fic for miss_morland: A Chosen Path (Firenze, PG-13)
(Hello, writers, artists, and watchers! I apologise for not having wrapped up the exchange yet, but I have one last fic to post tomorrow, and, then, it will be done.)
Title: A Chosen Path
Author: midnight_birth
Recipient: miss_morland
Rating: PG-13
Character: Firenze (appearances of many others from the main cast)
Warnings: Slight angst, mentions of canon character deaths
Summary: Firenze has never been quite the same as the other centaurs. He's never quite fit in. With his father's guidance and a faint memory of his mother, he will discover that his destined path is not quite what his herd would like him to think it is.
Author's Notes: There isn't a lot of facts about JKR's centaurs in the book, so I've compiled the mythology and the traditions pretty much from my own mind, and I hope you like it. I've been fascinated by Firenze for a while, and I adored writing him! ♥
--
The first thing he remembers ever seeing is his mother's face. The memory will stay with him for the rest of his life, though he will quickly learn to keep it to himself. The face is beautiful, but the thing that stands out the most is the uninhibited sadness in her blue eyes. Somehow, he knows that memory is one of the last time he sees her, and from her expression, he can tell she knows that.
The first time he asks about her, he is with his father, watching the stars. He lets himself be carried away by the overwhelming beauty and power of the sight above him. Lets himself feel closer to his father than he knows is appropriate or welcome.
Anatolios looks over at his son with a frown that immediately lets the young centaur know he said something wrong. He asks, again, trembling somewhat, about the beautiful woman he dreams about every night. Who is she? Where is she? Why hasn't he ever seen any like her in their herd or anywhere in the forest? The questions he's had for so long now come pouring out. He suspects that those his age have these questions too, or is he the only one who remembers? The only one who cares? The rules of the herd are clear - there are some things that are not asked about, not asked about but told, if they're told. Firenze knows his impatience is impertinence, and that by asking he shows expectation of a right to know, which is disrespectful to their rules.
He stumbles over the words, pushing himself, desperate to get them out. Afterwards, he stares at Anatolios in silent fear, almost surprise at his own boldness, and that fear makes his father's feature soften a little.
They walk for a long time in silence. Firenze notices that they are walking farther and farther away from the herd, from anywhere they will be likely to run into another centaur, and feels a strong hope that perhaps his father plans to tell him after all. His heart is beating wildly. He's too young for such an excursion; the young centaurs do not venture from a certain perimeter until they are old enough to hunt and use their bows well enough to defend themselves. It is only on very rare occasions that the older centaurs let the young ones accompany them, and Firenze can hardly believe Anatolios is granting him that honour.
They stop at a clearing and Firenze tells himself to be patient as Anatolios studies the stars above him, seemingly in no hurry to speak, not acknowledging Firenze's presence in any way. When Anatolios does speak, it's quiet and even, and Firenze startles.
"It is considered disrespectful, unacceptable even, to ask the questions you have asked." Firenze nods. Anatolios turns and there is a small smile on his lips. "But they all do, Firenze, make no mistake of that."
"They do?" Firenze hooves the ground expectantly, but his front leg freezes mid-air when his father raises a brow. Physical signs of impatience in front of an older centaur are a sign of disrespect Firenze has been often criticized for among the herd.
"Most do, yes, though of course most are not quite the same as you. They do not remember. You cannot expect kids to not slip up sometimes, the elders do, of course, but laws are meant to be perfect, and nothing that breathes is perfect, so sooner or later they all ask where they come from."
Anatolios hooves the ground and then chuckles quietly to himself when he catches his son's eyes. Firenze feels a rush of warmth; his father's mannerisms seem to have passed to him, and all of a sudden he feels less guilty of doing it as often as he has been. The fact that he is his father's son brings him pride every day as he watches Anatolios instruct the younger centaurs, and the way most of the herd steps aside for him, bows to him, address him with utmost respect. He is expected to be like his father, he knows, and he's heard the word "strange" pass the lips of elders in barely audible whispers all the time, but his father never lets on his has any doubts about Firenze. Firenze often catches him looking at him contemplatively, but never in serious anger or disappointment, even when Firenze knows he really deserves it, which seems to happen often.
Often Firenze finds himself faced with the elders, being lectured on this or that. Stepping outside the safe clearing, shooting a bow without an older centaur's supervision, questioning customs and traditions of hundreds of years that are known to be writ in stone and not for impertinent young centaurs to bring into question. Anatolios interferes every time. He leads his son away, his face set in stone, but once they're out of sight, his face features relax and they walk in silence. The only thing Anatolios ever says on any matter is "Do not do that again. Exercise your wisdom before your impulses, it will do you good."
