Voldemort
January 1986
Voldemort stepped forward, his heavy steel toed boots sinking effortlessly through the snow. He was exhausted from spending all day in negotiations with the Malvora clan. He missed the days where he could just walk into a place and kill anyone he saw until they agreed to join him. Now he had to spend hours upon hours sitting around a table, negotiating the fine points of where vampires would get their feeding grounds, and making sure it wouldn’t interfere with where the ghouls were feeding. Now it was treaties and contracts and so much endless talking and talking. It was…infuriating, to say the least.
Now Voldemort looked up at the spiraling spires as he strode through the snow towards that castle. The snow was blowing hard, and he, almost without thought, performed a quick warming spell upon his body while he strode along. Sulfur and brimstone filled the air–a lesser man would have choked, but he barely noticed it anymore.
As he neared the gates, he looked up at the gaping archway, with its twisted black gates stretching up. For the first time, he really looked at the gates. They were held up by two statues of giants on each side, easily twenty feet tall. They had broad, sharp faces, with large hawkish noses and eyes that were narrowed into slits, sharpened teeth bared in a feral snarl, and almost elegant cheekbones. They seemed to be wearing some sort of armor, which he found quite odd.
I guess that the fools up in Russia never actually saw a giant and just assumed they were intelligent enough to craft armor. He idly thought to himself as he strode through the gates, picturing a nice relaxing evening of a warm meal, maybe torturing his followers for the fun of it.
My Lord, what have we discussed? You cannot go around torturing your followers for amusement. That is no way to build loyalty. Furthermore, those aren’t mountain giants, which is why they are wearing armor, said the posh British voice in his head that instantly got on Voldemort's nerves the moment he heard it adopt its reprimanding tone.
Did the great Machiavelli not once say, ‘Tis better to be feared than loved, if one can not be both’, Namshiel? My followers fear me and yet they undoubtedly love me also. It worked for me for many decades before you came along. And what do you mean, not mountain giants? Voldemort snapped back, annoyed to be told off by his residential Fallen Angel.
Yes, he did say that, my host, though I am not as confident in the conviction your followers love you as you seem to be. But you are onto bigger things than one small island off the coast of Europe now. If you want to increase your following through Eurasia, you can’t go torturing for fun. And yes, the ones you're referring to are not mountain giants. As you know, there are many different types of giants. Those statues are representations of Jotüns, or Frost Giants.
Oh yes. But they all died out millennia ago. Why would I bother remembering them? scoffed Voldemort. Really. Sometimes these creatures got so lost in things that had long since vanished and changed, not even realizing how long ago it had been.
Died out millennia ago, my lord? Oh no, not at all. Simply relocated is all.
Voldemort slowed in his tracks. Are you telling me that there are Sutras and Jotüns still alive? he asked incredulously.
Oh, yes. They were simply driven to retreat many millennia ago.
So while I was forced to work with those incompetent mountain giants, who could barely add one plus one, I could have been working with giants who were masters in warfare and strategy?! Voldemort raged as he finally reached the side door to the castle and stormed inside, shaking snow off his boots. He felt the urge to smash something or someone very violently and could feel his hand straying to his wand.
Restraint, my host. And yes, though I do not blame you. The records were purged from the earth as thoroughly as possible when the giants were driven to the edges of the earth by Odin and his kin. And besides, the Bergrisi are not as incompetent as you are making them out to be when it comes to battle. They are the biggest and strongest of their kin, at the least. replied Namshiel, once again in that posh, infuriating, superior tone of his.
Telling him, the Dark Lord, to show restraint?! How dare he! But once again, he found himself inadvertently listening to his advice, dropping his hand from his wand and trying to take a deep breath to calm himself.
So if I can find them, do you think I can convince them to join me? Voldemort asked idly, having already made up his mind to do so as he strode the back corridors, careful to avoid being seen by any children not at dinner as he strode to the Headmaster’s office.
Well, your kind did enslave them to build this very school for them, and then killed them afterwards to ensure this school’s location remained secret, so they are not exactly the most friendly to you. On the other hand, they definitely hate Muggles and Odin more. If you can bring them gifts, I believe their bloodlust will win out over old grudges, Namshiel replied idly, knowing that Voldemort had already made up his mind about what he was going to do.
Voldemort pushed himself through the entrance that was hidden behind a bookshelf into the Headmasters office. He strode across the room and sat down in the Headmaster's chair, and waited. It was so much different from the old fools Dumbledore’s office, which was downright homey with many annoying tick-tacks scattered everywhere. This was cold, and utilitarian. The only amount of decoration was the fireplace, which took front and center in the room and have been ornately carved and designed for maximum easability in Floo use.
He didn’t have to wait for long, for the Headmaster came in soon, muttering and shaking his head. But he noticed that something was wrong almost immediately and Voldemort heard him pull out his wand, and presumably point it at the back of his now occupied chair. “Who is it? Какого черта are you doing at my desk?”
“Now, now. Is that any way to greet your master?” He said in his smooth, dangerous tone he reserved for toying with his followers or when he was truly angry. He heard Namshiel tsk disapprovingly in the back of his brain, and with a quick mental will silenced him.
Voldemort spun around slowly, his hands clasped on his lap, the faintest hint of fire filling the air. He suppressed a smile as Karkaroff’s face instantly went pale and he dropped his wand to the ground, followed promptly by him not even a second later, prostrating himself with his face pressed to the floor.
“Now, now. Is that any way to greet your master?” He said in his smooth, dangerous tone he reserved for toying with his followers or when he was truly angry. He heard Namshiel tsk disapprovingly in the back of his brain, and with a quick mental will silenced him.
“M-my lord, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know. I would… Never, my lord. Never attack you.” Karkoff stammered through a mouthful of carpet, still pressed on the floor, his voice laced with fear.
