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Lord of Tang

Chapter 11: The King, The Bishop and the Hogs Back

Summary:

Styr and Hrothweard lock horns in front of Northumbria's Lords in the Kings Council. The Durslieg's learn their future.
Hermione makes a discovery at the funeral which the whole village has turned out for.

Notes:

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from the wonderful books by J. K. Rowling belong to her and her publishers, I make no claim on it. Anything else is mine.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 11.
The King, The Bishop and The Hogs Back.
10th Century:

Styr was growing increasingly uneasy about the presence of his Scottish guests, sent to him by his men from Dunholm, in his Palace where he had lodged them for their visit. He had spent a week trying to gain the family's confidence, attempting to wheedle the location of their origination out of them. From the reports his men had given him, as well as what little the family had said, he was certain it was the place he needed to find, positive it was a village close to the school he had been shown by Salazar, his old mentor. He realised early after their arrival that they had figured out he wanted the information and knew it was, therefore, a commodity with value. So had been tighter lipped than they had been in Dunholm, where they had believed that telling all would save their miserable lives. He could have extracted the information of course, but he preferred not to use Legilimancy to read the foul families minds, fearing that they knew just enough to reveal his true nature if he tried it, and they recognised what he had done. He had no idea if they were familiar with the effects of the technique or not, if they were it would reveal what he was to them, and he knew they would sell that information if they could. That wasn't the only reason Styr had for not using his powers to gain the information though, he had very quickly realise what foul people the Durslieg's were. He had, through necessity, probed the minds of some truly horrible people, he could stand sifting through the memories of them to get the information he required, no matter the deeds they had done, they still had some honour, some decency. This family though had none, they were truly disgusting in thought and deed, in a way he believed could easily be their nature, so bad was it. He really didn't relish the idea of having to sift through their memories and prejudices to find what he needed if he could avoid it. They were easily the most foul, unpleasant people he had ever come across, so the prospect that he might need to enter their minds made him shudder in dread at the filth he might encounter. Trying to get useful information out of them, past their wall of prejudice and self importance was bad enough, but his patience was growing increasingly thin as they tried to ingratiate themselves on him and any others they felt were important. He had made the mistake of offering them help to settle on their own piece of Northumbrian land, so long as they gave him and him alone the information he sought. An offer, which had only increased the man's self important manner and transparent attempts at intimidating those in this court to try and raise his own profile. He had needed to be careful with the family, treat them as honoured guests, when in fact he found them to be an obnoxious example of humanity, repulsive, badly behaved and appallingly poor company who inspired him to have nailed to the city wall much more than even his brother had. Still he played on their feelings of betrayal by their Lord, desperate to get as much information from them as he could without resorting to the use of magic, but that was before Hrothweard had insisted on meeting with the foul family.

Styr had, in the end, had no choice, but to give way and allow the meeting, somehow the family heard it had been requested and insisted that they would agree to nothing until they had met the man. Styr realised this meant that one of Hrothweard's men was in this palace and had managed to get a message from the cleric to the family, who had sent a reply, all without his knowledge. Once more, it was clear, he would need to tighten the circle of those who he trusted in his own home, in the meantime he had his most trusted men scan all in his household to root out the spy. He had known since they arrived that he would, eventually, have had to grant access to the family, to Hrothweard, but had hoped he would have longer to get the information he required before he had needed to do so, it had turned out to be a forlorn hope. The Archbishop had arrived, unannounced, at the Palace and demanded to see them privately. The meeting seemed to have gone well for the church man, which certainly was not good for the king, but he still had no word as to what had actually been discussed. However, the family had been even more reticent since they had met with the head of the church in Northumbria. Even the fat thug of a boy, who had at first been friendly towards Thorfin, even instigating joint pranks on the servants between them, now avoided the King's son as much as possible. Styr thought back over the information he had managed to glean from the Durslieg's, mostly on the day they had arrived, when they had been overwhelmed by meeting the King, and desperate to curry his favour.

The family had, at least initially, been the one piece of obviously good news the ship from Dunholm had brought with it. The captain had paid the tax to trade in the city, passed on his news, including the tales of the raids on the Northern part of his Kingdom as well as the happenings in other, further flung lands. He had told his tidings as quickly as possible, then returned to his vessel to oversea the offloading of the goods he had brought to trade.

Later in the day, once the family's wagon and beast had been off loaded and reassembled, it was brought to the palace, along with the rest of their belongings, the crew who brought them left all of it stacked in the yard, the stench from the various bags and chests was strong, even over the usual reek of the city. Styr had heard the ship had stayed for two more days, trading and gathering supplies, then the Captain visited the cathedral where he probably gave tax to the church, as all Christians were expected to do and more than likely then paid for priests to pray for his safety at sea. Perhaps he did the same for himself as well before he departed, allowing the falling tide to pull his ship down the river back to the coast, neither oars nor sails required and stowed aboard together with goods he had acquired in the city, his treasure chest no doubt swollen by the profits he had made as well.

The news they brought of raids on the lands near Dunholm, originating from north of the old Roman built wall, which had clearly, worryingly, resumed again, although they gave the King an ideal excuse to ignore the summons to lead his army south. He was, of course, yet to inform Hrothweard of this news, he was still considering how best to use this information for maximum gain, to catch the churchman off guard sufficiently that he would not have time to make any demands other than those Styr required. Today though, his time to consider was over, for today the Archbishop was to visit the palace again, this time for the routine twice yearly King's council, which meant that Styr would control the meeting. It was the perfect opportunity to put the Archbishop in his place and stop any more thought of moving the Fyrd south. This was the one meeting they both attended where the King had complete control over proceedings, although he had usually deferred to what Hrothweard had wanted, the priest was only an advisor in this gathering and held only the power Styr allowed. There was no possibility of the Archbishop being able to overrule him, not without making himself look foolish in the process at any rate. That said, the churchman was a good politician, with an uncanny ability to react to the unexpected, turning it to his own advantage and would try to manipulate the King, expecting more leeway on protocol than was strictly allowed, believing it his right for gifting the throne to him. Not this time though, Styr too was a good politician, and it was time to bring the clergy under control. He hoped that this time he would have complete control of the meeting for the first time, true he would need to react quickly, his plan was incomplete, he would inform Hrothweard of the raids, then tell him what would happen. From that point what happened would depend on the reaction of the chief of priests in the City. The news of the raids in the north would mean that the other Lords summoned to attend would support him, even if they were Christian, if only to only protect themselves, their lands and wealth. This was his chance, perhaps his only one, to call into question the church’s loyalty to Northumbria, without having to worry about appearing to be being disloyal to their God, or to the church.

At least that was as far as he had worked the plan by the time Styr brought Thorfin and the Durslieg's into his main hall, where the council would meet, along with his household advisers at his side, Wizards to a man. The rest of what would happen would depend on how events unfolded, he believed he had contrived a response for any eventuality, but he could not be certain. He knew it was a risk, but he also recognised it had to be taken, it was the best chance to get the outcome he needed, he knew would not have as good an opportunity again. The morning of the Witan, he moved the pieces into place, ready for the gathering. He hid the Durslieg's in the shadows behind the dais where the thrones were placed, he did not want it known they were present. His last words to them before the start was to warn them that they should not be thereat all unless he summoned them publicly, before all the Lords present, so for their own good they should remain silent until he spoke to them directly. He warned them that if they made it known earlier, the lords sworn to his defence might act before he could stop them. He hoped that perhaps when the family saw him put the troublesome priest in his place, it would loosen their tongues, help them see where their loyalty should really lie. It was not long before the Lords of the Witan began to arrive, each knowing their place and taking their seat as appropriate.

