Chapitre 2: A Test
Theodore found himself in a sparsely decorated and cramped tent, but the Wizard knew he could make do. The tent stood at the edge of the encampment, likely because Nasuada still lacked trust in him or payback for breaking into her tent. The Wizard didn't ponder the question long. He waited until the servant left him in his tent before he began his usual warding scheme.
Theodore threw his hands up, expelling a transparent shield filled with dense magic containing its limits to the small plot of land on which his tent sat. The Wizard quickly threw upwards to deflect attention away from the tent and physically protect its entrance from those with bad intentions. The wards also contained some elemental and blunt force protection to ensure his tent stood solid and wouldn't collapse to a strong wind or dragon fire.
The Wizard looked around the inside of the tent and, with some diagnostic charms, found the dimensions of his room. Next came the work of expanding the space available. Theodore decided that three hundred times was enough. A little bit of charm work and enchanting later, the ten by twelve-foot residence turned into a cozy three-thousand foot by three-thousand-six hundred foot room.
Theodore wondered if he had overdone it a bit but shrugged. He had other things to take his attention. The Wizard didn't waste time and took out a wallet-sized suitcase from his coat pocket, resized it, and gave it two taps.
Finely woven rugs depicting the ancient goblin wars covered the floor. A finely carved wooden desk flew and made a satisfying slam. It positioned itself close to the tent's far wall, with papers and pens fluttering after it to fill its drawers. A clear glass chandelier tied itself to the tent's expansive ceiling, filling its interior with nostalgic yellow lighting. Other bits, bobbles, and furniture rearranged themselves in the tent, filling the space and giving the tent a lived-in feel.
The Wizard slowly strolled to the desk and sat in his comfortable armchair as he unloaded the hundreds or so bottles he kept in an overly large coat pocket. They sloshed with memories as he put them together sequentially to the left side of his large office table, leaving a space in front of him in the center of the desk.
Sinking into his armchair, Theodore said with tired laziness, "Mipsy."
On the right side of his armchair popped a house elf. Theodore glanced in her direction as the big-eared, long-nosed creature silently bowed. "Yes, master lupin, there somethings Mipsy can get for you."
Unlike others of her kind, he made sure she could speak entire sentences without stuttering; she was still working on proper grammar, but she was coming along nicely. Theodore also ensured that her outfit reflected the grandeur of her position as his elf. It was easy to ask elves to create a uniform for themselves. Theodore didn't know why more of his kind didn't do it. Mipsy was dressed in a satin blue uniform with a golden moon lying over her heart as a symbol of his noble house, Lupin.
Mipsy was from a long line of elves descending from Dobby the elf. Theodore felt sad at the thought of the loyal elf who sacrificed himself for his adopted father.
"Yes, can you retrieve my pensieve for me? I require it."
The elf popped away shortly before returning with a floating vessel held delicately between her thin and spindly fingers, the pensive with intricate carvings filled with mercurial water that would allow the mental connection between Wizard and memory.
Theodore poured in the silver vial labeled number one by his side. He leaned forward, allowing his face to touch the pensive's liquid, allowing himself to fall into a stranger's life. After he was done, he continued to pour the vials and repeat the same process sequentially.
The Wizard binged memories for hours well into the night as the Wizard quite literally poured over the Empire magician's life. Hours passed without notice until the Wizard knew them all.
The magician, or Eobard as he was named, had lived a somewhat sad life that included the murder of his parents, being sold into slavery, and later being freed by the Empire.
One would think that being a child slave because of the Empire's tolerance for slavery or the killing of his parents by Empire soldiers would make Eobard resent his would-be saviors, but Theodore guessed greed trumped hate. Theodore could tell that Eobard's feverish devotion to the Empire had started when he was told he was special and magically strengthened since then.
Eobard, among thousands of enslaved people, was hand-picked by a high-ranking magician to be taught the arcane arts. He learned magic so well that Eobard received training of the highest order from the king after realizing his talent. The Wizard hadn't noticed when he was among the Empire's forces but now realized that the magician whose mind he pilfered lived in a much bigger tent than those around him, and for a good reason. Eobard was the leader of the magicians sent here by Galbatorix.
Though sadly, he knew nothing of Galbatorix's overall plan and nothing else of importance besides that Galbatorix held an interest in testing the Varden.
Theodore had absorbed all the essential details and skills that had made up Eobard through the pensive. Doing such a thing wasn't easy. It required impressive mental strength and no small skill in Occlumency to integrate it all.
Thankfully, Eobard's Identity had gained Theodore much. He now knew the Ancient language and could speak it fluently. He also learned much more about how oaths worked in the ancient language.
This language created by the Grey folk had a way of compelling the truth. Its magic was subtle, but Theodore could feel the oath he had spoken to Arya close to his soul now. He had only noticed its delicate grip after he searched for it, and the Wizard found he didn't care for its effects. With a surge of powerful magic, he ripped its hold on him to shreds without a second thought.
Theodore wiped his face of the pensive's water with a conjured cloth before thinking about the most troubling thing he had heard about. Magicians' power over true names, including controlling a person's true name, was dangerous, even to him. Something Theodore knew he would have to rectify soon.
Through Eobard, Theodore learned one of the Varden's most significant problems regarding logistics. They didn't have enough weapons for each fighter. It turned out that the Empire had an extensive spy network in the Varden, and they knew all about this deficiency.
Theodore smiled at having another bargaining chip with Nasuada. Eobard had made contact with or knew of many spies in the Varden, meaning Theodore knew who they were now.
Theodore decided he would hold on to that information for a little longer. Now wasn't the time to be rooting out spies.
After the battle was complete and Nasuada completely trusted him, only then could he capitalize on what he knew, but perhaps there was a different way he could contribute.
Theodore's specialties lie in potions and ritual magic. At the highest levels of those arts, the two merged. Use a bit of alchemy, and you could make a sword without a bit of forging being involved.
