Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
Seriously, getting caught, and this early into the plan no less?
Minerva Golding and the Wand of Silver (Harry Potter Deconstruction)
- Thread starter DragonCobolt
- Start date
- Mature Novel Fantasy
DracoDracul
Transbian Communist
- Location
- Austin
- Pronouns
- She/They
And of course since the difference between wizards and mundanes is fake bullshit it might just kill absolutely everyone.
samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
Hypothesis:
When the fae are commanded to bring Minerva food, it will be kosher. If the fae is commanded "Bring healing ward breakfast no.2 to the patient in bed no. 5", the fae are not bringing food to Minerva specificially.
It is a lovely day in Khmet, and you are a horrible frog.
Dissapointed in what she was doing, or that she was sloppy enough to get caught?
These are Nazis whose enemies are anyone who is 'mundane' or isn't fully in their camp. So I'm going to hypothetically say that it's targetting anyone who isn't directly with Ars Magica + all House Fey. As to how they can target so many cultures & people, the British Museum is FULL of religious artifacts that they stole, why wouldn't magical Britian not have the same?
- Pronouns
- It/Its
This is the funniest thing
"Clearly it was one frog and it spawned the rest"
"You fool, you moron, you imbecile, go back to learning about leprosy and speak not on things you have no understanding or expertise of. Obviously it whistled and the other frogs came"
- Pronouns
- They/Them/She/Her
Wait, seriously?beteranMortal said:
Why target the house fae?Mailstrome said:
Sorry, I should have edited that to say it also wouldn't target the House-Fae.
- Location
- Here
I mean, it's not a big deal, people do vary in their observance – some of my family won't eat pork but love shrimp and clams. But the fae automatically knowing Minerva was keeping kosher implies some greater weight that might not mesh with "some people are less observant"? Unsure, just pondering.
EDIT: Having now read the chapters since then (missed the updates somehow): Just getting my guess in, Minerva's spell on Merlin not working was because Merlin is neither man nor wif, not being quite human. Could also be that he's (what we would today call) trans or nonbinary (though I don't know what the period-appropriate terminology would be – androgyne?) and the magic is fiddly about that, as well; having the spellcasting tradition enshrine the gender binary of Middle English is likely going to intersect weirdly with such things. Which might explain certain sorts of conservativism among the wizards, actually?
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- They/Them/She/Her
Ahh, righto, thanks for the clarification.
King Washington
Semi-Depressed Lurker
- Location
- Indiana
So I take it that Virginia is a composite of Ginny and Ron, and Roland is Percy if the stick up his ass got so far up he became a literal Death Eater, correct?
Chapter Seventeen: The Wand of Silver
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Minerva woke with the pounding headache of one who had been struck with a stunning spell, amplified by the sensation of her mouth being fuzzy and covered with moss. She opened her eyes, groaned as the light stabbed into her irises, and then closed it. She put her hand above her mouth with some effort, feeling that the feeling of mossiness was merely the scum of a long, restless sleep. She smacked her lips, coughed, then rolled to the side, then rolled back again. When she was finally able to sit up, she found she was in a cell.
Not particularly unexpected.
Sitting across from the bars was something unexpected.
Captain Cordwine, looking rather cross, his arms tucked across his chest, his brow furrowed, his mustache bristling.
Minerva had expected any number of guards. Fae. Other students. Her professors. But the Captain? She swung herself upwards, smacked her lips, and then croaked. "Good morning, Captain."
"It's evening," he said,shaking his head from side to side. "You bloody stupid girl. What were you thinking!" He sprang to his feet, then began to pace, back and forth, back and forth. "Parliament's all in knots about this. Not this! They don't know about this. This as in this!" He gestured off in a vague direction that Minerva guessed had an equal chance of being the east, to the Soviet Union, or west, to the equally colossal United States of America.
"Which one?" she asked.
"Both!" he exclaimed, turning to face her.
Minerva realized her question - which had been which great country he was blustering about - also could be read as asking about which of the Parliaments was discussing. The magical? The mundane? Both. Hurm. Minerva leaned back against the stone walls of her cell. She frowned slightly.
"Why you?" she asked.
"I volunteered, I wanted to ask you why!" Cordwine glowered at her. "How could you be so inexpressibly stupid?"
"Someone had to do something," Minerva said, her voice a grumble. A soft one.
"Not that, you-" Cordwine rubbed his palm against his face, then stepped to the bars. "How could you be so foolish as to not bloody well ask me? This blood curse business? No proper place in war, none at all. And what do they think they're even going to be managing with it? Kill a few thousand Russians? Pfah!" he laughed. "The cat's well and truly out of the bag now."
Minerva nodded. "They're panicking," she said.
"And so were you, it seems," Cordwine grumbled.
"Where's-"
Minerva's question was cut off by a clank and a crash from the end of the corridor. Cordwine turned, and looked rather grim as a fae woman stepped forward. Minerva was in such a state that she barely registered the woman's nude form as she bowed to Cordwine.
"Master Cordwine, I have done as you requested. The word is in. The vote was not." She bowed again as Cordwine let out an explosive sigh of relief.
"Oh thank Christ," he said, turning to face Minerva. "And now, your silly little adventure was all for nothing anyway!"
"The vote?" Minerva asked.
"The War Ministry brought the issue to Parliament - oh, in a cloaked phrase or so, yes, but they did bring it. And they voted no. See?" He clicked his heels behind himself and glowered down at her. His mustache grew even more bristly. "The system works!"
"Are you done?" Minerva asked. She stood up, and she leaned against the bar, her hands pressed to the cold iron bars.
"Hurmph," Cordwine grumped.
"Would you have helped me?" she asked, her voice bitter.
"Oh without a doubt!" Cordwine said, cheerfully. "Sometimes an order's no good, you have to do your recognizance. We're not Germans, after all!"
Minerva chuckled, her voice still bitter. "I'm beginning to see why you're assigned here and not to the actual, ah, scouts? Fighting scouts?"
Cordwine laughed. "Ah, maybe so!" He frowned, then. "Bugger. You're going to Wakefield's and that's that. It's a poor reward for being right, but you need to also do the job too, not just flare out halfway." He turned and started to walk away. "Don't let the Knockers bother you too much, eh?"
Then he was gone.
Minerva thumped her head against the bars. She closed her eyes and felt her knees trembling. She had been running on so much adrenaline that she wasn't…entirely sure how sound her plan had actually been. She was too sleepy and confused now to get any of her thoughts to order straight. Instead, the words tumbled around and around and around inside of her head, bouncing off one another like ping pong balls. Azrielnacht, blood curse, Russia, America, Magic, Mundane…
The only hint that she had that she was not alone in the cell block was when a purring croon emerged from the darkness to her left.
"He's wrong."
Her blood ran cold. Minerva turned and saw that her cell was empty - but when she pressed her cheek against a bar, peeking through, she could just barely see a pair of pale arms, thrust from between two of the bars in the next cell over.
"Cecilia?" Minerva whispered.
"Mmmhmmm," the vampiress said. "I will say, for all that you have merely taken me from one cell to another, at the very least-"
"What do you mean he's wrong?" Minerva asked, her heart in her throat.
"I mean what I say. He's wrong. Blood magic is gathering. Not in London, though. The wind is wrong for it." She smacked her lips. The faint sniffing sound that came to the air was more like a hound scenting the air than a woman. "Ah, yes. Of course. The numbers are too small for this kind of Working. They're making up with the old powers."
Minerva's brow furrowed. Her eyes widened. "Stonehenge?" She whispered.
"That's the place." Cecilia's voice sounded like she was grinning. "We have a day and change, at the rate of this power growth." Sniff sniff. "Maybe less."
Minerva grabbed the bars. She started to shake them. "Merlin!" she shouted. "Merlin!"
"He won't come," Cecilia said, her voice bitter. "I know his type."
"Merlin you backwards aging git!" Minerva shouted at the top of her longs - her voice echoing off the cold, cold stone. She leaned her head forward, pressing it against the bars. "We have to stop them. We…we have to stop the bloody idiots. Merlin! Merlin!" Her voice echoed back at her. Taunting.
Cecilia chuckled. Her arms pulled out of sight - she was drawing away from the bars. The faint squeak of her long, limber body reaching the bed, made Minerva's heart skip a beat, despite everything. "I screamed like this. And I screamed and screamed and screamed, I screamed until I became mad, then screamed till I became sane, and they never came. They never came at all."
Minerva started to pace back and forth. She closed her eyes, whispering softly. "A wand is just a tool. A wand. Is just. A tool."
"Hmm?"
Minerva turned back to her cot. It was simple enough - four metal bars, hung from a hinge with canvas stretched between them, connected to the wall by a chain. Minerva leaped up and dropped her weight onto the cot. She sprang up and down, frantically.
"What are you- little girl, what are you doing!?" Cecilia cried out as the cot snapped and crashed away from the wall, spilling Minerva onto her back, the ground aching against her spine. She clenched her teeth, fiercely, then grabbed onto one of the metal poles. She cast her eyes around, frowning as she did so. There had to be…ah, there! She knelt by a bit of stone that jutted from the wall - an aged piece of masonry that had become almost razor sharp over time. She held the pole against it and shoved, drawing a thin white scrape along the iron. She clenched her teeth as she wriggled the pole left, right, swung it around - and as she worked it, the stone scraped and screeched.
"What are you doing in there?" Cecilia asked.