Firenze almost wishes Anatolios would scold, but he never commands, never says the word "wrong" that is so popular among the elders. Even at a young age, before he learns all the laws of the pack, Firenze knows his father's methods of rearing him are quite unique. He sees the way Anatolios treats the other young ones - he's strict and stone-faced, no different from the elders. It seems almost as if Anatolios does not believe it is his place to impart his values on Firenze, but simply advise in a way that would still leave Firenze plenty of room to go against everything everyone he knows believes if he so chooses.
"Do you truly remember your mother's face, Firenze?"
Firenze's throat closes up momentarily at the word "mother". He knows the meaning of the word, of course, but he knows little about where he comes from. During their studies, there has been one very brief and very sombre lesson of reproduction. Firenze remembers looking at the sole coloured picture of two centaurs standing facing each other on a meadow, a few feet apart. He remembers looking at the centaur with the long black hair, slender arms, and breasts that made Firenze subconsciously run his palms over his flatness and wonder.
The woman looks nothing like his mother, but she is of the same kind. Firenze has never seen a "female centaur", as the elder in charge of the lesson addresses her, and Firenze isn't clear on how exactly a new life comes about, but what he has always known is that she had once been there, holding him, and the thought haunts him.
Anatolios observes Firenze's reaction. Firenze nods finally, barely a move of the head.
"Her name was... is Eumelia. It means melody. She has the most beautiful voice."Anatolios smiles a little, and Firenze can't take his eyes off his father's face. There is gentleness in it that he has never seen before. Never knew his father is capable of.
Firenze is silent, waiting for his father to continue, hoping he does. He's afraid to scare this away.
"The female centaurs of this region," Anatolios continues, "do not believe the same things we do. About humans, in particular." Firenze nods. He hasn't seen a human, either, but he's familiar with their unmistakeable deformities that would set them apart if he ever runs into them. "As you very well know, Firenze, humans haven't been... kind to us, for we share some anatomical similarities, and appear to be half of them. They have for a long time considered us "Halflings", creatures." Anatolios doesn't look as angry or as upset speaking of humans as the other elders do. "Eumelia's herd was a part of ours, once, very long ago, and a male and female ruled at all times. However, Eumelia's great-grandmother had had a falling out with her mate about humans and left, taking most females, with her. With time, as the other females died of old age, Eumelia's herd refused to give us their female offspring, and we became a herd of males only. It became tradition. That was very long ago. To this day, the forest is vast, but there are only two herds in it, so far apart that they never cross. Except... on certain occasions. Mating."
"They come here?" Firenze asks, louder than he intends.
Anatolios shakes his head. "We meet. We choose a mate. The children are then brought to us when they are old enough for us to take care of but young enough..." Anatolios gives him a long look and then almost-whispers, "Young enough to not remember."
"They only send the males?"
"Yes, but not all."
"They are not all females, then, within their herd?"
"No. We do not agree, but we are of one kind, we are brothers and sisters all, and they understand that a male and a female both are needed for our herd's survival, and the product the union produces, such as you, the young. As is with humans, we may not want to intertwine ourselves in their existence, but we do not wish them harm or extinction."
Firenze digests that for a long time. It seems strange to him, unnatural. He has been brought up to understand that everything within a centaur's life goes in a natural circle, natural progression. That centaurs live as one with the forest, with the nature around them, and with the stars above them. Firenze knows enough, however, to know that what Anatolios is speaking of doesn't sit right with him. There is nothing natural about it.
"They give up their children?"
Anatolios sighs. "I know what you're thinking, Firenze, and you are right. These laws have been in place for hundreds of years, and we are taught, as you know, to adhere to them and to not question them above all. The laws of a mother attached to her child is something you and I can perhaps never understand, however, and it is indeed a huge sacrifice only required of the leaders of the herds. It is their choice alone whether to place the young one into a father's arms, but they know they have to make it, and they know, of course, the price of making a choice not popular among the herd."
"So there really is no choice, is there?"
Anatolios meets Firenze's eyes and suddenly the young centaur is overwhelmed. He doesn't know how he knows that it's the only time Anatolios will speak to him like this, will acknowledge the things he has said, but Firenze knows it's the truth. Something in his father's eyes tells him to ask now to be answered. It's almost as if Anatolios wants Firenze to ask something specific, and Firenze lets his sense of propriety and fear of his father go. Just this once.
