The Enigmatic War

My third story. Wish me luck. I'm going to make this one longer and more detailed than Road To The End. Enjoy.

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Chapter 1 -- The Beginning

He has his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the busy streets below the high window he stands at. His eyes chase the running dots of people, mentally wishing he could be a commoner so no worries would cross his mind. A soft sigh escapes his lips, for no one is around to see him in such a state. He leans his shoulder against the window frame, silently cursing his heritage, but then knowing he would have it no other way.

The sun is beginning to die in the far off horizon, for the sky is turning a light purple hue. Clouds are scattered scarcely throughout the paling sky, and the stars are just beginning to peek from beneath their beds, yawning quietly. He brings a large hand to his cheek, stroking his broad jawline with his index finger. It feels stubby and rough, since he had not shaved since early in the morning. He rubs his temple now, for a headache throbs endlessly.

People rush into their homes, trying to finish the days chore's before night ascends upon them. The darkness advances slowly in the ending days of summer, and the air is cool and warm. He wears thin khakis with a light black robe covering his white tshirt. He never quite understood why people of his type wear velvet capes, or velvet clothing in general, because they are much too uncomfortable and scratchy.

There is a loud clanking noise, and then a slamming of a door. He continues his stare at those below who do not know he watches so intently. Footsteps echo, and they come towards him hastily. Anxiety builds in his belly as he waits for the person who intrudes on his silence to give him either grave or exciting news.

"My Lord, King Ronald has sent word that he will be arriving within the next few days." The man who entered the room speaks in a loud, booming voice, causing his ears to twitch.

"Thank you." He speaks to the man, never removing his gaze from the streets, "You are dismissed."

"King Harry." Harry knows that the man bows deeply before exiting the room. Harry fills his chest with a breath, then exhales through his mouth, trying to calm the anxiety which pooled within his belly not many moments ago. He turns from his perch at the window, walking toward the mahogany desk in the center of the room. His boots echo loudly upon the floor, and the noise is piercing and endless since the entire room is made of classic amber and milky marble. He sits in the crimson chair seated at the desk, and stares a moment at the papers scattered across it.

"Where do I start?" Harry asks himself. He reaches to the paper that is mostly on top of the others, and scans the heading.

"Intruders from the east. Funny how that works out." He murmers, reading the rest of the letter with mild interest.

"Wetsh armies scatter the horizon, making camp the last evening of the fourth month. Their fires send smoke signals for many miles. There are atleast two million men.

We spot these men from our station at the highest point of the palace. They seem to want us to know we can see them, and to send an alert to our king, Harry Potter. General Carnish sends word to allies King Weasley and King Frock."

He finishes reading the short letter sumarizing the events that took place a month prior. He looks at the note beneath it, noticing immediately the messy scrawl.

"Oh Ronald." Harry chuckles, reading the note which he already had read earlier that day, when it was sent.

"The Wetsh are horrible fighters, my friend! We won that battle very easily. I will send notice when we shall celebrate our victory. Wait for my word, friend, and we will feast like kings do! Your friend, RW"

"Soon we shall celebrate." Harry agrees, setting the note down and spreadig his fingers wide in an attempt to stretch them. His eyes scan the other papers on the desk, and all interest fleets his mind. He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, then down into his lap. Lights on the walls begin to brighten, for the sun is completely set now. The darkness is cast easily from the King's study.

He leans back deeply into the plush chair, placing his hands folded behind his head. He looks toward the ceiling.

"When will this war be over." He asks himself. "Never it feels like." He answers his own question. He laughs at himself. "Now I am completely mad. I've been the king of Lorbia for almost a year now, and I still cannot grasp these responsibilities." He closes his eyes, imagining himself in battle.

"Why did my duties as general had to be dismissed when I became a dreadful king? Being king is so dull." The words fall from his lips in a whisper. He images himself in the last battle he fought before his father was taken in illness and had passed away.

I thrusted my sword through his chest, and I found a satisfaction in hearing his wailing cry and seeing the blood on my blade. I felt strong and powerful, and when I pulled my blade from his bleeding heart, I let out a roar of accomplishment. He fell dead at my feet, and his eyes were wide in horror. I stepped over him, slicing my blade through the next enemy who came to pursue me. I cut his head off in a swift, and easy motion. I did not wait to see where the head landed, for the adrenaline coursing through my veins was enough to kill me as well. Everything became a blur after that, and when the battle was finally over, the blood was stained into my hands and armor. I'll never be able to wash the blood from my body.

He reopens his eyes, and his heart pounds against his ribcage. He calms his heart, but a sense of mirth fills his body.

"Oh the life of a king. James, what pain and stress you must have went through to rule this kingdom." Harry talks to the ceiling, "I never cared to see the hardships you endured. I miss you, Father." Harry breathes. He recalls the funeral that took place almost a year ago for his father who died of a foreign and strange disease. It shook the entire kingdom, taking every person by surprise. His father rarely spoke to him about the king's duties and how to rule, so immediately after Harry was crowned the ruler, He was forced into acting straight away. They were in a war, which still continues to this day, and it kills him that he cannot fight along side and lead the soliders of Lorbia.

Each day more papers and reports flood his desk. He rarely reads them anymore, for they all say the same thing. They speak of intruders coming from all different directions on the map, trying to invade their kingdom and launch a preemptive strike, though each enemy has failed to do so yet.

Harry wonders for a moment why the war was started so many years during King James's rein as king. Harry was not quite seventeen when a kingdom in the far south called Juxert first attacked at the palace. Men were slaughtered before Harry's eyes, and although he close to being an adult, he never saw a dead man before then. After the fighting had ceased, Harry told James he wanted to join their army, and the king resented the idea at first, but after Harry trained for many cruel months, the king approved of the idea.

Harry rose in rank quickly, becoming the top ranking general. People of the kingdom gossiped that he was only the general because he was the king's heir, and they were surprised and astonished that the king would allow his only son to fight in battle and risk death. Since his first battle when he was nineteen years old, killing was like a drug to him. He was addicted to the adrenaline from swinging his sword and causing death. Four years later, after Harry celebrated his twenty third birthday, the king passed away. Now, with his twenty fourth birthday close, Harry still did not understand why the war was started almost seven year ago.

A yawn escapes Harry's throat, and he stands from his chair, pushing it in to the desk. He strides across the room to a door against the west all, a large and beautiful door, placing his hand on the cold wood. His hand vibrates, and there is a clicking noise. He pushes the door open and steps inside, and when the door closes behind him, it clicks and locks.

He strips his clothing, casting them on the floor beside the magnificently huge canopy bed. He pulls back the heavy crimson comforters, slipping his naked body beneath them. The sheets are cool against his hot skin, and he shudders against them. His eyes close, and he falls into a deep oblivion.

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Let me know what you think so far. :)

Thank you so much for your fantastic reviews for Chapter 1. They made me very very happy! Here's chapter 2.

Chapter 2 -- A King's Arrival

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Two days pass since the notice that King Ronald will be arriving shortly. Harry sits in his study, groaning from the sight of fresh papers littering his desk that he cleaned the night before. He leans his elbows on the impressive wood, pressing his fingertips into his temples to soothe the tension building in the back of his neck.

The double doors open and the sounds of clicking boots reach his ears. He glances up to the men who enter his silence, and Harry keeps his fingers against his temples. The men stop at the front of his desk, and Harry motions for the news, for anxiety begins to build in his belly.

"My Lord, King Ronald has just arrived by horse, accompanied by fifty knights. He is downstairs in the banquet hall now Sire, awaiting your presence." One man says, and Harry nods to him. The man beside him stands straighter, as if to speak, but no words come from his lips.

Harry looks at the two men. They wear a complete suit of armor, ready for battle at any given moment if the enemy is to strike. The white metal gleams beautifully with a subtle hint of red. They are paladins, knowing the wisdom of healing while in battle by using the aura from their inner beings, and weilding the sword much more powerfully than a regular knight. The differences between paladins and knights are great, for paladins live many more years than a normal knight, taking out the possibilities of dying in battle. Paladin's bodies are much more impressive, which makes them less vulnerable to attacks. They are quicker on their feet, and can withstand intense environment conditions.

The paladins turn sharply on their heels and leave Harry's study. Harry stands from his desk, smoothing his shirt over his chest and stomach. He walks towards the doors, and they open on their own accord. The hall is bright and lively, for windows line the wall to his left. They are huge, elegant windows, with bleached white frames. Crimson tapestries hang beside them, a rich and deep color which stands out bold against the white.

His heels click as he walks on the marble, but the noise does not reach his ears. His mind is elsewhere while he makes his way through the entry hall, then down a different hall that has no windows, only a limitless amount of doors on either side of him. He strides easily down this hall, which is decorated much the same as the last one is, although some intricate paintings add more color. He admires the exceptional paintings as he walks by, eyeing his favorite that is just a bit further down the hall. When he reaches it, his eyes scan it quickly, then he passes on.

It is a painting of his father and mother before Harry was born. His mother Lilly he never had the chance to know. She passed when he was young, barely old enough to speak. His father raised and sheltered him for the greater part of his life. From what Harry was told, Lilly ruled right along side James, and she held almost as much power over the people and decision making as King James had. She was very persuasive and intimidating, though soft and delicate. Harry remembers when his father would often sit in the rose garden in the back of the palace, staring endlessly at the lively and beautiful scenary, though his eyes would be glazed over with no traces of happiness in them.

Harry never asked James about his mother. It was a delicate and upsetting issue for James, and Harry could clearly see that as he grew older. He never pressed it, but he always had a nagging thought since James's funeral, knowing that he should have asked his father more about his mother.

Harry rounded the corner to another hallway which is much wider and with gold rimming on the walls. The celing dips upward, and balls of glass hang to illuminate the area. Palace soldiers are stationed outside the double doors; one stationed on both sides. Harry nods to them, and they hasten to open the doors for their King, bowing as he passes.

The banquet hall is massive, much larger than his study. He feels small in a room which can hold five hundred thousand people at one time. Lengthy tables stretch to the farthest corners of the hall, while the floor is elevated for a stage with his elegant throne chair set up on the left. Elegant torches are scattered along the walls of the hall, giving out a ghostly light. Three immense windows are to his right. These windows are longer than his arm span, and they come close to touching the ceiling. They are beautiful, for their frames have epic battles carved into the hard wood. Those peering from the windows will see the rose garden, a magnificent lake that stretches ten acres, and a colossus mountain scaling the horizon. The scene never ceases to take his breath away.

"Harry!" Ron comes towards Harry, throwing his heavy arms over his shoulders and pulling him in for a bear hug. Harry gladly returns it, laughing loudly.

"It's good to see you, Ron." Harry says as they pull away. They are ushered to the King's table, which is infront of the stage. Ron sits as does Harry, and the hall empties of any other men by a wave of Harry's hand.