The room was already full as the Archbishop arrived, on horse-back at the Palace gate. As usual, when attending Witan or the more regular Council, he was late, and he was accompanied by a fully armed cohort of his soldiers, a show of power intended to catch the King off guard, by forcing him to delay the start of the meeting. Styr however had anticipated this tactic and not only had he ordered his own men to deny the Church guard access beyond the court yard and into the palace buildings, but he also had begun the Witan of Northumbria meeting at exactly the time proscribed, instead of waiting for the cleric. Hrothweard arrived at the door to the Hall, clearly furious his men, along with those of the other Lords, had been denied access. Usually his men would be allowed entry though, indicating his importance compared with the others, yet Styr had apparently given orders that this would not be so on this occasion. Hrothweard intended to demand that they be allowed in, but stopped in his tracks as his path was barred by two of the Kings own heavily armed men, tasked with the protection of the gathering. They blocked the threshold to the room, which was customary with any late arrival, who would be made to wait, once the session had started it seemed that is what he would be forced to do. He was not accustomed to such treatment, How dare Styr start the Witan without his presence in the meeting, not when the man was only in the exalted position he was because he had placed him there by the church. The Archbishop was a senior member of the Witan, second only to the King himself in this council, yet he was barred entry, he was left to merely observe the King directing the discussion within from outside, unable to ensure the debates went the way he and his church desired. He could see the King was listening intently to the Lords present as they gave their advice, but he was unable to hear what was said, or what the discussion was about. It could be anything from a property dispute, to why these Lords had failed to send men for the Fyrd as they should have done. The latter was a conversation he wished to hear the answer to, as was why they had arrived with only a handful of men each, no more than personal guard, but he could not until he was permitted into the room. He waited for the King to notice he was there and then create a pause to allow him entry, it was all he could do without breaching protocol, or risking being forcibly put out of the palace. His own tactic had back fired on him, putting him on the back foot, even after he was admitted. Hrothweard noticed his customary place at the side of the King was taken by the King’s son, which increased his anger. He knew the King had every right to have his son at his side, but it rankled that he would be required to sit amongst the other Lords instead of where he could whisper suggestions to the King. Suggestions that, of course, the King was expected to follow in order to ensure the wishes of himself and the church were the ones agreed, he could only do that if he was sat where Prince Thorfin had been placed. He was so distracted by all the unexpected turns of events, that he did not notice the Durslieg's sat in the shadows behind the throne at all, just as the King had intended he would not.

Those in the hall had their backs to the entrance, as was customary. They were all unarmed so sitting with their backs to the door symbolically and in reality showing that they trusted their King to protect them in his own Hall. They could not see what was outside the door, so none noticed the angry clergyman impatiently pacing round waiting just outside the room. Each Lord sat in a specific place in relation to the others, depending on their status, both in society in general and within the Witan itself. Those closest to the King were among the most senior, others gained their position according to wealth, ownership of land, or because they were valued trusted advisers, whose counsel had proven to be the most reliable in the past. Many of them had fought alongside Styr when he took the throne, some receiving the land they now owned as their reward from him, a few had received some from the church as well, while others had already been landowners on that day, but had proven loyalty to the church, Styr or would just accept whoever was on the throne, not caring how they got there.

Styr had, however, noticed the angry Archbishop’s arrival in the ante room the moment he had appeared and had decided to keep him waiting for a while longer than was strictly necessary. The business they were discussing was reaching its conclusion, he would begin the next item before allowing Hrothweard entry, even though usually he would have been admitted between the discussions. The Witan had already discussed a number of issues that the Lords had brought, news of from their own lands and were now on matters within the City itself. Smiling to himself as he saw the head of the church begin to pace, he invited the Lords to offer their advice on the thorny issue of how much the City would charge this winter for arranging for the scraping of the hulls of visiting traders ships to free them of the barnacles they had gathered in their voyages since the last spring. The amount was eventually set, after some discussion, so the King finally acknowledged the presence of the Archbishop and invited him in, the guards parted at his word to allow Hrothweard in, and the man swiftly moved through the door.

“Ah, Archbishop, I see you have arrived at last. I felt we should not wait in case you arrived, many of these Lords or their representatives have long journeys to make, so we began some little while ago.” Styr smiled indicating that the man should sit facing the King. “Not to worry though, we have managed admirably thus far without your wise guidance.”

Hrothweard noted the open barbs Styr had not bothered concealing in his words, painted in the veneer of formal politeness, had he been in his usual mood he would have recognised the signs of confidence in the King as well, but he wasn't, and he didn't, so his anger rose, especially as the others present barely hid their amusement at his discomfort. It was not calmed when he noted that the King had indicated he should sit with most of the Lords, closer to the throne, rather than having a chair next to him. Not only a position far junior to his customary place, but it was an invitation that, once more, protocol did not allow him to refuse without losing face further than he had already. As he took the chair he realised he had to calm down, so quickly got his anger under control, knowing it would not help to allow it to show. He could not give anyone the satisfaction of showing they had provoked him, besides, he held the controlling position, although the king did not yet know it. “My king I believe the news I bring from Wessex will be sufficient to allow my lateness pass.”

The atmosphere in the room noticeably tensed amongst the Lords, they recognised the signs of the verbal contest for power between the two most powerful men in Northumbria. This may not bode well for the meeting, or the country as the two men vied for superiority, especially if neither gained it quickly. A long power struggle between the two, could lead to disaster for the country as both concentrated on beating the other rather than the needs of the nation. Even the loyal Christians amongst them could not help, but wonder if the old pagan gods, which they knew some of their number still secretly looked to, were not playing with them all for their own entertainment, as the old tales told they would.

The King smiled, he could play this to his advantage, whilst appearing to allow the man precedence. “In which case, Lord Archbishop, we shall hold off on all other matters until we have heard this startling news, which has delayed your arrival at your King's Witan, Hrothweard.” Styr knew he was calling the Archbishop’s bluff and baiting him, not giving the churchman chance to settle too far into his comfort zone, strengthening his own position, whilst appearing to defer to the church.

The opening salvo's in this political battle between them had been fired, it was a fight they knew was inevitable a war of words, for now at least and every Lord in the room hoped that would be how it remained, fearing it would not. Hrothweard had wanted time to drop the news he had brought into the meeting at a more opportune moment, for him, in to the discussions, to catch them all off guard, gaining agreement before they could object, or even think of any. He began to wonder at the Kings attitude, perhaps he knew more than he had given him credit for? No, that was impossible, there was no way Styr could know about this already, he had only received the message himself this morning, he wondered if it was something else of which he was unaware. He inwardly laughed, of course that couldn't be the case, how could his own network of informants fail him? No, the King had to be bluffing, trying to gain control of an unknown situation, there was no other possibility. Having come to this conclusion, Hrothweard drew his attention more confidently to the here and now of the meeting, he looked round the members of the Witan.

All eyes were on him, he had the expectant, eager attention of each one of the Lords, all of whom knew he had been allowed an unprecedented breech of protocol to announce this news now. Custom in the Witan dictated that any new business that had not been notified ahead of the start of the gathering would not be considered, but held over until the next, allowing all to consider their response to it, but the King had changed that for the Archbishop. All were awaiting his words with bated breath and heightened anticipation at the breach of protocol no other would have been granted. He pulled himself up importantly and proudly announced. “The King of Wessex sends his compliments and orders that St Cuthbert's remains be moved to Dunholm within the month, to secure him in his new shrine whilst it is peaceful. Further, in consultation with the family and my colleague in Cantwaraburh, the Durslieg's are to be taken south immediately. They have requested the asylum of the church, and it has been granted, and they have been given land near the Seafern and Caerloyw. They have proved to be loyal to the church and will benefit from its protection there.” The Archbishop gloated.