"Are the mates chosen at random?"
"By stars, no. You will know this, Firenze, at some point in your life, that when a centaur meets his or her mate, there is no doubt about it. He or she knows. Mates are predetermined, chosen by the stars before they ever meet or are even born, the connection is made. This connection is stronger than anything you may ever feel."
"But if it's so strong -"
"How can it be so brief? Just once?" Anatolios looks down. His eyes are filled with pain and sadness and Firenze aches inside for something he finally begins to understand. "It is the laws. The elders will all tell you the same - it's an urge, a feeling that will pass, a feeling you must fight. If you look at them, the elders that have lived much longer than even I, you will know that they have overcome it. Whether they buried it, forgotten it, or tucked it away and keep it away, I do not know. They believe in following tradition blindly, it has been like this for many years, it's expected to always be like this. But things are changing, Firenze. Eumelia knows this, has foreseen this, says her tribe has always seen it in the stars."
"Is it in the stars?"
"Our kind is known for the ability to, without bias, interpret the stars. See the truth in the skies for what it is and in its' entirety. It is believed the centaurs have been granted this gift because they were the only ones who could handle knowing the future without making an attempt to change it. But I do not believe this. The centaurs are living breathing things with a conscience beyond just instinct, and that means we cannot be completely objective or unbiased. I do not believe we can see in the stars what we do not want to see. If the world is changing, but we resist this change, are afraid of it, and do not want it, then we will wilfully close our eyes to it. The elders will not see. They who do betray our ways of life and our belief, because by seeing the truth you do not have a choice but to, even subconsciously, acknowledge its inevitability. It takes strength to follow our laws, Firenze, but not as much strength as it takes to discover and follow your own."
Firenze feels as if he stops breathing for a moment. The meaning of Anatolios's words, and the danger of uttering them, hits Firenze like a stone in the head, and he stares at his father, eyes wide open. This conversation was planned, he realizes. In a week Firenze will begin to learn star-reading, marking his first step into adulthood, and though it seems that Anatolios have confided in his son in an overwhelmed spur of the moment, provoked by Firenze's question, Anatolios tells him what he wants him to hear when he needs to hear it. Firenze will not be able to look at the stars the way the elders would want him to again. He knows, before even beginning his lessons, that what he will see in the stars will be more than the rest of the herd, that it will eventually ostracize him and force him to make a difficult choice. He knows his father knows this, too.
Whether he is ready to make that choice, or to acknowledge what is the right choice when the time comes, he does not know.
~*~
There is angry yelling, and Firenze is wondering, secretly, how he has not been struck yet. It is dark and they crowd too close around him for him to be able to make out the faces of those in the back rows, but he desperately searches for his father's eyes. When he finds them, he locks on to them, the feeling of fear and apprehension immediately releasing him.
Gradually, a silence falls, and the younger centaurs, always the first to attack, step back and then part respectfully to make way for the summoned elders. The oldest centaur in the herd, Volence, walks forward and then gestures until the rest of the group fall back.
"Is it true?" Volence says, and the silence becomes so heavy and absolute Firenze can't help but feel a chill. It's as if the forest itself is listening, holding its breath for the judgement. It's as if the olden legends that centaurs are of the forest are true, and the forest feels the anger and disappointment clearly written on Volence's face. On everyone's face but his father's.
He looks down and sighs. He wants to stand proud and tall, but something inside him makes him want to curl up and disappear. He will never let them know that, he tells himself.
"You are no longer a youth, Firenze." Volence's voice is not a shout or a snap, but there is graveness in it that is much worse than those uncontrolled emotions. "Do not look down, ashamed, and wait for a lecture!" Volence thunders. It is so uncharacteristic that Firenze isn't the only one who jumps in shock. Even Anatolios's eyes widen in surprise before being over-clouded by concern. "This is not one of your usual disobediences! Not something the elders will shake their heads about, and your friends will laugh about. You have broken a law that lowered you in the eyes of this herd! You have committed a grave crime in the eyes of our kind! To let a human ride you like you're some common horse, a beast!"
Firenze clenches his fists, willing himself to be silent. He knows that even after something as grave as what he has done, he will be given a chance to speak. Volence will not break laws of order while berating Firenze for disregarding their traditions. His father looks at him warningly, obviously reading his son's mind. Firenze wants to tell the elders, the entire herd, of their wilful blindness, of their hypocrisy. Anger is threatening to overflow for the embarrassment he is forced to face, being thus lectured in front of the whole herd. Anatolios closes his eyes momentarily, and when he opens them, Firezne hears the usual plea. Exercise your wisdom before your impulses, it will do you good.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Firenze?" Volence's voice is calm again. "Choose your words wisely."