“Oh, very well. You may rise, my faithful servant. I have something to discuss with you, and I cannot question you while you are eating carpet,” Voldemort said, waving his hand idly.
Karkaroff immediately shot up to his feet and sat in the chairs reserved for the students on the other side of the desk, his face more nervous if anything else after those words. “D-did I do something wrong, my lord?”
Voldemort’s lips twitched, though he was careful to not let the laughter show on his face. Karkoff’s long black hair, after laying on the carpet facedown, was now covered with bits of carpet hair in it. “No, not that I am aware, Karkaroff. But I do have questions for you.”
“Of course, my lord. Anything for you, my lord. What may I do for you?”
“What can you tell me about the statues on the gates outside the castle?” Voldemort asked.
Even though most of his face was still pale and nervous, if less so, he could still see as confusion flashed ever so briefly across Karkoff’s eyes, though he was quick to cover it up. “The giants, my lord?”
“Yes, the giants.” Voldemort said in an exasperated tone. “What can you tell me about them?”
“Well, they are a species of giant native to these parts of the world I believe, or they used to be. They were called Jotüns if I recall correctly. Rumor says that there might still be some left alive out there, but none have been seen for centuries. Master warriors, some skilled sorcerers by some reports, and made their own weapons. Much more intelligent than the mountain giants. Could also breathe ice by some accounts, or freeze with a touch.” Karkaroff said quickly, spilling all he knew.
“Let me make sure I understand,” said Voldemort, his voice dropping low in actual anger. “There is a race of intelligent, magic-wielding master warrior giants that may exist somewhere out there, and when I was recruiting allies all those years ago, and was forced to work with those idiotic mountain beasts, it never crossed your mind that maybe I would be interested in the Jotüns?!” His voice steadily raised as he spoke till he was almost shouting by the end, Karkoff cringing in fear and cowering in his seat.
“M-my lord, I am sorry but it never occurred to me you might want to hear about insubstantial rumors from centuries ago!” Karkoff protested.
“Don’t you dare presume what you think I might want to know or not. I want you to give me access to all the library and ancient records from the founders of this school, immediately.” Voldemort said, still in fury at the fact this man had presumed what information to tell him or not.
“Of course, my lord!” He jumped up and moved over to a cabinet, where he pulled out a key and scurried back towards Voldemort, depositing it in front of him like a puppy desperate for approval. “Anything you need, just ask! I am so sorry.”
“Thank you Karkaroff.” Voldemort stood up and picked the key off the desk, striding to the main doorway to go sleep in his own private quarters before beginning his search. “Oh, and one last thing before I go.” He said turning back, where Karkaroff locked up eagerly, hoping to get back in his good graces once lord.
“Yes, my lord? What may I do for you?”
Voldemort pointed his wand at Karkaroff. “Crucio!” With a scream, Karkoff dropped to the ground, convulsing and twitching madly. Voldemort kept his wand trained on him as he spoke. “Never, ever keep information from me or decide for me what is important. That is all. Good evening.” And with that he exited the room, leaving Karkoff twitching in the throes of pain on the ground. Distantly, he could hear a voice in his head sigh, and with a vicious mental kick locked it behind doors once more, silencing it.
* * *
It had been a week, and every night after negotiations or meetings with various factions, or the occasional murder of someone who was in his way, Voldemort had settled in a comfortable armchair by the fire in the library and had one of the resident House-Elves fetch him material. He had started out with combing through the files himself, but he had found them messy and disorganized. The House-Elf in charge of the library had proudly announced that he had been there since the library had been there and knew where everything was, and that he could help him find what he was looking for. Voldemort had to punish him for his insolence in suggesting that a vermin like a House-Elf could possibly help a Lord like him, but after the proper punishment had been administered, he had accepted his help.
So now he sat in the armchair, slowly reading through the notes of the founders or the early students there. He had forgotten how much he genuinely enjoyed researching, the act of flipping through old dusty pages and finding tidbits of long lost information. For instance, he had discovered that there was a spell built in by the founders that with one word could make the entire castle a hostile war zone and cause the bridge to simply collapse. And Karkaroff had no idea when asked about it. Voldemort had obliviated Karkaroff’s memory of the conversation afterwards and kept that spell in his back pocket in case he should ever need it.
Namshiel kept insisting that this research was beneath him, and that if Voldemort would allow him, he could summon up a few demons and get information much quicker and easier that way. But Voldemort had dismissed him, much preferring the slower, searching way. It was a nice way to relax in the evening, and it brought him to mind of his younger days before he was all-powerful, when he had sat in Hogwarts library late at night and researched in the forbidden section. He was grateful for his countless followers and power now of course, but he missed the days with less responsibility.
His mind was shaken loose from its musings, however, as the House-Elf promptly appeared with a new stack of papers. “Here is some more writings from the founders from around the time Hogwarts was being built, Master,” the House-Elf squeaked, depositing it on the table and bowing low.
“That will be all for tonight. You may retire,” Voldemort said dismissively and picked up the papers, flipping through yet another old journal from centuries past.
Soon after he picked it up, however, he began to get excited. This was a journal specifically dealing with the beginning of the building of the castle, and the construction of it. It talked at length on how they had captured the Jotüns when they attempted to attack the coast, attracted by all the magic being used in the area, drawing them like moths to a flame. They had then been enslaved with chains around their ankles that suppressed their magic and forced to work, carrying the stones and stacking them on top of one another. Afterwards… He almost dropped the papers in surprise and excitement as he read the accounts of what had happened to the Jotüns after they had completed the project. Instead of being killed to keep their silence like he had assumed. They had been…
He cursed his own blindness as all the pieces fell neatly into place in front of him. The answer to this whole puzzle has been staring him right in the face this past week, every time he had gone through the gates. He hurriedly scanned the rest of the document and smiled in triumph as he found the spell he needed and put the papers back onto the table neatly, and made his way through the castle hurriedly, going back out into the cold and making his way to the main entrance, peering up at the two giant statues peering down at him. Pulling out his wand he said, “Piertotum Locomotor!”