Minerva stood, holding the finished rod in her arm. Too long and too thick for a wand, covered in incredibly crude runes compared to what she had practiced in her runes class. She didn't care. It was just a focus. A tool. She closed her eyes, and thought back to everything she had ever learned - about symbolic magic, about the linkages between a seeming of a place, the actuality behind it…
Of words.
And of the first lesson she had learned on her broom.
She held her 'wand' up and hissed. "Mene. Mene."
She felt the magic flicker and flare. But it was weak. So weak. She wondered if it did more than disturb the air in Merlin's office. Minerva scowled. She wasn't just some child with a stick here. She had been taught how to focus her will and make it manifest - and she knew it would produce results. And so, she drove her will against the sputtering weakness of this makeshift wand…and learned why modern wands were made the way they were, with the care they were lavished with.
The tip glowed. Not the glow of a flare or firefly, not the clean sparkle of magic or the dull shine of radium; it was nearly molten. Like the filament of a lightbulb, glowing with heat as it resisted the electricity flowing through it.
Minerva forced more will, her hand tightening.
Metal hissed and sputtered. Red droplets of molten iron dripped to the floor as Minerva's will and her own arm seemed to meet on a head on collision - her elbow ached, her bones jarred, she felt as if she was trying to speak fire through her throat. She clenched her teeth and then forced out more words, more power.
"Tekel. Upharsin!"
The wand dropped to the ground and splashed as it struck. Hissing. Smoking. She dropped to her knees and ducked her head forward. Then, only then, did she let tears stream down her cheeks as she gasped and started to swear as loudly as she could in Yiddish. She ducked her head forward - while Cecelia shouted to her.
"What was that!? I've never heard that magic before in my life. Or…have I…" She sounded troubled.
Minerva clutched her hand to her chest and did not dare look at it. But she did smile, then, as the door to the cells clanged open with the same ear-rending crash as before. Merlin strode to her cell door, looking coldly furious. Minerva grinned up at him - a smile of pain and triumph.
"Speak," he said. "If you will be dramatic about this, at least do it here, without destroying my favorite tapestry."
"Heh," Minerva said. It was not a sound of mirth. "Listen to Ceceilia." She jerked her head to the side.
"What is happening?" Cecelia asked.
"A glowing hand appeared in my office," Merlin said, his voice firm. "And it wrote upon the wall the words mene, mene, tekel upharsin. You have been judged…and found wanting."
"Ahhh," Cecelia said. "Not nearly vicious enough, wizard." She thrust her arms out of her bars as Minerva peered out. "As for your information, the spell the Germans stole from the Kabbalah and perverted for their own ends? It is being enacted. Slowly. But it is being drawn forth. I can smell it on the wind. The smell of death unlike anything else in the world, Merlin."
Merlin's face went ashen, before he covered it with his hand. "No," he said, quietly.
"Let me out," Minerva said.
"It's too late," Merlin said, dropping his hand from his face. As he spoke, he waved his hand and the bars melted into the floor. "It is all far too late."
Cecilia stepped from the cell. She stooped, helping Minerva to her feet. Minerva leaned against her, feeling the raw, steel-hard strength of her. It made the pain feel a mite better. She and Ceceilia followed after Merlin as he walked like a dead man - waving his hand to open a secret door here, to level a staircase there. They emerged into Merlin's office.
The office itself was…arresting. Minerva, who's hand had moved from a fierce stinging pain to a dull, throbbing ache, took a few seconds to look around the whole office, almost dizzy with its strangeness. There was a clock with three faces, mounted upon each of the sides, each showing a different set of numerals, each with arms at different locations. There was a crystal set on a gold filigree stand on his desk, which itself was covered with unfinished papers. The crystal glowed faintly. There was a cat, sleeping without a care, in the middle of the air - and upon a second glance, Minerva saw the cat had a small unicorn horn. And there, of course, were the words in foot high capitals, seared into a tapestry and still smoking: MENE, MENE, TEKEL UPHARSIN.
Merlin ignored all of this to head to a cabinet beside his desk, which he opened, took forth a bottle, and poured himself a shot of some brown fluid. He knocked it back, hissed, then took his seat with a grunt. Minerva noticed the cabinet was not just a place to stash spirits: It also had several narrow wands. One of them was clearly Kat's heavy trench want - sitting at the bottom of the pile.
Minerva frowned at him.
"Hold out your hand," he said.
Minerva did so.
Merlin used his wand, though he did not speak. The tip glowed and the burn that scarred along her palm shrank, shrank, shrank and was gone. She wriggled her fingers, closed her hand, opening it again, then nodded to him. "Now," she said. "We have to stop them."
"This kind of working cannot be stopped," Merlin said, his voice soft. "Not without…"
"Without what?" Minerva asked. She stepped closer to the desk. "Merlin, if they're targeting the Soviet Union-"
"I am aware of the consequences," Merlin said, lifting his head up. "But this kind of working is potent. Very potent. There are only a few spells, only a few…sacrifices…that are powerful enough to stop it once it has begun. Only…only…" He trailed off.
"What are you talking about?" Minerva asked.
"Magic draws its power from the willworker," Cecilia said, hissing. "But it can be drawn from elsewhere. They are many willworkers, using Stonehenge's reservoirs of power. Any willworker disrupting it would take power of equal measure. It'd kill you."
Merlin looked grim. Grave.
"I'm…afraid she's right," Merlin said.
Minerva felt cold. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Merlin picked up his crystal. He twiddled it between his fingers, a nervous tick as he considered. "Such death. Such destruction. And it would be only the beginning. The curse could never kill every wizard in the Soviet Union. They only hope to…to kill enough that the British will remain dominant." The crystal sparkled as he shook his head slowly.
Minerva gulped.
Someone would have to die.
The choice was so clear. She could do nothing. She could let…hundreds of thousands die. Maybe millions. No, not maybe. She could see the endless fields of the dead from the Great War, repeated - expanded and amplified by twenty years of Europe's simmering hatred and technological advancement. Millions dead. Millions.
Or she could die.
Merlin breathed out a slow sigh. "If…someone were brave enough, with their sacrifice…."
He was looking pointedly at her. Minerva clenched her hands. She lifted her chin, her eyes half closed. It was the only way to…to…
Her brow furrowed.
She frowned.
"We shouldn't have to sacrifice anyone, Merlin," she said, her voice soft.
The crystal paused in its glittering. His fingers had stopped twirling it.
Minerva scowled and then thrust her hand out - no magic, just main force. The crystal went flying, hitting the carpeted floor, as papers went skidding up from the desk. They tumbled end over end as Minerva leaned forward, grabbing onto the shocked Merlin and hauling him forward. He was more surprised than he was manhandled - but Minerva found adrenaline, anger and surprise were enough. He skidded belly first along the desk as she held him close and glared at him. Overhead, the cat yowled awake then shimmered into non-existance, flickering away like a flame going out.
"You wanted me to die to stop this?"
"I-I-" Merlin stammered. "It has to be done! We can't let them-"
"Tell me, Merlin!" Minerva shoved him back down, stepping back, her arms trembling. "Were you always such a coward? You were going to give them the wand! You were going to do everything Ars Magicka asked of you - and then to stop them, you…you would kill me! You would let me die, just to…to…to what!?"
Merlin panted. He pushed himself back upright, looking frazzled…and yes, angry. The kind of furious anger of an animal backed into a track.
"We have no choice!" he said. "They're not just some madmen criminals, they're not some Frenchmen-" Cecilia snorted. "-they're our people, our government! We can't just-"
He cut himself off.
"Can't just what?" Minerva asked, her voice quiet.
"...ah, yes," Cecilia siad, chuckling. "The other way to end a Working of any magnitude. It's the simplest method." Her fangs glinted. "You kill the wizard."
"You can't!" Merlin exclaimed. "It would be chaos, and you'd die just the same. You'll be hunted by every policeman in England, the army, the air force, all of them will want your head. There's two members of the War Office there, and as many officers of the law that they could talk into coming along. You can't."
Minerva arched an eyebrow. "Can't I?" she asked.
Merlin shook his head. "If you go, it won't just be you or I who suffers the consequences. It overturn everything Britain has tried to make in the past four centuries - the rule of law! Order! Stability!"
Minerva turned. She rolled her shoulders. She started for the door.
Merlin aimed his wand at her. He flicked the tip and the door closed. His voice was deadly serious.
"Golding, don't you get it. If you do this, you'll be starting a civil war - between…between Ars Magica and everyone who thinks like you. Every communist and anarchist in the woodwork, they'll all see this as a cause célèbre! A bloody cassus beli too! You will destroy everything to save yourself!?"
Minerva turned to face him. "Are you going to stop me?" she growled.
"...yes," Merlin whispered.
"Then do it," Minerva said, glaring at him. Tensed. Ready to dodge.
Merlin flicked his wand. He didn't need to speak - but Minerva had been taught by Melissa Stevenson. She rolled forward as the spell whipped out. Crackling chains of red fire swept out - one slamming into the door and splintering it, the other wrapping around Cecilia, who hissed in irritation.
Minerva scrambled to her feet and dashed towards the liquor cabinet. She flung it open with such force that its contents spilled onto the floor, her wand, Kat's wand, Gina's wands all tumbling out onto the plush carpet. She grabbed blindly for one and struck out.
"Kemb Drit Micelnes!"
Her wand flicked up, and the floor between Merlin's desk and hers humped upwards into a crenelated wall. Merlin made a cupping gesture with his hand, then thrust his wand. The bricks of the wall turned to glass, then the glass turned to hissing steam, bursting and boiling away with such force that it flung Minerva back against the wall. She slammed home, then crashed to her knees.