"How have you been?" Harry asks, opening a bottle of red wine that sits in the center of the table. Harry pours Ron a glass then himself. Ron gives him a thoughtful nod.

"Fantastic. The Wetsh have completely withdrawn, surrending the battle. It was futile to begin with! Their man count may be many, but their man power is weak. My army, yours, and Frocks crushed them in less than a week, and we were merely playing with them in the beginning." Ron's hearty laugh is boisterous. A low rumble vibrates Harry's chest as he listens to Ron.

"They tried to call for reinforcements near the end, and their ally told them they are screwed. Not at all pleased was their general, who came to tell me of their surrender. I laughed in his face! I told him that he will never stand a chance against us if he continues fighting like he does. He was not pleased. He had the nerve to spit in my face! Needless to say that he's lucky to be alive. If he had not surrendered, then I would have killed the son-of-a-bitch right there." Ron takes another long drink of the wine, slamming his glass down for more. Harry gladly refills his glass, and this time to the top.

"I don't understand," Ron shakes his head, obviously disgusted, "why they keep launching these so-called preemptive strikes. We intercept their messages and we see them sitting out, waiting to attack. They aren't at all sneaky. They must be planning something new." Ron holds his glass in the air, and Harry shrugs.

"The Juxert are not at all smart for allying with the Wetsh in the first place. Wetsh people are known for their ignorance." Harry points out, and Ron nods.

"I completely agree with you, my friend. Their retreat is our victory! How will we celebrate?" Ron asks, holding his glass in a toast. Harry knocks the side of his wine glass against Ron's, satisfied with the soft ting.

"A banquet will be held tonight." Harry announces. Ron grins.

"Lots of ladies?"

"Yes." Harry laughs, "What about your wife?"

Ron rolls his eyes and finishes his glass of wine, holding it towards Harry, "I could careless about the broad. Arranged marriages be damned." Ron spits, and then takes another drink of his wine, "The marriage was good for the war, and when the war is over, she will be properly disposed of." Ron sends a wink towards Harry.

"You're going to kill her?" Harry asks with surprise in his voice, and Ron shakes his head.

"No. I'll force her back to her country. Divorce is no longer illegal."

"What's her name again?" Harry asks, although their wedding ceremony took place within the past few months.

"Lavender. What a name, eh? She makes sure everyone knows she's exotic and beautiful. Right bitch, that's what she is. Prancing around the castle as if it was hers all along. Heh, she's in for a rude awakening."

"I knew that she was going to be a bitch when I first saw her, too." Ron continues his rant, "She had the nerve to tell me that I was not fighting this war as well as I could be. Soon as we were married she comes and tells me that, and then she tells me all these horrible things that could help me when I sit with the counselors. She even said that she'd come and sit in on the meetings! Like she knows what all the issues are, and all the little details. Bah. I've been fighting this war since the very beginning. I know everything." Ron downs the rest of his wine, holding his hand out to stall Harry from refilling it.

Harry thinks for a moment, his mind searching for the reason they are in the war, and he still finds no answer. He half ponders whether to ask Ron, but he decides against it, letting Ron continue with his drunken slur.

"I was your father's partner, you know. We were in it together from the very start. Yes we were. I fought along side him in battle. He was a great warrior, but he stood back many times. Not me, I tell ya, I like to be right up in the action. James told me to stay back with him, and who died first! Not me."

"He didn't die in battle." Harry says immediately, defending his dead father. Ron laughs loudly, throwing his head back to reveal his bobbing adam's apple.

"That's right! Poor old man didn't even die in glory. Great king he was. He ruled well. He fought well. Without him we would not have made it this far in the war. It will be over soon. Don't worry." Ron assures Harry, but Harry needs no reassurance.

"Quite odd, isn't it, that I became king before you." Ron says after a moment's silence. Harry nods, taking a slow sip of his wine. He stares at the red liquid between his eyes. He sets his glass down, slumping against the cushion of his chair.

"I always thought you would have been king before me." Ron leans his elbows against the table, peering into Harry's eyes. Harry keeps his gaze on his folded hands in his lap, ignoring Ron's persistant stare.

"Well, we're both kings now." Harry murmers, twirling his thumbs.

"Yes." A huge smile breaks out across Ron's face, and Harry looks up at him, "Remember when we were kids, and we would sword fight? We'd always do that dumb thing, sticking our swords through our armpits and pretending to die? We would get in so much trouble when your father found out. He did not want you to fight." Ron laughs, and Harry nods, remembering quite well.

"The man was paranoid that I would die in battle. I had to force him to let me join our army back when I was seventeen, and even then he was very cautious and made me stay at the back beside him."

"You can't blame him! You were his only son--his only kid! Of course he'd be overprotective. I grew up with three other brothers, all older than me, and all who refused the crown." Ron laughs some more, "They couldn't handle the responsibility! Fools." Ron reaches to the bottle of wine, pouring himself a full glass.

"You're the only brother I've ever had." Harry says, and stares Ron in the eyes.

"Don't get mushy on me before we celebrate. Oh that reminds me." Ron grins, "Your birthday is soon, isn't it? What shall I plan for you?"

"Nothing." Harry laughs, holding his hands in the air as a sign of defeat, "There will be enough celebration here when my birthday arrives, there will be no need for more surprises."

"Whatever." Ron rolls his eyes, "You've never been any fun, you know that?"

"What?" Harry looks at him wide eyed, "How can you say that?"

"You've always been like this. You don't care for surprises." Ron shrugs, "It's quite boring."

"I am not boring!" Harry counters, his voice rising. A small smirk forms on the corner of Ron's lip.

"Yes, you are quite boring."

Harry sits dumbstruck for a moment, "I swam naked in the lake that one time when you wouldn't. You thought some animal was going to bite your naked rear." Harry bursts into laughter recounting the moment he just described, "Frock's daughter agreed to kiss whoever would swim to the bottom of the lake and retrieve a stone, and you wouldn't do it."

Ron's face falls, and he simply waves his hand at Harry, turning in his chair.

"That's right. She gave me my first kiss. How old were we then?"

"Ten." Ron mutters into his wine.

"Ah yes. I got my first kiss before you."

"You're still a virgin." Ron is suddenly in his face, "Hah! You are. Don't try and tell me you aren't. I know you are." Ron giggles like a school girl, "You may have gotten kissed before me, but I got laid before you! That beats a kiss any old day."

Harry frowns at this, ignoring Ron's banter, "Well, what about when we traveled to Gervet, and you screamed like a small girl when you saw a faerie."

Ron laughs, "So did you. Don't get me started on the creatures. When you first saw a unicorn you wouldn't leave your room for weeks. You had to see a nurse because you swore it attacked and left a bruise on your stomach."

"Just forget that! I was going through a strange stage."

"You are horrified of the creatures still today."

"Am not."

"Prove it." Ron grins, "I know the forest, lets go."

Harry winces, closing his eyes and shaking his head quickly, "I'd rather not right now."

"Chicken."

"Shut up!" Harry sighs exasperatedly. Ron shrugs.

"Chicken."

Harry sends him a nasty glare, and the doors of the banquet hall swing open. The two men turn to see who has entered the hall, and see two paladins rushing towards them.

"Juxert soldiers are outside our walls as we speak. They are barging down the gates."

Ron and Harry exchange looks, and then stand quickly, walking beside the paladins as they make their way out of the banquet hall.

"How did this happen? Did the guards not see them from the lookout post?" Harry asks hotly.

"We do not know how they slipped past the guards. We must move quickly." The paladins begin to run.

Ron sends Harry a look, "So much for our celebration."

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I know there is a lot of confusion about what is going on now in the story, but do not worry, you will be filled in very soon. Hermione will come in later on. This is a romance, remember? This chapter is not as long as the last, but please enjoy.

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Chapter 3 -- Battle At The Gate

"Frock is being notified now about the invasion." One of the two paladin say as they all run down the halls. They run at a hurried pace, though the paladin's do not breathe any heavier like Ron and Harry do.

"No." Ron replies loudly in a puff of breath. He stumbles forward in his slight drunken haze, but quickly regains himself. Harry looks at him strangely.

"Do not inform Frock." Ron says it firmly this time, a spark in his eyes. The paladins give a questioning glance to Harry for a confirmation, and Harry nods to them.

"We will go ahead." The paladins say in unison. They sprint out of sight down the hall and into the large entry hall where the palace doors are.

Harry and Ron evade the palace guards and knights scrambling to get to the front doors of the palace to ward off the attack of invaders. Harry leads Ron to the artillary room, and they dress in plate armor, much similar to paladin's armor. Plate is stronger than metal, and lighter as well. They move quickly down the freshly lit halls, for night is advancing rather quickly on this day.

They reach the front doors of the palace, and they are open wide. All available men stand crowding outside. They are divided in groups, and their commander is giving them orders. No words come clear to him, so he completely ignores the yelling.

Harry then notices Ron's fifty knights outside as well, standing out in their teal armor. Ron's knight's are, Harry knows, very well trained and the best of all of his other men. A few of his knights stand out to be druids, a magical creature that can fight magnificently in battle and weild magic. Their skins have a bluer hue than a human's, and their maximum height is three feet taller than an average knight. They are beautiful and graceful in battle, and to watch one fight is an extrardinary experience.

Ron befriended the druids soon after he became king, and they helped him with his inexperience and being a young king. James, on the other hand, despised the race. Harry remembers his father refusing to aid the druids when Ron asked for assistance, only a few years before the war. It surprised Harry to find out that the druids were fighting for Ron when Ron was allied with James.

The druids are a small but powerful clan, living in solitude. They are known to be humble and quite comical, brave and adventurous. Many are experts at handling a bow and arrow. Whatever task they take up, they work to their full potential. Being allys with the druids is a smart move, Harry thinks to himself. The two he sees are standing tall and graceful, a bow strung around one's back while a dagger hangs from the other's waist.

The gates rattle and shake, and the Juxert army behind them scream with all their fury. The sound reaches Harry's ears, and he grips the handle of his sword, blood pouring in his veins. He cannot hear, for his heart pounds relentlessly into his ears, and he slowly loses sensation in his fingers. A dull ache begins to form in the pit of his abdomen, and he sucks in a deep breath to help stall the feeling. He closes his eyes, and emotions surge and twist. Paint is thrown on a canvas from behind his eyelids, and they illustrate a masterpiece of death. He reopens his eyes and stares at the palace gates, praying for them to open.

Ron leaves his side, pushing his way through the crowd of knights and paladins to his group of men and two druids. Harry scarcely notices this, for his conscious is far off. He has a sudden itch to be right infront of the gates which he cannot break his eyes from. His fingers twitch, and his jaw tenses from being clenched. The air is cool on the hot, tender flesh of his neck and cheeks, for he does not wear a helmet. The sun is dying in the horizon, and the sky's hues turn dark. No clouds litter the skies.

