Illusory § Order of the Phoenix

XXV. SILENCE OF THE MATRIARCH

✯      ✯      ✯

      Antares tried to enjoy the rest of the night, and for the most part, he did. Cole, Devon and Kerrianne all saw him talking to Nicholas Caverly. While they knew it was unavoidable, they all grumbled about how their patriarch could've been more courteous and waited until the morning. So when Antares slipped away from the party, none of his friends moved to stop him. Devon understood, telling him there would be a drink waiting for him for him when he came back. Kerrianne nodded to him with her drink raised while Cole offered to go with him.

It was nice of him, but Antares knew he had to do this alone.

After exiting through the front doors of the Mercier Manor, Antares called out for the Kelly family house-elf.

Fizkey, with his long, pointed ears and excited eyes, was a welcoming sight when he materialized in front of Antares with a polite bow. "Master Antares! Fizkey is so happy to hear your call! What is it you require, sir?"

Antares winced. The last time he saw Fizkey was when he had left for London in the summer. The ever-loyal servant of his family took pride in staying at the Kelly Manor, promising to do his best to look after it and its sole resident. Seeing the house-elves of Grimmauld Place didn't do anything to ease his consciousness, though it did make him exceedingly grateful that Fizkey's personality was like it was. Personally, he would like to keep his gloves as a matching pair. It wasn't that Antares liked the idea, but in truth, there was no alternative. A house-elf that no longer enjoyed serving their masters was no house-elf at all. It would be crueller to keep them in servitude than to set them free.

"Apparate us to the manor," he ordered calmly, extending his hand.

"Yes, Master Antares, at once!" Fizkey cheered, and Antares closed his eyes, bracing himself for the uncomfortably long apparition. When finally he felt all motion cease, he shuddered a breath at the familiar sight.

Three stories of architectural splendour starkly contrasted the backdrop of the large and wild forest. Crafted from bright sandstone and accented with black mahogany, the Kelly Manor stood proudly, nestled within the untamed beauty of the Northern Territory. Where Grimmauled Place boasted height, Antares' home beat it through sheer size. Above the manor's entrance sat a stained glass mosaic bearing the Kelly family crest of two rampant horses, one grey and one black, mirroring each other on a field of navy blue. In between them was a gold spear pointed towards the sky.

In the foyer, Antares' boots created echoes against the mahogany floors. There was no centrepiece in the room. There didn't need to be. The walls of the foyer were more than enough. Each wall depicted favoured gods from Celtic mythology, carved into the stone and animated just enough to make them look like living, breathing statues.

The wall on Antares' left bore scenes of Lugh of the Long Arm, god of justice and nobility and ruler of the Tuatha Dé Danann, a supposedly supernatural race of magic-wielding humans. The first scene was of Lugh standing over the grave of his father, vowing revenge against Tuireann, the god of thunder, and his three sons, who were responsible. The second carving showed him brandishing the mighty Spear of Assal against hordes of enemies in the battle of Moytura. Beside it, the last carving showed something much different. Lugh, now crowned King, granted mercy to Bres, leader of the opposing army, forcing him to plough fields as penitence.