"That's enough," Merlin hissed, furiously, stalking across the room. Minerva raised her wand to cast, but he made a simple gesture, without even a whisper, and the spell did little more than warm the wand in her hand and produce a handful of lazy sparks. The ancient wizard loomed over her, looking contemptuous.
"Are you quite done, Miss Golding?"
Minerva sprang to her feet, and brought the hardened knuckles of Kat's trench wand directly into Merlin's belly.
The nigh immortal wizard let out a very human whuff as the impact drove every bit of air from his lungs. Minerva grabbed his hair with her other hand, smashed him against the wall as she could, then whacked him in the side of the head with the wand proper. He groaned as laid there and she growled.
"Cidak Slan Man."
The bolt of stunning energy crashed into his belly and went still.
The fiery chains around Cecilia winked out.
Minerva looked down at the wand and realized that, despite the heavy and blunt construction, the main color in Kat's wand?
Silver.
Minerva found herself smiling obscurely.
"...well," Cecilia said, sounding interested. Very interested. "Dueling seems to have changed a lot since I was out."
Minerva grinned at her.
A side door burst open and Minerva found herself facing Kat, Gina, Selene, Harry and…Professor Stevenson.
"Let her-" Stevenson started, then stopped. She lowered the wand she had aimed at precisely where Merlin would have been standing. Kat whistled, slowly, as she looked around the room.
"Mein Gott, Minerva. Did you smack around the headmaster?"
"I…may have," Minerva said, feeling woozy. "Kat, I…Melissa, I- er, Professor, I-"
"Quiet," Stevenson said, her voice stern. "Come. We only have a short time to get away from Hexgramatica - I…am afraid this is my resignation." She sounded prim and proper, even now.
"It's more than that," Minerva said, her voice grim.
She walked out, with her friends and allies, leaving the groaning Headmaster on the ground.
Silence.
The half splintered side door opened and Professor Ravenwood - sporting a rather impressive black eye - stormed in, her non-swollen eye flashing with pure fury. "Headmaster, I have to report, Melissa Stevenson has been carrying on carnal relations with…" she stopped, slowly looking around herself, her eyes wide as she saw the wreckage.
Very softly, Professor Ravnewood whispered. "Bugger."
Minerva felt as if she had been speaking for hours by the time they had arrived at the Blythe household in Berwick on Tweed, the largest of the border towns between England and Scotland. She sat down next to Kat and, without a care, leaned against the muscular werewolf as the others in the room listened with grim intent. The rest of the room was positively filthy with her friends: Gina, Harry, Selene, Stevenson, Gerogry, Petunia…all of them, seeing them there with her and Kat? It made Minerva feel almost like she might be able to manage this.
No matter how tired she was.
"Well," Stevenson said, her voice dry. "It's clear we have to kill the blighters. But do you have a plan for it? Better than yours move fast and break things one, at least?"
Minerva rubbed her palms against her face. Kat, though, chuckled. "Of course we having a plan," she said.
"And it is?" Stevenson asked.
"Move fast. And break things." Minerva chuckled against Kat's bicep as she leaned into her. She was so…so tired right now.
Stevenson frowned, but before she could say anything, Kat continued.
"The Red Witches were killed before they could answer many questions from Himmler's men," Kat said, drawing her arm around Minerva even tighter, so that Minerva was almost buried in muscular female, something that Minerva was all too happy to feel. "One of those questions they were not being asked…is where they stashed their guns."
Stevenson frowned. "Guns? How many guns?"
"A lot of guns," Kat said. "We are going up against the police and the Ars Magicka. They're not armed with guns. They have mundanes for that, and no mundanes are going to be here. We have guns, we have magic, we have surprise on our side. We kill the bastards."
Harry gulped. His face was ashen. But he nodded. "Okay," he said. His hand slid along his shoulders. "I wish Robert was here. But…I'm glad he's not. We're going to…"
"No, we are not," Stevenson said, her voice firm. "Far from prying eyes, with a Parliament against it? The Ars Magika are as far out on a limb as we are. We wear masks and anti-scrying charms? We can get away with it." Her palm rubbed against her face. "I hope."
"So, we go and get the guns," Minerva said, standing up. Or, at least, trying to stand up. It was a little hard, as Kat had simply turned around and pushed her back into the sofa. Kat shook her head.
"There is no we," she said. "You are exhausted. Still recovering from stun. Stevenson and I will go and get the guns, yes?" Her golden eyes met Stevenson's and Stevenson nodded. Then Kat continued. "Gina, Harry, Selene, you will make the charms."
"Damn straight we will!" Gina said, springing to her feet.
"Gregory," Kat turned to Gregory and Petunia. Petunia clung to him, despite the fact she could stand easily now. "You're the expert - you think you can teach us how to use them in a day?"
"I…" Gregory made a face. "Well, you won't be able to shoot for shit. But I can at least give you some pointers. And you won't just be using guns, right?"
"Magic too," Minerva said.
"That might do it," Gregory said, though he looked skeptical. "That might do it."
"Wunderbar!" Kat clapped her hands together.
"What, what about me?" Minerva asked.
Kat swept her into a bridal carry, her arms scooped beneath Minerva's legs, her hand cradling her back. Minerva, realizing what was going on, squalled and wriggled, but she found herself unable to do much as she was carried to one of the large, comfortable rooms that the Blyhtes kept, and was laid into the bed. And the worst thing was, once she was laid there, she felt too warm, too comfortable, and too damn tired to even move. Kat kissed the top of her head, then whispered. "Do be staying out of trouble until we get back," she whispered.
"Muhmmmph," Minerva mumbled.
Kat slipped from the room.
Minerva's eyes started to drag closed despite herself.
Minerva's eyes opened. She laid in the bed, her body soaked with sweat. She shivered and squirmed, rolling left, rolling right. Her brain tingled and she felt that queer dislocation in space and time that came from an interrupted nap. Her body felt too tight and her skin felt too hot. Was this the effect of being stunned? Or was this the effect of being tossed from life to life, into death, and death again, with a hope for yet more life to come? Was this because the whole world was coming to pieces around her - madmen ruled Europe and magic walked openly through the streets. Her blood felt as if it was writhing under her skin, alive and waiting to be spilled.
"You can feel it."
The voice didn't startle her. It should have, but Minerva felt as if there was no one else who could have been in the room but Cecili.
Two red coals burned in the room - eyes, peering from the darkness. The shadow slipped to her bed and Minerva wanted to bare her throat. She wanted to scream.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"You can feel the Working," Cecilia said. Her thighs drew onto the bed, legs daintily tucked under her. Leather creaked. She still wore the tight binding harness she had worn before - and Minerva wanted so badly to take hold of the buckles. But the sudden image, almost delusionally strong, of Cecilia coming to pieces like a doll in bandages, falling apart into her arms, burned through her mind. "Half the witches and wizards on the Continent must be feeling troubled dreams. Strange thoughts." She lifted her head, looking out the window, and at the pale sliver of starlight and moonshadow it let into the room. "If they're awake, they can put it aside. If they sleep, they might toss in the bed. But you, my little witchling…" A cool finger touched her throat, feeling her heart race. "You are open to the wyrd at this moment. Feeling every reverberation in the astral plane."
"I don't like it," Minerva mumbled, her voice shockingly petulant to her ears.
Cecilia chuckled throatily. "Oh little witchling." She brushed her fingers through Minerva's hair. "Soon, you'll sleep again, and when you wake, I'm not sure you'll even remember this moment." Those fingers slid from pulse-point to lips. Minerva opened her mouth, obediently. Cecilia arched an eyebrow, thrusting both fingers into her mouth. Minerva moaned, sucking. "Good lord, you're well trained, witchling. Is it that werebeast of yours or the teacher?"
Then Cecilia drew back, panting with a ragged happiness. "Ah, nothing like the sounds of a nubile like you…" She purred, quietly. "I admit, I might not have gotten caught if you noble girls weren't so fun to fuck."
"Not noble," Minerva murmured.
"Oh, no, Golding, you're more noble than every twat I've ever gotten my wicked lips on." Cecilia chuckled. She kissed one of her rump's cheeks gently, then drew back, leaving Minerva shuddering on the bed. When Minerva lifted her head, she saw Cecilia, clothed in a crimson robe, standing at the window.
Part of Minerva hadn't really believed that Cecilia was leaving. But she saw the cocky confidence on the vampiress' features and knew…
She wondered…if she had known the way that they had captured her before, bound her into the cell, she could make a pet of her. A servant, for good. But Minerva didn't even try and puzzle at that magical problem. She laid on her side, and said: "Will we ever see you again?"
Cecilia chuckled. "Maybe," she said. "I think I have a few people to check up on. I did miss two centuries, after all, give or take a decade here or there." She rubbed her chin. "I do wonder if Winnie Fairbrook ever did settle down with that Dutchman she was interested in…" Her grin flashed, and her fangs glittered ."I wonder if they had any daughters. I took her virginity, why not her granddaughter's?"
"You are incorrigible," Minerva said.
"Me?" Cecilia replied with mock offense, red eyes glittering. Her body slipped into the shadows. "The best of luck, Minerva Golding. You have my best wishes. One monster to another." The eyes flared. Then dimmed.
And she was gone.
Minerva laid in the bed. She knew tomorrow would bring preparations, and the next night would bring death.
So, she closed her eyes.
Then she opened them.