Harry unshealths his sword, holding it in both hands. His eyes scan the shining metal, taking in every detail of the sword he has sat and stared at for many nights in the past. A line of crimson runs down the center of the blade starting from the hilt and ending at the tip. The metal above the hilt of the sword is pure gold about an inch thick, and it is hot to his touch. The hilt itself is fine leather, worn from endless days of training.

Harry grips the hilt of the sword, thrusting it high above his head to pierce the night sky. A roar rips from his throat, and all eyes turn to him. The adrenaline begins to pump in his veins as the gates barge open and men pour through.

"Leave no one alive." The hoarse roar from Harry's throat tears his insides apart. Paladins, knights, and druids shout their approval, turning to face the enemies who barge in through the gates. Harry's entire composition breaks, and he throws himself into the sea of fighting. He rushes toward the front lines, where he so longs to be. He slices through a Juxert soldier, and the adrenaline makes him mad. The ground thumps with the corpse, and he continues to swing his sword. Crimson blood rolls over his knuckles, and his heart thumps hard against his ribcage. The blood is hot and seering his skin.

A scream erupts from his throat. Harry plunges his sword through a man's heart, and he watches the man's eyes roll into the back of his head as he falls to the ground. Harry steps on the man's stomach and tears the sword from his chest, laughing manically from the emotion coursing his veins.

"Harry, get out of there!" Ron's voice is clear, but far off. Harry ignores him, running further towards the gates to a group of three Juxert men who hold their swords ready. Harry smirks at them, and their arms falther. Harry takes their moment of hesitation to cut their heads clean off. They land with a disgusting thud at his feet, and he kicks one of them.

"Dirty bastards." He mutters as he steps on a head of another man, satisfied when he hears the cracking beneath his steel boots. More Juxert soldiers run towards him, but his men come rushing by his side, taking his kills. Anger boils his blood, and he pushes through his men, wanting to be at the front. He is desperate and jealous that his men fight for him, rather than him fighting for his empire. He thrusts his sword to another man's death, and blood splatters onto his cheek. Harry stands straight, flicking his tongue towards the blood on his cheek to taste it. He feels perverted as he does so, and the thought lifts his spirit.

"Harry, get out of there." Ron is behind him now, and Harry feels a force driving him backwards. He struggles against the power, and the hand holding him suddenly crosses his chest for a better grip. Harry grunts, and all his resistance fails. He holds his sword in his right hand while his left tugs at the arm.

"Let me go!" Harry screams, his eyes coming out of his head. Pressure builds in his belly to the point where he feels he will vomit if he does not return to the battle.

"Idiot!" Ron shrieks at him, and his hold is more violent now.

"Leave me, Ron!" Harry kicks and wiggles his head, pulling on Ron's arm. He feels wetness dripping down his neck. He touches it, and brings it to his gaze, seeing his own blood on his fingertips. Pain shoots through his body as the metal of Ron's armor continues to dig into his flesh.

Ron drags him up the stairs of the palace with incredible strength, finally letting him go at the top. Harry falls on his rear, then he lays back completely on the icy stone. He stares up at Ron's face. Both of their eyes are ablaze, their tempers at their peaks.

"You will stay back here." Something in Ron's voice causes Harry's insides to churn, but he forces it away. He doesn't nod, and Ron walks around him. Harry pushes himself up to his feet, and he glances at Ron's back. Ron watches the battle taking place before them. Harry coughs, and the pressure in his belly overflows, and acid burns his throat. He bends over and tears form in his eyes.

Harry listens to the wails of men dying as he stands, wiping his eyes and mouth. He clenches and unclenches his fists repeatedly to ease the dulling ache in his belly. His eyes follow the gleam of swords as they swing and soar through the air. His heart leaps each time someone is killed brutally, and blood splatters in the air. He longs to be back in battle, and then something inside of him snaps, breaking into a million pieces.

"This is why I don't come with you to the battles." Harry screams, and Ron turns fully to face him. His face is hard and serious, his lips turning to a scowl, and his eyes are narrowed. Harry had dubbed this look Ron's Battle Glare, for he does it everytime they are on the battlefield, but in this moment he did not care.

"You cannot rush in like a fool, Harry! You could have killed yourself. They will win if you die." Ron walks towards him as he speaks, and his voice is dangerously low now. Harry shakes his head ferociously, his hair matted with blood and sweat.

"I won't get killed. I know how to weild a sword. It's in my blood. I can fight, Ron, better than you. You will die before me in battle." Harry's voice vibrates within his chest, not easing the ache he feels, only electrifying it. Ron's face twists in fury.

"You fight along side Frock when I refuse to join the battle. You have no children, either, Ron. Don't tell me what I can and cannot do. You may be older than me, but that means nothing." Harry pauses for a moment. His face is hot, and fresh beads of sweat form on his forehead though the air is chilled, "This is my war too, and I will fight in it. It is my duty. If you're so goddamned paranoid like my father was that I will die, then you can come fight along side me, but do not humiliate me again, because I will not hesitate to use my sword to cause your death."

Ron's eyes are on fire, and Harry can see the flames leaping deep within the green orbs. Finally, Ron steps aside, revealing the battle that continues to rage. Irritation and anger continue to rest on his shoulders as Harry's eyes dance. He turns and walks to where his sword lay, and after bending to pick it up, he walks briskly towards the steps of the palace. He purposefully bumps his shoulder roughly against Ron's. Their metal clanks powerfully, and sparks fall from their shoulders. Harry runs down the steps to where men are dying, and his sword is high over his head.

The ache is dull in his belly now, but when he swings his sword and blood flies; the adrenaline kicks in and all consciousness is lost. His arms move on their own accord, and he hears the wails of defeat.

Hours pass since the fighting began. Beams of moonlight shine through the clear night to illuminate the area of battle. Lights from the palace cause the area to be brighter. The stench of death is thick in the air, and blood stings Harry's nostrils. Few men are standing now, mostly those in red and blue armor. The ache in Harry's belly is finally quieted. His eyes wander from corpse to corpse, mentally etching the brutality in his mind. The ground is drenched with blood, and his hands are stained forever with sin. He reshealths his sword, and his shoulders sag forward, for he lets the exhaustion overcome him.

He sees the blurry outline of Ron's figure a few yards infront of his staggering frame; light surrounding his body. Harry walks towards him, tripping over the bodies and his own feet. He slips a few times, and barely recovers himself. Blood runs down his forehead and over his temples. Ron's figure gets larger, but as he gets closer his image becomes more fuzzy. Harry reaches towards him, and then he feels a strange sensation of falling. Wind races past his ears, and then he hits his head, falling into unconscious.

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Author's Note:

Tell me what you think. Also, I was told that I need a beta reader. If anyone is interested, e-mail me. Thank you, I appreciate it.

I know this took awhile to upload, thanks for being so patient.

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Chapter 4 - Truth

A tingling sensation causes Harry to pry his tired eyes open. He rolls from his side to his back, stretching his fingers that tingle from being slept on. Electrifying shocks shoot up his arm, and he stays still until the sensation fades. He stares at the canopy above his bed, letting his eyes adjust to the new daylight that pours into his room from the balcony doors on his right.

He is clear of any thought before his mind reels and images of battle flood his memory. His muscles tense, and his blood pumps faster. He brings his hands up and stares at his palms. Clean. He turns his hands to see his knuckles. Clean. He covers his face with his hands now, closing his eyes as he does so. He sees his hands covered in blood, but when he reopens his eyes, they are still clean.

He pushes the heavy comforter off his body, for his skin begins to sweat. Cool air kisses him as he stands, and he notices that he wears spandex and a light fitting white t-shirt. He walks around his bed to the balcony doors, admiring their beauty. They touch the ceiling, and they are rimmed with gold. He opens the doors with a delicate push, and a rush of warm air greets him. He sighs deeply, letting his head fall back.

"What a glorious morning." He murmers, turning his back on the doors. His eyes roam his large chamber, and he strides toward the cushioned chair in the corner to his left. He sinks deeply into it, spreading his fingers wide on the arms. He eyes his armoir, and momentarily wonders if he should change his clothing. Deciding against it, he looks at the cherrywood cabinet beside his armoir, where his precious items are placed. He rubs his bare feet on the crimson carpet, and his eyes wander around his chamber. Artwork is hung on the beige walls, and a mirror is above the armoir. The room is quite large, though not many pieces of furniture are placed in it.

His mind wanders back to the battle that took place.

"How long have I been out?" He thinks outloud, curiousity and confusion overtaking him. He shrugs, letting the question slide, and his mind returns to the battle scenes that continue to replay themselves repeatedly in his head.

He grips the side of his chair, closing his eyes to relive the moments that made him feel most alive.

I love feeling their blood on my skin. The sensation of hot and cold at the same time does something to me. I massacred them, leaving no survivors at the tip of my sword.

He remembers Ron forcing him out of the battle, and anger floods him. He places his hand on his heart, leaning his head back. He takes deep breathes, remembering the feeling of resentment and power that took over him after Ron took him out of battle. He wanted to cause destruction; he wanted to continue plunging his sword to the enemy's death, and when Ron took that away from him, his mind broke. He couldn't even remember what he said to Ron, and the events that took place afterward.

"What happened to me?" He asks, for he is surprised at his own actions. He knows that he enjoys fighting, but not to the extent where he will hurt the people he loves. His breath is hot on his cracked lips. He groans loudly, trying to recall the events that took place after he screamed at Ron. He vaguely remembers walking down the palace steps, and the feeling of Ron's eyes burning through his armor as he did. He remembers he raised his sword high into the air.

"Ow." A vein in his head throbs, and he brings his hand to cover it, gently massaging it in circles. He grumbles as his eyes close, and he sees from behind his eyelids an image of a fuzzy figure walking towards him, and dead bodies are scattered all around.

A knock at his door causes him to jump and his heart to pound wildly. He regains his composure, and he stands from his chair, rounding his bed to the door.

"What is it?" He yells at the door, not bothering to open it before he knows who stands on the other side. He does not want to discuss matters with the counselors about war. He wants to be alone.

"It's Ron." The familiar voice answers, and Harry immediately places his hand on the doorknob, opening his door. Ron steps into Harry's room, forgetting to ask if he can enter. Harry steps aside, and then shuts the heavy door, turning to face Ron who stands at the foot of his bed.

"I'm departing back to Zarch within the hour." Ron's voice is even, and his gaze is penetrating. He starts to walk towards the door, but Harry is solid, and Ron stops.

"I have a question for you." Harry pauses, searching for the words, "Why are we at war?" Harry feels idiotic after he asks the question, for Ron's face remains unchanged. Harry is nervous, and he clenches his jaw to ease the anxiety building in his abdomen.

