Peace is a Myth

My lord, who were these people?  Lorcan had listened to them talking about the battered woman as if she were yesterday's newspaper. The woman was still his guest. These were not the Death Eaters of renown. They understood tradition, about decorum, about obligation to do the right thing. He wasn't sure he knew who the hell these people were.  They disgusted him.

Even more disgusting was the likelihood that not only had they not understood the reason he'd summoned them there, but he felt even more certain that Harris needed to address her own agenda to throw her weight around to assert her position.

He needed his mission carried out, though.  The Death Eaters needed it.  They needed to assert themselves again. Nevertheless, he had hired Harris to do the fighting, something that equally disgusted Lorcan--the necessary dirty work of it all. She had the position. He had to let her see if she had the moxy to actually start and carry out a war. 

He rose to his feet and went over to the injured woman.  Without saying a word, he got up and picked her up.  He simply went towards the front door with her, his house elf trailing after him, awaiting some sort of direction.

"Update Ms. Forbes-D'Eath," Lorcan said quietly to the elf.  Zada knew very well how to be the consort to an aristocrat.  And she was icy enough to let them do whatever they wanted, so long as it didn't involved brawling in the house again.  One of the other advantages to marrying Zada was that he always had a willing assassin with him.  Zada could take instruction, certainly, but her loyalties were right now with Lorcan.

The house elf ran a few steps ahead of Lorcan and opened the door.  Lorcan simply carried the woman out.

Ellie couldn’t confess to being able to hear much of what was being said anymore. She was furiously focused on keeping conscious, thinking of everything she could possibly fill her mind with. Dimly, she heard the women speaking somewhere on the frayed edges of her peripheral senses. Keeping steady was an impossibility and giving into accepting the help of the healer was equally unlikely. The subject of her death, she supposed, was being banded around. It was inevitable, that. If she didn’t bleed to death on the rug, they’d soon make her acquainted with the emerald end of a wand.

There had been a few instances in her life in which Ellie had felt abandoned. It was a been-there-done-that kind of resignation that she had long lost the desire to mind. She was so close to the Order, though. Her eyes could focus upon Theodore, just, and could commune enough hurt that made him shift uncomfortably and swallow more alcohol. This was a twisted kind of betrayal. It was worse than any other she’d experienced because never before had her life been hanging in the balance because of it. She was already beginning to make peace with the idea of it being frittered away with every passing moment.

But then arms shrugged around her, her feet left the floor and she wound herself being conveyed away from danger. She blinked, warily looking up at the set aw of Lorcan D’Eath, unsure what to make of the strange act of continued kindness. She gave up the battle with her own fatigue and let her head loll against his is shoulder, her eyes threatening to close with the final twitches of an exhausted, to be fitful, sleep. She supposed she was being carried to relative safety. Ironic, given that her relative safety should have been Theodore. The Order. But they’d abandoned her. Left her to die – and a Death Eater was saving her.

When Lorcan wanted his own way, he usually got it.  He had purpose for the woman, so he intended to keep her.  Zada wouldn't care less one way or the other, he knew. Their marriage just didn't work that way.  Zada simply considered his other women "the strays."  Most of them came late and night and left by sunrise. So far, he hadn't found anyone other than Zada worth keeping. So, she would consider this woman just another stray, at least until she knew his plans for her.


Once he stepped outside with her, the house elf shut the door behind him.  He glanced up at the full moon and the stars and could feel how much the vampire part of him loved the night.  He looked at the woman, the smell of her fresh blood rising to his senses. This wasn't the time, and he had other purposes for her.  Food wasn't one of them.  He simply apparated out....

...And reappeared upstairs in one of the guest bedrooms of the house.  Two house elves were already there, scurrying around, preparing to care for the woman.  


He laid her in the open bed.  He slowly brushed the hair from her face. She'd been through enough.  Some modicum of compassion was some of the best medicine for her right now.


"You're safe here.  You won't be harmed.  You have my word," he said quietly to her. He knew she wouldn't have any idea where she was, but he guessed she wouldn't be used to the sort of opulence he had just surrounded her with. Dark woods, expensive antiques, shades of taupe and cream.  If her clothing were any judge, he figured he had spent more on the pillowcases than she had on her entire ensemble that evening.

Well, if he had his way, that was about to change.  He looked at his house elves. "Take very, very good care of her.  Whatever she needs, money no object. And get her some decent clothes."


"Yes, Sir," they answered promptly, ready to set about her medical needs.  "And should we presume no one should know she's here?"


"No one but Zada," he replied. "Oh, and if someone does find out? Kill them. Don't ask questions. Just kill them. Under no circumstances is she to be harmed. She is my guest."


"Yes, Sir," they replied.

Before more could be said or done, Lorcan took on the responsibility. A true gentleman. "Thank you, Mr. d'Eath. At ease, Evan." The blonde man recoiled, taking his place back at her elbow, waiting patiently and eagerly for another opportunity to serve.

If only she could mass produce Evans. It'd make the Death Eaters a bit dumber as a whole, truly, but they'd be more efficient. Mass produced killing machines. That would be nice. Maybe they did have a thing or two to learn from the muggle world.