He only required a potent source of magic and a potion mix using steel thistle, molt for flexibility, and delavoné borage for stability. Luckily, all those were things he had on hand, and even in great quantity, Theodore's misadventure to the marsupial dimension had ensured it. Even the potent source of magic was available beneath him, rolling off the burning plain in waves. The only other thing needed was a mold for a blade, something easily transfigured.
The Wizard grabbed his suitcase, closed it briefly, turned a dial near the clasp of the briefcase, and turned it from the storage tab to the lab tab. The Wizard then set it on the floor at the side of the room carefully. Theodore opened the clasp of the suitcase, and the suitcase expanded at the sides a bit and melted into the floor surrounding it.
The Wizard didn't take long to descend the staircase that presented itself after the suitcase's merger with the ground and began the potion-making process. He chose three of his biggest bronze vats shaped like large pewter cauldrons. He started dumping ingredients haphazardly and lit a magical blue flame underneath. After a spell and a bit of blood, the ingredients began to mix and create an orange liquid.
With a flick of his wand, Theodore increased the temperature of the flames below, causing orange pools of magic potion to begin bubbling wildly. The brew was on the verge of overflowing before Theodore conducted the flame to its lowest point, leaving the three vats full of potion to simmer. Theodore pulled on the magic in the ground, leading it to the potion vats, carefully ensuring it would not touch anything. The elixirs bubbled and took on a silver sheen. Not even an hour later, Theodore's first batch was done.
Theodore debated what to use as a mold but settled on some transfigured cedar wood lying around. Twenty molds were made, each charmed to toughen and sharpen steel. Twenty-five pours later, five hundred razor-sharp swords gleamed a maroon-orange mix with gleams of amber flitting through the metal groves and seams.
The handles and pommels were easily made from horse leather and attached. The swords would cut through armor, poorly made weapons, and flesh with enchanted. It also would never break from the wear and tear of muggle battle. They were perfect for only a few hours of effort. For some reason, they unsettled Theodore. Theodore examined them magically and physically but found nothing.
Theodore put all five hundred into one crate with a small, undetectable extension charm.
Falling into his bed, Theodore only blinked once before slipping into unconsciousness.
Theodore found himself in the dark, aware he was dreaming and letting his unconsciousness take its desired course. The darkness fell away, and the rainforest formed around him with all its noises, smells, and humidity. Theodore was familiar with the screeching of frogs and felt the same burst of annoyance he always felt when hearing their screeching.
The Wizard was about to start cursing when he heard the rustling of foliage. The Wizard hid as he listened to the trotting of boots closing in. He found a tree large enough to conceal his form, all while compressing his body into its smallest shape, taking the form of a small child barely the size of a cartwheel.
The boots came closer, crushing rotten bark and ants underfoot without care, and then there was another set. Then, from behind the tree, the Wizard saw two forms, Adults, both male and tall. Wizards, too, Theodore added in his mind, noticing where they holstered their wand.
One stopped, not two feet from where Theodore hid. The other man joined him.
"He was here." The larger man's voice was gruff and unpleasant, like a giant rock grinding against a mountain. Theodore decided the man had to smoke as even from 11 feet away; he smelled ash on the man.
"How do you know that?" The tall, thin man asked. Theodore noticed he had a mustache that curled up at the sides. He looked vaguely familiar. Theodore had seen him somewhere before in a picture. With muted shock, he realized it was his dad. "What are we even tracking? You dragged me out here, and we have been stalking through this forest for days. And yet you still won't give me an answer."
Theodore was also curious and leaned forward eagerly, causing a branch to snap violently beneath his left foot.
Theodore awoke with a start to the clatter of armor, the trot of hoofs, and the striking of steel on steel and cursed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and distractedly went through various cleaning and grooming charms, making sure to charm away his stubble.
What he had experienced wasn't a dream. It was an inherited memory, a product of his father being both a powerful wizard and a werewolf. Theodore had them often when he was young, but it had been decades since he had last had a new one.
He wondered what his father had been doing. Theodore had never heard of Remus Lupin exploring a rainforest. Still, he had lived a long life, much of it unaccounted for, and sadly, there was no way for him to ask the man now, not without the stone. His adoptive father would be loathed to give it to him if Theodore could even find the old man. He put on his blue cloak and dragon leather boots and floated the crate of weapons with him, pushing away thoughts of his father as he made his way to Nasuada's tent.
On the way, the Wizard noticed a woman from before Angela standing to the side. Despite his notice-me-not charm, her eyes followed him.
The Wizard sighed lightly but continued walking. The Wizard had wondered about Angela since he had peered into her mind. He had wondered what caused the unique feeling he felt in her mind. Angela did not look like anything but an ordinary woman, but one can get a sense of age in a mind. Angela was old, and yet she was human. Theodore hummed but continued on his path.
It was difficult walking among the Varden; the throng of people were abuzz with activity. Horses and men in rough leathers that magically didn't take note of him had to be carefully avoided. The Wizard even got lost once, having to use a point-me charm to pull him back on course, but eventually, he reached Nasuada's tent.
Setting the crate down with a flick of his wand, he dropped his notice me not ward, and the guards at the door instantly took note of him. One of the guards at the door went in, and the rest stood at the door and waited for his return, observing the Wizard with hawk-like gazes, their swords gripped lightly at their belts.
It didn't take long before the Wizard was given leave, and Theodore levitated the crate again, puppeting it to follow him into the tent. The guard looked with some trepidation at the container as it floated past, but none said anything.
The Wizard found Nasuada finishing whatever she had been writing before he entered. Likely some bizarre attempt at appearing important, Theodore was sure. This would have continued for a while, but Theodore, tired of awkwardly standing, conjured himself a chair, causing her to look at him immediately.
"I didn't know you could do that." Nasuada raised her eyebrow and turned to the Wizard accusingly, but the Wizard let her angry attention slide off him. He could tell she was just shocked. The control freak in her had likely cataloged what was and wasn't possible with magic, and he just kicked that line in the sand.