Above him, the statues did nothing. He stared at them in a moment of frustration and raised his wand to try again when they slowly began to shift, stone grinding on stone. He stepped back as the faces that had been frozen in such rage began to shift, smooth out, eyes widening and mouths closing. The left one lowered its head and glared at him, an expression of almost relief playing across his face.
“It has been a long time since I was able to move my sore muscles. Who awakens us, ant?” The one looking down at him said, his voice deep and grating also, like a boulder rolling down a hill. As he did so, he dropped his arm and Voldemort had to wave his wand to disengage some stones that began to fall towards him from the now mostly unsupported gateway.
“I am Lord Voldemort, and I am your master now!” Voldemort shouted up at them, and the other giant who had been silent so far, snorted.
“Just because we are above you does not mean we are hard of hearing, human. You do not have to shout in our presence,” said the giant as he clenched and unclenched his fingers, bits of dust cascading off as he did so.
“Very well. I am your master now, and you will obey my commands, as is written by magic and law,” Voldemort said in a normal tone, his eyes watching both of them to make sure neither of them tried anything.
“And why you puny, easily broken mortal who calls himself a lord, should we not smash you right here and be on our merry way? After all, it is your kind who has given us such unexpected… upgrades.” The first giant said, flexing his huge stone muscles to demonstrate exactly what he meant.
“Because that stone you wear around you now as a second skin, dear giant, is a blessing and a curse, as so many things in this wretched life are! Yes, it gives you immunity. But it also compels you to follow my orders, as is your duty. Also,” he let out a little hellfire into the air, sulfur and brimstone once again drifting on the wind, “you won’t find me very easy to kill, enclosed in stone or not.”
The other giant chuckled, a truly terrifying sound. “It’s been a long time since we have conversed with someone who wields a Coin, brother.”
“It’s been a long time since we have conversed with anyone,” the first giant pointed out wryly, before refocusing on Voldemort. “Very well. You are right. I feel the compulsion in me, and obey I must. What are your wishes?”
Voldemort smiled in triumph. This was the moment he had been waiting for. “I wish for you to take me to your own kind, wherever they may reside.”
He was expecting resistance, maybe anger to this idea. What he was not expecting was for them to look at each other and begin to laugh, deep sounds that shook the earth under his feet.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” began the one on the right. “We’ve been trapped in the same position holding up these gates for a few hundred years.”
“Why would we have any idea where our brethren, if they still live, even are?” Asked the left one, still laughing uproariously.
Voldemort rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Obviously you would not. Let me rephrase. I wish for you to take me to the last known location of your kin before you were frozen in ice. I can’t imagine they would have had many reasons or options to relocate.” He said in a dry, even tone that heavily implied that these two creatures were trying his patience.
Slowly the laughter faded, and they became serious once more. “I do not wish to betray our family to you, enslaver of giants, spawn of hell,” said the first giant, his hands balled into fists and his voice pained. “But I have no choice. We shall guide you to where they reside, if that be your command.”
“It is,” said the triumphant Dark Lord. “In thanks, I give you the rest of the night to be free to do what you wish, as long as you do not enter these school grounds. I expect to see you here as soon as dawn breaks tomorrow morning, and we shall set out.”
The Jotüns grinned fiercely at one another and bowed their heads in unison. “We thank you for this chance to stretch our legs.” One pulled off the huge stone battle-ax off his back and nodded at the other one, who was pulling out a huge club. “Shall we see how the world has changed for one night, brother?”
The other grinned, showing off fierce stone teeth as big as Voldemort’s hand. “Aye. Let’s go have some fun.”
As Voldemort strode back into the castle as he heard the huge pounding rumbles of feet running in the opposite direction, he was very glad he was not a mortal that night.
But still he had one more task to complete, something for his peace of mind. As he made his way back to his own private quarters, he sent a message to Lucius Malfoy telling him he would be absent for the next several days and that he would need to oversee the negotiations. He sent that message on its way as he walked, his snake patronus made of pure hellfire disappearing into the distance faster than a real snake could ever move.
Once he got to his rooms, he stooped over and removed the rug from the floor, revealing an inlaid, complex three ringed summoning circle inlaid on the floor. The smallest ring was made of brass, then silver and at last with gold. He stepped past the two bigger and more expensive circles and crouched down in front of the first and smallest circle. With a snap of his fingers, the candles also placed in the ground lit up.
With the summoning circle all set up, he then searched in his memory briefly for the name of the demon he was conjuring. Namshiel supplied it to him, the angel’s memory far superior to his own, and Voldemort invoked it three times.
At the third invocation, a small demon in glasses and a vest appeared, holding a pen and ledger in his hand. “Welcome to the Supernatural Mercenary Guild. What is the purpose of your summoning?” said the squat demon in a bored tone, looking up over his glasses towards Voldemort briefly before going back to his ledger. The Mercenary Guild was not a subsidiary of Hell, as one might assume by a demon appearing. Demons simply were the middle men in the guild, since they had the most contacts in the Supernatural community and could contact others quickly and efficiently. So the mercenaries were not directly tied to hell, their only loyalties were to the Guild itself. And the souls were only paid to the demons themselves. The mercenaries had their own form of currency that was used in the guild that Voldemort didn't even try or really care to understand. Except for tier four, which was made of up Changelings, mortal wizards and demigods, who since they lived half in the mortal world, demanded to be paid in money along with Guild money.
“To hire someone for a job. Client, not worker,” he said crisply.
“Name?” the demon asked.
Voldemort snapped, tired from his long night. “You know my name, Az. We’ve worked together before.”
The demon looked up briefly and glared at him. “Name?” he said pointedly.
