An Afternoon Lesson, Part Four
Title: An Afternoon Lesson (Part Four)
Rating: somewhere between PG and PG-13
Genre: Is "evil" a genre? No? Alas. Drama, flavors of action/adventure.
Word Count: 3200
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Leaving Godric to his own devices is a bad idea--it's even worse when Morass is there to take advantage of the situation.
In this part: One week later, Morass comes bearing an apology. The response is...not exactly what he expected.
* * * * *
Thrown slightly off-balance by his inversion charm, Godric steadied himself before trying to shift his perspective. He concentrated on seeing the ceiling as the floor, the furniture as hanging fixtures. Slowly, he felt the blood rush down-up?-from where it had gathered in his head, and his braid swung to lay against his back. Closing his eyes, he was pleased to find that his hair stayed in place without the visual cues to orient him, and that the sensation of hanging by his feet remained absent-
"Godric?"
The rusty hinges on the door squealed as it opened, shattering both the silence and his concentration, and Godric gasped as the world turned. He plummeted to the ground, landing almost directly atop the entering figure and sending both of them sprawling onto the ground, a surprised oof! escaping his inadvertent cushion.
"Oh!" He hastily rolled off the wizard, recognising him after the world righted itself. "I'm very sorry, I didn't-Morass?"
Morass brushed himself off and struggled to his feet with a small grimace, gingerly holding a hand against his hip. "I must speak with you."
"Oh?" Godric pulled himself into sitting position, contemplating his visitor. "I thought you were expressly forbidden to enter the grounds except for Salazar's lessons. And I didn't hear any bells to indicate your arrival."
"I silenced Rowena's wards this time," Morass said dismissively. "Along with the two other silent alarms she added after last week."
Godric noted that he'd waited until Salazar, the only person who would be able to detect his presence with the wards disabled, was gone to come calling. He mentally reviewed ways to alert Salazar, if need be. He could probably trip one of the alarms himself, if he tapped into the wards, but it would take some time to locate the right one. As a last resort, he could use a dark spell and rely on the ribbon to let Salazar know that there was trouble, though the thought made him shiver. He'd be helpless until Salazar got back from wherever the Council of Nullifiers had sent him. And it was still a week until the new moon....
His gaze fell upon his sword, lying upon the floor in the opposite corner where he'd left it during his practise with the reversal charm. Aethrin always cautioned him to keep his pathways of retreat open, advice that he would have to thoroughly disregard if he wanted to get to his weapon. His casual search for his wand came up empty. Wandless was more destructive anyway, he thought, cheered.
Besides, he didn't know that Morass had come here to do anything more than talk. He just had to avoid making any more ill-advised Oaths.
"What did you want to speak to me about?" he asked, letting himself relax.
Morass locked his fingers together, seemingly determined to appear as non-threatening as possible. A hopeless cause, Godric could have told him, but he found the effort strangely reassuring nevertheless. "I have come to...apologise."
Raising his eyebrows, Godric remained silent, determined not to make the process any easier for him. He could tell that Morass was already unbalanced by his refusal to stand and close the vertical distance between them.
"I did not know that the Oath would react so swiftly-nor so fatally," Morass began, watching him carefully for any reaction. Godric crossed his arms, curious as to how he'd respond to that. Morass' interlaced fingers tightened slightly. "If I had, I would not have asked it of you. I apologise for doing so."
Morass never lied, his uncle had confided to him once, though he liked to stretch the truth until it screamed. Godric didn't think it much of an apology, however, for Morass to say that he regretted nearly killing him but hurting him otherwise left his conscience perfectly unburdened. And he had to wonder if the regret was not so much because of the pain Godric had gone through as how Salazar was reacting to it still.
That put him in a unique position of power, he realised after a moment. "He's still not talking to you, is he."
Morass frowned, as though the conversation was not going where he had expected it to. "He will speak when I ask a question, but only to reply, as tersely as possible. He initiates nothing, asks no questions, engages in no discussion, offers no suggestions for improvement or alternate uses of a spell." He sounded both worried and irritated.