It made sense that she would be caught off guard.
"There is much you don't know about me." the Wizard smiled good-naturedly.
"Will you ever tell me what it is you can do?" Nasuada shifted in her seat and laid down her feathered pen with a sly smile, "or will I find myself constantly surprised."
"Perhaps," Theodore said coyly, "I really should get to why I'm here."
"You know, lord Lupin, it is usually the liege lord that calls for their vassal, not the other way around. I wonder if you're accustomed to manners, especially after yesterday's debacle. I do hope you don't plan on making a habit of it?" the Wizard smiled but didn't answer Nasuada's harshly worded question.
Theodore might have retorted that she wasn't his liege lord as much as she wanted it and likely would never be, but it would serve no purpose. Theodore had gotten his initial read of Nasuada. He could tell she was a good leader but also one who sought power and complete control over her subjects. From that came her fear of magic, something she couldn't control. Theodore decided something had to be done about that, perhaps a replacement. Theodore mentally shook his head.
Nothing was wrong with her; it was likely that the Varden required such a leading hand with so many disparate people coming together. He did question, though, what kind of ruler she would make. He turned this thought over in his mind but eventually set it aside.
Considering all that, Theodore knew that Nasuada was not one to like a variable out of her reach. The Wizard long decided to leave her the illusion of control.
"Yesterday, we talked about what I could do for the Varden. I thought I would bring you evidence of my ability," The Wizard opened the crate after allowing it to sink to the ground. Taking out a sword, he presented it to Nasuada pommel first, who seemed to graciously accept it, mesmerized by its color and amber pattern.
The sword had a patterned swirl of amber that curled tightly together on the blade's curved edge and clashed with silver metal that made up most of the blade. The blades were beautifully balanced and enchanted to settle nicely in almost anyone's hand. Its edge was thinner than most blades but made of a more robust material than most mundane metals, requiring little maintenance. Theodore could tell Nasuada was awed by their sight.
"These are swords you forged?" Nasuada didn't turn her head. Her eyes remained firmly fixed on the sword in disbelief.
"Don't be surprised. I did say I could forge swords. Yes, these swords are something that I'm told you need." Nasuada's eyes met his through narrowed lids before turning to the sword again and admiring its vibrance.
Nasuada spent some time asking questions about the blades. She was especially curious about its reproducibility. Theodore made sure to reassure her that he could make plenty more. After which, she commissioned one thousand more swords for testing.
Theodore made sure only to charge the price of a standard blade when she asked for the cost of commission. The Wizard knew it would be good to build some goodwill, and he had no strong desire for gold. Nasuada passed him a hefty bag of gold coins, and Theodore quickly dropped it in one of his bottomless pockets.
"Since you're already here, we might as well talk to you about you testing your ability with grammar." Nasuada looked at the amber sword, "We have already seen your skill with forging, and if these swords turn out to be sharper and less likely to break than steel swords, then you will have proved your ability to enchant swords. We should test your ability to use a sword and magic."
"Alright, I'm more than willing to prove myself through magic or muggle arts." The Wizard smiled at Nasuada's confused frown at his use of the word muggle, "who would test me?"
Arya was chosen as his opponent, and Nasuada decided to test his swordsmanship first and his skill in grammar second. Something about magic being exhausting: Theodore could only shake his head at the absurd notion as he always found physical activities much more tiring.
Theodore took little time to change into his dueling outfit.
Abandoning his blue cloak for a buckled leather and yellow satin outfit, patterned dueling gloves, and a different set of dragonhide boots to match.
Like any wizard of nobility, Theodore had a family sword, which he hung at his side. It was a straight sword with a sapphire-encrusted pommel and white unicorn leather grip. It was made with goblin steel and was enchanted with powerful enchantments embedded in every silver grain, making it an impossibly potent weapon and a fair bit more unbreakable than any amber sword Theodore may have decided to make on a whim. Its crossguard is wide, straight, and well-suited for the blade. Its beauty was to be admired even seconds before it would take your life.
People stopped to stare and admire his swagger as he walked to the training ground, noticing his strange attire and bejeweled sword. Theodore didn't mind the attention, especially after invisibly dancing through the crowd of Vaden's soldiers; he was glad they made way for him now.
Occasionally, Theodore would smile when he saw stout warrior's wives and young maidens alike swoon over him. Theodore nodded or winked toward appreciative glances thrown at him. Women blushed, and warrior husbands eyed him with incredulity. Theodore drank in the attention but didn't let it distract him from his intended destination.
Theodore had never been to the training grounds but knew it wouldn't be hard to find. He followed the sounds of clashing steel, which carried across the Varden's sea of stretched canvas, and quickly found a gap between tents.
Theodore saw the flashing of steel and the violent crunching of dirt as occasionally warriors were thrown into the dust. Theodore walked among them, and men stopped and glared everywhere he went. The crowd that had followed him onto the training grounds swept up the fighter in his wake, and soon, the clashing of steel fell silent.
The Wizard found Arya on the training grounds, just as Nasuada said she would be. He took up his position opposite her with his sword unsheathed and ready. Curious about the strange man dressed in weird clothes and the Varden's only elf dueling, the crowd began to encircle them completely. Strangely, they did not make much noise as if hesitant to disturb the two duelists. Arya, for her part, only seemed slightly bothered by their presence. Theodore personally considered this his debut entrance into the Varden.
"Is there any particular magic that you want to use before the start of this duel for safety?" Theodore smiled, knowing that he had enough control over his sword that such protections were unnecessary for him, but the Wizard didn't know the elves' capabilities very well. Nasuda had a nasty gleam in her eye when she proposed this duel with Arya. Prevention was always better than healing later. It was something Theodore had learned the hard way many times.
"Would you mind guarding the edge of your sword with magic?" Arya said, looking at Theodore intently as she gripped her blade's handle, her palm turning white.