Firenze takes a deep breath, pushing what he impulsively wants to shout into Volence's face to the back of his mind. Not the time quite yet. Common sense and Anatolios's looks signify that he needs to stay with the herd for now. It is not a time for a rebellion yet. He needs to make nice.
"My apologies to you, Volence, to the elders, to my father who must also suffer my shame, and to the herd," he says wa, hoping his voice sounds humble enough. He continues to look at the ground to keep away temptation of truth. "I am aware of the rashness of my actions, but I must say in my defence that the one I saved was a child, and were I not there to interfere and carry him to safety, the child, innocent and already burdened as he is, would have likely perished."
"You know we are the observers of fait. We have no place interrupting what we have been gifted to foresee. Such gifts as our foresight, as it often works in this world, can only be wisely granted to those not intending to use them. If the youth's death was predetermined, you had no right to meddle. He is a human, Firenze. Humans do not concern us as long as they keep out of our wood and let us be. They live brief lives and vanish into the same nothingness out of which they came, nothingness equal to their significance."
"With all due respect, Volence, the child we speak of is no ordinary child. His destiny was not to die in a forest killed by something barely existing. His fate has been written in the stars for many years now, brighter that most others'."
Volence's eyes narrow. Firenze knows well now that many things that he sees in the stars, nobody else but Anatolios and somewhere far away, his mother and her herd, sees. Everyone knows the importance of Harry Potter, of course, but Firenze sees the fate of himself and his kind intertwined with Harry's, because though they are different, in essence they are one and the same, and Firenze believes that most of all. The elders cannot accept being no different in the universe's eyes as the humans they so despise, which, as Anatolios have once rightly predicted, makes them incapable of seeing what Firenze sees.
"Do you suggest, then," Volence's says, his voice strained, "that since the child was not meant to die but you were the only one there who could save him, that your fait is somehow connected to his, a human's?"
"I'm saying we all know what lives in these woods, Volence. We know that it is no longer human and will never be human. It has the power and the intention to turn the world upside down, as it has once already done, but this time not be stopped. Do you sincerely think we will be unaffected by the horrible things it will bring with it? The whole world will be! Already its presence has drawn such creatures to our home that exhibit evil and even we are powerless against. Harry Potter is far from insignificant."
Firenze chances a look at the herd. The young ones at the front all look confused, at least, and Firenze knows he's escaped the worst of it this time around. The elders will make the ultimate decision, but ostracising by Firenze's equals, even if the elder let the matter go, would make it impossible for him to stay. He can see that the younger centaurs waver. There is still anger and disbelief in their features, but Firenze is assured that, in doubt, they will adopt the elders' decision, whichever way it may sway.
"Volence, allow me to speak." Anatolios steps forward. There is a certain reverence that the younger centaurs have for him, and though they know the only thing Anatolios can do, they still stare in anticipation.
"He is not a youth, Anatolios, for you to be able to get away with trying to get him out of trouble as you always have done." He gives Firenze a hard look. "There are allowances we make for our young, but they do not extend into adulthood. When a centaur matures enough for those allowances no to be required to be made, they are replaced by the respect of the herd and the adult standing and responsibility. This once, Firenze, out of respect for your father, ever loyal and constant in the herd for so many years, and with consideration to your age, the elders grant you their pardon. Be not mistaken that something was lost today, Firenze, and that a closer eye will be kept on you."
As Volence walks away, the others give Firenze uncomfortable, unsure, still disapproving looks, and disperse. It's not long before it's just him and Anatolios.
"You could have broken free today," Anatolios says barely audibly. "You were going to, were you not?"
"I thought about her."
"But it's not the time yet, Firenze." Anatolios starts to walk, and Firenze follows. "You know well one cannot see their own future, but I have seen yours. It is beneficial for you to stay with the herd for now, and learn what you can from them and under their watchful protection they would only extend to their own. You must remain close to Hogwarts, close to Harry Potter. Everything will become clear. Your path will, too, but it will only be truly your destined one when someone else sets you on it. You almost made this decision tonight, but it wasn't the time."
They walk on in silence. Firenze wonders about his father's role in all this. Sometimes, Firenze almost feels as if he's doing everything his father was meant to, want to, do but never managed to. Or perhaps Anatolios's part is to simply guide. He wonders, but doesn't voice his thoughts. He knows it would be disrespectful, but he also suspects it may be painful. All will be clear, he tells himself. It has to be.