"Oh hey," she murmured. "I had a really great idea."
She fumbled at the nightstand and found no pen or writing implement of any kind. She was about to give up and pass out when her desk bloomed to full size beside her bed, opening drawers and unfolding a side table with a parchment already set on it. Minerva beamed at her desk, filled with such love for it. "You're a mensch," she said, then jotted down the idea, then laid her head back on the foot of the bed and went to sleep on her belly, naked, marked by a vampire, and still glistening with arousal.
She slept like a baby.
Not particularly unexpected.
Sitting across from the bars was something unexpected.
Captain Cordwine, looking rather cross, his arms tucked across his chest, his brow furrowed, his mustache bristling.
Minerva had expected any number of guards. Fae. Other students. Her professors. But the Captain? She swung herself upwards, smacked her lips, and then croaked. "Good morning, Captain."
"It's evening," he said,shaking his head from side to side. "You bloody stupid girl. What were you thinking!" He sprang to his feet, then began to pace, back and forth, back and forth. "Parliament's all in knots about this. Not this! They don't know about this. This as in this!" He gestured off in a vague direction that Minerva guessed had an equal chance of being the east, to the Soviet Union, or west, to the equally colossal United States of America.
"Which one?" she asked.
"Both!" he exclaimed, turning to face her.
Minerva realized her question - which had been which great country he was blustering about - also could be read as asking about which of the Parliaments was discussing. The magical? The mundane? Both. Hurm. Minerva leaned back against the stone walls of her cell. She frowned slightly.
"Why you?" she asked.
"I volunteered, I wanted to ask you why!" Cordwine glowered at her. "How could you be so inexpressibly stupid?"
"Someone had to do something," Minerva said, her voice a grumble. A soft one.
"Not that, you-" Cordwine rubbed his palm against his face, then stepped to the bars. "How could you be so foolish as to not bloody well ask me? This blood curse business? No proper place in war, none at all. And what do they think they're even going to be managing with it? Kill a few thousand Russians? Pfah!" he laughed. "The cat's well and truly out of the bag now."
Minerva nodded. "They're panicking," she said.
"And so were you, it seems," Cordwine grumbled.
"Where's-"
Minerva's question was cut off by a clank and a crash from the end of the corridor. Cordwine turned, and looked rather grim as a fae woman stepped forward. Minerva was in such a state that she barely registered the woman's nude form as she bowed to Cordwine.
"Master Cordwine, I have done as you requested. The word is in. The vote was not." She bowed again as Cordwine let out an explosive sigh of relief.
"Oh thank Christ," he said, turning to face Minerva. "And now, your silly little adventure was all for nothing anyway!"
"The vote?" Minerva asked.
"The War Ministry brought the issue to Parliament - oh, in a cloaked phrase or so, yes, but they did bring it. And they voted no. See?" He clicked his heels behind himself and glowered down at her. His mustache grew even more bristly. "The system works!"
"Are you done?" Minerva asked. She stood up, and she leaned against the bar, her hands pressed to the cold iron bars.
"Hurmph," Cordwine grumped.
"Would you have helped me?" she asked, her voice bitter.
"Oh without a doubt!" Cordwine said, cheerfully. "Sometimes an order's no good, you have to do your recognizance. We're not Germans, after all!"
Minerva chuckled, her voice still bitter. "I'm beginning to see why you're assigned here and not to the actual, ah, scouts? Fighting scouts?"
Cordwine laughed. "Ah, maybe so!" He frowned, then. "Bugger. You're going to Wakefield's and that's that. It's a poor reward for being right, but you need to also do the job too, not just flare out halfway." He turned and started to walk away. "Don't let the Knockers bother you too much, eh?"
Then he was gone.
Minerva thumped her head against the bars. She closed her eyes and felt her knees trembling. She had been running on so much adrenaline that she wasn't…entirely sure how sound her plan had actually been. She was too sleepy and confused now to get any of her thoughts to order straight. Instead, the words tumbled around and around and around inside of her head, bouncing off one another like ping pong balls. Azrielnacht, blood curse, Russia, America, Magic, Mundane…
The only hint that she had that she was not alone in the cell block was when a purring croon emerged from the darkness to her left.
"He's wrong."
Her blood ran cold. Minerva turned and saw that her cell was empty - but when she pressed her cheek against a bar, peeking through, she could just barely see a pair of pale arms, thrust from between two of the bars in the next cell over.
"Cecilia?" Minerva whispered.
"Mmmhmmm," the vampiress said. "I will say, for all that you have merely taken me from one cell to another, at the very least-"
"What do you mean he's wrong?" Minerva asked, her heart in her throat.
"I mean what I say. He's wrong. Blood magic is gathering. Not in London, though. The wind is wrong for it." She smacked her lips. The faint sniffing sound that came to the air was more like a hound scenting the air than a woman. "Ah, yes. Of course. The numbers are too small for this kind of Working. They're making up with the old powers."
Minerva's brow furrowed. Her eyes widened. "Stonehenge?" She whispered.
"That's the place." Cecilia's voice sounded like she was grinning. "We have a day and change, at the rate of this power growth." Sniff sniff. "Maybe less."
Minerva grabbed the bars. She started to shake them. "Merlin!" she shouted. "Merlin!"
"He won't come," Cecilia said, her voice bitter. "I know his type."
"Merlin you backwards aging git!" Minerva shouted at the top of her longs - her voice echoing off the cold, cold stone. She leaned her head forward, pressing it against the bars. "We have to stop them. We…we have to stop the bloody idiots. Merlin! Merlin!" Her voice echoed back at her. Taunting.
Cecilia chuckled. Her arms pulled out of sight - she was drawing away from the bars. The faint squeak of her long, limber body reaching the bed, made Minerva's heart skip a beat, despite everything. "I screamed like this. And I screamed and screamed and screamed, I screamed until I became mad, then screamed till I became sane, and they never came. They never came at all."
Minerva started to pace back and forth. She closed her eyes, whispering softly. "A wand is just a tool. A wand. Is just. A tool."
"Hmm?"
Minerva turned back to her cot. It was simple enough - four metal bars, hung from a hinge with canvas stretched between them, connected to the wall by a chain. Minerva leaped up and dropped her weight onto the cot. She sprang up and down, frantically.
"What are you- little girl, what are you doing!?" Cecilia cried out as the cot snapped and crashed away from the wall, spilling Minerva onto her back, the ground aching against her spine. She clenched her teeth, fiercely, then grabbed onto one of the metal poles. She cast her eyes around, frowning as she did so. There had to be…ah, there! She knelt by a bit of stone that jutted from the wall - an aged piece of masonry that had become almost razor sharp over time. She held the pole against it and shoved, drawing a thin white scrape along the iron. She clenched her teeth as she wriggled the pole left, right, swung it around - and as she worked it, the stone scraped and screeched.
"What are you doing in there?" Cecilia asked.
Minerva stood, holding the finished rod in her arm. Too long and too thick for a wand, covered in incredibly crude runes compared to what she had practiced in her runes class. She didn't care. It was just a focus. A tool. She closed her eyes, and thought back to everything she had ever learned - about symbolic magic, about the linkages between a seeming of a place, the actuality behind it…
Of words.
And of the first lesson she had learned on her broom.
She held her 'wand' up and hissed. "Mene. Mene."
She felt the magic flicker and flare. But it was weak. So weak. She wondered if it did more than disturb the air in Merlin's office. Minerva scowled. She wasn't just some child with a stick here. She had been taught how to focus her will and make it manifest - and she knew it would produce results. And so, she drove her will against the sputtering weakness of this makeshift wand…and learned why modern wands were made the way they were, with the care they were lavished with.
The tip glowed. Not the glow of a flare or firefly, not the clean sparkle of magic or the dull shine of radium; it was nearly molten. Like the filament of a lightbulb, glowing with heat as it resisted the electricity flowing through it.
Minerva forced more will, her hand tightening.
Metal hissed and sputtered. Red droplets of molten iron dripped to the floor as Minerva's will and her own arm seemed to meet on a head on collision - her elbow ached, her bones jarred, she felt as if she was trying to speak fire through her throat. She clenched her teeth and then forced out more words, more power.
"Tekel. Upharsin!"
The wand dropped to the ground and splashed as it struck. Hissing. Smoking. She dropped to her knees and ducked her head forward. Then, only then, did she let tears stream down her cheeks as she gasped and started to swear as loudly as she could in Yiddish. She ducked her head forward - while Cecelia shouted to her.
"What was that!? I've never heard that magic before in my life. Or…have I…" She sounded troubled.
Minerva clutched her hand to her chest and did not dare look at it. But she did smile, then, as the door to the cells clanged open with the same ear-rending crash as before. Merlin strode to her cell door, looking coldly furious. Minerva grinned up at him - a smile of pain and triumph.
"Speak," he said. "If you will be dramatic about this, at least do it here, without destroying my favorite tapestry."
"Heh," Minerva said. It was not a sound of mirth. "Listen to Ceceilia." She jerked her head to the side.
"What is happening?" Cecelia asked.
"A glowing hand appeared in my office," Merlin said, his voice firm. "And it wrote upon the wall the words mene, mene, tekel upharsin. You have been judged…and found wanting."
"Ahhh," Cecelia said. "Not nearly vicious enough, wizard." She thrust her arms out of her bars as Minerva peered out. "As for your information, the spell the Germans stole from the Kabbalah and perverted for their own ends? It is being enacted. Slowly. But it is being drawn forth. I can smell it on the wind. The smell of death unlike anything else in the world, Merlin."
