Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author's Note:

Thank you all for your fantastic reviews. Sorry this took me so long to post, I've been going back and forth on ideas, and Prom was this past weekend, a research paper was due, and my brother was hogging my computer once more, so life has been a little stressful, but that time is over. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

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Chapter 8

Harry nods to Hermia, "Would you like me to have a guard escort you to the banquet hall or to your room now?"

She shakes her head, and wraps her arms tightly around her upper torso. Harry watches her in mild interest, "A change of clothes, perhaps?" He asks, eyeing her mud stained tunic and trousers.

"That sounds nice." She murmurs, and looks at him. He swallows hard, and leads her from his study to the hall. They walk to the guest hall, and he turns his head to look at her.

"Was your room suitable?" He places his hand on the wood of the door, and hears a soft click. He pushes inside of the room, and she follows him.

"Yes." She responds quietly.

Harry stands at the head of the king sized bed, and he grounds himself through his feet into the crimson carpet.

"There's a bath through that door," he points to the door to the right, "I will tell your servant-maid to bring you fresh clothes. She can escort you to the banquet hall if you want supper." Harry walks toward the door, and the woman grips his forearm. He stops in midstep, and his skin burns where she touches.

"Thank you." She is suddenly close to his face, and he is staring into her hazel orbs, "We will talk more late tonight. I'll find you." He feels her lips brush against his cheek, and he closes his eyes to savor the sensation. He takes in a sharp breath, and her scent floods his entire body. She releases him, and he half falls forward, but catches himself in time before he embarasses himself further.

He tilts his head forward to her, and exits her room. When he hears the door lock behind him he turns to the clean, white wall of the hallway and braces himself against it. His head falls forward, and he inhales deeply several times. He feels lightheaded and his cheek tingles. He pushes himself from the wall and walks back to his study, which is down a seperate hall parallel to the guest hall.

He places his hand on the door when he enters his study and locks it. He then strides to his desk, pulling the chair out and sitting. He scoots forward and begins sorting through the pile of letters left waiting for him. He unfolds a new letter from Norlan, and reads it carefully.

Harry,

Frock.

Harry rereads the letter several times before he sets it down. He spreads his fingers wide on the desk, then brings his elbows to rest on it and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Adelfried," Harry speaks the name outloud, "Elves live with the Druids."

He grumbles and stands from his desk, refusing to read more letters. He decides he will write back to Norlan later that evening. He then stands from the desk, refusing to read anymore. He exits his study, and heads to the banquet hall. His stomach vibrates quietly. He enters and sees paladin's and knights scattered across the tables, some having loud and joyful conversations while others sit in silence. Harry strides to the front table, and a servant immediately brings a bottle of red wine and a glass.

"My King." The servant bows deeply, pulling Harry's elegant and extravagant chair out for him. Harry sits, and shifts his silk shirt against the cushion of the chair, liking how it feels cool and soft against his rough skin.

"My lord," The servant is beside him now, and Harry looks up at him. He has a dark red button down shirt on and black trousers. His long, dark hair is bound at the base of his neck, and flows freely down his back. His eyes are the color of the ocean, a misty dark blue that shines with life. A brilliant smile crosses his full lips, and his white teeth gleam, "What is your craving tonight, my lord?"

"Wild boar, if we have any. Some rye bread as well." Harry turns his gaze to his fingers in his lap. He looks at his palms, and slowly curls and uncurls his fists.

"Yes, my King." Harry hears the footsteps of the servant as he walks away. Harry picks up the wine bottle and sees it is already uncorked. He pours himself half a glass of wine, and takes a short sip. He sits watching the hall, and those who pass bow their heads to him before leaving. Harry nods to them, and downcasts his eyes to the napkin set in front of him.

A few moments later the servant arrives and sets an oval plate on the napkin. Harry watches the servant lay down a fork and knife beside it, and another smaller plate with thick slices of rye bread and a small tub of margarine. Harry nods to the servant, and the man bows deeply to take his leave. Harry sits closer to the table, and begins eating the boar meat. He eats slowly, for his mind is occupied with thoughts of Hermia.