~*~
He takes many days to consider the offer, but the moment it is presented he already knows that the choice have been made a long time ago, as his father had once predicted it would be.
There's something about Dumbledore that makes Firenze believe, somehow, that he is different. That he has the gifts of reading the centaurs claim to be in sole possession of. He seems to know all, have planned his life every year ahead up until his death, and be surprisingly calm about the inevitable he knows is coming.
Dumbledore tells Firenze what he already knows - Firenze can't have it both ways, and time has come to make a choice. As the all-knowing blue eyes search Firenze's features, Firenze opens his mind. Dumbledore would never intrude, but the centaur needs the Headmaster to know that his mind is made up, has been made up for some time. He doesn't need to hear what a big decision he is about to make, or what heavy consequences may follow.
"You are, in resolve, no different than your mother," Dumbledore says with a soft smile, as Firenze fights from bursting into millions of questions, something they do not have time for.
Firenze knows that trees whisper and wind travels faster than he ever can, and by the time he reaches the herd, the news have preceded him. All the elders stand tall to meet him, with the rest of the herd closely behind. There is no confusion or wavering on Firenze's peers' faces. He has overstepped the line this time, not simply blurred it, and though he knows the outcome already he comes back out of respect for those who have been his family his entire life. He owes them that, at least.
This time, they do not let him speak. He tries to persuade them, explain to them, but he has committed a betrayal worse than murder in their eyes by agreeing to teach their art to human children. By agreeing to leave the wood and live in human dwellings, eat their food, adapt to their lifestyle.
Desperately, though he knows the uselessness of his efforts, he tries to persuade his peers and the elders to understand what's coming, the signs pointing towards the same horrible future, the need for combined efforts.
It's a young centaur that fires first. It's a rock, not an arrow, which is a sign of kindness Firenze does not expect, but it hits him hair in the shoulder and he stumbles. There is a roar and the centaurs charge at him.
Before he knows it, there are centaurs all around him, blows landing blindly on everyone equally, all meant for him.
"Run!"
Anatolios's appearance make the centaurs halt momentarily, loath to hurt someone so deeply revered, but a moment is all Anatolios needs to grab Firenze's elbow and start at a gallop towards the castle. Firenze puts his entire strength into running as Hagrid and Fang run out to meet them, distracting and somehow holding back the pursuers long enough for the two centaurs to reach a boundary where their domain ends, and Hogwarts begins. As a teacher, Firenze knows he is safe on these grounds. The centaurs would never dare cross into Hogwarts ground to exact violence on any of Hogwarts' inhabitant, and Firenze is now one of them.
He turns to his father, only now noticing that there is a gash on Anatolios's shoulder and that he himself is bleeding from a cut on his arm and a swollen lip.
"You shouldn't have come," Anatolios says when both finally catch their breath. "You knew they would sooner kill you than accept what you have done."
"I followed our traditions to the end, coming to demonstrate respect in letting them publicly deny me and facing them for my conviction," Firenze says, a note of pride in his voice.
"You've moved a little past respect and traditions, Firenze."
"You shouldn't have gone to get Hagrid, or involved yourself at all. You should have been gone hunting, or hurt, so they would not later accuse you of having anything to do with this. Now you cannot go back. What will you do? I am sure the Headmaster will gladly -"
"No." Anatolios shakes his head with a small sad smile. "Back to the herd I will not go. Where I will go, I must say, I will probably be as welcome as back there," he gestures towards the forest from where shouts can still be heard, "but I will go nonetheless and hope there is something there that will accept me. I am now doing what I have wanted to do for years, what I should have done as soon as I knew I must, but my cowardice have prevented me from doing it until necessity left me no other choice."
Firenze places a heavy hand on his father's shoulder; the only contact they have ever shared. "She will understand," he says quietly, and though Anatolios's eyes widen, he doesn't deny that Firenze knows where Anatolios will go and why, and returns his son's smile with a small one of his own.
As Firenze watches his father galloping away, perhaps for the last time, he closes his eyes and listens to the great Hogwarts. Centaurs listen to the forest, can communicate to it, and Firenze is surprised that like the forest, though in a different tongue, Hogwarts is also humming and communicating. He lets the new energy wash over him, become his present. Then he turns around and walks slowly towards the castle.