Voldemort crossed his arms. “Lord Voldemort.”
The demon tapped his pen on the paper and kept those yellow cat eyes trained on him. “Real name?” he said with a hardness in his tone. “And you're right, we have worked together before. So you should know not to pull the same crap every bloody time. Real name, last only.”
Voldemort sighed. “Riddle,” he grunted out between pressed lips.
“Very good. Now, what tier are you looking for?” the demon asked, jotting something down on his little ledger.
“Read me the tiers again? I’m not quite sure just yet.” Voldemort said, partly the truth and partly because he wanted to annoy this little upstart who made him give out his real name every damn time.
The demon sighed, knowing just the game Voldemort was playing but bound to play along regardless lest he be fired. “Very well. There are three tiers, and a special fourth tier for specialists. Tier One: White Court Vampires, Ghouls, Imps, Malks, minor demons and Huntsmen to name a few.” He looked up and Voldemort waved his hand for him to continue. He uttered a long suffering sigh and continued. “Tier Two: Red Court Vampires, Valkyries, Tylwyth Teg, Kenku, Wolf People, Madrid, and other such creatures.” Once more he looked up and Voldemort waved his hand to continue. “Very well. Tier Three: Trolls, goblins, Gruffs, Black Court Vampire, though I believe she is out on a job right now, Drakons, Hecatean Hags, Genoskwas, and other such assorted creatures. Do you need me to tell you about Tier Four, with the specialists?”
Voldemort pursed his lips, considering how badly he might need the help. “No, I don't think I need the Hellhound or any demigods today, thank you,” Voldemort said, along with the fact he did not have much mortal money on hand to pay them. “I think for the purposes of my task, I would like a Troll. Fully armored, of course.”
The demon scribbled something down, nodding to himself. “Would you like the standard Troll singular, or the special discount pack of a pair of trolls for 25% off?” The demon said, looking up from his book once more to train his creepy cat eyes on Voldemort.
“The special offer, please.”
“Very well. That will be 30 souls required for payment, and we shall get word to the trolls with one of the Wyldfae in the area,” the demon said, snapping closed his book and bowing to Voldemort.
“I will need them by this morning,” Voldemort interrupted before he could depart.
The demon opened back up his notebook and marked something down. “Three extra souls for express delivery. How do you intend to pay in such a short time?” said the demon in a curious tone, his scaly eyebrow ride raising up.
“Don't worry, Az. I have people working on it already.” He thought of the rage and anger of the two Jotüns as they hefted their weapons and ran towards the mortal town not far from the castle. “Though when you get your delivery, it may be a little over the number. Just keep it on my tab.”
The demon grinned, showing off his sharp canine teeth and nodded. “Pleasure doing business with you, Riddle.” And with a pop he disappeared, and Voldemort went to bed, satisfied after a day’s full work.
He was awoken in the early hours of the morning by a frantic pounding at his chamber doors. He shot up instantly and grabbed his wand, preparing for danger and stalked towards the door, careful to keep his feet quiet on the carpet then slapping on the stone ground. Cautiously he peered through the peephole to find a very anxious looking Karkoff standing there, frantically banging for him.
He adjusted his bathrobe, ran a hand through his beard to make sure it was neat and tidy, he did have appearances to upkeep after all, then opened the door angrily. “What is the meaning of this interruption?!” He growled.
“M-my lord!” Karkaroff stammered, barely managing to get a proper word out.
“What is it, you fool?!” Voldemort said, grumpy from the abrupt waking up.
“T-two creatures just appeared outside the gate o-of the ca-castle!” He said in a high nervous tone.
Not for the first time, Voldemort idly wondered how anyone was convinced that Karkaroff was the Headmaster by his own talents. But he did concede privately to himself that, perhaps, he should have informed Karkaroff that two highly dangerous creatures would be meeting him the next morning in front of his very own school. “Ah, yes. Those are my associates. Nothing to worry about.” Voldemort said in an even tone, making it seem like a completely normal, everyday event.
Slowly Karkaroff calmed down. “O-oh. I see, my lord. Sorry for the disturbance. I sh-“ Voldemort cut him off with a slam of the door in his face and got dressed, packing a few things in his magically expanding pouch and then making his way outside via the side passageways, where four creatures stood assembled in front of him. Two of them were very happy-looking stone giants, and Voldemort noted that they had a splash of color to them now besides the dull grayness of their stone, intermittent with some splashes of green moss. Now they were holding their weapons and they were awash in bright red, and some not as bright red splotches. Their eyes, though stone, seemed to glow with a fever that Voldemort knew well, the glow of bloodlust, feeling your own blood flow through you much faster in response to it.
And the other creatures standing there were two massive hulking beasts, as tall as the Jotüns. They were decked out in full black armor with spikes protruding from it, along with a ridiculous amount of weapons on them. They had squashed faces. The nose looked like someone had tried to flatten it into non-existence and failed, and they hadn’t quite got the job done right. The skin looked to be a leather gray color, but the eyes betrayed the real danger.
Most people assumed that trolls were large and stupid, given all that mass and the size of their heads not being as proportionally large as they should have been. And certainly there were stupid ones, like the bridge troll and the deep cave trolls. But most trolls served the Winter Court, and had for time untold. And the Winter Court does not suffer fools. These trolls were wickedly smart, and the eyes told you that they could easily dismember you with one hand or they could beat you in a philosophical debate if they so wanted. When Voldemort approached, they both got on one knee and bowed their heads.
The one on the right, the one with a long ugly scar across his cheekbone spoke first. “Until this contract be done, thy will be ours.” He spoke in a voice with a severe lisp, due to the cut.
“As thou wilt, my lord, it shall be done. What dost thou bid us to do?” Finished the other one, his voice normal but nasally, probably due to the fact they both had such squished noses.