Styr's face had briefly betrayed his fury, he knew Hrothweard had deliberately worded the report to give impression that the King of Wessex was interfering in Northumbrian matters and had every right to do so. He was staking the claim of Wessex to rule the whole of Englaland and that Northumbria must bow down to the southerners. The King calmed himself as he considered the information, he knew it was Hrothweard who had changed the church’s order to Wessex's in order to try to provoke him, and the Lords. His own spies in the Church had told him the Archbishop had made a request that it be altered as a test, but they had not discovered what it would be changed too, now he knew that. He had also been informed that the King of Wessex had told the church he could not issue such an order, not before the King of a united country was named, at which time it would be up to whoever that was. He had told them he would merely add his support to a request made by the clergy themselves, but again Styr's informants had not known the nature of the order. Now he did, he could use Hrothweard's words to sow seeds, which he could nurture later in the meeting. He smiled, an almost feral smile, at the Archbishop. “Please thank Wessex for his complements, but remind him he may not give orders in my Kingdom, any more than I can in his, at least not yet. However, the church may, of course, do as it likes with the corpse in that chamber you have created in the church at Onripum, of course we will assist where necessary I am sure, in addition to that dictated by duty to the church of course.” He fell silent considering his next move carefully.

The Church had spent a large amount of gold to create that chamber beneath the church in Onripum, to hold the box, gold taken from the Lords in this room who wished to please the church. The crypt was lined with stone, with a narrow entrance for the clergy alone to enter, only they were permitted to view the body in its temporary resting place. They had spent significantly more of Northumbria's treasure to construct a new shrine for the holy cadaver at Dunholm, where again the remains would be hidden within a tomb. No, if they wanted to take it north where it could be stolen more easily in raids then taken north of the wall, well that was their choice, but if he were to point out the waste by the church, it could alienate those Lords who were still faithful to it, he needed them on his side so could not alienate them. Besides, the Archbishop could hardly expect the Fyrd to be sent south now, not when the King would have to supply the majority of the guard for the priests who would accompany the saint's body on its journey, this would give him the excuse to disobey the Archbishops original command whilst making it appear to be for the church's benefit. The Durslieg's were a simple matter, so long as he could control their departure, he would have to suffer the cess pit that was their minds and take the information he needed from directly them after all, then Oblivate them of the experience, so they could not reveal his nature. Still, he could not give in to the Archbishop too easily in the eyes of the council, and he still had the news from the north to break, that should surprise the smug cleric and put him in his place, for now at least.

Taking a deep breath as if calming himself, he looked directly at the man.“Very well Archbishop, I shall order the guard along the route for the holy saints trip and of course to accompany him.” Styr agreed. “As for the Durslieg's, perhaps their journey can wait until sufficient of my men are available afterwards to take them south in safety.”

The Archbishop smiled, he had, he believed, won a victory over the King. Perhaps that would help put him back in his place, subservient to him once more. “The church is grateful to you my King, though only a few guards for the Saint will be required, our own men and God, shall accompany the holy remains, though as many of your men as you can muster along the route would be appreciated. We shall take him on the route our Lord shall dictate, we do not know if he will wish the saint to be shown to the people as he passes or not, but it will be revealed as we pray for his guidance in the next days. Once that is known, I shall inform you of it, in the meantime please hold yourself ready to be at his disposal, as we all do, praise God. One or two of your men is all that is required to accompany the Durslieg's, their odour and manner, should put off most attacks anyway. They will leave within the week for the small estate they shall own, there will be little risk, after all, it is our allies’ lands they will be going through. The journey north for the blessed Cuthbert is hardly fraught with danger either, Dunholm is at peace, by all reports from my clergy there.”

The King smiled, he knew the Archbishop believed he had won, he would continue with the charade, for now. He also knew that the route the saint would take would be decided by how many places the priests thought they could get money from for taking the corpse there, all gold for their pockets in the name of their God. Even so his words and tone were measured, though not noticeably to others, luring the Archbishop in, as he responded carefully. “Very well, I will supply two men to escort the family, and send word to all men to guard the route of Saint Cuthbert, once it is known.”

“Thank you, my King.” The Archbishop dutifully replied, a sly smirk betraying his true feelings of victory.

His eyes widened in surprise as the King turned to look into the shadows behind him.

“I believe the rest of our discussions will be of little interest to you as you appear to have made your choice to leave us. I am sorry you will be going away, it has been interesting to meet you.” Styr said in a clear voice, as Hrothweard noticed someone was there, in the shadows, for the first time. “I shall see you following this meeting, to make the arrangements for your journey, you may return to your rooms for now, please wait there for the time being, we shall finish here as soon as we are able.” The King addressed the figures that appeared from the gloom, revealing who they were to the Archbishop. They bowed to Styr before they silently left the room, glaring at the cleric, who was stunned that they had been there, as they went.

Styr was almost laughing out loud as the Priest realised the family had heard his words about them, the King's plan to deliberately hide them so Hrothweard would not know they were there had paid off far more than he could have hoped for. The Archbishop had gone to quite some trouble to garner the families loyalty and had badly damaged that with a few careless words.

Once again the Archbishop was having to control his anger, he knew he had damaged the trust he had built with that foul family, simply to glean from them the knowledge of what the information Styr wanted from them was. He had gone to some lengths to gain them lands in Wessex to buy their loyalty with and now he knew he had jeopardised that trust. Still, he should be able to salvage something of that relationship, to do what he needed to with them, so long as they wanted to leave the Palace, before going to Wessex. Styr's voice drew the Archbishop from his thoughts.

“Well, with that settled, we should return to the business we had planned to hear. As I notified my Lords, we must hear the report from my messengers, who have recently returned from the north, with the Durslieg's on the same ship that brought them.” The King nodded towards one of the men who had escorted the family from Dunholm.

The report was long and detailed, as Styr had instructed it to be, describing several of the raids that had occurred, with no Scots being captured. Hrothweard's face was draining of colour the longer the report went on, now he learned of the regular raids so close to where the new, expensive, shrine had been built, by the church as a whole at the site he had recommended. He knew that his counterpart in Wessex would be furious that the shrine, one that he had caused to be built to take the saints remains, was in a dangerous place despite his reassurances, which meant that the entire church controlled from Wessex would be displeased with him. This was to be the permanent home for the corpse, completing the journey it had made round Northumbria, seeking a suitable place, until God’s guidance had told his priests where to build, or rather his priests had claimed such on his instructions. Dunholm, which was close to the saints original burial place, which was far too vulnerable to both Scottish and Danish attack, had seemed so secure. Now it sounded far from safe, contrary to the word he received regularly from his priests there, it seemed inappropriate for a saints final resting place. If his priests reports were false, as now seemed likely, what else could they be concealing? The timing for moving the saint's remains had been decided based on his recommendations, which he had only made because of those false reports. To change that now was unthinkable, he would lose all credibility with his masters in the south. He had personally assured them of the peaceful relations Northumbria had with the Scots, it was impossible to change anything now. His only hope was that this was simply a play by the King to gain power over him, by embarrassing him in front of his superior in Cantwaraburh. That would explain the reports he had received from the town, perhaps his priests had not misled him and this report was a lie engineered by the King. Styr was a slippery ally, ambitious enough to do anything to suit his purpose, he had after all betrayed his own brother to gain the throne. Hrothweard had supported that act, but if the King could betray his brother so easily as he had, needing little persuasion, would he remain loyal to him, was he capable of it or would he betray him without a thought? After all the man had to have known of this earlier and had not said a word about this before, rather the contrary in fact. Had Styr deliberately misled the him? It was the only answer that made sense, he could not allow the King to get away with it.