"Well, you can hardly blame him," Godric said without sympathy, leaning his back against the wall. "You taught him that lesson. If he displeases you, I get hurt. How is he to know that something he says won't anger you?"
"I have never discouraged academic curiosity," Morass said, clenching his fingers one last time before unlocking them and letting them fall to his sides. "And he knows that perfectly well."
Godric stared up at Morass for a while, nearly certain now that he was in no danger. "He says that he's never trusted you, but I don't think that's true. I think he did. Trusted you, at least, not to unleash your wrath on anyone else if you were angry with him. Now that you've proven that trust misplaced, why should he trust anything else about you?"
"No. This isn't a matter of trust. This is his form of punishment, and he has shown no indication that he will be changing his behaviour." Morass met his stare with an intensity that sent him back to the last time they'd been alone. He took a breath to remind himself that he could. "I suspect he will not do so until I have convinced him that I can be...trusted with you."
"You've picked an odd way of showing that," Godric pointed out, "arriving in secret, seeking me out when I'm alone."
"This is something that must be done without him. Otherwise, he will think I have only sought your forgiveness to cool his anger."
"Well, it's the truth," he said with a cynicism he had not possessed a week ago.
A frown hovered on Morass' lips, and Godric realised that this was one of the longest times he'd seen him go without smiling one of those sly, amused smiles of his. "No, it's not."
Godric narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe that. You've made it very clear that it's all about Salazar."
Morass' frown disappeared, along with all expression, and a restrained stillness settled upon him that made Godric abruptly wish for the cold surety of gripping steel in his hand. Crouching down in front of him, Morass let his voice become soft, musing. "The new moon is days away. I still have your consent. Without that critical component, my choices would be regrettably limited, but with it...."
His wand came out, and he pressed it gently against Godric's throat, dragging the tip down slowly until it rested on his chest, above his heart, where the memory of strangling chains haunted him still. "With it, there are over a dozen dark spells I could use to force your trust and forgiveness, and half a dozen other spells to ensure that you would never even realise that I had done something to you. Spells that leave nothing for a nullifier to detect: permanent, untraceable."
Godric watched him unflinchingly, growing impatient with whatever game Morass was playing. The wand left his chest, returning to the folds of Morass' robes, and a smile appeared on his face at last. "Does nothing frighten you?"
"You have more to lose than me if you make a mistake," he remarked, relaxing subtly.
"Brave little Gryffindor," Morass said, using Salazar's favourite epithet again.
Godric shook his head. "You're not allowed to call me that."
"Hm," came the reply, and Godric was surprised to detect something like regret in his voice. "He has been unable to anchor, you know."
His own first and likely final encounter with casting a dark spell without any real anchor had not exactly left him with a clear idea of the consequences of a failed anchor. The Curse's interference rendered him unable to accurately distinguish between which sensations had been caused by the sacrifice drawing at will and which were due to the Curse. But he could still remember what he'd felt before the releasing the spell, of something old and hungry sinking into him with a grip that felt like it would never let go. The thought of Salazar failing and experiencing that over and over filled him with distress.
"But why?" he demanded. "What's wrong? Why can't you fix-"
"It's not that simple; you are his anchor, and you nearly died. That is a damage that will not heal for some time, but it should ease if he feels that you are no longer in danger from me."
Though Godric was not surprised to learn that Salazar had chosen him as an anchor, it made him feel worse for some reason, knowing it was his fault that Salazar- No. He looked at Morass and realised that his casual gaze masked a deeper scrutiny. This was what Morass wanted, for him to feel responsible, guilty enough to help.
So instead of blurting out the question on the tip of his tongue-What can I do to help?-he uncrossed his arms. "Am I no longer in any danger from you?"
If Morass' momentary silence was any indication, this had, once again, not been the expected response. "Is there nothing I can do to convince you of this?"