“I wish for you to be bodyguards for me, for the duration of this journey I go on,” said Voldemort, gesturing towards the stone Jotüns. “If they try to attack me, I wish for you to subdue them. Kill one if you must, but leave the other alive. And when we get to our destination, if any one of the Jotüns attack, kill them all.”
The two nodded in unison and got up with a grunt. “Thou shalt be guarded with our utmost might and main, my liege,” said the scarred one.
Voldemort nodded, and then turned towards the two Jotüns. “It is time for you to hold up your end of the bargain. Tell me where the Jotüns reside.”
The one with the giant ax uttered a short bark of laughter. “Has times really changed so much that you call enslavement bargaining? Bargaining requires two sides on equal terms negotiating.”
Voldemort sighed and rubbed his cold hands together tiredly. “Fine. Would you prefer I say tell me the information, slave? Now quit delaying and speak of what you know!”
The other one sighed. “Very well. We come from a tribe, one of the last remaining ones after the Great Purge, located in the Flannan Isles. It has been a long time but I’m sure it is still there.”
Voldemort opened his mouth, but it wasn’t his voice that came out. Well, it was his voice but not his inflections and natural tone. It was a posh voice that exited his lips. “I am afraid it is not there any longer, Jotüns. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it was wiped out 86 years ago.”
Voldemort snapped his mouth closed again, hating the feeling of someone else speaking out of his mouth, even if he let Namshiel do it.
The Jotüns' shoulders slumped and they sighed. “I was afraid that would be the answer.” said the first one in a sad tone. “Oh well, I suppose that this was all for naught then.”
“Well, there’s the possibility of the one in An-“ the second one began, but quickly shut up when he was smacked in the head by the other Jotün, who was glaring at him angrily.
“Shut up! Uh…I’m sure that he doesn’t want to hear any more idle possibilities or rumors.” It said in a low, angry tone.
“No, no. Do tell. What is this other possibility?” asked Voldemort with a calmness, the feeling of disappointment being replaced by something almost like hope.
“Nothing, mortal. Just a rumor from long ago that is probably not even relevant anymore,” said the one with the ax, and the other one, silent now, nodded along.
“I compel you to tell me what you know.” He said, pulling out his wand and pouring magic into it.
“We…know not-no-n,” said the Jotün through gritted teeth, trying to force the words out and failing. Finally he quit, his face a grimace of pain. “Damn you, mortal!” He spun and slammed a huge fist into the wall of the castle in frustration, leaving a huge crack in it. Voldemort patiently waited for this temper tantrum to be over, as the two trolls shifted themselves cautiously, hands going to weapons in case they decided to punch something else. Calming down, Axe turned back to face him. “It seems we cannot lie. When we were still raiding the island of Britannia, there was one other tribe we had contact with, located in…” he tried to stop himself from speaking but could not. “Antarctica.”
“To Antarctica we go, then.” Voldemort said, and Club just laughed. “Oh, and how do you expect to find them once we get there? Antarctica is not exactly a small place.”
“Well, there’s two ways we can do it. One, I can order one of the trolls to hold you down, and I extract saliva from the insides of your mouth and I use it in a broad ranging tracking spell to find any Jotün’s in the broad vicinity once we get to Antarctica.” The smile instantly slipped from Club’s face and Voldemort smiled coldly. “Or we can just do the much easier strategy and once we get there you,” he pointed towards Axe’s belt. “blow that horn and we can use the magic to find our way when the other horn replies.”
Axe looked positively shocked by this revelation. “How did you know about the function of the horn?! That is one of the closest guarded secrets of Jotün-kind!”
“Oh, a little research goes a long way. Now all of you gather in a tight circle around me. I tire of this time wasting,” said Voldemort, and the two trolls silently obeyed, and the giants lumbered over also, faces still alternatively shocked and angry.
Voldemort closed his eyes and gathered up his magic, and then swung his wand around in a wide arc, and he felt the glow of a Hellfire-infused spell, and then the nauseating rush that always accompanied apparition overcame him. He felt like he was being sucked up into a hoover, and after a few seconds, much longer than it would have taken without so many passengers, and a new, far deeper cold bit into his skin.
He opened his eyes and found himself standing in a very similar yet very different landscape. There was snow as far as the eye could see, but instead of being broken up by trees or a castle, it was barren and ever stretching. And it was so much colder, biting deep into his bones, completely demolishing the thick robe and boots he had. His teeth chattered, and he gasped in the cold. It was to be noted, however, that the creatures with him seemed entirely unaffected by this sudden drop in temperature. Moving his wand in a trembling hand, he raised the energy and warmth of his spell of warming. Blessed heat bathed him, and he sighed in relief. He began to get feeling back in all of his places, and he made sure to regain his composure so his voice would not tremble as he spoke.
“Very well. We are here, giants. Blow your horn and let us be on with it.” With a glare, Axe raised the horn to his lips and taking a deep breath, blew into it long and hard.
The sound echoed out from it, far louder than any horn should be. Perhaps it was because it was so silent, with only the occasional animal call, that made the horn blast seem to blare so ethereally, to seem to call to Voldemort on a plane of existence besides the normal one, seemed to awake something in him, giving him a rush of adrenaline that usually he only got when he was dueling someone. It felt…well, it felt magical.
After the horn had been blown, the noise seemed to hang in the air for a few moments before fading away, and they stood there for a few minutes, waiting for anything to happen.
“Well, I guess they are not here anym-“ began Axe after lowering the horn from his lips, but he was cut off by an answering horn blast far off in the distance, as haunting and as beautiful as the one Axe had blown.
Instantly the horn in Axe’s hand started glowing, and Voldemort smiled. “Ah. Very good. Now, Axe, if you would be so kind, please spin in a circle, slowly.”