Theodore latched magic around his blade's edge using formless magic. An invisible glimmer of magic turned his family blade into a training sword.
Theodore felt a magical seal snatch shut around his blade's edge, and he wondered if he should cheat and use magic during their duel. The elf wouldn't know about body enhancement magic from his world. Arya would likely have no defense against him. Theodore knew from Eobard that they didn't have anything similar here.
It was usually a delicate business reinforcing and empowering different body parts, but Theodore knew he wouldn't have any trouble with it. He had been ritually enhancing his body and seeping it into the elixir of life for centuries. Theodore was well-versed in the use of such magic.
Muggles had weapons of unbelievable speed, precision, and power; sometimes, the best move was to dodge whatever they shot at him, especially before his magic fully matured before ritual armor was made. Enhancement magic was something Theodore often used to tackle many such precarious situations.
Theodore watched as the elf spoke some words in the ancient language to the same effect as his unstructured magic, and inwardly, he shook his head. To enhance himself with magic would be too lazy, and Theodore didn't want to become one of those fat crazy magicals lost in their own world. Granted, he would never be fat unless he wished to, and Theodore was quite sure he was more than a little crazy. The Wizard shrugged. It was the thought that counted.
"It's done." The elf said,
"Then let us begin."
It didn't take long for the quiet crowd to shout and stomp their feet in excitement, and soon, the dance was on.
The Wizard and elf began circling each other with swords raised. They each began analyzing and testing for weaknesses, giving subtle hints of what they might do next. Theodore bounced spryly on the balls of his feet with each step, his sword ready to strike out like a coiled snake.
Arya seemed more calm and took long panther-like strides as if she was stalking prey. It didn't take long before the stalemate was broken. Arya swung first, seeking to end the fight quickly. Her sword made for his body center mass with a frightening quickness.
The blade became a blur that the surrounding crowd couldn't easily follow, though the trained observers winced at what they were sure would be a true strike. The Wizard wasn't so easily overcome and rather anticlimacticly flitted past the elf's first strike like a leaf that caught wind.
Theodore wasn't particularly fast; he just moved at the right time. A second and third strike followed the first until the elven blade seemed to flash from place to place more quickly than men could blink in a dance that met no flesh. The crowd seemed to release a breath as no pained screaming came.
The elf was impossibly fast and nimble, while the Wizard was incomparably slower and more skilled. Those in the crowd could tell the elf's advantage, but only Theodore could see the truth. Her style was rather generic.
She thrust her sword out, trying to stab at him without nuance. Her feints and ripostes were all obvious. The elf was well trained, but Theodore could see her aggressive style had many defensive flaws. Most of all, Theodore could tell she had become rusty from a lack of formidable opponents—a problem Theodore hadn't had.
Theodore had four centuries to hone his magic and swordsmanship skills, fighting in dueling competition against Vampires, Veela, and even the rare intelligent troll. He had taken time to learn many styles to fight more powerful and faster opponents.
Including the one he uses now, Vevgon—a style made to fight opponents more powerful than you. One made to flee from one position of power to another, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
The wizard experience shone through as the elven blade continued to miss him or meet his sword's shielded edge. None of her strikes managed to injure the Wizard or break his stride.
Theodore could sense Arya's frustration as she increased the pace of her heavy-handed strikes as the Wizard redirected her blows and slid past others. Theodore noticed Arya overextended multiple times but recognized them as feigns and traps, knowing well that he might try to strike out only to have a sword to his neck.
Theodore waited for his opportunity using defensive dodging, weaving, and redirecting blows and, like a well-trained acrobat, twirling through the air until he saw his chance. Stepping forward into Arya's guard, unexpectedly, his sword seemed to impossibly curve around her own, meaning to prick her neck.
With inhuman flexibility much more remarkable than any vampire the Wizard had ever fought, Arya managed to lean back under Theodore's extended sword and managed a backward flip as she extended her leg, intending to kick Theodore forward, leaning head into unconsciousness. Theodore's chin burst with pain as he thrust himself back clumsily, managing only to take a glancing blow of The elf's heavy ax kick.
Theodore felt a burst of heat as the slick red liquid slowly gushed out of his nicked chin; the Wizard gave Arya a crazed grin before taking the initiative, mentally compensating for his slight dizziness.
Arya, stunned that the Wizard had managed to move his head in time, stood still for an instant, and that was all that was needed for Theodore to close the distance.
Arya, feeling confident after drawing blood, began with the same strategy from before but found herself quickly dismantled. She couldn't land a single blow, and the Wizard came in closer and closer even as he became more aggressive. He was attacking now, and she was blocking his sword with her elven blade, but soon, that wasn't enough.
The Wizard slid past any defense Arya threw up, making her take step after step back. The Wizard moved more nimbly than before, but still, he was much slower than an elf, yet it seemed as if he was in many places at once to Arya. It felt as if she was fighting ten men working together well.
He was always at the right place at the right time. Arya began to put every ounce of her focus into the fight, pushing down any bouts of panic at a near miss as his sword flashed by the side of her head. She focused on her opponent, intent on retaking the initiative, ignoring the sound of the gossiping crowd, the beating of the sun on her skin, the taste of sweat-laden air, and the feeling of ground that suddenly fell away.
Suddenly, Arya felt herself hit the ground as the Wizard somehow managed to trip her by hooking his leg behind hers. Before she could move her sword to defend herself, she felt cold steel press against her throat. She stared at the fine sword in shock and then at the Wizard's ferocious expression and bright eyes and felt their menace and willingness to cut.
She imagined without much difficulty the feeling of her throat slit, despite the magically dulled edge of the blade, before accepting her loss. A ringing cheer began as the humans, mistaking Theodore as one of their own, found joy in their race's perceived victory against an elf.
Theodore and Arya separated, "so do you just want one duel, or should we try for more," Theodore wasn't winded. He was willing to fight again and noticed his partner was in a similar condition.