"There may be." The idea had been brewing at the back of his thoughts for half a week now, though it had been little more than an idle fantasy. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, however.... "Will you duel with me?"
Morass stared, eyes widening before he could master his shock, and he didn't answer at first. Godric, who'd never seen him at a loss for words before, bit back the urge to laugh at the sudden, unexpected victory.
"You wish for a duel?" Morass seemed to realise he'd blankly parroted Godric's words, because he shook his head. "It's not yet the dark moon-"
"Not a magical duel," he interrupted, his smile widening into a grin. "Muggle weapons. Uncle Warin says you have some skill with a sword?"
Morass turned his stare to a distant wall, his frown unreadable; it was a reaction he sometimes had when Godric mentioned his uncle. "Some skill, yes."
"Good! I've a sword here, and there is a supply chest down in the dungeons from which we can fetch another." He jumped to his feet and cast the summoning charm with an extra boost of power. He belatedly hoped no one wandered into its path, as it would doubtless be travelling very quickly.
"Now?" Morass said blankly.
"Unless you keep a schedule of times Salazar will be absent from the castle."
A shady expression crossed Morass' face. "Now is fine."
Godric surveyed the various chairs, rugs, and tables scattered throughout the room. "Do you mind keeping the obstacles in place? They can make things more interesting."
Morass raised an eyebrow, looking amused now that he had fully regained his composure. "More interesting? I can hardly object to that."
"Good." His gaze fell upon Morass' garb next. "You may want to change into something that allows for greater mobility. And that provides some basic armour. I've learned some useful spells that can be woven into cloth to provide chainmail-level protection, if you need any, though you will still need to change out of your robes. Unless you want the additional challenge, that is."
"Thank you for the offer, but that won't be necessary." Morass tapped the wall with his wand, and a wooden hatch formed in the middle of the stone, like a small door. He opened it, and Godric peered over his shoulder for a better view.
The hatch led to a cupboard-like space that contained a large selection of clothing ranging from battle robes to Council dress robes to Muggle trousers and tunics and stockings to Muggle armour, polished to a bright shine. No weapons, he noted with disappointment. Morass selected a pair of tan, leathery trousers and a brown tunic with runic inscriptions to greatly increase its protective capabilities, along with a belt and scabbard, and then he closed the hatch, which disappeared into the wall.
A metallic thud on the door gave Godric a start, and he pulled it open to find the sword lodged into the heavy wood. He was relieved to see no blood on the blade, and began tugging to pull it from the wood. He nearly fell backwards when it finally jerked free, and Morass was already finished changing by the time he regained his balance. He handed the sword to him, and Morass studied it with a distant expression while Godric went to retrieve his own sword.
"Charmed to prevent it from inflicting fatal injuries, I see." Morass looked at the sword Godric held. "I see that yours is lacking this...feature."
Godric's smile curved into a smirk. "I suppose you'll just have to trust me."
Morass' gaze drifted from the sword to him and lingered there. "So it seems. Rules? Terms?"
"Only that the duel does not end until one of us yields. Would you like time to prepare before we begin?"
Morass nodded and began stretching. Since it had been nearly an hour since he'd last drilled, Godric worked through a few stretches of his own, trying to recall if his uncle had mentioned anything about Morass' fighting style. Something about him being especially fond of feints, he thought.
"What of your skill with a blade?" Morass asked, loosening a shoulder. "Have you studied the Muggle combat arts long? Most duellists disdain non-magical forms of combat."
"Aethrin teaches swordcraft in addition to battle magic. He says that sometimes you won't have a wand with you, and it's better to have alternative options for those occasions, though I suppose I won't likely ever have that problem." He grinned impishly. "Even so, a dagger in the side can be an unpleasant surprise for the wizard who thinks that he's rendered you helpless with an Expelliarmus."