Merlin's face went ashen, before he covered it with his hand. "No," he said, quietly.
"Let me out," Minerva said.
"It's too late," Merlin said, dropping his hand from his face. As he spoke, he waved his hand and the bars melted into the floor. "It is all far too late."
Cecilia stepped from the cell. She stooped, helping Minerva to her feet. Minerva leaned against her, feeling the raw, steel-hard strength of her. It made the pain feel a mite better. She and Ceceilia followed after Merlin as he walked like a dead man - waving his hand to open a secret door here, to level a staircase there. They emerged into Merlin's office.
The office itself was…arresting. Minerva, who's hand had moved from a fierce stinging pain to a dull, throbbing ache, took a few seconds to look around the whole office, almost dizzy with its strangeness. There was a clock with three faces, mounted upon each of the sides, each showing a different set of numerals, each with arms at different locations. There was a crystal set on a gold filigree stand on his desk, which itself was covered with unfinished papers. The crystal glowed faintly. There was a cat, sleeping without a care, in the middle of the air - and upon a second glance, Minerva saw the cat had a small unicorn horn. And there, of course, were the words in foot high capitals, seared into a tapestry and still smoking: MENE, MENE, TEKEL UPHARSIN.
Merlin ignored all of this to head to a cabinet beside his desk, which he opened, took forth a bottle, and poured himself a shot of some brown fluid. He knocked it back, hissed, then took his seat with a grunt. Minerva noticed the cabinet was not just a place to stash spirits: It also had several narrow wands. One of them was clearly Kat's heavy trench want - sitting at the bottom of the pile.
Minerva frowned at him.
"Hold out your hand," he said.
Minerva did so.
Merlin used his wand, though he did not speak. The tip glowed and the burn that scarred along her palm shrank, shrank, shrank and was gone. She wriggled her fingers, closed her hand, opening it again, then nodded to him. "Now," she said. "We have to stop them."
"This kind of working cannot be stopped," Merlin said, his voice soft. "Not without…"
"Without what?" Minerva asked. She stepped closer to the desk. "Merlin, if they're targeting the Soviet Union-"
"I am aware of the consequences," Merlin said, lifting his head up. "But this kind of working is potent. Very potent. There are only a few spells, only a few…sacrifices…that are powerful enough to stop it once it has begun. Only…only…" He trailed off.
"What are you talking about?" Minerva asked.
"Magic draws its power from the willworker," Cecilia said, hissing. "But it can be drawn from elsewhere. They are many willworkers, using Stonehenge's reservoirs of power. Any willworker disrupting it would take power of equal measure. It'd kill you."
Merlin looked grim. Grave.
"I'm…afraid she's right," Merlin said.
Minerva felt cold. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Merlin picked up his crystal. He twiddled it between his fingers, a nervous tick as he considered. "Such death. Such destruction. And it would be only the beginning. The curse could never kill every wizard in the Soviet Union. They only hope to…to kill enough that the British will remain dominant." The crystal sparkled as he shook his head slowly.
Minerva gulped.
Someone would have to die.
The choice was so clear. She could do nothing. She could let…hundreds of thousands die. Maybe millions. No, not maybe. She could see the endless fields of the dead from the Great War, repeated - expanded and amplified by twenty years of Europe's simmering hatred and technological advancement. Millions dead. Millions.
Or she could die.
Merlin breathed out a slow sigh. "If…someone were brave enough, with their sacrifice…."
He was looking pointedly at her. Minerva clenched her hands. She lifted her chin, her eyes half closed. It was the only way to…to…
Her brow furrowed.
She frowned.
"We shouldn't have to sacrifice anyone, Merlin," she said, her voice soft.
The crystal paused in its glittering. His fingers had stopped twirling it.
Minerva scowled and then thrust her hand out - no magic, just main force. The crystal went flying, hitting the carpeted floor, as papers went skidding up from the desk. They tumbled end over end as Minerva leaned forward, grabbing onto the shocked Merlin and hauling him forward. He was more surprised than he was manhandled - but Minerva found adrenaline, anger and surprise were enough. He skidded belly first along the desk as she held him close and glared at him. Overhead, the cat yowled awake then shimmered into non-existance, flickering away like a flame going out.
"You wanted me to die to stop this?"
"I-I-" Merlin stammered. "It has to be done! We can't let them-"
"Tell me, Merlin!" Minerva shoved him back down, stepping back, her arms trembling. "Were you always such a coward? You were going to give them the wand! You were going to do everything Ars Magicka asked of you - and then to stop them, you…you would kill me! You would let me die, just to…to…to what!?"
Merlin panted. He pushed himself back upright, looking frazzled…and yes, angry. The kind of furious anger of an animal backed into a track.
"We have no choice!" he said. "They're not just some madmen criminals, they're not some Frenchmen-" Cecilia snorted. "-they're our people, our government! We can't just-"
He cut himself off.
"Can't just what?" Minerva asked, her voice quiet.
"...ah, yes," Cecilia siad, chuckling. "The other way to end a Working of any magnitude. It's the simplest method." Her fangs glinted. "You kill the wizard."
"You can't!" Merlin exclaimed. "It would be chaos, and you'd die just the same. You'll be hunted by every policeman in England, the army, the air force, all of them will want your head. There's two members of the War Office there, and as many officers of the law that they could talk into coming along. You can't."
Minerva arched an eyebrow. "Can't I?" she asked.
Merlin shook his head. "If you go, it won't just be you or I who suffers the consequences. It overturn everything Britain has tried to make in the past four centuries - the rule of law! Order! Stability!"
Minerva turned. She rolled her shoulders. She started for the door.
Merlin aimed his wand at her. He flicked the tip and the door closed. His voice was deadly serious.
"Golding, don't you get it. If you do this, you'll be starting a civil war - between…between Ars Magica and everyone who thinks like you. Every communist and anarchist in the woodwork, they'll all see this as a cause célèbre! A bloody cassus beli too! You will destroy everything to save yourself!?"
Minerva turned to face him. "Are you going to stop me?" she growled.
"...yes," Merlin whispered.
"Then do it," Minerva said, glaring at him. Tensed. Ready to dodge.
Merlin flicked his wand. He didn't need to speak - but Minerva had been taught by Melissa Stevenson. She rolled forward as the spell whipped out. Crackling chains of red fire swept out - one slamming into the door and splintering it, the other wrapping around Cecilia, who hissed in irritation.
Minerva scrambled to her feet and dashed towards the liquor cabinet. She flung it open with such force that its contents spilled onto the floor, her wand, Kat's wand, Gina's wands all tumbling out onto the plush carpet. She grabbed blindly for one and struck out.
"Kemb Drit Micelnes!"
Her wand flicked up, and the floor between Merlin's desk and hers humped upwards into a crenelated wall. Merlin made a cupping gesture with his hand, then thrust his wand. The bricks of the wall turned to glass, then the glass turned to hissing steam, bursting and boiling away with such force that it flung Minerva back against the wall. She slammed home, then crashed to her knees.
"That's enough," Merlin hissed, furiously, stalking across the room. Minerva raised her wand to cast, but he made a simple gesture, without even a whisper, and the spell did little more than warm the wand in her hand and produce a handful of lazy sparks. The ancient wizard loomed over her, looking contemptuous.
"Are you quite done, Miss Golding?"
Minerva sprang to her feet, and brought the hardened knuckles of Kat's trench wand directly into Merlin's belly.
The nigh immortal wizard let out a very human whuff as the impact drove every bit of air from his lungs. Minerva grabbed his hair with her other hand, smashed him against the wall as she could, then whacked him in the side of the head with the wand proper. He groaned as laid there and she growled.
"Cidak Slan Man."
The bolt of stunning energy crashed into his belly and went still.
The fiery chains around Cecilia winked out.
Minerva looked down at the wand and realized that, despite the heavy and blunt construction, the main color in Kat's wand?
Silver.
Minerva found herself smiling obscurely.
"...well," Cecilia said, sounding interested. Very interested. "Dueling seems to have changed a lot since I was out."
Minerva grinned at her.
A side door burst open and Minerva found herself facing Kat, Gina, Selene, Harry and…Professor Stevenson.
"Let her-" Stevenson started, then stopped. She lowered the wand she had aimed at precisely where Merlin would have been standing. Kat whistled, slowly, as she looked around the room.
"Mein Gott, Minerva. Did you smack around the headmaster?"
"I…may have," Minerva said, feeling woozy. "Kat, I…Melissa, I- er, Professor, I-"
"Quiet," Stevenson said, her voice stern. "Come. We only have a short time to get away from Hexgramatica - I…am afraid this is my resignation." She sounded prim and proper, even now.
"It's more than that," Minerva said, her voice grim.
She walked out, with her friends and allies, leaving the groaning Headmaster on the ground.
Silence.
The half splintered side door opened and Professor Ravenwood - sporting a rather impressive black eye - stormed in, her non-swollen eye flashing with pure fury. "Headmaster, I have to report, Melissa Stevenson has been carrying on carnal relations with…" she stopped, slowly looking around herself, her eyes wide as she saw the wreckage.
Very softly, Professor Ravnewood whispered. "Bugger."
***
Minerva felt as if she had been speaking for hours by the time they had arrived at the Blythe household in Berwick on Tweed, the largest of the border towns between England and Scotland. She sat down next to Kat and, without a care, leaned against the muscular werewolf as the others in the room listened with grim intent. The rest of the room was positively filthy with her friends: Gina, Harry, Selene, Stevenson, Gerogry, Petunia…all of them, seeing them there with her and Kat? It made Minerva feel almost like she might be able to manage this.