"Right," Marley said. "So, while he does whatever it is he does, I'd like to address the problem I see with the Death Eaters. All over the globe, save for Russia, and even the States have made some serious strides, the Death Eaters have lost their presence. We used to be notorious. Now we're horseflies. I'd like to remind everyone that we are here and as Angelique - Angelique, right? - as Angelique has proven, we have an opinion about how things should be run. I think it'd be nice to make some statements."

Marley smiled. "I'd like to see Buckley Inn go up in flames. That'd be fun."

Angelique rolled her eyes.

"I have no opinion about how things should be run," she said flatly.  "I was just trying to get you to clarify your orders."

Seriously, the girl had made two entirely contradictory statements and acted like 'Lique was being unreasonable?  This was just like that stupid Dark Followers crap all over again.

But the thought had only just had time to cross Angelique's mind before the b¡tch was commenting about setting fire to Buckley.  Of course she would think that was a good idea.

Still, it would probably give Angelique a whole hotel of muggles (not to mention ministry workers) to 'play' with, so she wasn't about to object, especially since Marley had taken a personal disliking to her.

"But since we're making statements, all I ask is for first choice of any prisoners," she said. "Ones we don't mind harming, obviously."

Marley nodded, feeling Evan shift uncomfortably next to her. For a henchman, he really wasn't keen on murder yet. He'd get used to it, she supposed. "Oh, yes. I think that prisoners would be helpful, and loads of fun too. I've taken a look about - there's lots of rooms here that could be great little holding cells. If Mr. d'Eath would be okay with us being a bit rough to his guests. If not, we could just take the whole hotel as our own. That might be fun, too. Hostage situations can be exciting, especially when they're kept secret." Ooh, so many ideas, which one, which one.

Zada entered the room with no ceremony whatsoever.  She didn't need it. As Lorcan's wife and lady of the manor, she didn't need to assert her position, and with any meeting being called at two in the morning, there typically was need beyond the usual.  She sat down in a chair in the corner and simply crossed one long leg over the other and settled in to listen.


She had gotten word from the house elves about the doings downstairs, and so she had come in quietly.  She listened to the Harris's last remarks.


Lovely.  Had Lorcan not had an opportunity to brief Harris on why this meeting was being held outside of its usual time? Or was she simply driven enough on her own agenda not to care?  So far, they were just toddling blindly on behind Harris, and not one had bothered to say, "You woke us at two am to talk about setting fire to a hotel that Lorcan just donated to the ministry?" If he had wanted to burn it down himself, Zada was certain there was still a match or two laying about the manor somewhere that he might have made use of.  Dingbats--the whole lot of them.


Holding prisoners in Death Manor? Not while Zada lived here and was raising her son here. Nor did she see Lorcan allowing such violence around their children.  They'd learn it soon enough, but it didn't need to be while they were still bottlefeeding. For now, she'd listen. 


Lorcan had already lost one child to death, and in the last couple of years since his daughter's loss, Zada had seen Lorcan change. Nothing made him more vicious than some sort of harm coming to one of his children. Zada knew he didn't like violence but he was capable of being brutal if he believed someone presented a danger to one of his children.  Where Zada was concerned, there were only two people she would defend without being hired to do it--her son, and Lorcan. No. This wasn't happening in her home.


There seemed to be precious little here that was actually on the mark. This was entirely opposite of why he had wanted them here.  He hadn't wanted them going after the muggles. That was not at all the intended target.  The damned Order was the target. 


How quick the amnesia had apparently set in.  By the time Zada had been informed of the wounded woman, the people in the meeting had apparently managed to wipe her out of their minds and Lorcan's stance against the mistreatment of guests. So, mistreating hoardes of them? Oh, sure.  He'd leap at supporting that. Didn't anyone in the room have enough brain cells to rub two of them together and create some reasonable thought?

Zada came in and Marley smiled pleasantly. Marley was intrigued by Zada, though she had only interacted with the woman on a few sparse occasions and could feel the distrust she had for her. Ah well. Marley knew how to identify a powerful ally, and the d'Eath couple was a double whammy. Marley had a debt to the Pierson man, but the d'Eaths had more than enough money to pay for her protection, if she ever decided to change her allegiances. For now, it was fine, but it was nice to have another option. Options were nice.

"Happy early morning," Marley said. "Lorcan is off, attending to a new guest - such a hospitable place." She sighed. "Anywho. Let's recap, shall we. The Order is trying to be big and bad like us, but we can't have that. We have one of them with us, so we can get some information, pump her full of whatever we want them to know, and send her on her merry way. In the meantime, it'd be nice to remind them we exist. Specifically the Order. Give 'em a scare."

"Ah, at last," Zada smiled, satisfied. Her confidence in Harris was renewed. "A meeting with purpose. The Order's been maligning us for nearly fifty years, if I have my history correct.  From their very foundations. And if it weren't for us, the keepers of wizarding history and tradition, I doubt there'd be much magic left by now. Its time their childish folderol was put to an end.


"They don't have any significant fighters left now, do they?  Perhaps, Ms. Harris, the timing would be right to scare them--maybe to death."


Zada loved a good skirmish.  She loved the adrenalin of it.  She rarely gave a thought about the killing when it was necessary. It was just part of the job.  But it had been a long time, too long, since she'd had an opportunity to use her wand to its true purpose.  Lord, how she missed a good duel.