With all protocol and politeness forgotten, his anger built and exploded, and he interrupted the report. “Styr, I put you on this throne, now you betray me.” Spittle was spraying and frothing from his mouth as his temper rose to fire and brimstone level. “You will explain why, on reports read at your council, I assured the King of Wessex of the safety that the blessed Saint would enjoy in Dunholm? Why, on the strength of your assurances, the church both here and in Wessex has committed vast amounts of gold to build the shrine and church, only to find as the work is complete, it has been built within reach of heathen savages ravaging the area? Why have you not brought the Scots under control? Your disloyalty to the good of the church has placed both the Saint, and my position, in grave danger. Who supported you against your brother with the sole purpose to ensure our orders were fulfilled, as you agreed at the time? We kept our side of the bargain, you are King, and it is time for you to fulfil your word to us.”

All present drew a sharp breath as the most senior church man in Northumbria brought the King's honour into question. Styr had to react strongly, or all would assume his guilt of the accusations. They expected the King to react as violently as the Archbishop, they knew if he did, they would need to choose sides as civil war erupted between the King and Church.

Styr, however, remained calm, his eyes cold as steel as he responded firmly, his tone oozing the strength of a man who knew he had the power to crush or make the man he addressed. Brooking no argument from his would-be puppet master, his words cut through the tension as swiftly as a sword. “Archbishop Hrothweard, we are not in your vicars’ refectory in Bedern now, nor your cloister, or even a chamber within your house. You are at my council, which you arrived at late and now accuse of misleading you. I will, for now, ignore disregard for proper behaviour in my presence, however, I cannot allow your accusations to my honour as King, nor of this council, stand unchallenged. I have given you no assurances or any information regarding the safety of the north that was not reported by your priests to us by yourself or that hasn't been given in the Witan. If your priests cannot give accurate information then blame them, not this Witan. If you have furnished false information to Wessex then that is your responsibility, not ours. I would also point out that you complain that we have no peace in the North, while you request our Fyrd wastes its time in Wessex, building defences against no one. Defences that Wessex should be constructing for itself, as each and I suspect every Lord here could tell you, it is their responsibility to defend themselves not ours.” Styr told him, paused as if thinking, then added. “I would remind you as well, that the bulk of the gold for your shrine at Dunholm was Northumbrian, from those in this room and others, not from your church, or even from Wessex. Tell me how you wish us to fulfil all these demands you place on us? Which is to be our priority and, which ignored? Should we deal with the threat to our northern border, or send men South to do nothing on the orders of Wessex? Perhaps if you stopped trying to serve more than one master, you would see more clearly the requirements of Northumbria, your own country. Archbishop, is your loyalty here or with Wessex?” The Kings words were dripping with insults, both obvious and implied, but every Lord present knew them to be true and would not argue.

The Archbishop sat, shocked, unused to being spoken to in such terms, but his anger was quietened at the realisation of the truth of them. “I must obey Cantwaraburh, he is the senior.” He weakly replied, not able to defend against the accusations made.

“Why?” Styr replied, the strength in his voice not diminishing as he swiftly continued, not allowing Hrothweard to answer. “Because Wessex dictated you should? Who is he to rule your Northumbrian church, and attempt to take our country by stealth through you? He knows nothing of life here, so why let him rule your actions here? How can he know the needs of the people you serve? Cuthbert will go to Dunholm, with or without his help, but to ensure the shrine is safe, we must quiet the Scots. For that we need as much information from the Durslieg's as we can get, or is Wessex to know it before we can act. Why? Is he able to do the job for us? Of course not and if we asked he would rightly say it was our problem not his. So, I ask again, where does your loyalty lie, with the south or with your home and us, the people you are supposed to serve?”

Whilst the Archbishop stared silently open-mouthed at Styr, the Kings implication that Wessex was trying to invade Northumbria by stealth through him had rocked him to the core. The statement shocked him into realising he was rapidly losing the loyalty of the Lords present, Wessex had left him impotent to respond effectively. If he supported his southern counterpart then he would lose all here, if he supported Styr he would lose any support from the south. He could not allow either scenario to become reality, especially with what he knew the church in that country wanted, that Styr's accusation was correct, though he believed achieving it to be many years away.

The silence in the room remained unbroken, so the wizard took his opportunity, he wordlessly cast Legilimens on the Archbishop for the first time, what he found was no surprise. The man was frantically trying to find a way to regain control, but had no method to do so. Styr pushed past those thoughts to dig deeper, searching for the information he needed. He swiftly swept through the memories he did not require, until he found the ones of the Archbishops meeting with the Durslieg's. Quickly extracting the information he wanted, then withdrawing his probing, he ensured his action was unnoticed by anyone else. Satisfied he now knew all that Hrothweard did about the appalling family and significantly, some detail of their journey. He now knew the name of the village they were from and that it was indeed close to the formidable fortress of the school, details considered unimportant by the Archbishop, as the family had been unable to tell him the nature of those who attended it. Hrothweard had even dismissed the castle as a surviving building of the Romans, despite the family insisting it had only recently been built, after all how could the Scots build such a thing. Most might be Christian, but they were still barbaric, barely capable of building a hut, never mind a complex stone structure. The one thing missing that he had hoped would be there was the location of the village or castle, still he was a little further forward. Styr was relieved to find that Hrothweard was still unaware of why Styr's men had brought the family to the City, that was something at least. The King gained this knowledge in a few short seconds before he silently Obliviated any memory of his intrusion, none of the observers in the room knew anything odd had happened at all, they just saw the two men staring at each other, waiting for the other to speak.

The lack of response from the Archbishop to what the King had said indicated to the other Lords that the King had won this round, he had gained their support as well. They all knew how much they had given to Wessex in terms of men and Gold to the Church for the shrine, both had not just cost the obvious, but also the means to make a living through lack of resources to pay men to work. Once the two men had turned back to them, Styr had called on them to support a campaign against the Scots instead of sending them south. As a result of the lack of any denials or justifications of the allegations from the Archbishop, the Lords quickly agreed to send men with the King to help repel the Scots once and for all. Styr had his army, he knew the name of his target, he now simply had to check one of the Durslieg's minds, to ensure had as much information as they had before they left. He knew, from Hrothweard's memories, that they would be gone within a day.