"The Juxert were forcing the magic from the earth and using it in their dark arts to cause destruction. James disagreed, and since the Juxert did not sign the treaty or make any connection with James, he had no choice but to go to war to keep the peace." Ron says in the same unwavering voice.

The anxiety still churns deep within his belly becoming more painful. Harry does not remember. Harry doesn't respond right away, and Ron takes a steps forward to move around Harry to reach for the door.

"I must go prepare my men," Ron begins, but Harry steps infront of him again.

"I can't remember anything about the beginning of the war. All I remember is wanting to fight for my father, to do something, anything to help him." Harry's eyes are shining, "I'm so confused." The vein throbbing in his head hurts worse now, and he covers his temples with his hands, compressing his skull.

The feeling subsides after a few seconds. The only sound that reaches Harry's ears are his heart beating steadily, and Ron's harsh breathing. Harry searches for the words inside of him to explain what he's feeling to his friend, wanting him to understand and help him, just like he always had in the past.

"When we fought at the gate it felt so good to swing my sword, and feel my muscles working. I haven't fought in so long, not since before James died." Harry looks at Ron who stands infront of him, "When you took me out of the battle," Harry swallows hard to avoid feeling anger for Ron, "I don't know why I got so upset. It was as if some force came over me, or something inside me broke, and I lost all reasonable thought. I can't even remember anything afterward." Harry's voice falls to a whisper, "I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to feel your pain, and all those others."

Harry keeps his eyes trained on the floor, feeling too ashamed to meet Ron's teal orbs. He hears Ron's sigh, and the shuffling of his boots fills the room. Harry glances through his thick, dark bangs to see Ron's back. Ron turns around, and Harry cannot read him. The anxiety in his belly is burning, and he feels an incredible urge to vomit. Harry breathes deeply, wanting the feeling to stop, but he gets lightheaded in the process.

Ron's lips move, and Harry watches them closely, listening to the words coming from them intently.

"You need to learn how to control your obsession, Harry. Don't let it take over you."

"Why can't I remember?" Harry asks, knowing that Ron could not possibly answer such a question. He will probably think him a fool, someone with poor memory. Harry sighs, and opens his mouth to say something else, but Ron answers.

"Your father knew a great deal of magic, though he only dipped into the dark arts if he had to, which was very rare. Your father told the faeries that he wanted you protected, and the only way they could help would be to bind your mind, and to lock your memories." Ron takes a deep breath before continueing, "James agreed to this. He did not want you turning to destruction to win this war, and all knowledge of the war and magic was lost from your thoughts."

"When did my father allow this?" Harry asks after Ron's lips stop moving. Harry is confused and astonished, his green orbs wide.

"It is a gradual spell, which still is in the process today. It happened about four years ago, soon after you first started fighting. Your father was very overprotective, you remember." Ron says, and Harry nods.

"Yes, he was." Harry squeezes his eyes shut, digging deeply into his mind, but he still remembers nothing.

"When were you planning on telling me this?" Harry asks finally. His cheeks are flushed, and his mind is spinning. He walks towards the open balcony doors, staring out of them at the clear sky.

"I just told you, didn't I?" Sarcasm fills Ron's voice, and Harry rolls his eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"James was going to have your mind returned to you after the war. That's when you would have been told." Ron murmers. Harry's mind wanders as he watches the trees ruffle in the wind.

"He didn't die because of a disease, did he?" Harry's voice is quiet, just above a whisper. He half heartedly wishes that Ron did not hear his question, but Ron comes up beside him.

"No. He died because a dark spell was cast upon him, that even the faeries could not remove." Ron is still beside him, and Harry turns his head away from Ron, pressing his cheek into his shoulder.

"I want my memory back. I don't even remember my father's death anymore." Harry tells Ron, "What do I have to do? I can't force them back. I can't break through the lock. How do I get my memories to return?" Harry turns to Ron now, his voice pleading. Ron stares into his eyes, and Harry can almost see the gears turning within his friend's mind.

"The faeries will not remove the spell until the war is over. They made promise to James, and faeries never go back on their promises. Unicorns,"

Harry's face falls, and Ron chuckles, "Unicorns," he continues, "are not as powerful as faeries, they could not remove the spell."

Harry's heart sinks, and he leans back against the balcony door frame, letting his head fall to his chest. They stand in silence, and Harry almost believes that Ron will leave, but Ron continues to stand beside him, staring out the balcony doors.

"You're the closest brother I've ever had." Ron doesn't turn to look at Harry as he says this, "Brothers don't let brothers down. I won't let you down." Ron continues to stare out the doors.

"I became king at a young age, Harry. It was right before the war started that my father passed away, leaving my brothers the title of King, all of which refused. I, the youngest, felt the responsibilty was bestowed on me, because if I refused the crown, then Zarch would have no king. My brothers did not want to fulfill their duties as princes, they wanted to do what their heart pleased. We have no laws that the heir must take the crown, so it was easy for them to refuse it." Ron pauses, bringing his right hand to his gaze to stare at a gaudy ring on his middle finger. It has a large, turquoise opal that easily catches the light and reflects it beautifully. He fingers it for a moment before continuing.

"I was crowned king, and my brothers were gone. I knew next to nothing about ruling a country, my father never thought of teaching me. The counselors and leaders of the military tried their best to guide me in whatever direction they thought was right, but in the end I was confused and leading my people nowhere. That's when your father came to my kingdom. You and I both know that he was good friends with my father, or else you and I would not be friends, but your father came and helped me. His advice is still with me today.

"He told me to rule greatly by using my heart and mind together. He said kings may live above all the rest, but they are no better than their own people. The evil creatures of the world,"

"What are the evil creatures of the world?" Harry breaks into Ron's speech. Ron gives him a half smile

"Dragons. They are the evilest creatures, though they are one of the rarest to find. Your father searched for dragons his entire life, but never found them. They are invisible to the human eye, so it was quite difficult for him."

"Why did he want to find the dragons?" Harry tilts his head to the side, pushing his back off of the balcony doorframe. He steps outside onto the large balcony, walking to the railing, and Ron follows. He glances down at the open grassy field beneath him. A forest is further away, about half a mile, and a small mountain peeks from behind the line of trees.

"James was fascinated with the dragons. They are the oldest and most intelligent creatures in the world. He studied them constantly, don't you remember?" Ron asks, and Harry partly shrugs his shoulders.

"I know there are books on dragons in the library, but James rarely spoke to me about dragons. I remember him reading, a lot, but I never bothered to ask him what it was he read." A sad feeling washes over Harry. He silently wishes he could have asked his father more questions, instead of just wanting to fight.

"That's okay." Ron says reassuringly, "I almost thought that the faeries locked those memories too. I'm not sure exactly everything you remember."

Ron smiles at him, then turns and walks back into Harry's chambers.

"I must return to Zarch and inform Frock about the battle." Ron says, and Harry gives him a strange look.

"Why did you tell the paladin's not to send message to Frock?"

Ron shrugs, "It would have wasted time. Frock is a good hundred miles from here, and to ride on horseback for that distance would have taken too much time and could have been dangerous, especially if it were only one or two men delivering the message."

Harry nods, and Ron places his hand on the doorknob.

"Have you ever heard of an enchantress?" Ron's voice comes to him, his head turning slightly to look over his shoulder at Harry. Harry nods his head.

"Yes, but I do not know a great deal about them."

"An enchantress is the only magical creature that is more powerful than a faerie, unicorn, or dragon." Ron's eyes light up, "She could break the spell."

"The thing is," The light in Ron's eyes fade, "enchantresses haven't been around for ages. They are the most beautiful creatures in the entire world, and if they do live among us, they change their features so that no one will suspect them. They keep the world in balance, and they refuse to make friends with humans or any creature in contact with humans."

Harry's smile is wiped from his face, and he hunches his back in defeat. He thinks for a moment, then asks Ron, "How can we find one?"

"I don't know yet." Ron turns the knob on his door, and pushes it open, leaving the room. Harry stands alone, and he glances in the mirror above the armoir. He stands infront of it, looking at his features. He is frightened at first, but then he calms as his eyes roam his face. A deep, ugly cut trails from his chin and along his right jaw, stopping just before his ear. He presses the pads of his fingers against the purple and blue flesh beneath the angry cut, and he winces.

Small cuts are on his left cheek, but there is no other horrible marks. He looks into his green orbs, and he eyes his thick messy hair, which comes down to his ears. His skin is rough and tanned, and his lips are painfully chapped. He keeps himself from rolling his tongue over his lips in an attempt to moisten them, and he turns his gaze to the dresser, opening the drawers to take out fresh clothing.

He notices another wound on his left arm, but this one is bandaged. He wonders why he did not notice it before. He runs his fingers over the pure white bandage, sighing softly as he does.

He dresses quickly in light pants and a shirt beneath his red robes. He walks to the baloncy doors, and begins to close them.

"I will be a murderer no longer." He whispers. His words float on the air and dissolve, but they remain engraved in his heart.

He leaves his chambers to his study, preparing himself for an onslaught of new letters and announcements.

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Author's Note:

This was a very tough chapter to write. I know there is still no Hermione, but she will be making her appearance very soon, within the next couple chapters. Also, I know there is a lot of information here, all thrown at you at once, so bear with me. I love all the reviews I get, but I have one request: If you're going to flame me, please just not review at all. I'm looking for constructive criticism. Thanks.

Sorry this chapter took me so long to upload, I've been sick and my mind doesn't work well when I'm sick. Hope you enjoy this.

Chapter 5 -- Meetings

Harry presses his fingertips into his temples, and he hunches his shoulders forward over his desk to read a letter sent to him. His eyes quickly scan the words, barely registering them in his mind. He grumbles and casts the letter aside, picking up another letter to read. He leans to where a goblet of wine sits on the desk, and grips it, bringing it to his lips and taking a long sip.

He sets the goblet down, and his fingers linger on the gold cup. Rubies are embedded into the sides, and an intricate and beautiful picture is engraved into the sides of it. His eyes wander from the goblet to the opposite side of his desk, then to the windows. The day has just begun, and he curses his bad luck for having to sit in his study most of the day and wait for word from Frock or Ron when he can be outside worshipping the last days of summer.

"I have a headache." Harry mumbles, and sits back in his chair. He watches the doors of his study, wanting someone to barge in on his silence. The double doors click and slowly open, revealing a paladin.

"Sire," The paladin waits for Harry to nod his head, and the paladin comes forward when Harry does, "Sire," he repeats, "A woman was found near the woods where the unicorns reside, and when we reached her she fell unconscious. She's resting now in the infirmary."

Harry waits a moment before responding, "Anything else?"

