even procure ships?
He'd had no fleet of his own, and the treacherous Cnut did not possess any himself.
Eadwulf could only shake his head as he pondered the situation he found himself in.
He'd hoped to merely watch from afar as Arthur, Cnut, and Guthrum slaughtered one another.
From there, the victors would either retreat back to their lands for several years to replenish their forces, or they would make the foolish mistake of marching on him.
Instead, Cnut had attacked Camelot, been defeated, and Guthrum had done something ungodly to gain the upper hand.
Eadwulf had been anticipating that Erik or the Irish would've stopped Arthur before getting so close or destroy his army entirely from the rear. That had not happened as intended.
Arthur had admittedly shown great courage my taking the fight to Erik and winning quite the decisive victory.
Eadwulf's only hope had been that Guthrum arrived to take advantage of the aftermath of the fighting, but he had arrived too late, and had, for reasons unknown to Eadwulf, decided to retreat instead of engaging in battle.
Why? Why wouldn't he fight when it had so clearly been to his advantage to do so?
Eadwulf didn't know, and now, he found himself in a position where he might need to make difficult choices.
Only a moon ago, he'd been well prepared for what should've unfolded before his eyes, and now, it was him at a severe disadvantage.
There would be no food or fresh water arriving, and his forces were growing weaker by the day with the sickness.
It was as though god himself was guiding Arthur to victory, and the northern king narrowed his eyes as he cursed under his breath.
"How much food and water do we have?"
"Enough to last the week, if we consume it sparingly," Dirk, one of his servants informed him.
Eadwulf grunted.
"Then, we either allow ourselves to be starved or we ready for battle. What shall it be?"
"My king, I, and most of the men would sooner die with a sword in our hand gloriously than suffer starvation. I have seen what that will do to us. It is a most unpleasant death. You cannot fight starvation, my king, but you can fight armed men at our gates."
Eadwulf nodded his agreement.
"And the sickness continues to spread. Within the week, most will be incapable of fighting when the fever takes them."
"Then, we will fight, Dirk," he decided. "Ensure all are well fed, for tomorrow, we fight with all we have."
"I will inform the kitchens, my king."
He left, and Eadwulf continued to watch those assembled outside his keep.
In the distance, he could hear the laughter of men, see the crackling fires, and even smell the meat cooking.
Yes, the tide had indeed turned against him, but come the morning, he intended on swimming against it, nonetheless.
(Break)
"At least the rest of the country is quiet," Myrddin sighed before taking a sip of his wine.
He'd watched as the dejected Guthrum had indeed returned to his keep, and watched for much of the night until he was certain the man would not simply double-back on himself.
Evidently, he'd taken the threat against his son seriously, though that threat would no longer be present soon enough.
"It is," Melrose confirmed.
The man was a member of the Wizard's Council Myrddin could rely on for information.
They had a vast network of spies operating up and down the country, and fortunately, Myrddin was made privy to much of what they knew.
"The only thing to report is that someone has taken a keen interest in what happened to Marcus Gamp?"
"Marcus Gamp?" Myrddin pressed, frowning to conceal his surprise.
Melrose nodded.
"The dragonslayer. He arrived in East Anglia and again in Wessex asking questions. I am unsure of what he has learned. None were willing to say anything else."
Myrddin hummed thoughtfully.
"Do we know what happened to Gamp?"
"The man was a bloody drunk," Melrose said dismissively. "He was in debt, and eventually, it caught up with him. There's not much else to say about it. I don't know what Potter expects to find."
"I would've thought you'd be more interested in Potter," Myrddin mused aloud. "Does the council have any intention of asking him to join?"
"It has been mentioned, and most would, but there are those who understand that such a man would be dangerous in our position. He is more of a lone wolf and would act in his own interests rather than our own as a collective."
"I cannot say I disagree."
"No, I would not expect him to be offered membership," Melrose assured him. "If truth be told, if there was any evidence of wrongdoing on his part, most of us would be rid of him."
"Then why don't you do so?"
Melrose shook his head.
"People know what he has done, and very few would wish to find themselves on the wrong side of him. Besides, he is protected by Peverell, and even less would wish to provoke the old bastard."
"He won't be around forever," Myrddin pointed out.
"He will not, but he is here now, and Potter's own reputation continues to grow. No, we will leave him be unless it becomes absolutely necessary to intervene."
"Very well," Myrddin sighed as he stood. "As ever, it has been a joy to catch up with you, Melrose. I expect we will see each other again soon."
"I will be in touch should I learn of anything else."
Myrddin nodded and took his leave of the inn.
The sun would rise in the coming moments, and he was keen to return to the somewhat comfort of the camp and inform Arthur that Guthrum had returned home as agreed.
With a final glance around the still sleepy village, Myrddin vanished, and arrived back in the northwest of England only a moment later to see Arthur in conference with none other than the man he'd just been discussing with his associate.
Potter and the king were speaking quietly amongst themselves, and as Myrddin approached, Arthur offered him a nod of recognition.
"Guthrum will not stay there long, Arthur. The moment his son is returned to him, he will come back."
"I expect nothing less," Arthur sighed. "How soon will Lars be in East Anglia?"
"Within minutes. I will be apparating him straight there."
"Should you not take him on horseback?" Myrddin interjected.
Harry's green eyes came to rest on him.
His expression was unreadable, but Myrddin got the undeniable sense that the man despised him with every fibre of his being.
"With what I have learned, no it isn't safe," Potter answered.
"What you have learned?" Myrddin pressed.
"Something you will undoubtedly become aware of soon enough, if you're not already and are keeping it to yourself."
"THE GATES! THEY"RE OPENING!"
Myrddin could hear Arthur all but breathe a sigh of relief at the interruption, though it was a short-lived moment.
Navigating their way to the top of the hill, all of them looked upon Eadwulf's keep to see that the gates had indeed opened, and a considerable force was marching out of it.
"He came sooner than I expected," Arthur murmured. "Ready the men!"
"READY THE MEN!"
The camp become a flurry of activity as those who'd been sleeping were roused and rushed to gather their armour and weapons.
Arthur continued to watch Eadwulf's men exiting the keep, a deep frown marring his features.
"Why would he come out?"
"Because he is desperate," Harry answered. "Either he is low on supplies or he thinks he can defeat you out here. I would bet gold on the first."
Arthur nodded.
"We seized his supply ships before they could reach him."
"Then he is desperate. Well, I will leave you to your war," Harry declared. "I will take Lars home. At least you will have a strong hold over the area before Guthrum makes it back."
Arthur nodded almost disappointedly.
Perhaps he'd thought because Harry was here he would choose to fight, but that was not the case.
"Good luck with finding whoever killed your friend, Arthur responded, clasping Potter's forearm.
The man nodded, and once more, his gaze came to rest on Myrddin's own.
"Oh, I will find them, and when I do, they will not be long for this world."
There was so much promise in both his eyes and words, and Myrddin did not doubt he meant what he'd said.
As he left to collect the boy he'd taken from the safety of the monastery, Potter did not look back, but Myrddin could not help but think that he was indeed a suspect.
How Potter had reached such a conclusion, he didn't know, but for now, he needed to focus on the battle ahead of them.
"The men will be gathered soon, Arthur, and the ships have been signalled. Most of the men will be here shortly."
"Then form up the ranks," Arthur instructed, "and bring Lancelot to the front when he arrives."
"You intend to lead from the front again?" Myrddin asked.
"I am their king. Leading my men in battle is the least they should expect from me."