Hrothweard returned to his palace behind the Minster in a foul mood after the conclusion of the meeting, he could not remember anything that had been discussed after his altercation with Styr, or even if anything had been. Styr had somehow out-manoeuvred him on an issue he had been so sure of, the King had succeeded in leading him into agreeing to far too much, even calling his loyalty into question. Cantwaraburh would not be pleased that his instructions had not been enforced in the Northumbrian Witan. Styr had been too well prepared, starting the council without him, not breaking custom for his guard or allowing him in as soon as he arrived. His absence from that discussion had prevented him levying a church tax on the amounts agreed, he had to be present to have it added, now they would miss out on a valuable source of winter income, a large loss for his church, he would need to find ways of recouping that. Then the King had apparently known more about the situation at Dunholm than his own informants had told him, thereby enabling Styr to legitimately show his generosity to the church in providing the guard and Fyrd to protect the saint, a gesture that would not go unnoticed by Wessex or Cantwaraburh. This overshadowed the non-appearance of the Fyrd to go south, a lever he no longer had with the King, who would already be preparing to summon it to guard the route to Dunholm, a duty that would take less than a day. They would then willingly, even enthusiastically assemble near Dunholm, to raid North of the wall, to protect their country. In addition to all that, the accusations the King had made were perfectly true and had lost him the loyalty of the Lords whose first duty was to the people under them, that relied on their lands for their livelihood. The Archbishop knew he had lost this round, he could not lose again. He contemplated how he could regain control on the King and in doing so prove his effectiveness to Wessex. After all he did not want to be the first Archbishop of Jorvik not to become Archbishop of Cantwaraburh and the vastly larger wealth and power that came with it, when the time came for it. In the mean time he must regain control, increase the wealth of the Church here in Jorvik, which meant he could increase his own treasury. He would need to influence the Lords of Northumbria, through his priests, they would be willing, it would increase the gold in their own pockets as well as what they could send to Jorvik, and he in turn could send south to Cantwaraburh. The Church needed the wealth, to maintain and increase their influence, to ensure that once Englaland was a reality, it was them that shaped it. In the meantime, he must regain his own ability to control the goings on in Northumbria, ensuring the church must be in charge, even if those outside it believed it wasn't.

Styr, meanwhile, was happy with how things had gone and had immediately sent messengers to Wessex, with the news that despite the threat from the North he, personally, was ensuring the safe passage of the precious remains of the saint. It was important he got the message to them before Hrothweard did, not only did it demonstrate his loyalty to the church and prevent the Archbishop claiming the credit, but it also diminished the man's position with his senior colleague. Not only because he had not known about the troubles near this shrine, the site of which Hrothweard had been responsible for choosing in the first place, but also because his lack of knowledge had led the church to act precipitously in ordering the saint be moved. His message would ensure that the Archbishop was seen as responsible for that, rather than he. In the process he had gained the complete loyalty of the Northumbrian Lords and undermined the churches influence with them without exposing his own position. The Fyrd would, as a result, probably number at least ten thousand men. Hrothweard's actions had even managed to undermine the loyalty to the church of even the staunchest Christian amongst the Lords with his display. Styr knew it wouldn't last, it was but a temporary victory before the church and Archbishop would regain their influence, he needed more to delay that long enough to gain what he wanted, but he had made progress towards achieving that as well.

Styr had gained some information about the stronghold full of witches and wizards along with its village from a probe of all three of the Durslieg's minds. He still lacked a precise location of where they had come from, they did not seem to know themselves. He suspected a ward of some kind had removed the knowledge from their minds, but he had a name, Hogsmeade, not only that, but he knew the name of the family that owned it, Gryffindor. Important information that he could use to guide him to his mentors location, lead an army to it eventually. An army with which he could act, capture the place and deliver scores of Witches and Wizards to the church, guaranteeing that it would be he that became King of all Englaland.

Such a raid with so many men was a risk, but he knew once at the castle he would have one less powerful Wizard to worry about than he might, he knew his old Mentor was bound by the oath made when he had accepted Styr as his Apprentice, as Styr was too. This could count to Styr's advantage, when it came to the attack; he knew Salazar would act to protect the school, but would also be bound to act against anyone who attacked him personally. He could dismiss his mentor from his considerations, he would be no threat to him, he was glad he would not have to face his old teacher, he had never been able to beat him one on one in a duel or a fight. The fact that Salazar would attack the others in the army did not matter, he would be safe from him and any his mentor saw attacking him directly. No; the biggest threat to him would be if Utred Huntrodds lived long enough to realise whose army it was that was attacking the school. Styr would have to rely on Salazar to defend him, if the boy reached him, he could not let that distract him though. He had to capture the Castle, it was the only thing that would give him the power he wanted, he had to rule all Englaland, he was the only one fit to do so.

Late 20th Century.

The students of Gryffindor house rose early and breakfasted, whilst most of the students of the other houses were just stirring from their night's slumber. Each member of that house returned to their dormitories to change into freshly laundered robes, which the Elves had carefully laid out for them whilst they had eaten their meal. Hardly a word had been spoken between any of them, few were needed this morning, they were focused so heavily on what they would be doing later, as they readied themselves to leave the castle for the day and walk to Hogsmeade. Today though was not a Hogsmeade weekend, they would not be visiting the shops or even the Shrieking Shack. Although the first and second years would be with them, the students from the other houses would not be joining them, not one of them was messing about with their friends, nor would be today. Still, each one, including the first and second years, assembled in the common room before, led by the prefects, they began the walk to the village, prepared for the sombre duty they had willingly volunteered to perform.

The portrait watched them, unnoticed as he normally was and accepted he was almost forgotten, it had its advantages. He often led the other portraits into playing pranks on anyone who noticed, or delighted in giving Peeves ideas, though the poltergeist was capable of coming up with his own. As he had in life, the subject in the portrait, delighted in entertaining, though in the last few decades he had enjoyed watching first the Marauders then the Weasley twins take up the mantle he and his friends had set in the school in their time here. There had never been long since then when the school hadn't hosted one or two true pranksters, but in those gaps he had done his best to fill them, even with the restrictions of being the image of a man long dead. Today though, as the members of the house he had once been a part of left to support two of their fellows, it was not the time to be noticed, so he simply watched them proudly.

Few had ever noticed his picture, he thought that over the centuries fewer than twenty students had actually stopped to look at him, fewer than half of those had taken the trouble to speak, less than that had bothered to ask who he was, but he didn't mind that in the slightest. He simply watched and waited patiently, as he had done for almost a Millennium, ever since his portrait had been put here after his death. He had been concerned, even worried, at the goings-on in the castle at times, but only once had he summoned his spirit here when things had been so bad they had needed to act, but that had been long ago and forgotten by most. That said he had almost acted again in the last few years, as he watched his descendant going through school, but that had been through his own frustration for his spirit, trapped as it was in this realm, though not in this place. There was only one place his ghost could not go, a place it wanted to almost as much as it wanted to pass over, but was unable to when he tried, they could not understand why. Just as the portrait was rarely noticed, the ghost was rarely seen by mortals, especially his descendants, who he had spent time watching when away from the School, but they often spoke to each other in the dead of night. Discussing the goings-on in the Castle and else where, passing the time as they both waited. The centuries they had both spent observing the students, descendants of those they knew and new families, the rise and fall of the darkness several times over, with many leaders. They remembered when with the Normans taking the nation there had been an influx of French Wizarding families who had hidden amongst the invaders and been awarded land for their service in the battle in the south, the third that year, as well as during the aftermath. One such family had played the game of politics well in the last couple of centuries after a long time as minor land owners, but had fallen from grace and into ruin with the defeat of the last Dark Lord. Although there had been occasional excitement over the centuries, they had simply been waiting for a single event, triggered with the first of his descendants to be eligible to attend the castle. Those years of patience were now coming to an end, events would soon come to a conclusion, they hoped the one long planned, but nothing yet was certain.

The portrait watched events this morning with a real sense of satisfaction, the current members of what had been his house were going to support their class mates without hesitation. There was no doubt this was a distraction from the usual activity they saw, but he knew the descendant would be at the event as well, and it had been some time since he had seen her in this corridor, he hoped he might overhear some news of her though, when they returned at least. Today they would know, positively for the first time, whether or not it was this Descendant that was beyond doubt the one, the one the Huntrodds of Whitby had said had finally arrived. Today could be the final assurance the end truly was close at hand, that she had the ability to save each of her ancestors and his descendants. The portrait would need to wait for news, his ghost would be the one watching in the village, to see if the one had, as they believed, at long last arrived and would be drawn to fulfil the task. At least then they would know if the time was, at last, upon them, that they had little time left to wait.