"Any wizard foolish enough to end a battle with his opponent still conscious would deserve a dagger in his side," Morass remarked, shaking out his arms and picking up his sword again. "You have not been apprenticed to him for very long. Not quite a year, am I correct? There was that commotion with the Council, and Lords Ilvane and Julian. The matter came quite close to being brought to the Council floor for a vote, I recall."
Godric scowled at the memory of the political manoeuvring surrounding the selection of his mentor. It had ultimately resulted in him starting his apprenticeship more than a year later than was traditional. "I'm just glad that Aethrin declared himself a candidate. Lord Ilvane was incompetent and Lord Julian was...." He paused, remembering with disquiet how persistent, subtle, and dangerous the Council Lord had been in his pursuit, even going so far as to win his mother's glowing approval. "I don't see what business of the Council's it was, either. Their interference made things worse."
"Hm." Morass, who had been testing the edge of his blade with a finger, regarded him with surprise. "It is terribly disloyal of me to do so, I realise, but I rather agree. The Council is so fraught with factions squabbling over their tiny spheres of power that they let the battles spill over into affairs they have no business meddling with, and even the few they do. I find your attitude curious, however. Your father is quite a loyal supporter, I understand, and I hear that your eldest brother is being considered for Lordship."
"Yes, well." Godric turned his blade over in his hand, wondering if he should bother to be diplomatic to Morass when what he'd gleaned from Salazar and his uncle's comments about him suggested he was far from an enthusiastic advocate of the Council. "They're important for keeping the peace, I suppose, and keeping us out of the Muggle wars. But-they're so unfair to Salazar's family. Uncle Warin's done so much for them, and they don't care, they just find new ways to attack him."
He pressed his lips together, uncertain if he should be speaking so freely, but talking about it with Salazar rarely did more than make him even moodier, so he usually kept his resentment to himself. He didn't doubt that he could spend his frustration in the duel, but that wouldn't last long, and it would be a relief to say it aloud to someone else just once.
"It seems like most of the time," he said, thinking about whispered conversations half-overheard in his family's home and in Salazar's, "Uncle Warin's so busy fending off attacks on himself that he can't get half the things done that he wants to. The last issue they debated, about making it illegal to possess certain books about the dark arts, that was aimed directly at him and the family library and-"
Godric stopped himself before he could launch off on a tangent, though Morass showed no inclination to interrupt him. He had to make a conscious effort to loosen his grip around the hilt of his sword.
"Well. I suppose you know all of that already. But I don't understand, why won't anyone do anything about it? Not even his allies-Why do they keep attacking him like that?" He closed his eyes and took a breath and let it out, trying not to sound upset and knowing that he was probably failing miserably. "Whenever I visit, he looks so tired and frustrated...stars, I really hate them sometimes."
"Oh, I quite understand," Morass said quietly. "And I would help him if I could, but I don't think he's interested in my help."
Godric opened his eyes and set the tip of the sword down on the ground. "Why not?"
"Because my idea of help is...somewhat more volatile than what he would prefer," Morass said, phrasing his words very delicately. "Or thinks he can afford."
Volatile. He thought about his angry words to Salazar about rebellion, and Salazar's advice to keep such sentiments to himself. But his comprehension and half-agreement must have shown on his face, because Morass looked at him sharply, and though he tended to bring that searching stare to bear uncomfortably often, there was something different in his gaze this time, like he was seeing Godric for the first time. He fought the urge to turn away, feeling a sudden, unsettling vulnerability.
But all that Morass said was, "Interesting."
He broke away from the stare, stepping back into place and settling into fighting stance. "To answer your question, my father has had a Muggle arms master on retainer since my eldest brother was old enough for lessons. I had my first when I was twelve. Are you ready?"
"Yes." Morass smiled ruefully and held his sword out in a neutral position. "Let's begin."
* * * * *
The next part was far too fun to write. I don't know exactly when it will be posted; I'm going to be busy getting work finished for classes that I'll be missing due to an early flight home for the Thanksgiving holiday. Sometime around Tuesday would be my guess.