"I was told to inform you of this, Sire." The paladin's voice is deep. Harry nods his head and then returns to his work, grabbing a quill. The paladin exits, and Harry is alone once more. He cannot concentrate on the task at hand, and drops the quill. He stands from his chair when another letter appears on his desk. Magic has been used to send letters back and forth for the past week since Ron told Harry about his mental state. Harry realizes he does not like this method any better, for letters appear every ten seconds on his desk awaiting his eyes.

"Damn." He curses and picks it up, noticing the teal strip on the side of the thick page.

Harry,

Come immediately to Frock's kingdom, Norlan. We have much to discuss. Come quickly.

Signed, Ron.

"Short and sweet." Harry's rough voice vibrates in his chest as he chuckles. He drops the letter and exits his study, walking through the bright halls. He strides to the infirmary, opening the white doors himself. A nurse at the counter glances up at him, then she stands, bowing to her king.

"My lord." She murmers, "What can I do for you." She stands erect.

"A woman was brought here, found near the unicorn's dwelling." Harry responds, and the nurse nods.

"Of course. This way, Sire." She steps from behind the counter and walks briskly down the glowing white halls of the infirmary. The strong stench of cleaning products burns his nostrils. The woman leads him to the farthest door in the infirmary, for many of the other rooms are full with wounded knights from the battle. She opens the door, and Harry enters.

"She still lays unconscious, my lord. We do not know what ails her." The nurse stands behind Harry, her voice loud, though it does not wake the woman who lays on the bed. Harry takes a step toward the woman, and he squints at her. He vaguely hears the quiet footsteps of the nurse walking down the hall.

Her hair, curly and long, halos around her face and across her pillow. It is a harsh contrast, for her hair is a dark brown and the pillow a pure white. He walks to her side, and his eyes trace the outlines of her face. Her jaw is soft and defined, while her nose is small. Her skin is fair, and a soft rosy tint colors her cheeks. Her chest rises and falls slowly in a steady rhythm, and her hands are tiny and relaxed at her sides.

He reaches to touch her small hand, and finds it warm. His fingers tingle and the sensation crawls up his arm. He keeps his hand on hers, and watches her face. Her eyes look as if she is about to wake, but she stays still and her eyes remain closed.

"Who are you?" He whispers, knowing well he will not receive an answer. The sensation creeps to his chest and soon engulfs him.

He takes his hand off hers, and leaves the room. He nods to the nurse at the counter, needing to leave the infirmary as soon as possible.

"My lord," The nurse begins, and Harry stops, turning to look at the woman. She is quite short, with her blonde hair pulled into a tight and neat bun at the base of her neck. Her eyes are a dark blue, and her complextion is pale. She has a frail looking body, and her uniform is loose fitting around her curveless form.

"Yes?" Harry asks.

"Sire, I will inform you as soon as she wakes."

"That will do. Thank you." Harry leaves as the nurse bows to him. He walks to the common hall where many counselors can be found, along with paladins and some knights. The common hall is where matters are discussed, and it is rarely quiet and empty. The doors are already opened when he reaches them, and he enters, finding two counselors heatedly debating some current issue either with the war or with the commoners.

The counselors do not notice Harry's presence, and their arguement continues. Paladins look up from their seats at the long table, and glance at one another. Harry watches in mild amusement as an older counselor's face turns a dark shade of red, while the other man's veins in his neck pulse.

"Men!" Harry raises his voice loud enough to let it boom throughout the small hall. The two who argue stare wide eyed at their king. The paladins stand from their seats and bow their head to Harry.

"We must gather fifty paladins and ready the horses to ride. Prepare horses for two advisors as well. Immediately. We must ride to Norlan. " Harry says, and the paladin's bow once more before leaving the hall. Harry looks at the counselors now, "I need Luke and Brenan to ride with me as my advisors when we arrive at Norlan. Fetch them and inform them of their duty."

"Yes my lord." The counselors bow and head to the back of the hall. They exit through a door to the counselors private chambers. Harry leaves the common hall, and continues walking until he is in the entrance hall. He exits the palace, and stands at the top of the palace stairs, looking down at the clean, open area where a battle took place not long ago.

Images flash in his mind, and he shakes his head to rid himself of them. His abdomen burns and he swallows hard, clenching his hands. His jaw tightens, and his eyes wander about the clean area. The palace gates are having the finishing repairs put on them, and elegant men and woman walk on the ground as if they did know that blood had drenched and been spilled where they walk. He ignores the anxiety building in his belly and walks down the steps to the right, listening to his boots click on the pavement.

He rounds the palace to the stables, and sees grand horses scattered outside with men brushing and saddling them. Paladins pass him from behind and walk to their horses, resting their hands on their noses and being gentle toward the powerful creatures. Harry walks into the stables, and finds it loud and crowded. Stable boys bustle past him in their hurried state, carrying water, loaves of bred, and sacks of oats.

Harry finds his horse being prepared by a trustworthy boy named Ames. Harry approaches the boy who brushes his horse's mane, and Harry gently places his hand on the horse's nose.

"Hello Ole." Harry murmers to his horse. Ole nuzzles his hand and seeks food.

"Has he been fed?" Harry asks Ames. Ames nods, and Harry turns back to his horse.

"Greedy beast." Harry laughs, "When will he be ready?"

"Soon, my lord, very soon. I've got to saddle him yet, but within the next twenty minutes." Ames's voice squeaks, and Harry lays his hand on the boy's head.

"You are becoming a man, my young friend." Harry smiles at the boy, "Thank you for preparing Ole." Harry turns and weaves through the mess of stable boys and paladins getting ready to ride to Norlan. Harry reenters the palace and goes into the armory, dressing in light armor. He ties a sash around his waist and grips his sword, passing it through the sash and making sure it is secure on his hip. He takes a dagger and hides it in his right boot.

He leisurely walks out of the palace and down the steps, seeing horses infront of the palace gates and the paladins standing beside their beasts. The two counselors, Luke and Brenan come down the steps of the palace and stand beside Harry.

Harry sees from the corner of his eye that Ames is walking with Ole out from the stables. Harry meets the boy and nods to him, mounting his horse. Harry gingerly pets his horse and the others take their cue to mount.

"We leave." Harry announces loudly over the commotion, and riding for full speed at the opening gates. He leans forward as the wind whistles past his ears and tangling his dark hair. His heart races as the horse speeds down the main street of the city outside of the gates, and the commoners hurridly get off the road.

They leave the city and ride south to Norlan. He slows Ole to a steady gait when they exit the city, and the counselors ride up beside him. Ten paladins ride ahead of Harry, and five each ride to his sides, while the rest ride behind him. They will arrive at Norlan just at nightfall if there are no disturbances along the way.

"My lord," Luke says, and Harry turns his head to acknowledge the man, "What is the reason for leaving in such a hurry?"

"King Ron sent an important message that we are to immediately travel to Norlan. We need to discuss our plan for action, and Norlan is a day and a half ride from Juxert. If we are to attack Juxert I think that we will station our men at Norlan." Luke nods.

They continue to ride in silence, and stop once at a lake to water the horses and let them rest. Harry feeds a handful of oats to Ole, and the horse licks his hand clean. He laughs and settles himself on his horse, motioning to his men to continue riding.

Soon they arrive at Norlan, a huge empire that is painted against the darkening sky. Tall, white walls guard the entire city and palace, with lights shining down them and guards posted at the top. The entry gate is taller than the walls, and it lowers immediately when Harry rides towards it. They ride into the city and are greeted by Frock and Ron. Frock's kingdom holds twice as many people as Harry's does, and the streets are filled with the commoners.

"My friend!" Frock comes beside Harry's horse as he dismounts, embracing him tightly. Stable boys come and take the horses, saying they will feed them well and brush them down.

"Glad you arrived so quick," Ron says as they begin walking to the palace, "The faeries and unicorns have vanished." Ron's voice is hushed, and Harry can scarcely hear him over the noise. They walk up the palace stairs, and through the doors, and Harry is greeted with Frock's entry hall. It is large, much larger than his, and the throne room lies just one door beyond the entry hall.

They enter the throne room and the long table is filled with counselors from Ron's kingdom and Frocks. Harry knows this because Ron's men are dressed in teal while Frock's are in yellow. Luke and Brenan stand a few paces behind Ron, Frock, and Harry. Frock moves to the head of the table and raises his arms.

"King Harry has arrived gentlemen." Frock holds his arm towards Harry, and counselors stand to bow. Harry nods to them, and they sit.

"Please take a seat, friends, we have much to discuss." Frock motions to the empty seats at his side, and the two kings take their seats. Luke and Brenan sit at the opposite end of the table.

"I was informed a few days ago that the Juxert army attacked Lorbia while King Ron was there. The battle lasted throughout the night and until the dawn of the next day. They pushed Juxert from Lorbia, and won yet another short battle, but men," Frock still stands as he speaks, "to be the real victors over this war, we must act soon." Frock puts a grisley hand on his forehead, "I have received notice that the faeries and unicorns have vanished, which means they cannot be found in their dwellings in the forests."

"The Juxerts captured them!"

"They are hiding!"

"We must find them immediately!"

"What has happened to them!"

The hall is loud with the shouts of counselors. They argue with one another, pointing accusing fingers at the other. Harry shakes his head and looks at Ron who sits across from him. Ron shrugs his shoulders.

"Enough!" Frock yells and the room quiets. Counselors who had stood now take their seat and direct their attention to Frock.

"We need to find out what happened to the magical creatures. If the Juxerts have indeed captured the beasts, then the war will be a brutal one to win. A captured faerie or unicorn are powerful and if used correctly, they can be used to turn the world as we know it inside out, literally. The Juxert have one purpose," The king is cut off once more.

"Complete control!"

"Kill the dragons!"

"Live forever!"

"Destroy everything!"

"Quiet!" Frock's face is red and his palms slam on the table. The counselors hush and stare at their king.

"The Juxert want to use the magic for the greater evil of the world. They want complete control." Frock looks tired and old. Harry looks at the old man for the first time since he arrived. Frock's wiry white hair is thinning, but his green eyes are bright with determination. He wears a white robe with a yellow sash around his waist. His hands look like leather, worn from many years of hand to hand combat. His body is well built from underneath the robe, and Harry notices his biceps bulging through the thick fabric of his robe.

"We noticed the magical creatures missing just yesterday, when I went to the forest just outside my castle where the faeries live, and could not seek their aid. The forest was dull and dark, very unlike how it would be if the faeries were inhabiting the trees." Frock fills his lungs, "The waterfall that begins in the sky did not flow."

There is a murmer throughout the throne room, and Harry eyes Ron.

"How do we know that the unicorns are also missing?" Harry asks, his voice strong.

"The waterfall that touches the sky is a symbol for all magical creatures. It is myth that when the water ceases its clensing flow, then the magic has disappeared." Frock sits in his elegant and rich throne chair now, his elbow on the table and his chin resting in his palm.