"One is enough." Arya's eyes held respect and caution. The thought of his steel at her neck made her breathe more heavily. When she looked into Theodore's eyes, she saw something cold and ruthless. Arya wondered what kind of man Theodore was to have eyes so full of death.
It didn't take long for the crowd to settle again and continue their work with the fight over. With only a bit of concentration, Theodore healed his chin before turning to Arya. The elf looked at Theodore with rabid eyes at his use of magic before she turned and gestured for the Wizard to follow.
Theodore looked around at the dribbles of his blood that splattered the field. Any trace of his DNA evaporated into purple ash with a snap of his finger. Theodore looked again, making sure to miss nothing before turning to follow Arya.
"That was a dangerous use of magic. Most would only use nonverbal magic in moments of desperation. Most wouldn't be willing to try something as complex as healing," Theodore could tell that though her voice was neutral, there was genuine curiosity at the bit of healing he had done.
Theodore didn't reply, and they continued walking. They soon entered Arya's tent, the elf offering the Wizard a seat while she walked deeper into her tent. The elf pulled out a delicate, plain white teapot, filled it with water from a worn leather water skin, and quickly slipped some herbal leaves in before shutting its lid. Theodore heard the elf say the word for fire in the ancient language, and the teapot, within a few seconds, began to spew steam and released an unpleasant screeching noise.
The elf offered Theodore tea and a roughly carved wooden cup, and the Wizard graciously accepted despite the likely result. Theodore was quickly proven right in his pre-dislikement.
The tea was bitter and had an unfamiliar, unwelcome foreign flavor, but what kind of Englishman would he be to throw out perfectly good tea and so abiding by his principles, he drank large gulps of scalding liquid and hid his disgust. Arya, for her part, seemed to be oblivious to his discomfort. The elf took small sips of her tea, and Theodore could feel pleasure oozing off of her and exciting magic in the air; this only managed to intensify the wizards' dislike of the drink.
As Theodore finished the elf's special brew, The Wizard found himself silently lampooning about why distant alternate realities couldn't all have good British tea. The Wizard couldn't bring himself to blame the elf. Most realities had terrible tea.
He had been to five separate universes with intelligent life. You would think at least one got it right or would have the right components. Some of them even had the equivalent of Britain. It honestly made no sense.
Barring that a small change caused an evolutionary domino effect that erased all plant life, replacing it with mushrooms or some other nonsense, many worlds developed plants remarkably similarly. Theodore could only shrug helplessly; perhaps it was a law of reality that only British tea from his own reality could be any good.
The law of British tea, as he decided to name it honestly, was why his stores of black tea were so large. He had enough to last him for several centuries, all locked up in his suitcase. Thankfully, besides terrible tea, each reality had its charm.
Theodore settled as he thought of such realities with delicacies that would make your toes curl more than any butter bear. Thinking of alternate realities honestly made him thirsty for some good Chocolatl. The Wizard managed to shake himself from his thoughts before he began to drool at the thought of its sweet dark chocolate flavor.
It was time to get back on track. Theodore had a whole new brand of magic to experiment with. It was best they finished this entire magical testing reasonably quickly. Theodore looked at Arya. He caught her eye, and the elf put her tea down, but her hand still gripped the cup's warm exterior.
"So, how does magical testing usually go?" the Wizard was quite curious about what the average magicians in this world were capable of. Eobard wasn't a good measure of average and didn't have a good sense of normal in any sense.
Sadly, the Empires Chief magician was stuck in a reality of his own that revolved around excelling at magic and pleasing the king. That made it hard to gauge many things about this world through his eyes.
Arya pursed her lips and looked pointedly at Theodore's cup of tea. The Wizard showed her that it was empty, and so with some reluctance, she set her half-full and his empty cup on a corner table off to the side.
"How about you tell me what you can do, and we go from there." The elf said with barely hidden annoyance and no small amount of interest. Theodore guessed that he might have just made some major faux pas, drinking his tea too quickly. Perhaps that was heretical to the elf. Theodore found he didn't care much.
The Wizard honestly thought he was the one that should be offended. He shook his head, who enjoyed tea so bitter, with No sugar, no milk, not a hint of a spoon for idle stirring.
The Wizard paused to consider before shaking his head and saying in a curt tone, "Just give me your test. We might be here long if we do it your way."
The elf, finally picking up on Theodore's annoyance, became more serious. "Well, you're already proficient with the mind arts, so you should be a master ward breaker. Can you create wards? Do you have wards to protect you against magic?"
"Yes, I have wards," the Wizard absent-mindedly fingered a womanly figure attached to a chain around his neck, "I've never had any use for them as, for the most part, I can consciously shield myself from attacks."
"Would you mind if I test them?"
"Not at all." Theodore had been curious about the magic this world used for a while. He had experienced magical duels that Eobard had been part of. Still, direct interaction was required to understand the danger involved personally when engaging magicians in this world. Theodore stood from his worn wooden chair, and Arya joined him.
"Slytha," Arya spoke in the ancient language, and a bust of magic reached toward Theodore, buzzing with an intent to rob him of consciousness. Theodore made this intent sputter out without allowing it to find a purchase. It didn't require much energy; it was like an annoying gnat that came too close and had to be swatted away.
Arya nodded, tried other spells in the ancient language, and even threw a fireball that sputtered out after nearing The Wizard. Theodore meanwhile grew bored of this ward testing after quickly realizing none of the grammar the elf could wield held any powerful intent. Theodore had wondered at how weak this world's ambient magic had felt. Perhaps this was the result.
The only significant energy source he had felt since entering this world had been from the ground below him. He knew it was the result of the wild magic of dragons. Dragons in this world seemed to have potent magic that had unpredictable effects because even now, after so much time had passed, Theodore could still feel wild magic roaring and trying to reach out from the ground soil below him.