It was, thankfully, quite a pleasant day, the autumn sun was still strong enough to add some warmth in the fresh chilled air, quickly burning through the early morning mist that had hung low over the streets as dawn had broken. The golden and red leaves on the trees in the forest and in the village glowed like flames in the brightness of the day. The village was almost as it was on most other days during the year, ready for the activity that had become normal for this industrious little community. Smoke was rising gently from the chimneys of the houses, in which the occupants were busy about their routines, shops were open as usual and people, both resident and visitor, were beginning to mill around the square. Only very regular visitors and locals would notice that those folk wandering the streets were visitors, not villagers, not one actual resident was out and about in the street today. The shops that were open were staffed by those who lived above or behind them, each carried a notice that they would be closing much earlier than usual, some were closed altogether anyway, black banner's showing in every shop window instead of the usual displays. The visitors were surprised that even Weasley's was closed, it's usually very exuberant window display absent, black banners respectfully draped from the top of each of the windows. There was no activity in the shop or the depot behind it, apart from Owls flying into the building, delivering orders that would not be dealt with until the next day. There was something far more important for the villagers to do today than worry about tourists, or sending out orders. This was a day for the village, for those who lived here and two youngsters who now had, had the last of their family taken from them. The village would mark the passing of two of their own, celebrate their lives and support those left behind.

The twins had spent most of the week, since Maggie had died, at Hogwarts, the normality of attending lessons, and the school routine had been reassuring for them. That routine had been broken after lessons had ended the day before, when they had been glad to spend the night before the funeral at the Burrow with Molly, Arthur, George, Harry and Ginny. They had left the school with Ginny, Harry joining them once his duties were done for the day, allowing them all to prepare for the events of what would be a difficult day together. It had been a comparatively sombre evening, but the twins had appreciated being in a familiar, homely, place with people they knew cared as much for them as had Maggie and Eli. They had spent the evening telling them all about their time living in Whitby, remembering the times they had, had with the couple, recalling happy times at the seaside town, and the other places they had been. They told stories of those few weeks until they were simply to tired to continue, then they were led to their beds, in the rooms they had taken in the summer when they had come to the Burrow, when their Aunt and Uncle had gone into hospital, memories still playing in their minds.

The twins had risen early the next morning, breakfasted half heartedly, before they had returned to their rooms to get ready to travel to the cottage in Hogsmeade, which Eli and Maggie had owned. It was from this house where the couples final journey would begin, from where they would be carried through the village to the graveyard. Neville, Dudley, Petunia, Ron and Hermione would be joining them there, ready for the Coffins to be port keyed in by St Mungo's undertaker.

Bill, Fleur and Victoire arrived soon after breakfast, but it wasn't until everyone was ready that they all Apparated directly to the back garden of the cottage, Molly and Arthur taking the twins side along and entered to await the arrival of the others. They didn't have long to wait, Neville and Petunia had walked from the school, Met Ron and Hermione at their cottage, then collected Dudley at the door to his flat, so they arrived together, about an hour before things were due to begin. The two Caskets arrived thirty minutes before they were due to leave, giving the twins a chance to have time alone with them, which they spent chatting away to their Aunt and Uncle about what they had been up to. Ten minutes later the rest of those from Hogwarts arrived, only Dennis and Martin came in, though Martin didn't stay long, simply getting final instructions before he went out again to see to the others who had come from the castle. Then, all too soon, as these things invariably are, it was time to prepare for the walk through the village, to the graveyard for the burial.

Hermione, Petunia, Molly and Ginny stood alongside Delilah and Tarquin, dressed in black robes, outside the front door of the cottage that Eli and Maggie had owned in Hogsmeade. They had just stepped out of the house in readiness for the start of proceedings. A guard of honour, comprising the members of Gryffindor house, stood in two lines each side of the garden path, awaiting their cue to walk through the gate and line a clear passage from gate to the centre of the road, each one determined to show their support for their two house mates. The street itself was otherwise quiet, the village was effectively to close down completely in a few moments, a tribute that had amazed and humbled the twins. The few visitors wandering round, seemed to sense that a solemn occasion was about to occur, they wandered the village slightly bemused, but respectfully quiet as they observed the developing scene not far from the main square, trying not to intrude. Every shop and business was closing as the appointed time drew close, only the school would be continuing to run as usual during the events in the village, albeit minus the students of Gryffindor and a few of the staff.

Harry had felt great pride in his students a few days earlier when they had approached him with a request and as a result, he had escorted a representative deputation of them, one from each year group, to Minerva's office. When he had said he thought it a good one, but it would need her approval, the students had asked that they make their request to the head mistress themselves. He had been more than happy to take them, sure she would allow it, impressed not only with the idea, but also the thought and planning they had put into making it feasible. The students had filed solemnly into the office and lined up in front of the headmistresses desk. They presented the request that had been suggested by every member of the house, they asked permission to support their two house mates, by attending the funeral. They had suggested they could make up the work from the lessons they would miss at the weekend if required, the students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had offered to share notes of the classes. Even the younger Slytherin's had offered to help, much to the disapproval of those in the house who believed the twins had betrayed them, but the approval of their head of house. Minerva, as Harry had expected, was impressed with the students care for their fellows, planning, and the way they had ensured they would be able to keep up with their work, so had readily agreed. She shared the pride that Harry felt, in the twins new house mates, the fact that after only a few weeks, they had unanimously wanted to do this for of their house mates was gratifying. The fact that it was for two students with the history of the twins, their actions of only a few months ago, gave her hope for a better society in the future. Pleased that they wished to support them, as they bid farewell to the last of their free family. She had already adjusted the staff timetable, so the staff who had known the popular couple and wished it, could also attend so with the planning the students had clearly done answering any doubts or concerns she may have had, she couldn't really refuse them, not that she wanted to in any case.

The students had walked down from the school silently, in line, through a village where every shop in the village was closed or closing for the day after only a couple of hours trade. An uncharacteristic hush was falling over the village, soon only the sound of footsteps and bird song continued to disturb the growing silence.

Five minutes before the time the coffins were due to emerge from the cottage, the doors of every house in the street opened, and the occupants of each emerged, to stand respectfully alongside the road. If their house was to be passed by the procession, then the family simply waited at the side of the street outside their own property, but if they lived further up the street, in the opposite direction, they walked down until they were outside the cottage and assembled across the road, blocking it. The residents from the rest of the village arrived, joining the others, forming a complete human wall lining each side of the street. Many of the village elders remembered when Maggie and Eli had lived here, others knew them from visits they had made to their home over the years. It was evident that the couple were held in high regard, by all in the village, the turn out showed that and was the way in Hogsmeade for the funeral of one of their number.

Aberforth, carrying the village's official mace, joined the group of five who were watching the actions of the villagers with expressions of surprise. Aberforth set the mace down, using it to lean on as he bent to speak with the twins.

“Don't worry you two.” He reassured them. “Eli and Maggie are both well remembered and loved here in Hogsmeade, everyone in the village knew them and wanted to pay their respects and their support for the two of you now. We are honouring them as important people to us all, hence I have brought the mace as well, it is carried at the head of the funerals of all those important to us and the village, are you happy for us to do so? If not, don't worry, no one will take offence.”

The twins looked at each other, after what appeared to be a brief, silent discussion between them, they turned back and nodded. “That would be very nice Mr. Dumbledore, we had not appreciated how much they were regarded, thank you.” Delilah said.