With a long suffering sigh, Axe hefted the horn and spun in a circle slowly. When it was facing Southwest, the engraved runes began to glow much more strongly and pulse with light. Voldemort nodded and gestured. “That way we go. Full speed until nightfall.” He concentrated for a brief moment and then turned into a dark gray cloud of smoke, knowing that at the trolls and giants full speed he would never be able to keep up with them. Sure enough, they began to run, and their huge strides engulfed several feet at once. Voldemort shot alongside them in his insubstantial form, and they quickly ate up ground.
They traveled like that for the rest of the day, the beasts seemingly never growing tired, and Voldemort beginning to feel the slight outskirts of tiredness nipping at his heels. When the sun was almost down, they saw a column of smoke appear over the horizon. Voldemort, who had been planning on stopping for the night, turned back into his human form and raised a hand to stop the trolls and giants.
“We will rest here for the night. In the morning, we will go and meet your brethren, Jotüns.”
Ignoring their protests about how close they were, he reached into his bag and pulled out a magically-enhanced tent, but did not draw a circle to enclose it. He knew the risks of putting a magically-enhanced object inside another, the strain it put on the Nevernever, but he figured that he was safe from anything that might slip through with the trolls there. So he set up the tent and when he slipped inside, one of the trolls sat down in front of the tent, and the other began to patrol the perimeter of the makeshift camp. Voldemort felt satisfied as he looked upon the scene. He knew that he had chosen well, and that they knew how to do a job properly. If only they could teach some of his Death Eaters some of the same basic concepts, he would have conquered Great Britain far sooner.
As he slipped inside, he walked up to his desk and sat down, pulling out a quill and parchment. As the sun sank below the horizon and the moon rose itself up, Voldemort worked on his prepared speech till he went to bed.
When the sun came up the next day, Voldemort strode out of his tent, and found the giants roasting a huge elephant seal over the fire.
“Want a piece?” grunted Axe as he took the seal off the fire and passed it around to the other Jotün and offered it to the troll’s.
“No,” Voldemort said curtly, and in his head Namshiel chimed in.
No, thank you. They are your servants, and still they offer you a piece of their food. In Jotün culture, that is a deep honor.
Voldemort looked around the barren landscape, with almost no shrubbery that didn't look half dead and no animals in sight, and could see how that made sense. “No, thank you, Jotün.”
Axe nodded with seemingly more cordialness, and then he and Club began to consume the meat in their hands, and the trolls, who had accepted the offer, did the same. Within minutes, the entire seal was gone, and Axe began to kick at the campfire, smothering it. Axe then pulled out his horn, and pointed it in the direction of the smoke tendril in the distance. “Shall we go see how our kin is doing, brother?”
“It would be nice to see another friendly face, indeed,” said Club, and they began striding away from Voldemort, not even asking if they were ready to go yet. Voldemort did not mind though, as he was just as eager to get on with this reunion as they were. He swept the tent into his bag, and then turned into smoke once more and flew after them, the trolls bounding on their great thick legs to keep up with them. Within the hour, they could see where the smoke tendril was coming from. There seemed to be a crudely made village in the distance, all centered around a huge smoking bonfire in the middle of it. Voldemort could see figures moving around the campfire and the houses, sunlight glinting off their armor and weapons. It took another quarter of an hour before they were within distance to see clearly, and to be heard. Voldemort slowed and turned back into his human shape, as the two Jotüns grinned and began to shout joyfully in Old Norse, and huge giants began to come towards them from the village, the ground shaking under the combined footsteps of so many huge beings, shouting in return.
Namshiel helpfully translated for him as they got close enough to hear what was being said.
“Brothers!” said Axe, clipping the horn to his belt. “It is good to see that all the Jotüns have not died out, indeed!”
“Hrungnirs?! I thought the last of you had surely died out by now, or had gone into the long slumber, consumed by the moss and the lichen long ago.” replied the lead Jotün, who had stopped in front of Axe and embraced him hard.
“I am afraid we are no Hrungnirs, my friend. We are Jotün, like you. Our true forms are hidden under this accursed stone, made by meddling mortal hands. I have not heard of any Hrungnirs surviving, or at least awake, for a long time,” Club replied, morosely and yet excited to be reunited with them.
The lead Jotün snarled. “Cursed mortals. I revel the day fondly when we may walk among them once more, and kill them at our pleasure. They are a delicacy that I have long yet waited to taste again. And brother trolls!” The lead Jotün turned towards the trolls, where Voldemort was obscured from view behind them, watching silently and judging the situation as Namshiel continued to translate for him in his head. When he turned and focused on the trolls, however, he switched back to English. “And cousins from Winter! This is the most interesting day we have had in many centuries, indeed. My name is Frostbrandyr, son of Hyrmr.” The Jotün bowed down to the trolls deeply in respect, and the trolls responded in turn.
The troll with the scar bowed deeply back and gave his own name. “Hark! Mine own name is Råskinn, and this is mine own brother Skalmoldr. We art honored to be in thy presence, young cousins.”
When they bowed, however, they revealed Voldemort, who was about to push his way to the front anyway. Instantly, the Jotün’s hands went to their weapons, and their friendly faces became hostile. “Why do you bring a mortal here, brothers? Are you betrayers of your own kind?”
Voldemort held up a hand to stop their anger. “They do not betray your kind, honorable Jarl. The fact is I have forced them to lead me here, by enchantments laid into their new armored outer shell.”
If anything, the Jotüns became even more enraged and began to pull out their weapons, swords slipping halfway out of their sheaths, axes being pulled off their backs. “A wizard,” growled Frostbrandyr in anger. His eyes bore accusingly into Voldemort. “A more vile slime than a mortal by far, controlling my brothers with your accursed magic?! And you walk right up to this village without a care in the world? You will die for your arrogance!” He pulled out his sword, as long as Voldemort was tall, and began to swing it in a downward arc towards him. Behind the Jarl, the half dozen other Jotuns also pulled out their weapons fully. Before the sword could impact him, it shrieked with the shrill sound of blade against blade. Råskinn’s blade met the giants in mid-air, so fast that Voldemort barely had time to register the movement. Voldemort did not flinch, though it was only decades of iron hard determination and will that he did not, and made himself not show an ounce of fear in his body or his face, though the blade only rested in the air a mere foot above his head.