Harry ponders this information, and the dark haired woman comes to his mind.

"Does the water effect enchantresses and dragons as well?" Harry leans forward. The throne room has gone into quiet conversations as the counselors talk amonst themselves. Harry directs his question at Ron and Frock only.

Frock shrugs, "It is only myth. The water has not ceased its flow in thousands of years."

"There was a woman outside of the unicorn forest found unconscious. She is in the infirmary at Lorbia as we speak." Harry's voice is low.

Ron shakes his head, "There is no way to know if she is an enchantress."

"An enchantress is the most beautiful creature in this world." Frock says, and Harry turns his head towards him, "They all carry a mark. Did you look behind her ear?"

Harry gives him a quizzical look, shaking his head, "Behind the ear?"

"The right ear, to be precise. Yes."

Harry looks to Ron, but Ron gives Frock the same look.

"If it were as simple as that, then we would be able to find enchantresses much easier. It has been hundreds of years since,"

"I know, since an enchantress has been found." Frock eyes Ron, "Enchantresses are the most powerful creatures beside dragons, and it is said that they themselves control the waterfalls at the magical dwelling places of faeries and unicorns. They can shapeshift into any animal, magical creature, or human. They use magic to control minds of the weak, and persuade those of the strong. To even speak to an enchantress is said to bring luck to a human for the rest of their lives. Their voices, myth has it since we have not heard an enchantress speak in our lives, are like ringing bells and make us float on our feet."

"Frock," Ron lays his arm on the table, "get on with it already."

Frock coughs and Harry chuckles silently to himself, "Alright then. Well, myth has it,"

"What book did you read this from?" Ron cuts him off, and Frock's face burns red once more like it had earlier when the room was in an uproar.

"I read it from no book, Ronald, let me continue. Enchantresses have never been known to fall for a human, only once has an enchantress loved a human man. Her name was Calista, and she fell for the knight Alastair. Calista was the queen of a kingdom that I cannot recall the name, and was known to be an enchantress. She protected her kingdom with her magic. It is said that her most trusted and powerful knight won her heart. Calista married Alastair, and the two ruled together for many long years in their kingdom,"

"Sade." Ron mutters, and Frock's eyes light up.

"Yes! Her kingdom of Sade. Yes, that is it. Thank you my friend." Frock's hand lands on Ron's shoulder, and Ron winces from the unexpected weight.

"Anyway, enchantresses are not immortal, but they may live as long as they please. They do not age, and when they tire of their lives, they die. Alastair became ill, and Calista could not save him with her magic. He had grown old, and died in her arms. She was so heartbroken that she took her own life. They had one child: a girl. The girl we know nothing about; we only know that she was an enchantress as well because she ruled the kingdom as Calista's heir."

"What does this have to do with the mark behind the ear, Frock?" Ron asks exasperated, and Frock's thin lips curl upward.

"Calista had a mark behind her ear, as did her babe."

"Then why have we not been able to find enchantresses if they have this mark behind their ear? We could check every woman in our kingdoms!" Ron opens his arms wide and hits the man beside him. He grumbles an apology, and keeps his eyes trained on Frock's.

Frock shakes his head, "Enchantresses can change their physical apperances."

Ron lets his head fall forward to hit the table, leaving it there. Harry looks at Ron, not saying anything.

The doors open to the throne room, and Frock stands.

"What is it daughter?" He bellows to the young woman who enters the hall. She has long blonde hair that curls down her back. Her dress is light blue and curves around her body delicately. Her grey eyes are shining with surprise.

"Father, oh-" She stops short and stands stupidly in the doorway. Harry recognizes her and smiles when she meets his eyes. She returns his smile, and Harry glances across to Ron who's ears are turning a shade of red.

"What is it?" Frock repeats, and the woman stands straighter.

"Nothing. It is nothing. I am sorry to have disturbed you. I take my leave." She bows, and leaves the throne room. Harry grins and looks at Ron, who still stares at the door.

"Beautiful, that one." Ron murmers.

"What?" Frock asks as he sits, and Ron shrugs his shoulders.

"Nothing." Ron says quickly and beneath his breath.

"What else do you know about enchantresses?" Harry asks.

Ron grunts, "You actually want to listen to him? He'll go on all night with his mythological shit. I'm leaving,"

"Ron, stop being so narrow minded." Frock says to him.

"I'm not narrow minded." Ron grumbles, and Harry laughs.

"Harry," Frock says to get his attention, "Ron told me that you know of the spell on your mind."

Harry looks from Frock to Ron. The two look back at him.

"An enchantress would be the best way to return it, since this war may not be over for ..." Frock trails off.

"We might be in this war for many more years, Harry. A dragon would kill you if you asked it to return your mind. An enchantress would be much easier to pursuade." Ron finishes for Frock, and Frock nods.

"We still have to find one." Harry sighs.

Frock and Ron sit in silence, and the rest of the throne room hums with the gentle conversation of counselors debating on the next steps for the war and what to do with the issue of the missing magical creatures. Harry scratches his jaw, but nothing comes to mind.

"The alternative is to find the creatures and finish this war." Frock says to end the silence. He stands from his seat, and raises his arms, "Gentlemen, the night advances quickly and our eyes grow tired. We will retire for the night and continue our plan for action tomorrow morning. Goodnight."

Counselors from the three kingdoms stand and leave the hall. Guards at the doors show them to their rooms. Ron, Harry, and Frock stand alone in the throne room.

"Guards will show you to your rooms, my friends. Sleep well. I must find my daughter." Frock bows and leaves the throne room. Two men come up to Harry and Ron, dressed in heavy armor.

"This way, my lords." The two guards lead Ron and Harry from the throne room, and down long winding halls. The floors change from being linoleum to being carpeted, and the echo stops. Harry's ears ring, and his eyes begin to drop closed.

"This is where you will stay, King Ron." A guard stops Ron and shows him a dark wooded door. Ron thanks the guard, and turns to Harry.

"Goodnight, my friend."

Harry nods to Ron and lets the guard lead him to his room. The guard stops a few paces down the hall and shows Harry the door to his room. Harry nods to the guard, and the guard leaves him. He opens his door and steps inside. The room instantly lights up, and he stares up at the ceiling, seeing no lights.

"Magic." He murmers, astonished. He looks about the large, elegant room, admiring it. A beautiful, elaborate painting hangs above the king sized bed, and chairs line the north wall. A dresser is to his right, beside the door, and he notices a door across from him.

"Bathroom." He says when he opens the door and looks inside. When he's satisfied looking around the room, he strips and pulls the covers back on the bed. He slips beneath them, and quickly falls into oblivion.

----

Chapter 6 --

Harry sits in the throne room with Ron across from him and Frock at the head of the table to his left. Harry admires the immense room, since he did not the night before. His eyes scale the tall, scupltured walls that are a light shade of beige. The floor is raised at the north end of the room, and the walls are entirely made of glass in this area only. Two tapestries with a silhouette of a bird sewn into them hang from the ceiling, and a chair rests between them. The chair itself looks as if it should never be sat in, for it is not made of wood, but gold. Rubies and emeralds are embedded in the contour, and on the seat is a blanket of yellow velvet.

Harry marvels at the intense beauty, and turns his eyes away, trailing across the floor to the east wall which he faces. Ron's head blocks part of his view, but he notices pillars rising to the ceiling, starting from the north wall and ending at the south, all of them about seven feet apart. Gold rimmed windows can be seen between the pillars. Torches stand infront of the windows, but are unlit, for sunlight pours into the room from above him. Harry turns his head upward, and sees the the sky instead of the beige ceiling.

"Men, we have gathered to finish our discussion on the missing magical creatures and the Juxert empire." Frock begins, and Harry stops gawking at the ceiling. Frock stands at the head of his table, and he shifts his gaze from counselor to counselor, eventually meeting Harry's and Ron's eyes.

"Sire," A voice speaks up, and Frock motions to the man. The older man stands, and asks his question, "How is it that the waterfall can stop flowing? What causes such a phenomenon?"

Frock shakes his head, "I do not know," The man sits, and Ron stands to speak before Frock can continue.

"The waterfall is nothing but a symbol. It has no significant meaning for the magic in the world." Ron speaks to the counselors, and they slowly begin to nod their heads in agreement, "It is a symbol of magic, but not magic itself. The ceasing of its flow means that the magical creatures are unable to use their magic, or that they have been completely destroyed-"

"No, they have not been destroyed." Frock cuts him off, and Ron sits, staring hard at the elderly king, "If that has happened, then Harry's mind is returned."

Harry looks up, and tries to remember anything that he may have forgotten. He concentrates hard, and eyes from around the table pierce him. He shakes his head, unable to bring back any memories.

"The creatures are not destroyed. What other conclusions can we draw from this counselors?" Frock asks the opinions of the men.

They sit in silence.

"Has no one any ideas?" Frock sits in his chair, sighing to himself. Harry leans back, as does Ron, and the throne room remains silent.

"Father?" A feminine voice echoes throughout the room. Chairs shift and heads turn to find the person who spoke. The throne room doors are open, and a woman walks towards the head of the table.

"What is it, daugther?" Frock closes his eyes, pressing his face deeply into the palm of his hand.

"I have an idea, my lord." She stands at Frock's side.

"Sara, please," Frock begins, but she places a hand on his shoulder to silence him.

"Men, I know this is not my place, but I have been reading and studying the magical creatures for the greater part of my life." She pauses, waiting for any objections, and when she hears none, she continues, "The magical creatures are horrified of their magic being used as destruction. They are calm and happy creatures, living only to bring serenity to the humans of the world. When that balance is disrupted, they go into hiding, and then the waterfall ceases its flow."

"Why is it stopping now, Princess? Why did it not stop years ago when the war started?" Ron speaks up. Sara meet's Ron's eyes, and Harry sees a glimpse of something within her grey orbs.

"James was the only man with enough power to keep the Juxert from using the magic for destruction. With James gone," she trails off, and her voice suddenly fails her. Ron's eyes soften, and Harry frowns.

"My father could control magic to that extent? His death marked a beginning for fear?" Harry shakes his head in disbelief, "I forgot this too?"

"James was indeed a very powerful man. Without James this war would have been over long ago, and we would not be victorious." Ron looks at Harry, "He knew how horrible the people in this world can be, Harry, he was worried sick that something would happen to you. Keeping your memories from you until you were old enough to comprehend and make good judgement-"

"He had no right!" Harry stands from his seat, roughly pushing the plush chair back until he hears it hit the floor. He slams his fists on the table repeatedly, "He had no right to take my mind. How am I supposed to help fight and win this war since he is dead? I know nothing!" Harry's eyes are blazing as the entire hall is in a quiet murmur.