Hope everyone has been enjoying the story so far. Two to three parts left, and then, yes, it's back to work on Nullifier. ;)
Rating: somewhere between PG and PG-13
Genre: Is "evil" a genre? No? Alas. Drama, flavors of action/adventure.
Word Count: 3200
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Leaving Godric to his own devices is a bad idea--it's even worse when Morass is there to take advantage of the situation.
In this part: One week later, Morass comes bearing an apology. The response is...not exactly what he expected.
* * * * *
Thrown slightly off-balance by his inversion charm, Godric steadied himself before trying to shift his perspective. He concentrated on seeing the ceiling as the floor, the furniture as hanging fixtures. Slowly, he felt the blood rush down-up?-from where it had gathered in his head, and his braid swung to lay against his back. Closing his eyes, he was pleased to find that his hair stayed in place without the visual cues to orient him, and that the sensation of hanging by his feet remained absent-
"Godric?"
The rusty hinges on the door squealed as it opened, shattering both the silence and his concentration, and Godric gasped as the world turned. He plummeted to the ground, landing almost directly atop the entering figure and sending both of them sprawling onto the ground, a surprised oof! escaping his inadvertent cushion.
"Oh!" He hastily rolled off the wizard, recognising him after the world righted itself. "I'm very sorry, I didn't-Morass?"
Morass brushed himself off and struggled to his feet with a small grimace, gingerly holding a hand against his hip. "I must speak with you."
"Oh?" Godric pulled himself into sitting position, contemplating his visitor. "I thought you were expressly forbidden to enter the grounds except for Salazar's lessons. And I didn't hear any bells to indicate your arrival."
"I silenced Rowena's wards this time," Morass said dismissively. "Along with the two other silent alarms she added after last week."
Godric noted that he'd waited until Salazar, the only person who would be able to detect his presence with the wards disabled, was gone to come calling. He mentally reviewed ways to alert Salazar, if need be. He could probably trip one of the alarms himself, if he tapped into the wards, but it would take some time to locate the right one. As a last resort, he could use a dark spell and rely on the ribbon to let Salazar know that there was trouble, though the thought made him shiver. He'd be helpless until Salazar got back from wherever the Council of Nullifiers had sent him. And it was still a week until the new moon....
His gaze fell upon his sword, lying upon the floor in the opposite corner where he'd left it during his practise with the reversal charm. Aethrin always cautioned him to keep his pathways of retreat open, advice that he would have to thoroughly disregard if he wanted to get to his weapon. His casual search for his wand came up empty. Wandless was more destructive anyway, he thought, cheered.
Besides, he didn't know that Morass had come here to do anything more than talk. He just had to avoid making any more ill-advised Oaths.
"What did you want to speak to me about?" he asked, letting himself relax.
Morass locked his fingers together, seemingly determined to appear as non-threatening as possible. A hopeless cause, Godric could have told him, but he found the effort strangely reassuring nevertheless. "I have come to...apologise."
Raising his eyebrows, Godric remained silent, determined not to make the process any easier for him. He could tell that Morass was already unbalanced by his refusal to stand and close the vertical distance between them.
"I did not know that the Oath would react so swiftly-nor so fatally," Morass began, watching him carefully for any reaction. Godric crossed his arms, curious as to how he'd respond to that. Morass' interlaced fingers tightened slightly. "If I had, I would not have asked it of you. I apologise for doing so."
Morass never lied, his uncle had confided to him once, though he liked to stretch the truth until it screamed. Godric didn't think it much of an apology, however, for Morass to say that he regretted nearly killing him but hurting him otherwise left his conscience perfectly unburdened. And he had to wonder if the regret was not so much because of the pain Godric had gone through as how Salazar was reacting to it still.
That put him in a unique position of power, he realised after a moment. "He's still not talking to you, is he."
Morass frowned, as though the conversation was not going where he had expected it to. "He will speak when I ask a question, but only to reply, as tersely as possible. He initiates nothing, asks no questions, engages in no discussion, offers no suggestions for improvement or alternate uses of a spell." He sounded both worried and irritated.