No matter how tired she was.
"Well," Stevenson said, her voice dry. "It's clear we have to kill the blighters. But do you have a plan for it? Better than yours move fast and break things one, at least?"
Minerva rubbed her palms against her face. Kat, though, chuckled. "Of course we having a plan," she said.
"And it is?" Stevenson asked.
"Move fast. And break things." Minerva chuckled against Kat's bicep as she leaned into her. She was so…so tired right now.
Stevenson frowned, but before she could say anything, Kat continued.
"The Red Witches were killed before they could answer many questions from Himmler's men," Kat said, drawing her arm around Minerva even tighter, so that Minerva was almost buried in muscular female, something that Minerva was all too happy to feel. "One of those questions they were not being asked…is where they stashed their guns."
Stevenson frowned. "Guns? How many guns?"
"A lot of guns," Kat said. "We are going up against the police and the Ars Magicka. They're not armed with guns. They have mundanes for that, and no mundanes are going to be here. We have guns, we have magic, we have surprise on our side. We kill the bastards."
Harry gulped. His face was ashen. But he nodded. "Okay," he said. His hand slid along his shoulders. "I wish Robert was here. But…I'm glad he's not. We're going to…"
"No, we are not," Stevenson said, her voice firm. "Far from prying eyes, with a Parliament against it? The Ars Magika are as far out on a limb as we are. We wear masks and anti-scrying charms? We can get away with it." Her palm rubbed against her face. "I hope."
"So, we go and get the guns," Minerva said, standing up. Or, at least, trying to stand up. It was a little hard, as Kat had simply turned around and pushed her back into the sofa. Kat shook her head.
"There is no we," she said. "You are exhausted. Still recovering from stun. Stevenson and I will go and get the guns, yes?" Her golden eyes met Stevenson's and Stevenson nodded. Then Kat continued. "Gina, Harry, Selene, you will make the charms."
"Damn straight we will!" Gina said, springing to her feet.
"Gregory," Kat turned to Gregory and Petunia. Petunia clung to him, despite the fact she could stand easily now. "You're the expert - you think you can teach us how to use them in a day?"
"I…" Gregory made a face. "Well, you won't be able to shoot for shit. But I can at least give you some pointers. And you won't just be using guns, right?"
"Magic too," Minerva said.
"That might do it," Gregory said, though he looked skeptical. "That might do it."
"Wunderbar!" Kat clapped her hands together.
"What, what about me?" Minerva asked.
Kat swept her into a bridal carry, her arms scooped beneath Minerva's legs, her hand cradling her back. Minerva, realizing what was going on, squalled and wriggled, but she found herself unable to do much as she was carried to one of the large, comfortable rooms that the Blyhtes kept, and was laid into the bed. And the worst thing was, once she was laid there, she felt too warm, too comfortable, and too damn tired to even move. Kat kissed the top of her head, then whispered. "Do be staying out of trouble until we get back," she whispered.
"Muhmmmph," Minerva mumbled.
Kat slipped from the room.
Minerva's eyes started to drag closed despite herself.
***
Minerva's eyes opened. She laid in the bed, her body soaked with sweat. She shivered and squirmed, rolling left, rolling right. Her brain tingled and she felt that queer dislocation in space and time that came from an interrupted nap. Her body felt too tight and her skin felt too hot. Was this the effect of being stunned? Or was this the effect of being tossed from life to life, into death, and death again, with a hope for yet more life to come? Was this because the whole world was coming to pieces around her - madmen ruled Europe and magic walked openly through the streets. Her blood felt as if it was writhing under her skin, alive and waiting to be spilled.
"You can feel it."
The voice didn't startle her. It should have, but Minerva felt as if there was no one else who could have been in the room but Cecili.
Two red coals burned in the room - eyes, peering from the darkness. The shadow slipped to her bed and Minerva wanted to bare her throat. She wanted to scream.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"You can feel the Working," Cecilia said. Her thighs drew onto the bed, legs daintily tucked under her. Leather creaked. She still wore the tight binding harness she had worn before - and Minerva wanted so badly to take hold of the buckles. But the sudden image, almost delusionally strong, of Cecilia coming to pieces like a doll in bandages, falling apart into her arms, burned through her mind. "Half the witches and wizards on the Continent must be feeling troubled dreams. Strange thoughts." She lifted her head, looking out the window, and at the pale sliver of starlight and moonshadow it let into the room. "If they're awake, they can put it aside. If they sleep, they might toss in the bed. But you, my little witchling…" A cool finger touched her throat, feeling her heart race. "You are open to the wyrd at this moment. Feeling every reverberation in the astral plane."
"I don't like it," Minerva mumbled, her voice shockingly petulant to her ears.
Cecilia chuckled throatily. "Oh little witchling." She brushed her fingers through Minerva's hair. "Soon, you'll sleep again, and when you wake, I'm not sure you'll even remember this moment." Those fingers slid from pulse-point to lips. Minerva opened her mouth, obediently. Cecilia arched an eyebrow, thrusting both fingers into her mouth. Minerva moaned, sucking. "Good lord, you're well trained, witchling. Is it that werebeast of yours or the teacher?"
Minerva is ravaged by a sensual lesbian vampire - who turns out to also be an Alucard.
"Mmhmm!" Minerva nodded, dizzily.
"That was not a yes or no question," Cecilia murmured. "Or…was it?" She chuckled. "God, your friends really were foolish to leave a wicked vampire such as me alone in the room with you." Her fangs glinted. "Of course, I did occlude myself from their perception - a forget-me-please trickery, just so I might enjoy myself before I take my leave."
"Mmhm?" Minerva gasped as those cool, delicious fingers slid from her lips. "Leave?"
"This isn't my fight, young one," Cecilia said, leaning forward. "I am a beast, you know. A monster. A traitor. Some might even say I deserved what I got? Look at me, not a day out and I'm already planning on having my way with you." Her fingers tugged on the buttons. Minerva, unwilling to be raped, arched her back, helping the vampiress tug her nightclothes open. Her breasts felt so sensitive as they were revealed to the night air, and she bit the back of her hand to repress her moan as Cecilia's even cooler lips closed about a hard, aching nipple, sucking on her. Greedily. Oh so greedily. A hand cupped her back, another pinned her wrist above her head as Cecilia growled into her. Minerva left indentations in her skin that throbbed deliciously as her jaw tightened and her moaning tried to escape.
Cecilia drew back, then laughed. "We're alone in the house."
Minerva pulled her hand away from her mouth. "Oh."
This was a delightful mistake. Cecilia leaned in and kissed her with the confident expertise of centuries. Minerva's toes curled and her hand reached back, but before she could take hold of Cecilia's hair, Cecilia's free hand caught her wrist, then pinned her arm above her. Her hand then also took hold of her hip, and another did begin to tug down her leggings. Minerva blinked. Even in her somewhat woozied state, she knew that women did not tend to have…she had lost count, was that…five or…
Two hands cupped her breasts. Cool fingers tugged her nipples and Cecilia drew back with a throaty laugh.
"Oh this is going to be delightful."
"Ah…what…" Minerva whispered.
"We vampires are so hated because we do hate to be defined. Confined. Restricted…"
The figure above her was not the leather bound, pale figure that Minerva had seen in the darkness. Instead, there was darkness on darkness, with limbs extending from muscular shoulders like the grasping arms of a spider. Gleaming eyes began to open, peering down at her - red on white on black. Lots of them. She felt so intensely observed. Minerva trembled in fear and excitement.
"Those that pass keep themselves in your storybook forms," the vampiress crooned, her voice reverberating along several octaves at once - bassy, contralto, alto, all of it mingling into a harmony that soaked Minerva's thighs. "Bat. Wolf. Human. The only thing we share, truly?"
Minerva nodded, eager to know.
Lips parted in the darkness. Gleaming white fangs.
"Bare your neck, witchling."
Minerva lifted her head. Her eyes glittered. "You're not, you know?"
The vampiress leaned forward, two midnight black fingers rubbing Minerva's cunt, one caressing her hair, another stroking along her side. But those words stopped her cold. Her eyes, all of them, flicked up to meet Minerva's. Minerva grinned.
"You're not raping me," she whispered. "I want this. I want you. I want…" She squirmed. "All of it. All of you."
"...I did do it, you know," the vampiress said. "I'm…not misunderstood, I-"
"I don't care," Minerva said, shaking her head. "I'd have freed you anyway. No…no crime deserves what they did to you. And no one…no one…" She gulped. "God forgives, when you act better. So…go out there…and kill some fucking Nazis for me." She grinned.
The vampiress' eyes narrowed.
Then…
Then she laughed. A singing, thrumming laugh.
"Oh I like you, Minerva Golding. I like you…a lot…" Those fangs brushed against her neck as Minerva leaned her head back. The fangs sank into her and Minerva knew now why people seemed eager to embrace death. Pleasure burned through her and she trembled, her back arching, even as she knew every slurping drink that the vampiress took from her wrung her closer and closer to eternity. Her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned.
"Oh…yes…"
The vampiress drank from her with greedy eagerness, her hands pinning her down even harder and for a single terrifying, blissful moment, Minerva feared she might…not…stop.