"He knew what he was doing," Ron begins, but Harry angrily leans across the table and shoves him. Ron's mouth falls open in shock, and his arms fly into the air as an act of surrender.

"He knew nothing, and now I know nothing." Harry's voice is loud, and he presses his palms to his temples and compreses his head. Anxiety pools in his abdomen, and he sucks in a breath.

"Harry," Sara places her hands on his shoulders to calm him, but he roughly jerks away from her.

"Because of him the magical creatures are leaving. They're going into hiding because he can no longer protect them. He cursed me as well, and now I cannot protect my kingdom--my friends! He took my knowledge from me. You tell me what I'm supposed to do. You tell me how to make it right." Harry stares into Sara's eyes, moving to Frock's, Ron's, then down the table of counselors. Some shy away from him, and others simply shrug. No one gives him an answer.

"Obviously I am no help to this meeting." Harry storms from the throne room, "Assemble my paladins and two counselors, we are leaving." He commands Frock's guards that stand outside of the throne room doors, and they shuffle down the hall. Ron and Frock run to catch up with Harry, who is rushing to the entry hall and outside the palace doors.

"Stop! Harry, come to your senses." Frock grabs his shoulder, and Harry shrugs him off.

"Back off. I'm going back to Lorbia." Harry turns and faces Ron and Frock, "Look, you two both know a great deal more than I do. Even Sara knows more than me, so you three discuss and determine our plan. When you decide, send me a letter and I'll do whatever you want. Right now I can't be here." Harry can feel the anxiety start to dissolve in his stomach, and the anger slowly ebbs away.

"Harry," Ron starts, but shuts his mouth before he says anything more. Harry's eyes turn away from him. He walks down the palace steps to be greeted with Ole, which he mounts.

"Farewell." Harry calls over his shoulder. Paladins come from the palace and begin mounting their horses that are brought to them by the stable boys. The saddles are slightly crooked from the stable boys putting them on in such a hurry, but the paladin's shift them into place. Luke and Brenen ride beside Harry, and Harry nudges Ole with the heels of his feet.

"Be safe." Frock yells over the noise of whinning horses. Harry races down the streets of Norlan, and his paladins and two counselors follow behind him. Commoners move out of the streets and the gate falls open. They rush from the city and onto the country road north to Lorbia.

Harry presses the heels of his boots into Ole's sides to slow him to a steady gait. The paladin's assemble around Harry and his two counselors come beside him. The ride is quiet, and Harry hopes that no trouble will come along the way. Harry strokes Ole's mane as they ride, murmuring softly to his horse. They stop at the same small lake to water and let the horses rest.

No words are exchanged between Harry and the paladins or counselors. They mount their horses and continue. They reach Lorbia in the late afternoon, and the chill of late summer air weaves through Harry's dark hair and causes a shiver to sneak down his back, reguardless of the plate armor he wears, though he only wears a long-sleeved, linen shirt beneath.

They ride through the uncrowded streets of Lorbia to the palace gates. The gates open, and Harry rides ahead of the paladins to the stables beside the palace. He unmounts his horse, and Ames come from within the stables, standing stupidly as Harry approaches him.

"Sire?" his voice is questioning. Harry can see that the young boy did not realize they would be arriving so soon back to Lorbia.

Harry does not answer the boy's eyes. He hands Ole's reins to Ames, and leaves the stables, keeping close to the wall to avoid the rush of horses entering. He walks up the palace steps and the doors open for him. He nods to the guards, and they bow in return.

He makes his way to his study, but a formally dressed guard steps infront of him.

"Sire, the woman-" he is stopped short.

"She has awoken?" Harry finishes anxiously.

"Yes."

"Thank you." Harry turns sharply on his heel and walks the opposite direction toward the infirmary. He enters, and same nurse stands from behind the counter.

"Sire, you are back from Lorbia?" She has a question in her eyes.

"The woman, she has awoken?" Harry begins walking down the hall. The nurse follows close behind him.

"Yes, sire. We sent word to Norlan, did you receive it?"

"No." Harry stops outside of the door where the nurse had lead him to the day before, "Leave me." Harry places his hand on the door knob, and slowly opens it. The nurse quickly walks back to the counter at the front of the infirmary. Harry steps inside of the room, and hears a soft gasp.

"Who are-" The voice begins, and stops when Harry turns and meets the woman's eyes.

"I am King Harry of Lorbia." Harry responds to her unfinished question. He stands at the door, and does not advance on the woman, for she has fear and questions in her eyes. He stares into them, her dark and mysterious pools of hazel.

"May I ask your name?" Harry asks in a soft voice. The woman does not answer; she simply watches him. Harry continues, "What were you doing outside of the faeries' dwelling?" Still he receives no answer.

He takes a step toward the woman, but stops when she flinches. He studies her, tilting his head to the side. The sheet that had covered her when she was unconscious is now folded and placed upon a chair beside the bed. She wears a sleeveless, bronze tunic, something that mainly archers wear, and light brown trousers. A belt lays across the back of the chair. Harry notices a long-bow and a quiver of arrows resting beside her bed.

"I won't hurt you." He says, and tentatively takes another step to her. She sucks in a deep breath and closes her dark eyes for only a moment. They reopen, and she looks at him from under dark lashes. He slowly makes his way to the side of her bed, keeping his eyes on hers the entire time.

"I won't hurt you," he repeats, "you can trust me. Please, tell me your name." Harry asks, hoping she will answer him this time.

"How did I get here?" She completely dismisses him. She doesn't look around the room. She focuses on his emerald orbs, and he feels enchanted. A feeling circles, starting in his belly and flaring throughout the rest of the body, and it makes him feel light headed. He doesn't break away from her, for something in his being won't allow him to.

"You were found outside of the faeries' dwelling, and fell unconscious when my men approached you. You were brought here to Lorbia. You have been here for two days now." Harry answers, trying to read her emotions, but she is well guarded.

"My kingdom has fallen under the Juxert." She says, and Harry's ears perk, "I fled from the destruction. I must have fell unconscious from the trauma and distress. I do not remember taking any serious wounds."

"Why did the Juxert attack your kingdom?" Harry asks, squatting down beside the bed to become more level with the woman. She turns her head and stares at her hands, bringing them to her lap.

"I refused to aid them in their conquest. They asked if I would ally with them, and help find the source of all power, and I refused. They attacked in the middle of the night, and my knights were not prepared. We fought hard and lost. The result is my fallen kingdom." She sighs, and her eyes flicker with pain and sorrow.

"I want to search for survivors. Take me to my kingdom." Her beautiful face is full of sadness, and she reaches for him then. She leans over the bed to places her hands on his cheeks. Shock overcomes him, and he cannot answer her straight away. The warmth she generates throughout his body with a simple touch frightens him, but he cannot withdraw himself from her touch. The feeling that is circulating throughout his being is more intensified, and his heart pulses rapidly.

"We will leave at dawn." Harry breathes when his throat relaxes. She silently thanks him with a nod, and she removes her hands from him. The feeling fleets his body, and he has a sudden longing to have her touching him once more.

"I will tell the nurse to prepare a more suiting room for you. You will be fetched in the morning and we will ride to your kingdom." Harry tells her when he regains his composure, "Where is the location so I have the information for my paladins and knights."

"It is a kingdom in the north, not far from here. I wish not to give the name." She pauses, "I will lead the party."

Harry nods, "Alright. In the morning then." Harry walks to the door, and before leaving, he turns and bows to the woman. She tilts her head towards him. He leaves the door to her room open, and walks down the clean halls of the infirmary, unconsciously holding his breath to avoid the strong smell of bleach.

"Have her taken to a better room, one in the guest quarters. Assign her a servant-maid, and make sure everything she needs is taken care of. Inform a guard to stay stationed outside her door, and to make sure she is wakened before dawn." Harry instructs, and the nurse nods her understanding.

"Yes, my lord, it will be done."

Harry leaves the infirmary, and his mind swims with this new information the mystery woman presents to him. He turns to the common room, seeing Brenan and Luke discussing the events at Norlan with a stable of counselors. Two paladins stand at the door, and Harry stops between them.

"Men, we will assemble a party of one-hundred paladins. We ride north at dawn." Harry tells the paladin's, and then walks to the front of the long table. Conversation stops, and counselors look to him, "Counselors, I will take a party of paladin's at dawn to a kingdom in the north. What known kingdoms lie in that direction?"

The counselors ponder the question, and some give him names of kingdom's that are well known, but Harry does not believe her kingdom to be any of them.

"The woman has awakened, and her kingdom was taken by the Juxert. She wants to find survivors, but I know nothing of her fallen kingdom or of her. Find out anything you can." Harry watches the counselors nod their heads and begin talking amonst eachother. Harry turns to his paladin's, and they leave. He exits the common hall, and makes his way to his study.

He opens the heavy door, and immediately is greeted with a desk full of letters. He strides to the front of his desk, and looks down at the pile. He sees on the top of the pile a letter from Norlan.

"Not tonight." He murmers, and waves his hand. They disappear, and he walks into his bed chamber.

-------

Author's note:

Sorry this took me so long to upload. I've been super busy since the end of my senior year is approaching. My brother has also been hogging my computer. Ah! =) Tell me what you think of the chapter. Thanks so much for your support. I love all the fantastic reviews I get.

I've decided to stop naming my chapters. It would take me just as long to name a chapter as it does to write a chapter. Hope no one is bothered by this. Here's the next chapter.

Chapter 7 --

Harry hovers over his desk, letting a yawn escape through his chapped lips. He waves his hand, and the papers fall in a messy pile in the center of the desk. He picks up the letter from Norlan, unfolding the impressive paper and scanning the elegant words.

He grunts in disgust, and throws the letter down. Frusteration builds and tenses in his muscles, and he clenches his jaw to ease the dull ache growing in his belly. In a sudden outburst he pushes everything off his desk, and hears the crash of the letters, pens, bottles, and other materials hit the marble floor. He leaves the pile, and exits his study, striding down the hall.

Harry goes to the common hall, finding paladin's and counselors talking amonst themselves. The sun has yet to rise, but the palace is still humming with activity. Harry stands at the head of the table, leaning his palms on it. He braces himself, and lets his head fall forward.

"Norlan has sent word that they will attack Juxert within the next two days." Harry breathes, and his words sound muffled. There is silence in the hall, and Harry can feel their eyes piercing the back of his neck.

"My lord," a husky voice reaches his ears, and Harry brings a hand to silence the man.

"We are to be in Norlan before dusk tomorrow." A prickling sensation tickles his entire body, and he turns his head to the side, staring at the far wall.

"We will still ride at dawn to the north, my Lord?" The same man speaks, and Harry looks up at him. The man is short counselor. His crimson robe drags on the floor, his fingers are stubby and fat, and his face is bloated. His eyes are black, sunken deepy into his skull, and his skin is very tan. There is no hair upon his head.

