Harry Potter and the Berserker

Chapter 71 Black Lion

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

The sun was getting low, ending its reign across the sky with a bloody orange color before the cool violet-blue would come to take its starry throne in the sky. The warm color blended well with the tan high grass of the field. Crickets could already be heard as they took to chirping, ending only when one of the children leaped into a tall patch of grass, sending the chirping inhabitants flying from their perch in search of a new one, careful to avoid the clapping hands from the persons who must have been giants to them.

"Forward!" one of them yelled, adjusting his furs so they wouldn't fall from his shoulders. The other boys and girls cheered alongside him, far too noisily. They wouldn't catch any with how loud they were being.

They ran in their leader's direction, flocking where he pointed with all the command a mere boy could do. It was a humorously petty thing to behold. Such a stupid game, a waste of time. But what could he expect from a bunch who had less potential than a flock of birds?

"Don't let any getaway!" the leader called to those following him. "Take them as prisoners! Your king demands it!"

If that boy was a king, then he was a god.

The real king was off in a castle to the east or something; at least, the king of this land. There were so many tribes and clans, nomadic and stationary that it was hard to know all of them. Many tribes had actually banded together to set up their own kingdoms and states, or so he heard. It just meant more fighting, more moving for them as the men in their stone houses tried to a sense of what they called "order."

All of this was lost to the children as they gave a unified cry of, "Yes, King Gaiseric!" To that, he barely managed to suppress a snort of laughter from escaping.

King Gaiseric. That boy was no King Gaiseric. He had heard the same stories about the legendary king of old and from what he gathered, that boy was anything but one who was above all others.

"What's so funny?" the sudden question caught him off guard. He pivoted his body on the rock he was sitting on to see the girl standing off to the side. Her furs were light, the encroaching night chill seemingly lost to her, the cloth atop her dark hair barely rustled with the wind.

He gave a half-menacing look to her. "What are you doing here?"

"Watching, same as you, I suppose," she answered. Tilting her head to look past him and out at the herd of kids running about. "Are they playing at being king again?"

He fixed her with a low, flat gaze. "You're the soothsayer's daughter, aren't you?" he received an affirmative nod with a crisp close-lipped smile. "Then shouldn't you already know that? There's no real point in asking me what you can see with your own eyes."

Her smile didn't even falter. "And now I know why you're not down there with them." She sat down, uninvited.

Rolling his eyes, he brought his left leg to his chest and rest his hands on his knee before resting his chin on top of them both. "And you're wrong. If you want to follow your mother's path, you're doing a piss-poor job at it."

She brought a finger to her chin in thought. "I suppose so." Her eyes gleamed in mirthful mischief. "Or maybe they just didn't want to play with a bastard boy."

He didn't even react to the name. It didn't bother him, he could scarcely remember a time when it had. There were plenty of bastard children in the tribe, some of which were even down there chasing bugs right now. So long as men's blood ran hot or women felt the heat in their loins, a bastard would be born. It wasn't always an insult, bastards could just as easily be products of passion as they were by force. If a bastard had no place, it was up to them to carve one themselves. And because of it, he grew faster than the other kids, learned the reality of the world faster than other kids. He was already the tallest of those his age and twice as good with his fists as he was with a sword.