Then…
Then she jerked back and she was Cecilia once more, all paleness and narrow lines. Her mouth glistened with blood and some dripped from her chin, glittering red spots on her high breasts. She rolled her head back and groaned. "Oh god yes…" She panted. "God. God. God. I needed that. God…"
Minerva laughed, raggedly. Her hand went to her throat, feeling the dimples, the puckered holes already feeling as if they were healing. "Will this show?"
"For your whole life, Minerva," Cecilia said, grinning. "Unless you take some steps-"
"Oh, I think I won't be doing that." Minerva said, her voice soft, her eyes glittering. "Now…" She began to push herself upright. It was strange, but…it felt like those fangs had removed all the confusion, all the uncertainty. All the strange feeling of floating in her own skin. She was centered. She was here, in her body, in this time, in this place, with this woman. She-
She…
She sat up and her head swam dizzily and she fell forward again, onto her belly.
"You did lose, ahem, about a pint of blood." Cecilia paused. "Maybe a pint and a half."
Minerva turned her head, eyes closed. "Then you need to eat me out," she said, smirking slightly. "A-As I cannot hold you down and…"
"Hold me down?" Cecilia huffed. "Eat you out?"
Minerva's grin grew more playful. "I am told by certain authorities that it's even better than blood."
Cecilia's tongue darted. She grabbed a hold of Minerva's hips, lifting her up and setting her down in a more centered place in the bed. Minerva got her knees beneath her, then grabbed onto the sheets and pushed upwards - only to find that Cecilia was leaning forward. Those delicious lips of her pressed to Minerva's cunt, and where blazing heat met the cool of a vampire's kiss, the result was more than Minerva had expected. Her fingers clenched on the sheets as that tongue - that long, flexible tongue - found her clit and began to circle and press against it without mercy.
Then…
Then the fingers joined.
More fingers than there should have been - with more hands. Two on her hips, two on her ass, one one her belly, and two tongues thrusting into her sex, and rubbing against her clit, while three fingers plunged into her cunny, all of them working with a unification that was impossible for anything but one mind, guiding them. Minerva's hips bucked and she lost all attempt at control, throwing her head back. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" She gasped as Cecilia ate her out and drank of her pussy as greedily as she had drunk from her neck.
Whiteness passed before Minerva's eyes as she cried out again and again and again - her knuckles going white as she gripped the sheets.
"That was not a yes or no question," Cecilia murmured. "Or…was it?" She chuckled. "God, your friends really were foolish to leave a wicked vampire such as me alone in the room with you." Her fangs glinted. "Of course, I did occlude myself from their perception - a forget-me-please trickery, just so I might enjoy myself before I take my leave."
"Mmhm?" Minerva gasped as those cool, delicious fingers slid from her lips. "Leave?"
"This isn't my fight, young one," Cecilia said, leaning forward. "I am a beast, you know. A monster. A traitor. Some might even say I deserved what I got? Look at me, not a day out and I'm already planning on having my way with you." Her fingers tugged on the buttons. Minerva, unwilling to be raped, arched her back, helping the vampiress tug her nightclothes open. Her breasts felt so sensitive as they were revealed to the night air, and she bit the back of her hand to repress her moan as Cecilia's even cooler lips closed about a hard, aching nipple, sucking on her. Greedily. Oh so greedily. A hand cupped her back, another pinned her wrist above her head as Cecilia growled into her. Minerva left indentations in her skin that throbbed deliciously as her jaw tightened and her moaning tried to escape.
Cecilia drew back, then laughed. "We're alone in the house."
Minerva pulled her hand away from her mouth. "Oh."
This was a delightful mistake. Cecilia leaned in and kissed her with the confident expertise of centuries. Minerva's toes curled and her hand reached back, but before she could take hold of Cecilia's hair, Cecilia's free hand caught her wrist, then pinned her arm above her. Her hand then also took hold of her hip, and another did begin to tug down her leggings. Minerva blinked. Even in her somewhat woozied state, she knew that women did not tend to have…she had lost count, was that…five or…
Two hands cupped her breasts. Cool fingers tugged her nipples and Cecilia drew back with a throaty laugh.
"Oh this is going to be delightful."
"Ah…what…" Minerva whispered.
"We vampires are so hated because we do hate to be defined. Confined. Restricted…"
The figure above her was not the leather bound, pale figure that Minerva had seen in the darkness. Instead, there was darkness on darkness, with limbs extending from muscular shoulders like the grasping arms of a spider. Gleaming eyes began to open, peering down at her - red on white on black. Lots of them. She felt so intensely observed. Minerva trembled in fear and excitement.
"Those that pass keep themselves in your storybook forms," the vampiress crooned, her voice reverberating along several octaves at once - bassy, contralto, alto, all of it mingling into a harmony that soaked Minerva's thighs. "Bat. Wolf. Human. The only thing we share, truly?"
Minerva nodded, eager to know.
Lips parted in the darkness. Gleaming white fangs.
"Bare your neck, witchling."
Minerva lifted her head. Her eyes glittered. "You're not, you know?"
The vampiress leaned forward, two midnight black fingers rubbing Minerva's cunt, one caressing her hair, another stroking along her side. But those words stopped her cold. Her eyes, all of them, flicked up to meet Minerva's. Minerva grinned.
"You're not raping me," she whispered. "I want this. I want you. I want…" She squirmed. "All of it. All of you."
"...I did do it, you know," the vampiress said. "I'm…not misunderstood, I-"
"I don't care," Minerva said, shaking her head. "I'd have freed you anyway. No…no crime deserves what they did to you. And no one…no one…" She gulped. "God forgives, when you act better. So…go out there…and kill some fucking Nazis for me." She grinned.
The vampiress' eyes narrowed.
Then…
Then she laughed. A singing, thrumming laugh.
"Oh I like you, Minerva Golding. I like you…a lot…" Those fangs brushed against her neck as Minerva leaned her head back. The fangs sank into her and Minerva knew now why people seemed eager to embrace death. Pleasure burned through her and she trembled, her back arching, even as she knew every slurping drink that the vampiress took from her wrung her closer and closer to eternity. Her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned.
"Oh…yes…"
The vampiress drank from her with greedy eagerness, her hands pinning her down even harder and for a single terrifying, blissful moment, Minerva feared she might…not…stop.
Then…
Then she jerked back and she was Cecilia once more, all paleness and narrow lines. Her mouth glistened with blood and some dripped from her chin, glittering red spots on her high breasts. She rolled her head back and groaned. "Oh god yes…" She panted. "God. God. God. I needed that. God…"
Minerva laughed, raggedly. Her hand went to her throat, feeling the dimples, the puckered holes already feeling as if they were healing. "Will this show?"
"For your whole life, Minerva," Cecilia said, grinning. "Unless you take some steps-"
"Oh, I think I won't be doing that." Minerva said, her voice soft, her eyes glittering. "Now…" She began to push herself upright. It was strange, but…it felt like those fangs had removed all the confusion, all the uncertainty. All the strange feeling of floating in her own skin. She was centered. She was here, in her body, in this time, in this place, with this woman. She-
She…
She sat up and her head swam dizzily and she fell forward again, onto her belly.
"You did lose, ahem, about a pint of blood." Cecilia paused. "Maybe a pint and a half."
Minerva turned her head, eyes closed. "Then you need to eat me out," she said, smirking slightly. "A-As I cannot hold you down and…"
"Hold me down?" Cecilia huffed. "Eat you out?"
Minerva's grin grew more playful. "I am told by certain authorities that it's even better than blood."
Cecilia's tongue darted. She grabbed a hold of Minerva's hips, lifting her up and setting her down in a more centered place in the bed. Minerva got her knees beneath her, then grabbed onto the sheets and pushed upwards - only to find that Cecilia was leaning forward. Those delicious lips of her pressed to Minerva's cunt, and where blazing heat met the cool of a vampire's kiss, the result was more than Minerva had expected. Her fingers clenched on the sheets as that tongue - that long, flexible tongue - found her clit and began to circle and press against it without mercy.
Then…
Then the fingers joined.
More fingers than there should have been - with more hands. Two on her hips, two on her ass, one one her belly, and two tongues thrusting into her sex, and rubbing against her clit, while three fingers plunged into her cunny, all of them working with a unification that was impossible for anything but one mind, guiding them. Minerva's hips bucked and she lost all attempt at control, throwing her head back. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" She gasped as Cecilia ate her out and drank of her pussy as greedily as she had drunk from her neck.
Whiteness passed before Minerva's eyes as she cried out again and again and again - her knuckles going white as she gripped the sheets.
Then Cecilia drew back, panting with a ragged happiness. "Ah, nothing like the sounds of a nubile like you…" She purred, quietly. "I admit, I might not have gotten caught if you noble girls weren't so fun to fuck."
"Not noble," Minerva murmured.
"Oh, no, Golding, you're more noble than every twat I've ever gotten my wicked lips on." Cecilia chuckled. She kissed one of her rump's cheeks gently, then drew back, leaving Minerva shuddering on the bed. When Minerva lifted her head, she saw Cecilia, clothed in a crimson robe, standing at the window.
Part of Minerva hadn't really believed that Cecilia was leaving. But she saw the cocky confidence on the vampiress' features and knew…
She wondered…if she had known the way that they had captured her before, bound her into the cell, she could make a pet of her. A servant, for good. But Minerva didn't even try and puzzle at that magical problem. She laid on her side, and said: "Will we ever see you again?"
Cecilia chuckled. "Maybe," she said. "I think I have a few people to check up on. I did miss two centuries, after all, give or take a decade here or there." She rubbed her chin. "I do wonder if Winnie Fairbrook ever did settle down with that Dutchman she was interested in…" Her grin flashed, and her fangs glittered ."I wonder if they had any daughters. I took her virginity, why not her granddaughter's?"