“Verily, I would counsel thee to lay thy weapons down. This mortal doth lie under our safeguard, and we doth not desire to slay thee all to fulfill our duty, but we shall if we needs must,” said Råskinn in a quiet, menacing voice.
“So he has control over you also, cousin?” asked the Jarl in a surprised voice.
Voldemort stepped forward once more, under the blades above his head and raised his voice. “I have not used magic to compel them. They work under their own free will, and I pay them their dues, as is seen fit. And I do not come here to attack or enslave you, nor on some insane suicide mission. I come to you with a proposal, to seek you out as allies to the cause.”
Frostbrandyr barked out a laugh of pure derision and scorn, more a growl than laughter. The giants behind him also echoed the same sentiment. “You expect us to work with you, wizard? After you come here on false pretenses, controlling our brethren and forcing them to lead you to us? A wizard that made a deal with Queen Mab and drove us to the outskirts of the earth, that forced the Allfather to capitulate to your demands? And you just stride in and expect us to work alongside you? Let us kill you now and be over with this joke.”
Voldemort shook his head. “Is this what has become of the honorable Jotüns I have heard so much about? You will kill a man before even hearing him out, for crimes his ancestors did? And I grant you that I did force your brethren to bring me here, it is true.” He raised his wand at the two Jotüns covered in stone, and littered a few words in quick succession under his breath, and a tendril of blue light shot out of his wand at them. Of course, it wasn't as easy as he had just made it seem. Last night, after he had finished his speech and the giants were sleeping on the ground, he had gone over to them and spent the better part of two hours laying unraveling complex spellwork across their bodies, and untangling it from the stone, so that he could use a single command to remove the last tendril in front of the Jarl today.
Shouts arose from the assembled crowd, and he had to yell to be heard over them. “As a token of goodwill, I have now lifted the enchantments that compel them to listen to me.”
“How do we know you are telling the truth? We have heard lies slip easily between the lips of wizards far too many times.” The Jarl demanded.
“Axe, I want you to tell me how much you enjoyed my company.” Voldemort said, and Ax snarled.
“Go to hell, wizard,” he said, and as soon as he said this, his face widened in shock. “Wait! I can say that! He’s telling the truth!” And then Ax launched into a stream of obscenities in Ancient Norse at Voldemort, that Namshiel didn’t even bother to translate for him.
“Been there, done that.” Voldemort said flippantly, and then focused back on the Jarl. “Now may you please grant me an avenue to propose my alliance to you, before you attempt to kill me? I would hate to see good, pure Jotün blood be spilled, especially since your numbers have been dwindled to so few.”
Jarl Frostbrandyr turned and spoke in hushed terms with his fellow Jotüns for a few seconds. Well, hushed for a fifteen foot beast, at least. After some heated debate, he turned back and nodded to Voldemort, not happily but not outright hostile anymore either. “Very well. Let it not be said that the Jotüns of Jotünheim have forgotten the old ways and their honor. We shall hear you out, for whatever good it will do you.”
The Jotüns surrounded him and his troll escort, and they were marched the remaining half-mile back to the village of the Jotüns. As they got closer, he could see that the houses were actually made out of huge blocks of ice, and there were a lot more Jotüns waiting there for their leader to return. All in all, there must have been at least a baker’s dozen, Voldemort estimated as they reached the outskirts. Remarkably, the village even had a paved road. Paved in solid strips of ice, which made him very grateful he had worn his spiked boots, but paved all the same.
Weapons were everywhere, resting against the sides of houses, in the hands of the shouting giants, who had begun shouting once the entourage had approached the village, and by the fire there was even a large forge, where several Jotüns who had been working, hammering huge blocks of metal, had stopped and also joined the tumultuous crowd. There was also what Voldemort could only describe as human debris littering some places, looking old and rusted. Voldemort was not sure how they had acquired such equipment, as some looked relatively modern, like armored helmets with gas masks and thick black armor on it. Voldemort ignored it and kept his back ramrod straight and his face as icy as the ground beneath him.
Once they all got in the village, Voldemort was spotted between the two trolls. If the Jotüns had been shouting in excitement and confusion before, there was a positive uproar of rage and anger now, as word was passed through the assembled crowd like wildfire. The Jarl strode to the front of the group and raised his hand for silence. When none of them listened, he slammed his blade against his armor, the sharp clang like gunfire, instantly deafening. It brought the desired result, however, and slowly the crowd began to quiet, stopping their advance towards Voldemort, which the trolls were obviously grateful for. He had felt them tense up as the eyes settled on them, rage radiating from the assembled group. Now the anger and rage was refocused on the Jarl as he gestured to the others, arms waving wildly through the air.
Namshiel. What is he saying? asked Voldemort
He is explaining how you evoked the right to speak to the group, and that you freed the two Jotüns from their spell bindings. Namshiel explained in his head, summarizing instead of detailing every word.
After a few minutes, the anger seemed to die down somewhat, and Ax also stepped forward and began speaking.
Namshiel?
He is telling them about me, my lord. And that you are a wizard, along with where they have been these last few hundred years,Namshiel replied, not even asking why Voldemort was thinking his name. Benefits of sharing a single headspace, he supposed.
After a few minutes of Axe speaking also, finally the Jarl quieted the crowd and waved him forward. Voldemort strode forward, the troll brothers pushing the Jotüns who did not move out of their path away, and Voldemort took his rightful place at the front of these beasts.