“I think Eli and Maggie would be amazed to, but appreciate it, so do we.” Tarquin added.

Aberforth smiled kindly at them. “Thank you, you both have all our sympathies, just know that because they were important to us, so now are you, you will always be welcome here. Now, we must form the procession ready to receive them, so if you will stand along the centre of the road, we shall ensure everything is done properly for your Aunt and Uncle.”

The twins silently nodded, then allowed themselves to be gently guided by the four women with them as they took position side by side along the centre of the road. The stage was set for the start of the sad duty, which they had to perform.

Both sides of the route were lined with villagers and any tourists who were still there, all silently waiting expectantly, watching carefully. A low rumble of subdued conversation ran through the crowd as the late September sun warmed them, all eyes looked expectantly towards the door of the cottage.

The bell on the clock on the village post office in the square began to chime the hour, all chatter among the crowd ceased, and a silence fell over all those gathered. It seemed to the small group in the middle of the road, that everyone present held their breath for a moment. As the bell fell silent, the Gryffindor students, all in their newest school robes, who were assembled on the garden path turned and walked smartly, silently out of the gate two abreast, wands drawn held upright in front of their chests. Once through the gate, the two lines parted and formed two lines with a broad path between them, ending just in front of the twins party waiting in the road. The door of the cottage was opened from the inside and two figures emerged from the house. They took positions on either side of the door, and the students smartly raised their wands, arms straight, pointing slightly away from them, forming a roofless arch in salute. Aberforth stood, holding the mace straight armed, upside down, in it's non-threatening position. Neville and Dudley stood either side of the garden path, as first Harry and then Ron emerged, a coffin held low, gently carried between them. They stopped once Ron had cleared the step, and the rose covered porch, Neville and Dudley then took position at the side of the casket, the cousins now standing next to each other at the head, while the other two were at the foot. Together they hoisted the casket to their shoulders then slowly walked out along the garden path, through the gate progressing between the students, stopping just beyond the two lines and the twins group waiting at the end. As they stopped, George and Bill emerged from the house and stood where Neville and Dudley had waited moments before. Arthur led Charlie, bearing the second oak coffin between them. It too, was raised to be carried on their shoulders as George and Bill took their positions. They followed the path between the students until they reached their position along side the first casket. Dennis and Hermione were the last out of the house, they closed the cottage door then while Dennis joined the other students, Hermione joined those who would walk with the twins. Aberforth righted and shouldered the Hogsmeade Mace then made his way to a position ahead of the two coffins. He turned to face them, bowed, then waited.

Petunia, Delilah, Molly, Hermione, Tarquin and Ginny then stepped forward in a line across the road, immediately behind the coffins, the Gryffindor's closed and formed two lines behind them, wands now back in their robes. Once they all moved into place, Aberforth turned to face along the road and still in silence, the solemn cortège began the slow, steady walk through the village. The crowd blocking the road behind them remained in place while the neighbours along the route joined the back of the procession. Only once the last of the families who lived on the street had joined the procession, did the other villagers in the crowd follow on, joining the end of the column. Those who lived further along, waiting for all to pass, before joining the procession, visitors remaining where they were, not wanting to interfere with the community paying its respects. They and a few Aurors, sent to ensure that the village was safe while the residents all attended the funeral, were the only ones not in the procession, soon Hogsmeade would appear almost deserted.

Now the only noise in the village as they walked were the wind through the trees, birdsong and from the footsteps of those in, or joining the procession. No one said a single word, as the column of people walked behind the two casket's. The picturesque buildings were ignored, along with the usual points of interest the on any other day would be centre of attention, everyone was concentrated on the event they were attending, and showing their respect. They reached the end of the street and entered the village square, where those from the rest of the village stood, waiting the passage of the mourners. They had lined a route through the square, standing silently, patiently for the cortège to pass by, before joining the back of it. As the caskets passed, people bowed their heads respectfully then waited before joining the back of the black clad parade of humanity, every villager joined the column, leaving the visitors standing respectfully at the side of the road, watching as they passed by. Many of the day trippers were realising that today was perhaps not the best day for them to visit the village and certainly not wanting to intrude on the collective grief, left once the procession had passed them by, although of course that didn't prevent others arriving oblivious to what was going on, but puzzled that the place was completely closed. It would only be when they saw one of the Aurors, that they would discover the reason.

It was a steady paced walk to the grave yard, they left the square along the road out of the village that led to the stile where Harry had once met Sirius as snuffles during his fourth year at the school, soon after he had completed the second task in the Triwizard tournament. The gardens of the houses along the route were resplendent in their autumn colours, some had ordinary plants mixed in with the magical, a mix that gave them far more flowers than would be in Muggle gardens at this time of the year. They even gave off a scent that wafted through the air in places as they walked past any shrubs with a profusion of blooms against the russet leaves of another plant.

The enclosed area that was the village grave yard was opposite the style, which remained unchanged from when he had met Sirius there, but had escaped Harry's notice when he had last come this way, the only occasion in fact, hidden as it was behind a grass topped dry stone wall, the gate facing up the road, but set back along the wall. He had recently learned, from Aberforth, that it was known it had been used for burials since the days of the founders, but was not visited by many outsiders to the village, although there was nothing stopping them. Simple wooden gates at the entrance, were held open by the post master to allow the entire procession uninterrupted access to the well tended ground within. There were hundreds of grave markers dotting the green grass between the gravel paths and the walls, the oldest grave marker was just inside the gate, newest at the furthest extent of them. It was there, at the furthest point of the main path, where a double width grave pit was awaiting the arrival of the couple who would occupy it from this day on. The stones demonstrated the changing styles of markers through the centuries as they walked past them, all were well tended regardless of age.

Martin and Ludwig broke from the procession to take the postmasters place, ensuring that the gate was open for all to pass and allowing the man to join the head of the procession with Aberforth, to lead the mourners to the graveside. The two men walked round either side of the large grave, to the head, turned to face the procession while the Pall bearers positioned the coffins on the levitation charms above the hole, where they floated. The men taking position with the twins and their escort across the foot of the grave and along the sides, completing the square around the grave, whilst the other mourners in the procession assembled, silently, behind them.

The Gryffindor's stood directly behind the twins, who having been stoic during the walk were now, in floods of tears having arrived at the graveside, all of the ladies with them had comforting arms around them. Ginny squatting between the youngsters, an arm around each of them, the two youngsters leaning into her.

As civic leader of the village, the Postmaster conducted the ceremony and gave the official eulogy detailing the lives of the couple, information gathered from those who had known the couple. He then invited any present who wished to, to add their own personal memories and tributes. A number of the elder villagers told stories of child hood with the two, one spoke of the early days of their romance. Some of the tales were humorous, others simply personal, but each one gave an insight into the couple. Once the last had spoken, the Postmaster introduced the twins who had calmed as others had spoken, enjoying hearing about the couple who had shown them such love, finding it all strangely reassuring even laughing at some of the stories. They had made it known when the ceremony was being planned, that they wanted to speak as part of the commemoration, let all know just how special the couple were and what they had done for them.

“We only really knew Maggie and Eli a short time.” Delilah began.

“Just the last few months of their lives really.” Tarquin continued the twin-speak address.

“But, in that time they taught us more than we had ever learnt before.”

“They taught us about places.”

“And history both Muggle and wizard.”

Many in the crowd were looking amazed at how the two seemed to be flawlessly giving the speech of one person.

“They taught us about nature.” He continued

“And the beauty of our surroundings” She added.