"Yes. Paladins, prepare yourselves. Tell Ames to ready my horse and a horse for the woman." Harry pushes himself off the table and leaves the common hall.

"I will wake her." He calls over his shoulder into the common hall.

"Take me to her room." He stops to ask the guard from outside the common hall. The guard bows his head and walks ahead of Harry. They walk down a hall specifically just for guests of the palace. The rooms are lavish and huge, full of anything one may need. The guard stops at the second door to the left, and he bows again to Harry before leaving.

Harry looks down the long hallway, and silently counts the doors before he knocks on her door. He loses count at fourty. He taps his knuckles against the smooth wood and waits. He hears nothing from inside the room, and taps gently on the wood once more.

He waits a minute, and the door opens, but all he can see is darkness. He clears his throat, and her face appears.

"I am ready." She exits the room and shuts the door behind her. Harry glances at her attire, and nods his approval. She wears the same tunic and trousers, and now the belt is looped tightly around her waist. The bow is bound to her back with the quiver of arrows. She wears dark gloves, and high boots. She walks beside him as they approach the entry hall, and leave the palace.

The stench of horses and morning dew is strong as they walk down the palace steps beside one another. The sun is barely visible in the horizon, but the palace lights make the grounds visible. Horses are scattered, and paladins and stableboys ready them. Harry walks to the stables, and Ole is being brushed by Ames.

"My lord, your horse is ready." Ames hands the reins to Harry. Harry nods toward the woman, and Ames smiles.

"My lady, your horse." Ames walks into the darkness in the back of the stables, and comes with a magnificant horse almost the size of Ole.

"His name is Adam. He is fantastic, my lady, I am sure you will enjoy him." Ames gives the rein's of Adam to the woman and bows deeply. The woman nods to him, and Harry can see a blush form on Ames's cheeks.

"Come." Harry leads the way out of the stables, "The lady," Harry stops, and looks at the woman, not sure at what to say since he does not know her name.

"I will lead this party. Mount your horses, we leave." She tells the group of paladains, and mounts Adam. Disappointed, Harry mounts his horse as well.

"Will you ever tell me your name?" He asks, and the woman's eyes meet his for one moment until she kick's Adam so that the horse jerks forward. Harry follows her through the gates with fifty paladin's behind, racing to keep up with her. He leans forward, lifting his rear in the air to urge Ole faster. He comes up behind the woman.

The paladin's have no trouble keeping up with the woman and Harry. The sun peeks above the mountain in the far horizon, and beams of sunlight blind him. He brings a hand to block the rays of sun.

A haze appears in the horizon, and he squints his eyes. What looks like a fallen castle sways and becomes larger as they approach. The sun has revealed itself completely, and has risen in the sky by the time they reach the ruins.

The woman rides through the broken gates of the castle, and Harry notices that if there was a city, it is completely destroyed. He sits back on Ole, his mouth falling open as he stops his horse. The paladin's ride past him, and the woman stops a hundred feet ahead of him.

"What," Harry begins, but cannot finish. A black smoke rises from behind the ruined castle, and bits of the towers still fall. The earth rumbles beneath the horse's feet, and Harry feels the vibration. The walls the guard the kingdom are completely demolished. Bloody bodies lie beneath and ontop of the destruction, but Harry avoids looking directly at them to keep the anxiety in his belly from overcoming him.

The stone beneath is dark with debris. Harry looks to the woman, and sees his paladin's searching through the distaster to find surviors. Harry finds Adam, but the woman has unmounted and is not in sight.

"Where is she?" Harry jumps off his horse, running up the cracked and broken steps of the castle. The doors have been taken off his hinges and simply hangs there. Smoke fills his lungs, and he coughs madly when he enters the castle. He cannot see anything for the smoke is thick.

"Hello!?" Harry yells inbetween fits of coughing. His eyes water, and he walks aimlessly. He feels a hand on his forearm..

"There's no one here. There are no survivors." The breath is on his ear, and it makes him shiver. He turns, and barely sees the woman's face. Her eyes are also watering, and her cheeks are red. He grabs her hand, and she pulls him from the castle. He coughs and falls on ground outside, breathing and wheezing heavily.

"My kingdom has indeed fallen." She is behind him, and Harry sees her boots as she passes him. He looks up at her, wiping his eyes and nose as he does so.

"What kingdom is this?" Harry asks, and sits on his knees. From the corner of his eyes he sees his paladin's continuing their search for survivors.

"Greenwich." She says softly, and Harry simply stares at her.

"I've never heard of it." He attemps to stand, and the woman turns, "Who are you?" He tries to focus through his watering gaze.

"We must leave here. Quickly. I can no longer stay." She says to him, taking a step forward. She reaches out her hand, but he simply looks at it. He refuses her hand, standing on his own. He stumbles a bit, and wipes the remaining tears from his eyes.

"Do you like ignoring my questions?" He asks her, bending slightly at the waist, and she smiles.

"There's no rush." She looks up at him through her lashes, and a strange feeling overcomes him. The smoke clears from his throat, and his eyes no longer burn.

"Please just tell me your name." Harry's voice hints at pleading, and she walks past him to Adam. She mounts the horse, looking at the ruins of her kingdom before she speaks.

"Paladin's of Lorbia." Her voice rings throughout the disaster area. Paladin's look to her, stopping their search, "Mount your horses, we return to your kingdom."

She rides past Harry, and he takes a step back to refrain from being run over. Paladin's follow after her, and Harry mounts Ole, riding from the fallen kingdom of Greenwich. He turns his head to look over his shoulder, his eyes following the rising smoke. He hears a horse whine and he jerks his head forward to see the woman readying an arrow and her bow.

His eyes dart from the woman to a small group of oncoming knights. He notices their attire: a lion printed on their chest armor and purple sashes around their waist. He knows them to be Juxert. Their swords are drawn, and their familiar battle cry echoes throughout the area. Harry unshealths his sword, holding it straight in the air.

"Ready men!" Harry rides ahead to the woman who holds an arrow ready, "Steady." He murmurs to her as they approach the Juxert group. Harry sees there is no general leading the knights, and is surprised.

"Now!" Her voice is loud and powerful, and a surge of electricity urges his forward. Harry mentally counts twenty knights, and he silently smirks.

"You lose." The woman slows her horse, but Harry kicks Ole with his heels. The groups collide, and a Juxert knight falls with an arrow in his chest. Harry evades a knight who swings at him, and he in turn thrusts his sword through the man's armor. A man Harry holds his sword to falls with an arrow through his eye.

Harry pushes forward through the dying Juxert, and the enemy begin to retreat. Harry holds his arm out when a paladin tries to pursue the ones who flee, but they fall with a bloody scream with arrows in their back.

Angry, Harry turns and looks for the woman. She sits high on Adam, and she holds another arrow in her bow down towards the ground. Harry digs his heels into Ole, coming up beside the woman.

"Why did you shoot them?" His eyes are bright. The woman takes the arrow from her bow and places it in the quiver on her back. She then ties the bow securely before she looks at him.

She doesn't say anything; she only watches him with her mysterious eyes. Harry shakes his head, and rides to the head of his group.

"Is anyone injured?" He calls out.

"One is injured, my lord." A paladin rides from behind the rest, a wounded man across the front of his horse.

"How badly?" Harry asks, examaning the wounded man.

"To the chest, my lord."

"We must hurry then. Come." Harry gently urges on Ole, and they continue the ride to Lorbia. The woman rides up beside him, and Harry glances at her. He says nothing, and she stays silent. They ride through the city gates, then the palace gates of Lorbia. The sun has already begun its gradual set, and the cool breeze of oncoming autumn is in the air. Harry breathes deeply, already beginning to smell the scent of the season.

He unmounts his horse at the stables, and sees the wounded paladin being held by two others around the shoulders. They hoist the unconscious paladin up the steps of the palace, and Harry follows farther behind. He feels the prescence of the woman beside him again, but he does not look at her. He walks to the armory, stripping himself of the armor he put on early that morning.

He looks around the long room, and finds himself alone. He breathes a sigh of relief, and stretches his back, reaching his fists backward.

"Ah." He stretches his sides, then arms and neck before leaving the armory. He sees the woman standing outside the door. Startled, he takes a step back.

"I will get a guard to escort you to your room, or to the banquet hall for supper." Harry tells the woman, but she shakes her head, "What is it you want? I will call your servant-maid-"

"Take me to your room." She breathes, and Harry's mouth stops working. His jaw opens and closes several times before he responds.

"What?"

"I wish to speak to you in private." Her voice is low, and she moves close to him as she speaks. Her fingers brush his hand, and warmth escalades throughout his being. He nods and swallows hard, turning and walking down the hall to his study. The woman walks beside him, and occasionally her hand bumps his.

"In here." He says and opens the doors to his study, "This is my study. We can talk in private here." He tells her, and looks at his desk. A mountain of letters sits in the center, and the mess still is scattered across the floor. Without thinking, he waves his hand so that the mess disappears, then reappears on his desk so everything is in order.

She stares at him in disbelief, and her eyes study him. He feels nervous as her eyes trail across his body.

"Magic." He says to stop the silence.

"How can you do magic?" She looks up at him through her lashes. Harry stares into her hazel orbs, and for a moment is lost in them.

"My father," Harry pauses, closing his eyes, "my father was a sorcerer. He taught me"

"Oh." Her voice is small, and Harry reopens his eyes, "I didn't realize humans could do magic anymore." She runs her fingertips over the top of the desk.

"What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?" Harry asks, swallowing the lump in his throat. He silently curses himself for his weakness around this woman.

"My kingdom is fallen. I am a queen without people." She takes her hand from the desk, "I would like to ask if I can stay as your guest, or servant if you will." She bows her head to him, but he takes her hand. Harry inwardly grins at the surprized look on her face.

"You will be no servant here." Her fingers tighten around his, and the warm sensation circles throughout his body starting at their joined hands, "Stay as my guest for as long as you like, only if you do one thing for me." He stares hard into her eyes. She seems to ponder this for a long time, but finally she nods her head.

"Tell me your name."

The woman takes her hand from his, and the warmth turns to cold. He lets his hand fall to his side, but he does not let up on his stare.

Finally she answers, "Hermia."

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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,

My good friend, I am sorry how our meeting went. I wish it would have went more smoothly. You have already received notice that we attack Juxert in less than two days. Plans have changed, my friend. Ron has been notified by the elf king Adelfried that the faeries and unicorns are indeed in hiding, just as Princess Sara mentioned.

Adelfried still is a neutral in this war, my friend, we have not yet persuaded him to join our side. I proposed a meeting with the old king, and he accepted. I travel to Elfiana with King Ron and ask you to join us. We leave tomorrow at dusk to avoid distractions. Send word of your decision soon, my friend.

Until then,

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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