"Enough your wards should be fine as they are." Arya was impressed with the extent of his wards; they had none of the superficial flaws that most Human magicians might have. She did wonder how He had worded his wards because even as she used simple words like gánga to hold him in place, it had no effect. Arya had nearly drained her considerable reservoirs, testing Theodore's wards, "we should test the extent of your Grammar."
"I'm afraid my magic is a bit different than yours," Theodore took out his wand, pointed toward the table between them, and transfigured a large onyx-black varnished table with swirls of black marble striations flowing in enchanting patterns from the worn minimalist table that was there before.
Arya drew a deep breath, but before she could speak, Theodore drew a box out of his pockets and set it on the table, allowing it to enlarge. The box opened into a chess set, and pieces jumped onto the board, "care for a game of wizards chess."
What followed was an amused wizard teaching a baffled elf a game from his homeland.
Arya took quite a long time to learn the game, intrigued heavily by the mechanism that allowed the pieces to move. Theodore was patient and took the time to explain the game and how each piece moved, even how to win against more inexperienced players.
Arya asked many questions about how the magic behind the game worked. Of course, Theodore knew that such an explanation would be nothing more than French to the elf. He smiled and kept explaining the mechanisms of the game. Eventually, Arya managed to contain her curiosity and asked that they continue testing.
"There is one other thing we should test. Would you mind casting magic at me while I ward it off, Lord Lupin?" Arya asked, looking at him with intense expression. Theodore almost felt as the elf settled the weight of her world on his shoulders at that moment. It was a sudden shift from her stoic, somewhat nervous attitude towards him before.
"But, of course, Arya." Theodore put the wizarding chess set to the side. He cast Stupify after Arya told him she was ready—Turnabout's fair play, after all. Theodore struck out with the tip of his wand, flinging his spell toward her body's center mass.
Faster than the elf could think to react, a red bolt of energy passed through her wards as if they weren't even there, and the elf fell unconscious. Just like Theodore suspected, the magic used by magicians in this world was too weak to contain him. His spell wasn't potent but dense and filled with a wizard's intent to render her unconscious. Arya's wards, just like her mental shields, didn't have the complexity or the intention to mean anything to Theodore's magic.
"Enervate."
The elf woke abruptly and turned her head to where he sat with unnatural quickness.
"What was that?" Arya seemed bewildered as she stood up.
Theodore shrugged, "My magic is very potent. Despite their strength, your wards couldn't handle that potency directed at one point. Likely to maintain itself, it moved out of the way of my spell and left you without any defense against my magic."
Arya had many questions, but Theodore didn't want to answer them. Reaching over, he returned his wizarding chess set to the table and asked if she wanted to play another game.
Arya agreed, and they played several more games. Eventually, Arya was tired of losing, and Theodore left for his tent after calling his goodbyes.
As dusk settled, Arya and Nasuada met again at Nasuada's tent to talk about their friend from a distant land. The meeting between them started as many others with a bit of dwarven mead. Nasauda settled on a luxurious couch she allowed herself despite the Varden struggling financially, and Arya settled beside her. Both drank in a comfortable silence, sitting next to a crackling fire that enveloped them in cozy warmth.
"So what have we found out about our foreign friend? "Nasuada said after drinking deeply from a crystal glass filled with strong dwarven mead. Nasuada allowed her body to form to the couch, no longer having a need for posturing now that it was just the two of them. Arya, appreciating how the Vardens leader allowed herself to drop her guard around her, decided to relax, taking a gulp of dwarven mead and filling her mouth with its sour, excited flavor.
"He's dangerous." Arya didn't say this in a panicked or horrified way like one would talk of a monster, more of a statement of fact, and Nasauda quickly realized this. "He beat me on the training field without much effort. I was much faster than he was, but he was more skilled than any elf I have ever fought, and I have fought many of my kind over my century of life. I felt like I was fighting ten men in the same bout." Arya took another larger gulp of mead to wet her throat and sighed
Nasuada raised an eyebrow but took another sip of dwarven mead and waited for Arya to continue.
"That was the least of it." Arya's voice became somewhat strained, but her face remained placid out of shock and disbelief, "his wards are powerful and not susceptible to any normal flaw I can think of. I nearly drained all my reserves, trying to cause any reaction from his wards."
Arya wet her throat with more dwarven mead, "His magic is different than anything I've ever seen; it's potent and strange, and he seems able to do things with his peculiar magic. Create things that should be impossible for any magician. His spells bypassed my wards without much difficulty. I can also feel in his mind that somehow he is old. He is much older than he appears and older than any human mage should be. I did not mention it before because I wasn't sure, but now I am. He's too skilled for it to be otherwise."
"Create things. Yes, I've seen him do that. He conjured a chair in front of me this morning. It was so sudden. One second, There was nothing. The next, there was a seat. I still have it. I gave it to Trianna to see if she could unravel its magic. She looked at me oddly when I presented it and gave me a lecture about …"
Nasuada trailed off as she saw the elf glaring at her with a strange look in her eyes. Nasuada had known the elf for a long time, so she could read that expression. She was missing something. Arya had said something and decided it didn't have the impact it should.
"Are you saying that your wards had no effect and that his magic could reach you despite them?"
Arya nodded, finally turning her intense glare away from Nasuada, satisfied she had gotten her point across.
Nasuada pondered the implications of such magic. One of the reasons Galbatorix was seen as untouchable was because of the thousands of wards he had laid around himself and Urû'baen. Nasuada felt a wild hope take root in her heart. Could Theodore be the weapon they needed to reach the king to kill the century-long tyrant?
"Yes, He sent a bolt of magic at me faster than I could react, knocking me unconscious despite my wards." There was an edge to Arya's voice.
Nasuada could feel Arya's distress as she described what happened. Nasuada could sympathize with a blanket of security being ripped away ruthlessly; she had felt it only yesterday when Theodore suddenly appeared in her tent without a hint of his arrival from Elva.
Nasuada reached out and touched Arya's shoulder in a show of support. The elf smiled appreciatively before pulling away as she leaned forward, her face shadowed by the fire.