“They taught us how to enjoy ourselves.”

“And that it was fine to be ourselves.”

They then spoke together, tears again running down their faces. “They taught us that we were loved and how to love.”

Tarquin then continued. “The weeks we spent with them were the best so far in our lives. We shall try to live as they taught us; that is what they would want us to do.”

“We shall miss them both, but never forget them and always love them, as they loved us.” Delilah added,

Again together they concluded. “Goodbye Eli and Maggie you will always be in our hearts, as our friends in Whitby would say, Si thee some time, it were reet grand.”

They stepped back to their places and into the arms of the four ladies with them, their emotions showing freely once again, as they could never have done only a few months before. The Postmaster used his wand to gently lower the coffins into the grave, where they settled side by side at the bottom, he then covered them, levitating the mound of earth on top of the coffins. Hermione stepped next to Petunia and raised her wand, the twins had asked her to conjure the gravestone; beneath the names and dates, the epitaph read “They truly knew life and how to live it. Now eternally united.”

Then the twins laid a wreath against it and Ginny conjured a carpet of flowers to cover the bare earth. The twins then nodded to George, who nodded back, then released a single Weasley firework, one he had made especially on instructions from Eli and Maggie, which exploded with a gentle pop above them all, to reveal a twinkling image of the couple looking down fondly at the all wrapped within a wreath of golden sparks.

Aberforth lowered the Mace from his shoulder and held it in both hands, upright in front of him in salute. The image of Eli winked in his characteristic way, before the firework faded to nothing. Once it had, Aberforth re-shouldered the mace, formalities complete, he turned and together with the Postmaster made their way back to the path, then the two men slowly made their way back to the gate of the cemetery, where they stopped and waited. The silence continued, broken only by the sniffles of the mourners and renewed, but gentle, sobs of the twins. The pall-bearers walked round the grave to help the ladies comfort the youngsters, the rest of the villagers remained, unmoving until the children where ready. Soon the twins settled enough to nod their readiness to leave, knowing they would be able to visit the grave often if they wanted to. Delilah, Molly, Tarquin and Arthur led the way, followed by Harry and Ginny, Dudley and Petunia, Ron and Hermione. George, Bill with Fleur and Victoire, Neville and Charlie led the Gryffindor's to head the procession back into the village, where they would process to Titchmarsh Cottage. Once the twins reached the gate, Aberforth shouldered the Mace then waited a moment to give the Gryffindor house guard of honour a chance to catch up, and the first of the villagers to line up behind them.

As they waited, Hermione’s eyes were drawn to the closest of the ancient looking hogs back stone markers. She saw the worn runes carved on it and gasped I surprise.“Oh my word, that's incredible, Ron, look at that.” She pointed to the stone.

Ron, Harry and Ginny looked where she pointed, it was the closest grave marker to the gate right next to the path. “What?” Ron asked

“That stone, the runes on it are in Futhark that looks like it could be one of the first burials here.” She replied.

“What runes?” Ron asked

“On the side there.” Hermione pointed “They are really clear for their age.”

“It looks like there could be some lines carved there Hermione, but they are almost worn away. They could just as easily be the result of weathering, or deliberately carved, it really is not easy to tell” Harry said.

“But I can read them, they look clear to me, they could have been carved last week they are so crisp.”

By this time the Postmaster was taking an interest.

“Clear?” Ron asked. “ What do you mean? I can hardly see them.”

Hermione looked at the others; it was obvious only she could read the runes. “They say Utred Huntrodds, the rightful Lord of Tang, first student of Gryffindor, Warrior and scholar lies here with his wife the Lady Frayja, student of Gryffindor, both Creaftas. Their first Magical descendant shall read what others may not.” She finished.

“How come you can read that, the rest of us can't though?” Ron asked.

“Huntrodds, that's the same name as is on that grave at Whitby, you know the one I was told was my ancestors, where we saw those ghosts.” She pondered a moment then thoughtfully added “So this is the grave of an Utred and Frayja Huntrodds, the stone must be about a thousand years old, I wonder if they are my ancestors as well?”

“I suppose it's possible, but Mione please look into it later, we mustn't hold everyone up”. Ron said urgently “We have to let everyone in at the cottage remember.” The Funeral tea was to take place at Titch marsh cottage where Kreacher and Winky were preparing the food in a marquee near the pond. Madam Rosemerta and Aberforth had of course supplied the drinks.

“Oh yes, of course, but isn't it exciting, it could be that my ancestors lived here, and we have simply returned the family here.” She said enthusiastically and let him lead her away.

The Post Master had continued to watch the couple; he smiled to Hermione as they reached him. “You, my dear are clearly Utred’s successor, and the one destined to free him. We knew he was buried here from the local stories, they tell us that only the heir could read the runes, not an heir you understand, the heir. That much is known to all brought up in the village, but there is more, I will explain more if you wish at the funeral tea.”

Hermione agreed she wanted to know more, especially as it could help her research further. They rejoined the others, and the procession made its way out through the gate, led by the Postmaster and Aberforth, carrying the Mace.

If the last person to leave had looked back, to glance at that earliest of gravestones, they may have noticed a faint, but powerful looking figure stood next to it watching them all leave. They might have done if they had looked back, but they hadn't so no one noticed and missed the impressive, tall ghostly figure of a man from the distant past watching them all leave. The ghost wore a long fur trimmed red and gold cloak and still brightly coloured tunic and hose. His leather boots reached his knees, chain mail that extended to form a skirt from beneath the tunic, which hung down to his knees. From his belt hung a magnificent sword in a jewelled scabbard that was so big it's tip was only a couple of inches above the ground, an equally decorated Seax that hung alongside it together with a carved stick tucked next to them. His Arms bore many golden arm rings, and a bright metal helmet covered his head, long hair protruding from under it and a mane down his back. He watched the mortals leave and smiled. “The wait is over she will discover her destiny, soon we shall be freed at last, and I shall be with my Frayja once more.” He muttered, turned and faded away.

Notes:

Historical notes:
Caerloyw = Gloucester.
Seafern = the River Severn

Futhark is a runic alphabet, it was carved into wood or stone, generally so it was made up of straight lines, no curves, as they were more difficult to carve. There is no difference between the symbols for the modern letters J or Y, they were one letter in Futhark.

A Hogs Back gravestone was a large carved stone, domed across its length looking like the back of a grazing pig (hence the name). They were set lengthways along the grave, some still survive in situ in Northern Britain but far more have been excavated in graveyards, some of which are now church yards, and so the stone has ended up displayed within the church. They would have been expensive to create, so only the rich would have been able to afford them.

The church of the tenth century had powers to raise its own tax and often attempted to impose it on all, whether believers or not. This was imposed over much of what is now England, Northumbria being a notable exception where only the Christian Saxons tended to pay. The cash was intended to pay for the clergy, buildings and shrines the bishops deemed necessary.

The Norman invasion and subsequent battle of Hastings was the third and final battle of 1066 for the throne of England. The first was the last “Viking” invasion from Scandinavia (although the Normans could be described as French Vikings and have been by some), the Battle of Fulford near York was on the 20th September, which the invaders won. They were subsequently heavily defeated at Stamford Bridge, also near York on the 25th September when King Harold Godwinson arrived with his Army (Fyrd) from the south. He then received word of the Norman invasion in the South and Marched his army back down the country where he was defeated at Hastings on the 14th October. These events over 24 days shaped the England we know today. It took another two years before the Normans reached York in 1068. The Norman invasion was the last successful one of the mainland of Britain to date and marked the end of what is commonly called the Viking Period in British history.