Oleandra and Wanderer cried out in pain as the roots tightened around their limbs, forcing them to drop their weapons. More roots quickly emerged from the ground and coiled around their bodies, slowly growing tighter and tighter. It was becoming increasingly clear to them that the Druid Merwydd wanted to constrict them to death!
If Oleandra had to be honest, she found it supremely impressive that a man from such an unenlightened era had mastered nature magic to a degree rivalling even Dumbledore's command over Transfiguration.
After all, the Britain of this era was a bit player in the development of magic, compared to cradles of magic such as Ireland, Egypt, Sumeria, China, and Greece of the Old World, and the Olmec of the New World. The Wizards and Witches of this land still mostly kept to themselves or spent their days serving Muggles as Healers or Seers, hindering the development of British magical culture as a whole.
"Mark my words," Wanderer spat, his voice dripping with venom. "When I get out of here, I will never rest until I've burnt your bloody island to ashes. And if I cannot do it in my lifetime, then my descendants will see it done!"
"I know of you, son of Bor," Merwydd said coolly. "I am not afraid of you, nor of your father and his backing. Raiders and murderers, playing gods among mortals. Pathetic."
This confirmed Oleandra's suspicions that Wanderer was in fact a young Odin of legend. He had even hung for nine days and nine nights, just like the stories told… although, he still had both of his eyes.
"Then, what about my friend Viviane, here?" said Wanderer desperately. "You've said it yourself— she's a Greater Fairy. Aren't you afraid of the Unseelie Court?"
Before the age of man and the mysterious disappearance of the Island of Avalon into the mists— never to be seen again— the Seelie and Unseelie Courts held dominion over the British Isles' magical world.
In theory, the Fae divided between those who were "good" and those who were "evil." But from the perspective of mortals, it was little more than a distinction between outright malevolence and a slightly lesser, playing-with-your-food kind of evil.
Fae Folk were notoriously capricious; even a "good" Fairy would think nothing of turning an unfortunate human into a radish for the rest of their days or of kidnapping helpless infants to raise as pets. The only real difference between the two kinds was that "good" Fairies refrained from consuming human flesh… probably.
Merwydd shivered.
For all his power, even he dared not offend Titania, the immortal Queen of the Fae Folk. Once, a nameless king had openly insulted her within his own court— far from the Fairies' realm— and the very next day, a furious whirlwind had swept him up in his own hall, carrying him aloft into the sky through a nearby window. After hours spent screaming above the clouds, the poor man was ultimately returned to the ground… in countless scattered fragments, amidst a rain of blood. Legend had it that the town still carried the scent of blood and iron whenever the summer days grew too hot.
Oleandra was mildly annoyed.
Being the reincarnation of a Greater Fairy was her most closely guarded secret, and so far, no one— except Morgan le Fay's own reincarnation— had come close to guessing it in her rightful time period. How was it that everyone here knew her secret? Was it stamped across her forehead, or something!?
Now, even Wanderer knew!
"Does the Fairy Queen know of your whereabouts?" asked Merwydd, knowing very well that Fairies were unable to tell lies. "Did she send you here?"
Oleandra's head was filled with question marks. Fairy Queen? Who in the world was that?
"My friends would know that I'm here," Oleandra answered defiantly. "I left them a letter before coming to Wanderer's rescue."
Fortunately, she had indeed left a letter for the Four Founders— hoping that, thousands of years in the future, it would reach the right hands and be passed down through generations of headmasters until it reached Daphne, Astoria, and Tracey.
In that sense, Oleandra was technically telling the truth.
"Enough games, Fairy," spat Merwydd. "Answer the question: Does. Fairy. Queen. Titania. Know. You're. Here?"
Oleandra fell silent, her expression darkening.
"She doesn't, doesn't she?" Merwydd gloated.
The trick with dealing with Fairies was to never stray from the topic at hand, no matter how hard they tried to change the subject or answer in vague, meandering terms.
While the Fae Folk were incapable of telling outright lies, they remained quite adept at misleading humans with their silver tongues—and they took great delight in doing so. If the girl chose silence, it was because she was unwilling to answer so directly, for to do so would reveal the truth… meaning Merwydd had no cause to fear retaliation.
Even so, he was taking unnecessary risks simply by engaging in conversation with a Greater Fairy, despite her being bound by his powers. Her magic was strange and formidable, and even a single slip of the tongue might prove fatal.
"Enough talking," Merwydd spat. "Now, you both die."
The roots tightened.
"Cambio Exuvia!" Oleandra suddenly shouted.
The Quick-Changing Clothes Charm was one of the very few wandless spells she had practised— in an instant, the roots binding her limbs Vanished into her personal clothing space, replaced by her winter scarf.
Her limbs were freed!
Taken by surprise, Merwydd hesitated for a mere fraction of a second as he sought to summon new roots from beneath her feet. But just as he moved to do so, Suit the Lethifold slipped free from under his boot and sank its teeth into his calf, forcing a grunt of pain from him.
Seizing the moment, Oleandra rolled forwards and snatched up her wand from the ground, levelling it at Merwydd.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The Druid's arms snapped sharply to his sides and his legs snapped together, causing him to topple over, rigid as a board. The roots binding Wanderer loosened, and he fell to his knees. His eyes flicked to his golden spear, which had fallen a few feet ahead of him.
"Wanderer, no!"
But Oleandra was too late.
Wanderer dived for the spear, and before she could stop him, he drove it through the Druid's heart. Fully conscious, yet unable to move a single muscle, Merwydd could do little but watch in agonising torment as the golden lance sank deep into his chest.
"What in the bloody hell did you do that for!?" Oleandra roared, rounding on Wanderer as he flourished his weapon, flicking crimson droplets of blood from its tip. "He was frozen! He couldn't fight back!"
"For a Fairy," he sneered, "you're awfully soft-hearted."
It was too late for Oleandra to heal the catastrophic damage the man's heart had suffered with so little time to work with and without potions. Perhaps it was hypocritical of her, but even if she could have saved his life now, she would have chosen not to.
And so, she could only stay by his side in his final moments as the last of his blood seeped from the triangular wound in his chest. Slowly, the terror in his eyes faded, leaving them glazed and vacant, and a few seconds later, the light in his pupils was quietly extinguished.