"So do you think he is our chance? Do you think he can take Galbatorix? I know this is crazy, Arya, and we barely know the man, but if what you say is true…" Nasuada leaned forward, her crystal cup half filled with mead tightly clenched in hand, causing her knuckles to turn white. Arya turned her head to Nasuada.
"Have you lost faith in Eragon as the tip of the spear for the Varden?" Arya had a strange look in her eyes that Nasuada couldn't identify.
"Arya, please be serious," Nasuada gave a tired sigh without a hint of public politeness and took another sip of dwarven mead before continuing, "Eragon is a symbol that the Varden is built on, but you know as well as I that he is also still a fledgling rider. Do you think his training among the elves is enough to fight Galbatorix himself? We still don't know how he and the forsworn fought so evenly against much greater numbers of well-trained riders."
Arya looked into the flames, taking another sip of dwarven mead, but said nothing.
"I had only some hope that Eragon by some fluke would manage to slay the king but faith," Nasuada gave a bitter chuckle and looked at Arya, "only a little, only because I had to believe in him. That isn't to say I don't respect and appreciate Eragon with everything I have. Eragon Shadeslayer is a hero. He will always be a hero, but tell me, Arya, do you think Theodore has a chance?"
"Yes." Arya finished her glass of mead. This question was one that the elf had been pondering for a while since her testing of Theodore, and she had come to a similar conclusion as Nasuada that he might be their opportunity. Arya felt conflicted about what that might mean for Eragon if Nasuada shifted her attention away from him.
Arya knew Eragon well and was even quite fond of the man who saved her from the torture she endured at the hands of Durza. She knew Eragon was committed to the fight against the Empire and would likely die in the rebellion against it.
This is part of the reason Arya didn't return his feelings despite her intense attraction toward him. The elf had already lost too many; her closest friends were among the first elves to fall in centuries. Arya knew He was not prepared yet to fight someone like Galbatorix, and she would do almost anything to prevent his death, but she was sure it would still come. Perhaps trusting Theodore would save them all. Maybe it would be their downfall.
Theodore seemed more than prepared and eager to help the Varden, but Arya didn't allow that to cloud her judgment, "But we can't trust him yet. He is dangerous and powerful, but he's also foreign and mysterious. We know Eragon's heart, but this Wizard seems implacable."
Nasuada looked away but nodded her head in agreement. She took on a pensive expression, considering how they should treat their foreign friend. She remembered the feeling of his boundless magic when they first met. She remembered how it pressed on her and made her feel helpless.
At the time, it felt as if all the world's attention was concentrated on one being, and reality felt ready and willing to bend to his will. The implications of someone like him existing honestly scared Nasuada and filled her with anger at her helplessness. She imagined a clan of people like him and was unsure if Alagaësia could fight against such foreigners.
Nasauda looked at Arya, saw the elf nodding off, and remembered Arya saying she had almost drained her reserves testing Theodore. Nasuada smiled at the rare sight of a tired elf but felt anxious at the elf's recklessness.
"You should sleep, Arya. You look dead tired, and it wouldn't do for our elf liaison to die of exhaustion. Ensure this won't impact your ability to fight in the coming battle." Nasuada inwardly shuddered, imagining the stink that the Islanzadí would make if her daughter were to drift off to sleep and never wake up again.
Nasuada knew the elves would withdraw their support again as their queen writhed in dramatic grief. She knew because she had seen it before when the Varden was commanded by her father. Nasuada cursed the elven monarch in her mind as she gulped down the last of her dwarven mead. The Varden would not survive another such setback. Her father will have died in vain.
"Don't worry, lady Nasuada. I have a store of magical reserves to replenish what I lost." The elf groggily replied before she drunkenly trotted off to find her tent. Nasuada watched her make her way out, and once she knew she was walking in the right direction, the Varden leader turned her thoughts to their foreign guest. She hoped that he wasn't causing too much trouble.
Though she wasn't sure what she could do if he did, this was why she loathed magic because it left those without it to the whims of those who could wield it. It was unfair.
Theodore returned to himself as his gathering ritual ended, lifting an amber orb, a jem of calcified magic that shone a kaleidoscope of colors. Theodore admired how the magic of the jem lashed out, pulling at the air around it all while playing a symphony of a thousand instruments. Light streamed through Theodore's fingers as he held it, only to vanish when he gripped it tightly before letting it fall into his Moleskin pouch.
The Wizard had wondered about the magic coming from the ground. So, through ritual magic and using his philosopher stone, Theodore extracted and calcified it into a stable rock.
Theodore didn't know what use he would have for such a thing. He felt the rock's connection to the magic of this world was like a vast symbiotic network, each signaling the other on how to behave and interact with the material world. There was an interconnectedness to magic in this world that felt eldrich and more deeply ingrained than his own.
Theodore had noticed how it imbued itself when he made his amber weapons, each having a more splendid impact than they should. This wasn't something the non-magical could sense, and even he had some difficulty. He had almost missed the stands of fate tying themselves to the blades.
Theodore now knew he was making destined blades. It honestly made Theodore doubt if he should continue to forge them. Magic having to do with fate was more dangerous than it was worth.
Theodore walked down to where the metallic solution for the blades bubbled—turning it to a metallic sheen with bits of bubbling orange. Fated blades were always cursed things, but perhaps the effect on the swords was small enough.
It was something difficult to judge, but The impact was minimal. It might mean the blade fell into a more capable hand more often than it should. Nothing at the scale of altering the fate of conflict the blades wouldn't make fighters destined to win.
Theodore decided to risk it. He had a commission to fulfill, afterall.
Theodore felt heat against his face as he poured the metallic liquid into the casts he had made. The swords solidified, and a thousand more had been created for Nasuada's Army.