"Well, you can hardly blame him," Godric said without sympathy, leaning his back against the wall. "You taught him that lesson. If he displeases you, I get hurt. How is he to know that something he says won't anger you?"
"I have never discouraged academic curiosity," Morass said, clenching his fingers one last time before unlocking them and letting them fall to his sides. "And he knows that perfectly well."
Godric stared up at Morass for a while, nearly certain now that he was in no danger. "He says that he's never trusted you, but I don't think that's true. I think he did. Trusted you, at least, not to unleash your wrath on anyone else if you were angry with him. Now that you've proven that trust misplaced, why should he trust anything else about you?"
"No. This isn't a matter of trust. This is his form of punishment, and he has shown no indication that he will be changing his behaviour." Morass met his stare with an intensity that sent him back to the last time they'd been alone. He took a breath to remind himself that he could. "I suspect he will not do so until I have convinced him that I can be...trusted with you."
"You've picked an odd way of showing that," Godric pointed out, "arriving in secret, seeking me out when I'm alone."
"This is something that must be done without him. Otherwise, he will think I have only sought your forgiveness to cool his anger."
"Well, it's the truth," he said with a cynicism he had not possessed a week ago.
A frown hovered on Morass' lips, and Godric realised that this was one of the longest times he'd seen him go without smiling one of those sly, amused smiles of his. "No, it's not."
Godric narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe that. You've made it very clear that it's all about Salazar."
Morass' frown disappeared, along with all expression, and a restrained stillness settled upon him that made Godric abruptly wish for the cold surety of gripping steel in his hand. Crouching down in front of him, Morass let his voice become soft, musing. "The new moon is days away. I still have your consent. Without that critical component, my choices would be regrettably limited, but with it...."
His wand came out, and he pressed it gently against Godric's throat, dragging the tip down slowly until it rested on his chest, above his heart, where the memory of strangling chains haunted him still. "With it, there are over a dozen dark spells I could use to force your trust and forgiveness, and half a dozen other spells to ensure that you would never even realise that I had done something to you. Spells that leave nothing for a nullifier to detect: permanent, untraceable."
Godric watched him unflinchingly, growing impatient with whatever game Morass was playing. The wand left his chest, returning to the folds of Morass' robes, and a smile appeared on his face at last. "Does nothing frighten you?"
"You have more to lose than me if you make a mistake," he remarked, relaxing subtly.
"Brave little Gryffindor," Morass said, using Salazar's favourite epithet again.
Godric shook his head. "You're not allowed to call me that."
"Hm," came the reply, and Godric was surprised to detect something like regret in his voice. "He has been unable to anchor, you know."
His own first and likely final encounter with casting a dark spell without any real anchor had not exactly left him with a clear idea of the consequences of a failed anchor. The Curse's interference rendered him unable to accurately distinguish between which sensations had been caused by the sacrifice drawing at will and which were due to the Curse. But he could still remember what he'd felt before the releasing the spell, of something old and hungry sinking into him with a grip that felt like it would never let go. The thought of Salazar failing and experiencing that over and over filled him with distress.
"But why?" he demanded. "What's wrong? Why can't you fix-"
"It's not that simple; you are his anchor, and you nearly died. That is a damage that will not heal for some time, but it should ease if he feels that you are no longer in danger from me."
Though Godric was not surprised to learn that Salazar had chosen him as an anchor, it made him feel worse for some reason, knowing it was his fault that Salazar- No. He looked at Morass and realised that his casual gaze masked a deeper scrutiny. This was what Morass wanted, for him to feel responsible, guilty enough to help.
So instead of blurting out the question on the tip of his tongue-What can I do to help?-he uncrossed his arms. "Am I no longer in any danger from you?"
If Morass' momentary silence was any indication, this had, once again, not been the expected response. "Is there nothing I can do to convince you of this?"