He finishes his dinner, and uses a cloth napkin to wipe his mouth and hands. He sets the napkin down and stands from his seat. He leaves the hall, and wanders the castle corridors.

"Adelfried. Hermia." He breathes the names, and finds himself walking down the palace steps and around to the rose gardens. He inhales deeply, and a late breeze ruffles his dark mane. He makes his way to a bench in the deepest part of the gardens, hidden behind lilac trees. He sees her sitting gracefully upon the bench, and her hands are folded on her lap. She wears light trousers, and a button down shirt that is only partly buttoned. His throat goes dry when his eyes dip downward.

She doesn't see him as he approaches, so he watches her from behind the trees. Her head looks toward the darkening sky, and her hair softly tangles in the breeze. His heart warms at the thoughts that race through his mind, and he shakes his head to stop them, but they come back. He begins thinking that he wants to learn everything about her, and discover all the secrets she's hiding.

"Hello." Harry comes from behind the trees, and Hermia turns her head toward him. He advances toward her, stopping when he comes to stand in front of her.

"Hello, my lord." She responds, "Do you wish something of me?"

"No. I saw you sitting here." Harry takes a seat beside her, turning his body so he faces her, "Aren't you cold?"

She shakes her head, "No, my lord."

"Summer is ending quite soon. These are the last few days we get to cherish the season." Harry turns his head to look out at the rose garden. A circular rock-enclosed area lies ahead with roses peeking their crimson heads out from, reaching for the last rays of sunlight before they go into slumber.

"It's a shame. Summer is my favorite." Her voice is barely above a whisper. She tilts her head back and closes her eyes. She sits like that for a minute, and Harry simply admires her profile. She opens her eyes and looks at him, "Is this your favorite season, my lord?"

"Yes, summer is." Harry meets her hazel orbs, and his pulse quickens. She stares into his eyes, and Harry sees a tornado of emotions rage from within them. He searches them, and finds nothing, only her pain and sorrow. "I'm sorry for your fallen kingdom, my lady. If there was anything I could have done,"

She cuts him off, "It is in the past now, my lord. Thank you." She nods her head toward him, breaking her eyes away from his. Harry's shoulders slump forward in defeat, and he looks at his feet. He plays with his hands between his knees, occasionally glancing toward Hermia.

"What will you do?" He asks after a long silence. He feels her eyes on the side of his face, and he slowly turns to meet them.

"Right now it is hard to say, my lord."

"You may stay here as long as you like." Forever, his mind adds for him a heartbeat later, but the words never come from his lips.

"Thank you for your hospitality, my lord. I understand that you are in a difficult position, with the war and now with me." She pauses, folding her hands together on her lap, "I will not make the situation more complicated."

"Trust me," Harry laughs softly, "the situation is as complicated as it is going to be." He smiles at her, and her lips turn into a half smile before she looks away.

"That may be, my lord." She gives him a skeptical look, but he simply shrugs his shoulders.

"Greenwich was your kingdom, then. Funny, I've never heard of it before." Harry says after they sit in silence once more.

"It was newly founded. I had not enough time to establish alliances and travel the world to announce us." She doesn't meet his eyes as she says this.

Harry continues, "How long have you been in power?"

"Only a year, my lord."

"You were not far from Lorbia. I would have known about you." Harry moves his head to see her eyes, but she still does not meet his.

"I'm good at keeping myself a secret, my lord."

Harry is baffled by this, "There is a war, why would you not want to make alliance with atleast us since you refused Juxert?"

Hermia shrugs her shoulders, "I was not meant to be a queen, my lord, I was only meant to be an archer." She stops, and Harry seeks more.

"Who was meant to be queen?"

Hermia shakes her head for a long time; her unruly curls dancing around her face. Harry watches her, his eyebrows knitting together.

"An enchantress." Harry's heart lurches in his throat, and he cannot speak. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, "I cannot become the enchantress I am meant to be, so I settle for being an archer."

Still no words come from Harry's lips, "I was born an enchantress, but my heart nor will is strong or capable enough to wield the full potential of the power. Enchantresses at birth are marked and are bestowed with the weight of the world on their shoulders. They keep the delicate balance of magic, solve problems, and have to keep in secrecy. Enchantresses are horrified of the human race. Humans are greedy and egotistical, and they spend all their years searching for an enchantress or dragon, both of which are intelligent and powerful creatures, like fake gods that they can actually touch and communicate with. Magical creatures want nothing to do with beings that want meager idols to worship, or beings that are so material that they could not even understand what it means to actually have power to rule the world.

"I cannot fuse my mind and heart to be one, which is a necessity." She continues, "Something is holding me back, a force or wall that will not let me pass. I've been searching for the greater part of my life to find this barrior." She sits in silence now; her gaze on her knees. She inhales deeply, and Harry looks at her face.

"Why did you try to rule your kingdom if you knew you could not?" The question stirs within Harry's mind.

She turns her head to him, and her hazel orbs are guarded, "I had to be there for my people, whether or not I was strong enough. I was the heir to the throne, and I took full responsibility. I was not enough to let my people down just because I am a timid fool." She sighs, "It was a mistake to not be fully prepared after my refusal."

Harry says nothing more, for his mind swirls with questions.

"I am going to retire now, my lord. Good evening." She stands from the bench and walks into the distance around the circular rose bed. A guard walks down the stone path to greet her and escort her to her room, and Harry watches as they walk out of the gardens and into the palace.

Harry sits on the bench with his elbows on his knees. He slouches forward and drops his head to look at the pavement beneath his boots. He doesn't think for a long time; he only sits in complete silence.

"An enchantress who isn't? How can that be?" Harry shakes his shaggy mane, closing his eyes as he does so. "Shitty war." He grumbles, "I feel like such an idiot!" Harry clenches his fists tightly, avoiding the painful sensation of his rings digging into the tender flesh of his palm. He slowly calms and stands from the bench, walking into the palace and to his room.

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"My lord, your horse is ready." A paladin stands at the doors of his study, and Harry nods to him from his seat at the desk. Harry had written to Norlan to Frock and Ron that he will accompany them to their ride to Elfiana. The sun is peeking above the horizon, and the glow warms the palace. Harry stands from his chair and the Paladin escorts him to the stables where Ole waits.

"Hello, beast." Harry rubs Ole's man, and the horse nuzzles him in response.

"Ready your horses, paladins, we ride." Harry grabs Ole's reins, and leads the horse from the stables. Ten paladin's will be accompaning Harry to Norlan, where they will ride north-east to Elfiana to meet with King Adelfried. The paladin's mount their horses, and they leave Lorbia, riding swiftly to Norlan. They arrive late afternoon with the sun beginning its decent. Harry and his paladin's ride through the front gate of the city then to the palace gate, and unmount their horses.

"This way, King Harry, my lord waits." A small man that comes to Harry's shoulder peers up at him through beady blue eyes. Harry nods, and the man leads Harry into the palace and into the throne room where Frock and Ron sit talking amongst themselves.

"Harry, welcome." Frock stands and walks to Harry, embracing him tightly.

"Hello, Ron." Harry nods to Ron. Ron stands from his seat at the table, and walks to him.

"Hello." Ron says.

"Yes, we leave at midnight. We will arrive at daybreak for our meeting with Adelfried." Frock tells Harry.

"I understand. What is this meeting going to entail?" Harry asks. Frock leads Ron and Harry from the throne room.

"We will ask Adelfried what he knows of the war, and ask him to consider allying with us. We could use more powerful magic to defeat the Juxert. I fear they grow stronger." Frock walks steadily in front of them, turning his head over his shoulder occasionally. He takes them to the banquet hall where a lavish buffet is set, and elegant, high-class members of the palace wait in line.

"Let us eat, my friends." Frock announces with his arms spread wide. He leads to them to the end of the room where a long table sits with food steaming, "Sit and enjoy yourselves." The table is verticle to the rest of the room, and Frock sits in the center of it. Ron and Harry sit beside each other opposite of Frock, and begin piling their plates with the hot food.

"How much do you think Adelfried knows about the magical creatures?" Ron asks between mouthfuls.

"He is a magical creature." Harry responds, and Frock raises his eyebrows.

"Yes. Elves are magical creatures. They inhabit the forests and use magic for light, heat, and shelter, basically all their needs. Their homes are all illusion. It is quite impressive, actually. Their magic is so very advanced that when we visit their dwelling, it won't seem like magic at all, but everything is."

They fall into silence and eat their suppers. Harry occasionally glances at Ron, who has said nothing more to him since he arrived. Harry rakes his mind for something to say.

"The woman I told you about awoke, the one who was found outside the forest." Harry blurts, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

"Oh!" Frock grins, "What did she have to say?"

Harry gives Ron a look, "She was the queen at Greenwich,"

"Greenwich?" Frock looks puzzled.

"Where the hell is that?" Ron asks, setting his fork down. Harry shrugs his shoulders.

"It's north of Lorbia, not even a half day's ride. She told me she became queen just last year, and didn't have time to settle alliances. I was quite surprised myself." Harry looks between Frock and Ron, both of which look skeptical.

"She lies."

"Yes, liar that one."

"No." Harry shakes his head, "She was awake when I returned to Lorbia. We went to her kingdom to search for suvivors. She told me that she wanted to see what became of her kingdom."

"It is destroyed?" Ron asks.

"Yes. She said that Juxert attacked after she refused to ally with them."

"Hm." Frock strokes his chin, "The Juxert only had the Wetsh allied with them, and we are victorious over the Wetsh. It is possible that they are searching for another ally."

Ron grumbles, "She's a liar."

"I saw it with my own eyes, Ron. The palace was demolished."

"A year is a long time, Harry. We still would have known about it before." Ron counters, and Harry sighs.

"I thought the same thing until she told me she was an enchantress that wasn't."

Ron and Frock sit in silence, and they stare endlessly at Harry.

"What?" They ask simultaneously.

"She told me she was born an enchantress, but something won't let her build to her full potential."

"That's shit." Ron shakes his head, and his eyebrows arch downward, "Enchantresses are born with their magic; they don't find it. Not just anyone can become an enchantress. They are born when a faerie cries tears of purity. Enchantresses are already mature and have more knowledge than you and I will ever know or have the capicity to know. She is not an enchantress." Ron argues, casting his nose high in the air.

"He's right." Frock takes Ron's side, and Harry feels a stab of defeat, "Faeries rarely cry, for they are happy creatures. They do not have the same emotions we have, Harry. Your woman-friend cannot be an enchantress."

"She lied to me." Harry says the words, but does not agree with them. He feels hollow and cold as he pushes his supper plate away from him that is half full still of food.

"Would you like to nap before we leave? We have only a few hours until we must depart to Elfiana." Frock suggests. Harry and Ron nod. "I will have a guard show you to your rooms."

Harry doesn't look at Ron while he stands from his seat. Frock motions for two guards, and Harry vaguely hears what he tells them. The guards bow, and their clanking armor is loud and echoes throughout the large hall.

"This way, my lords." The guards then bow to Ron and Harry, and lead them from the banquet hall.

Harry walks numbly beside Ron, and his feelings are tumbling inside of him so roughly that the anxiety in his belly burns.

"Here is your room, King Harry. I hope it suits you, my lord." A guard stops in front of a door, opening it for him. Harry nods his thanks, and steps inside, avoiding Ron's gaze.

He looks around to take in his surroundings, finding it similar to the room he stayed in the previous time he was at Norlan. He doesn't strip is clothing, instead he falls on his belly, pressing his cheek into the silk comforter, and closing his eyes.

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