The Jarl looked down on him and nodded once. “We have decided to allow you five minutes to speak your proposition. If we do not like what we have to hear, we will kill you and roast your bones over the fire. It has been over forty years since we have eaten human meat/. Of course, there were a lot more of them when they came in that huge ship waving their red flag, but we can divide you up evenly, I’m sure.”
Voldemort smiled coldly. “You may try. Thank you for the floor, honorable Jarl.” Voldemort then turned towards the assembled crowd and raised his arms wide, and presented himself to the crowd. “Hello, brave and noble Jotüns! It does my heart much good to see so many of you alive and clearly doing well for yourselves.” He casted a quick glance at the houses and the forges to emphasize his point. “My name is Lord Voldemort.” He paused once more, and felt the curious ripping sensation in his head, and little pinpricks all over his skin as, even though he could not see it, he knew that purple eyes had appeared on his forehead and his body now had thousands of tiny thorns poking out from it. “And I,” said his own voice but much deeper and with a slightly different, more elegant accent to it, “am Namshiel, former Angel of Heaven, now Fallen, bound to a coin of silver.” Once he had said his piece, the thorns subsided and his flesh mended itself, seamlessly closing until there was nothing left, not even a scratch mark where the eyes had been mere seconds earlier.
Voldemort then continued in his normal voice. “As I’m sure Jarl Frostbrandyr has told you, I come to you with a proposition. I am sure none of you wish to hear anything from the tongue of a wizard, and I must concur you have good reason for that resentment. In the past few millennia, you went from having your own corner of the world to being hunted down to your near last by my kind, both human and wizards.” His voice took on a tinge of faux sadness, and he shook his head in shame. “You did nothing wrong, at all. You lived the same way for as long as you had known, and then humans began to multiply and take over your ancestral homes, began to seize land and kill you off. It is a great tragedy, and I sympathize with you. Even your Allfather has been forced into a lesser role in the world, twisted from his original purpose of Lord of the realms to a performer, a shadow of himself. Do you know what he does now, Jotüns? Do you know what your father and greatest enemy, yet a respectable enemy he was, does now?!” His voice raised in anger and he slammed his fist into his palm. “Every year, he flies around the world and delivers presents to children all around the world. The same children that stopped worshiping him, who turned their backs to him, who were born in safety and peace because their ancestors stole your homes from you, he showers with gifts every year. Spoiled, rotten, ungrateful snot-nosed brats, he gives gifts and praise, working under Queen Mab in her court. Does that person, that simpering and brown-nosing old fool, sound worthy of the respect you once gave Odin? Does he sound like the Allfather you once knew?” The Jotüns roared their disapproval, and Voldemort knew he had them, knew that his voice had mastered the rhythm of rage and anger that struck such a chord deep in their souls, in their bones and the very ice themselves.
“No! He is not worthy of your respect at all! And you know what the biggest insult is?” He paused for a suitable amount of time, only a millisecond or two, but enough to build the anticipation. “The humans? The mortals who have spread like a plague across this world? They don't even remember you anymore! They tell of you like a myth, something that was never even real. They do not tell stories of the great Ymir, father of giants! They laugh and roll their eyes when they speak of Thyrm, and the great theft of Thor’s hammer. Instead of the great flood Belgmir and his wife survived with their own ingenuity, they only speak of some blathering old fool who built a giant ship and gathered two of every animal to save.” He laughed in derision and shook his head. “You are jokes to the mortals, things that are told around a campfire to be laughed at, not feared and respected anymore.” The Jotüns roared once more, anger growing, rage practically flooding out of them. Voldemort held out his hand and they silenced, and Voldemort knew that at the very least, he had their attention, if not their loyalty…yet. “But I do not come here to insult you and anger you for no purpose! No, I come to ask you for help. For too long have creatures like you and others suffered under the oppressive thumb of humankind and wizardkind! Those same wizards who used their magic to drive you away, alongside the humans, are still in power, as they have been for hundreds of years! I come to implore your help to change this cruel and hopeless regime. To free the world of the accursed wizards and their ilk. To make the mortals fear the name Jotün once more, for you to walk among them and for them to know that they are yours, to do so as you wish! But first, the wizards must be dealt with. For they are the greatest threat, and have been in power far too long! It is time for a new regime change! For Giants, Fae, Goblins, Ghouls, Centaurs and all other such maligned creatures to hide no more! I propose nothing, except for you to help me in my quest to bring equality to all, and to remind the mortals where their rightful place is in this world. Not above you, but below you!” When he finished, a different roar met his speech. Not one of anger, but one of approval and conviction. He stepped back and bowed to the Jarl. “That is all, Jarl Frostbrandyr. Thank you. I hope you choose wisely.” And with that he stepped back off the stone block he had been standing on, out of the center of the assembled crowd.
The Jarl, who had also been swept up in the speech, now composed himself and nodded. “We have heard your proposition, and we will now debate among ourselves what the course of action going forward will be” He pointed to one of the empty shacks. “You will be locked inside there, and we will allow your trolls to join you.” He was led to the doorway, which towered above him, as everything did in this village, and the door swung closed. The last thing he saw before it closed was the Jotün’s pushing against each other, all trying to get close to the Jarl as two took up positions in front of the entrance, readying their weapons against it.
Voldemort sat down on the humongous bed, briefly wondering where they got all the padding for it. He wasn't worried, as he settled in for his long wait and wrapped a small sheet around himself. He knew he had won their support. It was all just a matter of patience now.
If he had been paying closer attention, he would have realized the answer to a mystery that had been nagging at the back of his mind quietly and persistently, the humans the Jotüns had spoken of visiting them a few decades back. The answer was in the sheet he had wrapped himself in. For the sheet was no mere sheet, but a red, old torn-up flag, and the swastika engraved and long since faded on it.