"There may be." The idea had been brewing at the back of his thoughts for half a week now, though it had been little more than an idle fantasy. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, however.... "Will you duel with me?"
Morass stared, eyes widening before he could master his shock, and he didn't answer at first. Godric, who'd never seen him at a loss for words before, bit back the urge to laugh at the sudden, unexpected victory.
"You wish for a duel?" Morass seemed to realise he'd blankly parroted Godric's words, because he shook his head. "It's not yet the dark moon-"
"Not a magical duel," he interrupted, his smile widening into a grin. "Muggle weapons. Uncle Warin says you have some skill with a sword?"
Morass turned his stare to a distant wall, his frown unreadable; it was a reaction he sometimes had when Godric mentioned his uncle. "Some skill, yes."
"Good! I've a sword here, and there is a supply chest down in the dungeons from which we can fetch another." He jumped to his feet and cast the summoning charm with an extra boost of power. He belatedly hoped no one wandered into its path, as it would doubtless be travelling very quickly.
"Now?" Morass said blankly.
"Unless you keep a schedule of times Salazar will be absent from the castle."
A shady expression crossed Morass' face. "Now is fine."
Godric surveyed the various chairs, rugs, and tables scattered throughout the room. "Do you mind keeping the obstacles in place? They can make things more interesting."
Morass raised an eyebrow, looking amused now that he had fully regained his composure. "More interesting? I can hardly object to that."
"Good." His gaze fell upon Morass' garb next. "You may want to change into something that allows for greater mobility. And that provides some basic armour. I've learned some useful spells that can be woven into cloth to provide chainmail-level protection, if you need any, though you will still need to change out of your robes. Unless you want the additional challenge, that is."
"Thank you for the offer, but that won't be necessary." Morass tapped the wall with his wand, and a wooden hatch formed in the middle of the stone, like a small door. He opened it, and Godric peered over his shoulder for a better view.
The hatch led to a cupboard-like space that contained a large selection of clothing ranging from battle robes to Council dress robes to Muggle trousers and tunics and stockings to Muggle armour, polished to a bright shine. No weapons, he noted with disappointment. Morass selected a pair of tan, leathery trousers and a brown tunic with runic inscriptions to greatly increase its protective capabilities, along with a belt and scabbard, and then he closed the hatch, which disappeared into the wall.
A metallic thud on the door gave Godric a start, and he pulled it open to find the sword lodged into the heavy wood. He was relieved to see no blood on the blade, and began tugging to pull it from the wood. He nearly fell backwards when it finally jerked free, and Morass was already finished changing by the time he regained his balance. He handed the sword to him, and Morass studied it with a distant expression while Godric went to retrieve his own sword.
"Charmed to prevent it from inflicting fatal injuries, I see." Morass looked at the sword Godric held. "I see that yours is lacking this...feature."
Godric's smile curved into a smirk. "I suppose you'll just have to trust me."
Morass' gaze drifted from the sword to him and lingered there. "So it seems. Rules? Terms?"
"Only that the duel does not end until one of us yields. Would you like time to prepare before we begin?"
Morass nodded and began stretching. Since it had been nearly an hour since he'd last drilled, Godric worked through a few stretches of his own, trying to recall if his uncle had mentioned anything about Morass' fighting style. Something about him being especially fond of feints, he thought.
"What of your skill with a blade?" Morass asked, loosening a shoulder. "Have you studied the Muggle combat arts long? Most duellists disdain non-magical forms of combat."
"Aethrin teaches swordcraft in addition to battle magic. He says that sometimes you won't have a wand with you, and it's better to have alternative options for those occasions, though I suppose I won't likely ever have that problem." He grinned impishly. "Even so, a dagger in the side can be an unpleasant surprise for the wizard who thinks that he's rendered you helpless with an Expelliarmus."
"Any wizard foolish enough to end a battle with his opponent still conscious would deserve a dagger in his side," Morass remarked, shaking out his arms and picking up his sword again. "You have not been apprenticed to him for very long. Not quite a year, am I correct? There was that commotion with the Council, and Lords Ilvane and Julian. The matter came quite close to being brought to the Council floor for a vote, I recall."