Theodore decided to rest after finishing the last of the amber blades that Nasauada had commissioned him. He lay on his bed thinking about the day to come and felt tension. Theodore had no gift in sight, but like most wizards, he had a sense of destiny regarding big things, whether a person, place, time, object, or danger.
Theodore knew tomorrow would bring the Vardens rider; Eragon Shadeslayer was his name if Eobard's memories proved correct. He wondered how their first interaction would go. Eragon, from what Eobard knew, was just a farm boy from Palancar Valley. Theodore wasn't expecting much from the boy but was curious about dragon riders and their supposed immortality. It honestly was the most confounding thing about riders.
Theodore had always thought immortality was supposed to be backbreaking to achieve. And yet, it was given out like candy in this world. One simply had to hatch a dragon egg, and suddenly, they were immortal, ageless. Theodore mentally shook his head at the ridiculous thought.
Honestly, when Theodore had found out about dragon riders, he had almost died of hysterical laughter. As long as the rider and dragon lived, they were gifted with immortality as if it were nothing. Theodore had to work hard with alchemy and ritual magic for decades, collect rare ingredients, and adventure dangerously to create his philosopher stone. However, such was the difference between worlds.
The Wizard wondered if his people could use the same bond between dragons and riders. Wizards were, after all, not distant cousins to humans. The Wizard was satisfied to think idly about this before suddenly wondering whether Arya would play a game of gobstone with him.
With some amusement, Theodore imagined regal-faced Arya scrunching her brow in disgust as some putrid gobstone fluid was sprayed into her face. The Wizard chuckled at her imaginary indignation.
Theodore didn't bother covering himself after falling into bed, allowing himself to sink into his magical mattress as soft as clouds and drift off. Theodore's last thoughts were of Arya's confusion as she tried to learn the rules of Wizard's chess before he completely drifted off smiling.
Just as the Wizard had fallen into the land of Morpheus, a feminine form stalked outside the sleeping Wizard's tent.
Clad in black and armed with razor-sharp implements, this form seemed to have her head on a swivel for something. They were looking for a tent assigned to a strange foreigner who had recently made news in the encampment for beating an elf in a duel.
The form stalked this way and that, feeling like they were on the edge of seeing something hidden at the corner of their eye. Still, in the end, they helplessly gave up and crept through the Varden's encampment back the way they had come. Helpless to fulfill her Lord's order.
The woman assassin couldn't help but wonder at her Lord's desperate desire to have this foreigner newcomer slain. Walking into a tent in the middle of the Varden encampment where she usually met her handler, the assassin was temporarily blinded by the tent's pitch-black interior. It took some time to allow her eyes to adjust, and she was about to walk deeper into the tent when she heard a voice directly behind her, making her jump.
"Did you do it," said a short, stout middle-aged man with straight hair and brown eyes. Her handler had average features that wouldn't stand out from a crowd and an innocent face hidden by the tent's dark interior.
She admonished herself internally for not hearing his footsteps as he crept behind her but couldn't bring herself to be surprised. The man's name was Kerr, but he had long held the title Altair, the ancient Narda name for air, because of his ability to walk as softly as air.
"I could not find his tent despite knowing where it should have been. I felt this strange feeling like I was missing something as I looked for it. Like it was there, just hidden out of sight. It felt as if I could see something out of the corner of my eye, but then it was gone again. It must be magic, but I have never seen its like." The female assassin took off her mask and let her blond hair fall free behind her.
"It is to be expected our Lord has told me that this man is difficult to catch unawares and even more difficult to kill. I suspect he was simply hoping the man was careless. That seems not to be the case."
"Why is our lord so interested in this man?"
"That is not for us to know. Our duty is to serve, never to question. You know this well, Frida," Kerr admonished with his soft, unassuming tone. He was all the more menacing because of it.
Frida felt like she had been struck, and her face burned with embarrassment. She knew she should not question their Lord after all he had done for her. Galbatorix had saved her family. The only thing she could do now was repay the favor. If he asked her to jump, she would ask how high.
"Of course, Altair." Frida bowed, "I only ask his intentions to serve him better."
Kerr considered this before saying, "It was in the Prophesized note."
"Understood,"
"You will try again soon, this time with a different tact. Prepare yourself, Frida."
"Yes, lord Altair."
Frida quickly left the tent and snuck toward her own. She knew she would have to prepare a honey trap for Lord Lupin. Few men could resist her feminine touch. She sang quietly to herself as she left, and her words hummed with ancient power.
The Wizard woke up the next day with his eyes heavy with sleep. He listened to the now familiar trot of hoofs and crashing of armor as he laid still, deciding not quite to get up yet.
In fact, Theodore was debating lazing around for a few more hours before he heard voices break out in alarm across the camp. Men began to shout incomprehensibly, and horses, inconsiderate of a wizard suffering, neighed incessantly. Theodore groaned but quickly climbed to his feet and tugged on a familiar blue cloak, acromantula silk robes, and dragonhide boots.
It didn't take Theodore long to reach the source of the commotion despite the staggering crowd. The sight of a sapphire blue dragon struck Theodore first; her eyes and movements showed uncommon intelligence for a dragon. The dragon was more lustrous and enormous than the ones from home. Theodore could feel its powerful, wild magic interact and mingle with magic from below. The rider was dismounting and was helping his much shorter dwarven friend off his dragon.
Theodore turned his gaze to the dragon's rider, who looked more impressive and stately than expected. The 20-year-old seemed to have a slim, wiry build with an angular face like Arya's. This rider was no farmboy; he appeared to drip nobility and class. The rider had a regal nature that came close to matching Arya's. However, it wasn't tempered with the same age and experience. The rider exuded a feeling of youth in his every movement. His eyes didn't seem to hold the world's weight in the same way as Arya's.
Theodore saw a man walk up to the rider as he moved closer. The man seemed panicked and even fearful. Theodore couldn't hear what the man was saying but saw that the rider was quickly led away, and The Wizard moved quickly to follow. It was about time a wizard and noble rider met.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone