For Harry, he welcomed the feeling of his old battle-leathers, untouched by age thanks to the enchantments powered by the goblins' impeccable spellweaving and drawing on the power of the world for sustenance.
On went his basilisk-hide trousers and shirt along with the mithril under-vest that rested between the undertunic that kept him warm and protected him from chafing at the rub of the armor and the heavy hide. Over that came gauntlets and greaves made of a combination of mithril and dragonhide as well as the heavy – though he'd eventually gotten used to it – dragonhide robe embroidered with his family crests upon the back. Every piece from his boots to the hood of his sleeveless overrobe was done in a combination of black and gray, the only color showing from the silver of the Black crest and the deep ruby of the Potter.
His wand slipped seamlessly into the holster protected by the gauntlet on his right arm, and around his waist Harry buckled a sword-belt of mithril links which had a basilisk hide sheath in black studded with rubies and diamonds hanging from it. Jon watched with cautious eyes – Harry making a much more intimidating figure in his armor than he'd ever thought possible from the smaller man – as the warrior-mage turned to another hidden figure, this one a statue wrought of a stone Jon had never seen before, and picked up the sword held there on the statue's outstretched palms.
"Hello, old friend." Harry whispered to himself as he checked the ancient blade, rolling his wrist and rubbing one thumb along the edge to test the cut. A smile lit his face as the blade sliced true, just as razor sharp as ever.
"What kind of blade is that?" Jon asked, no longer able to keep his curiosity in check.
He'd never seen the like of it – though the same could be said of many things he'd seen since entering the Tomb of the First Men – it was made of a dark and menacing metal, without the rippling effect of Valyrian steel or the weakness of old iron.
Nor was it common to set jewels upon the hilt of a sword nor have another for the pommel.
All in all, it was a strange sword for all its dark beauty.
In that way, it was not unlike its master.
"The finest." Harry said with a knowing smile that showed his humor at Jon's befuddlement. "We called it Stygian steel."
Jon tested that new and strange word on his tongue as Harry continued.
"Though the origins of it were lost," Harry admitted with a shrug as he slipped the sword with its black and white diamond hilt and pommel into its sheath at his hip. "I found it in one of my family's oldest vaults and have kept it with me ever since – save for the day of my confinement before being sentenced to the waking death."
"Yes." Jon shook his head, angry with himself for letting the riches of the hidden chamber distract him. "You were telling me of how that came about."
"Like every other thing that's cursed me in my first life." Harry's voice and face were bitter at the memory as he turned, bag in hand, to pack a few more things. Now that he was free he would be able to summon things from his vault at will – thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks to the goblins – but there was no need to let Jon or anyone else know that. Not yet. Not while he was still uncertain about the lay of the land. "It began with a prophecy." He sighed shaking his head at that bit of idiotic irony.
Jon moved to inspect the construct of the statue closer, moving always to be within earshot as Harry collected up things and shrinking them down before stuffing them in his pack – a cask here, a crate there, gold and silver and bronze coins, more weapons, and other things that Jon either missed entirely as he was also looking around or that he simply didn't recognize.
"There was a Seer in my old world." Harry's voice was nearly hypnotic to the ear as his companions – both with and without fur – followed him and listed to his tale. "She made a pair of prophecies that affected me in various ways before I even came of age: one predicting my defeat of the Dark Lord which was the direct cause of my parents' deaths and the other that a servant of that same Lord would break free and join him, causing the Dark Lord's second rise: greater and more terrible than ever before. They were the only two true prophecies she ever made…up until she made another on the back of a friend of mine, Firenze, making the prophecy you told your companions just before freeing me."
"You heard that?" Jon asked in shock, staring over at the mage with wide eyes as he absently played with a dagger he'd taken a liking to.
"Yes." Harry said drily. "I've heard every word spoken in the Tomb since the time of my imprisonment, but more on that later." He looked over at his friend and smirked at the sight of the dagger in his hand. "You can have that by the way." He nodded to the goblin-forged weapon with the wolf carving and inset ruby in the hilt. "Matches your sword and that particular dagger never took to me."
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