Godric scowled at the memory of the political manoeuvring surrounding the selection of his mentor. It had ultimately resulted in him starting his apprenticeship more than a year later than was traditional. "I'm just glad that Aethrin declared himself a candidate. Lord Ilvane was incompetent and Lord Julian was...." He paused, remembering with disquiet how persistent, subtle, and dangerous the Council Lord had been in his pursuit, even going so far as to win his mother's glowing approval. "I don't see what business of the Council's it was, either. Their interference made things worse."
"Hm." Morass, who had been testing the edge of his blade with a finger, regarded him with surprise. "It is terribly disloyal of me to do so, I realise, but I rather agree. The Council is so fraught with factions squabbling over their tiny spheres of power that they let the battles spill over into affairs they have no business meddling with, and even the few they do. I find your attitude curious, however. Your father is quite a loyal supporter, I understand, and I hear that your eldest brother is being considered for Lordship."
"Yes, well." Godric turned his blade over in his hand, wondering if he should bother to be diplomatic to Morass when what he'd gleaned from Salazar and his uncle's comments about him suggested he was far from an enthusiastic advocate of the Council. "They're important for keeping the peace, I suppose, and keeping us out of the Muggle wars. But-they're so unfair to Salazar's family. Uncle Warin's done so much for them, and they don't care, they just find new ways to attack him."
He pressed his lips together, uncertain if he should be speaking so freely, but talking about it with Salazar rarely did more than make him even moodier, so he usually kept his resentment to himself. He didn't doubt that he could spend his frustration in the duel, but that wouldn't last long, and it would be a relief to say it aloud to someone else just once.
"It seems like most of the time," he said, thinking about whispered conversations half-overheard in his family's home and in Salazar's, "Uncle Warin's so busy fending off attacks on himself that he can't get half the things done that he wants to. The last issue they debated, about making it illegal to possess certain books about the dark arts, that was aimed directly at him and the family library and-"
Godric stopped himself before he could launch off on a tangent, though Morass showed no inclination to interrupt him. He had to make a conscious effort to loosen his grip around the hilt of his sword.
"Well. I suppose you know all of that already. But I don't understand, why won't anyone do anything about it? Not even his allies-Why do they keep attacking him like that?" He closed his eyes and took a breath and let it out, trying not to sound upset and knowing that he was probably failing miserably. "Whenever I visit, he looks so tired and frustrated...stars, I really hate them sometimes."
"Oh, I quite understand," Morass said quietly. "And I would help him if I could, but I don't think he's interested in my help."
Godric opened his eyes and set the tip of the sword down on the ground. "Why not?"
"Because my idea of help is...somewhat more volatile than what he would prefer," Morass said, phrasing his words very delicately. "Or thinks he can afford."
Volatile. He thought about his angry words to Salazar about rebellion, and Salazar's advice to keep such sentiments to himself. But his comprehension and half-agreement must have shown on his face, because Morass looked at him sharply, and though he tended to bring that searching stare to bear uncomfortably often, there was something different in his gaze this time, like he was seeing Godric for the first time. He fought the urge to turn away, feeling a sudden, unsettling vulnerability.
But all that Morass said was, "Interesting."
He broke away from the stare, stepping back into place and settling into fighting stance. "To answer your question, my father has had a Muggle arms master on retainer since my eldest brother was old enough for lessons. I had my first when I was twelve. Are you ready?"
"Yes." Morass smiled ruefully and held his sword out in a neutral position. "Let's begin."
* * * * *
The next part was far too fun to write. I don't know exactly when it will be posted; I'm going to be busy getting work finished for classes that I'll be missing due to an early flight home for the Thanksgiving holiday. Sometime around Tuesday would be my guess.
Hope everyone has been enjoying the story so far. Two to three parts left, and then, yes, it's back to work on Nullifier. ;)