"You are incorrigible," Minerva said.
"Me?" Cecilia replied with mock offense, red eyes glittering. Her body slipped into the shadows. "The best of luck, Minerva Golding. You have my best wishes. One monster to another." The eyes flared. Then dimmed.
And she was gone.
Minerva laid in the bed. She knew tomorrow would bring preparations, and the next night would bring death.
So, she closed her eyes.
Then she opened them.
"Oh hey," she murmured. "I had a really great idea."
She fumbled at the nightstand and found no pen or writing implement of any kind. She was about to give up and pass out when her desk bloomed to full size beside her bed, opening drawers and unfolding a side table with a parchment already set on it. Minerva beamed at her desk, filled with such love for it. "You're a mensch," she said, then jotted down the idea, then laid her head back on the foot of the bed and went to sleep on her belly, naked, marked by a vampire, and still glistening with arousal.
She slept like a baby.
- Location
- United Kingdom
- Pronouns
- She/Her
gosh! i!
okay so! so!!
as regards the actual plot beats: i sincerely hope they ventilate voldemort with several high calibre rifle bullets, and i am profoundly unsurprised that merlin was like "there's no possible way to deal with this except to ask a student to kill herself" when "just kill the fascists" was an option - because killing the fascists might inspire the nasty icky communists and anarchists...
i also liked that stevenson was like "no actually this is fucked up" and also that Funny Fighter Ace Man is, like... an idealistic liberal, lol? bless his dumb mustachioed heart.
on other topics: i am beginning to sadly grieve for the prospect of "even more unhealthy sex with a professor" bc it looks like ravenwood isnt going to be sufficiently unethical. pity. however, that being said: good fucking god. fangs? fangs and biting? fangs and blood and biting? i will never be normal again.
okay so! so!!
as regards the actual plot beats: i sincerely hope they ventilate voldemort with several high calibre rifle bullets, and i am profoundly unsurprised that merlin was like "there's no possible way to deal with this except to ask a student to kill herself" when "just kill the fascists" was an option - because killing the fascists might inspire the nasty icky communists and anarchists...
i also liked that stevenson was like "no actually this is fucked up" and also that Funny Fighter Ace Man is, like... an idealistic liberal, lol? bless his dumb mustachioed heart.
on other topics: i am beginning to sadly grieve for the prospect of "even more unhealthy sex with a professor" bc it looks like ravenwood isnt going to be sufficiently unethical. pity. however, that being said: good fucking god. fangs? fangs and biting? fangs and blood and biting? i will never be normal again.
Twei
I have a face!
- Location
- the land where they write things
- Pronouns
- They/Them
good, reject normal
let the kink flow through you
Personally, shoutout to Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Gotta admit, all the people going, "Oh is Merlin sneakily trying to help Minerva" was like, "Oh...you poor dears...I'm sorry, he's a liberal..."
...I mean, yes, he was trying to manipulate her, just, ya know...
Twei
I have a face!
- Location
- the land where they write things
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Merlib is real, sadly
how can a demon twink be so lib? the mysteries abound
But also I'm going to say that I called it because I kinda did
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
I think the big thing for Merlin's internal headspace is that he was there at the very forging of Britain, he became Arthur's wise advisor and helped build the Round Table as both an act of choosing to place himself under mankind and under the banner of good, rejecting the evils of hell... and also an act of pledging all of his being to king and country. He's still pledged to king and country even now, millennia later, like Arwen after the Aragon and his son and his son's son are all dead, slowing fading, witnessing what the world of men becomes even as they forget the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor which birthed their forefathers. He has to play it out to the end, he has to tie himself to the mast and stay lashed to the very last scrap of human decency to be found in the British ship of state, even as it smashes itself between the rocks of Ars Magicka and the whirlpool of the awakened mundanes. If he turns his back on it all, if he stops holding vigil for at last it all to be worth it with a government that truly seeks to nurture men's souls and accepts that day will never come... then what was the point of it all? What was the point of Arthur and Nimue and Excalibur? What was the point of Merlin?
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- Pronouns
- He/They/She
Very tragic, but when you make yourself literally synonymous with reaction, shit happens when the kids get sick of you.
Come on, Merlin, genocide is imminent and your best idea is "maybe I can convince my student to sacrifice herself?"
(Say what you like about Dumbledore, but at least when he sends teenagers to fight the forces of evil alone he makes sure they come out of it alive.)
That said, I feel like Merlin's speech feels a little... out of place? Or maybe out of time? Like, the figure of "handwringing liberal who won't act against fascists because Civil Liberties and We Can't Be Seen Supporting Commies" is fine on its own (and I say that as a liberal myself), but it fits better in a setting that hasn't yet exploded into violence, where you can argue that as bad as things are they're not as bad as civil war. But this is a situation where the civil war is already here - the fascists are openly defying the government and attempting magic genocide. It's like putting a scene with an antiwar protester during Pearl Harbor. It makes Merlin seem less "handwringing liberal" and more "bizarrely unconcerned with the immediate problem."
The rest of the chapter was great, the "mene, mene, tekel upharsin" scene was especially awesome, but Merlin's self-justification didn't land for me.
(Say what you like about Dumbledore, but at least when he sends teenagers to fight the forces of evil alone he makes sure they come out of it alive.)
That said, I feel like Merlin's speech feels a little... out of place? Or maybe out of time? Like, the figure of "handwringing liberal who won't act against fascists because Civil Liberties and We Can't Be Seen Supporting Commies" is fine on its own (and I say that as a liberal myself), but it fits better in a setting that hasn't yet exploded into violence, where you can argue that as bad as things are they're not as bad as civil war. But this is a situation where the civil war is already here - the fascists are openly defying the government and attempting magic genocide. It's like putting a scene with an antiwar protester during Pearl Harbor. It makes Merlin seem less "handwringing liberal" and more "bizarrely unconcerned with the immediate problem."
The rest of the chapter was great, the "mene, mene, tekel upharsin" scene was especially awesome, but Merlin's self-justification didn't land for me.
- Location
- Great Khanate of Scotland
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Yeah I mean, Merlin comes off worse than the actual contemporary liberal imperialists who were gearing up to go all sicko mode on the Nazis. My man is getting upstaged by Churchill.
DracoDracul
Transbian Communist
- Location
- Austin
- Pronouns
- She/They
He's old enough that he likely remembers the fall of Rome and the society he wishes to preserve is one that still actively employs chattel slavery.
- Location
- The Frozen North
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I wouldn't agree, I do think Merlin's speech fits the situation when you consider his likely viewpoint. While you may think of the situation between Ars Magika and the Ministry as a civil war, I highly doubt Merlin or the Ministry see it that way. While they may disagree with the methods, they both ultimately want the same thing, a dominant aristocratic Britain. They both don't nessicarily want this specific action to occur, but if Ars manages to accomplish their plan I highly doubt the Ministry would punish them afterwards, and I doubt Merlin would resign in protest at that decision. What it really comes down to is he's on the same side of the "civil war" as them, as he'd rather see them victorious than Communists.
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
Churchill-Merlin would be like, now don't do anything drastic, I can just extort the Ministries of Magic with the suicide bomb of my resignation as headmaster and threaten them with the prospect of no-rules cowboy cop Merlin to force them to send the official wizard hit squads with us after Ars MAgicka and catch those bastards red-handed. How many guns do you think we should plant on the corpses, and how many of them should we say are socialists?
Merlin-Merlin as opposed to sad Merlib would like have that whole speech and then play it straight with going off to sacrifice himself, as well as Minerva, as the only noble course of action to avoid mass violence, before still getting slapped upside his head for being an idiot.
Merlin-Merlin as opposed to sad Merlib would like have that whole speech and then play it straight with going off to sacrifice himself, as well as Minerva, as the only noble course of action to avoid mass violence, before still getting slapped upside his head for being an idiot.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well, there's two things that guided my thinking
1) You actually did have antiwar protestors, huge and important ones, during and after Pearl Harbor, including famously the founder of the NAACP, W.E.B DuBois! ...course, part of that is he seemed to basically just assume the Japanese Empire was good since it was run by non-white people and stood in defiance of the white empires that had ruined Africa for centuries.
2) Merlin's immortal!
Like...
He's got more time to grow quite used to living - and big shake ups of the status quo (which he has lived through MANY TIMES) are the times where he comes closer to dying. Like, he was around for the fall of rome and the english civil war and the 30 years war...to him, the Pax Britania era has been the longest, most sustained, most comfortable time to be alive. And even if it's exploding around him, he's comfortable.
- Location
- Great Khanate of Scotland
- Pronouns
- She/Her
In that case I'd respect Merlin a lot more as a character if he just owned it. Just go "lol, lmao, I've survived enough shit to know how this goes. I win by keeping my head down and not letting anyone know where my real motives are. If Ars Magica wins they think I'm with them, if the liberals win they keep me cause I'm the establishment, if the commies win then I'll make sure I never gave them a reason to guillotine me. if you wanna get killed fighting Nazis be my guest, but if you win remember who let you out of prison."
That would be more evocative of both Dumbledore and Classic Merlin. As it is, weepy lib Merlin is just kind of...lame? And not in an interesting way imo
That would be more evocative of both Dumbledore and Classic Merlin. As it is, weepy lib Merlin is just kind of...lame? And not in an interesting way imo