~*~
He is wounded and exhausted, having lost count of how long he's been swinging, firing, kicking. He thinks he hallucinates when he hears hooves, and leans on a tree in a rare moment of rest when all those who pose danger around him are dead, and a new wave has not yet come. He knows he is gravely wounded and is losing blood fast, and knows equally well that he will not be able to uphold his strength and his consciousness much longer. He is somewhere between the ground and the forest, and Hogwarts whispers to him that somewhere within her walls something has taken place that will soon end the bloodshed, while the forest shrieks in terror and pain in his ear from the horrible dark intruders hiding among its shadows.
He drifts off, and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself in his first memory again, except his mother's face is farther away from him and contorted with rage. He blinks once, twice, three times until he finally accepts that there is indeed a female centaur that draws an arrow and shoots an approaching hag, her eyes cold as stone, her hair fanning behind her, making her look even more menacing.
She looks around and then her features soften as her eyes land on him, leaning against a tree, barely holding himself up.
She is by him in three jumps, her cold hands lifting his head to look at her, skilfully applying some kind of foul smelling ointment to his wound and wrapping them with large leafs. When their eyes meet, he feels a pang at the bottom of his stomach, and knows that if he could tap into an appropriate physical response, he would bawl, letting the tears ease his overexcitement. Her eyes look confused for only a second before they widen and then she smiles.
She leans in, whispers something he cannot decipher into his ear, and it is the last thing he remembers.
~*~
Firenze watches out of his forest classroom as Hogwarts slowly stands straighter, her broken walls repaired and her shattered spirit glued precariously back together. He hears her clearly now, she runs in his blood the way only the forest had once done, and when he steps foot in his former home the voice of the forest is much quieter.
Making the decision to stay at Hogwarts when two herds, both dear to his hear, offered him a place, is much harder than the first time he is forced to choose it over all else.
He knows his former herd will take a long time to readjust their values and views, and he feels that it is not his to rebuild or be a part of anymore. He knows he has made the biggest contribution to their eventual eye-opening by his decision, and the decision to leave is a big part of that.
He smiles as he puts the letter from a stranger named Eumelia. She believes that someday soon she and Anatolios will be able to bring the two herds together like it was always meant to be, but Firenze knows that change takes time and blood, and while enough blood has been spilled, there is still a long hard road to walk.
She writes him about the herd and his father, but she does not acknowledge their relation. They never speak face-to-face after the night in the forest. Her face no longer haunts his dreams once he realizes that though he is of her, she is a stranger that he has nothing to say to. There is no warm big family feeling or a heartfelt reunion. He recognizes her on that night as his mother, and she him as her son, and it's the closure both of them have been seeking perhaps the whole of their lives.
The bell will ring soon and wide-eyed third-years, in Divination for the first time, will file into his vast green room. They will stare openly at his strong front and hind legs, his tail, his long blond hair, and his bare muscular upper body. They will look in awe at the bow he will never take off, the size of most of them, and listen with baited breath when he launches into an introduction of Divination.
The dead are buried and soon Hogwarts will look as if she took no damage. Soon the students in Hogwarts will only know of Harry and the Battle of Hogwarts from books.
He remembers something Volence has once said: "Life goes on, as it does not have a stake in anyone's suffering", and he knows now it's the truth. The history books praise him as the first centaur to start building bridges for inter-species cooperation between centaur and humans, but he knows all he's ever done is simply walk his destined path.
He looks up at the stars less. He reads the future in his students' eyes.
Title: A Chosen Path
Author: midnight_birth
Recipient: miss_morland
Rating: PG-13
Character: Firenze (appearances of many others from the main cast)
Warnings: Slight angst, mentions of canon character deaths
Summary: Firenze has never been quite the same as the other centaurs. He's never quite fit in. With his father's guidance and a faint memory of his mother, he will discover that his destined path is not quite what his herd would like him to think it is.
Author's Notes: There isn't a lot of facts about JKR's centaurs in the book, so I've compiled the mythology and the traditions pretty much from my own mind, and I hope you like it. I've been fascinated by Firenze for a while, and I adored writing him! ♥
--
The first thing he remembers ever seeing is his mother's face. The memory will stay with him for the rest of his life, though he will quickly learn to keep it to himself. The face is beautiful, but the thing that stands out the most is the uninhibited sadness in her blue eyes. Somehow, he knows that memory is one of the last time he sees her, and from her expression, he can tell she knows that.
The first time he asks about her, he is with his father, watching the stars. He lets himself be carried away by the overwhelming beauty and power of the sight above him. Lets himself feel closer to his father than he knows is appropriate or welcome.
Anatolios looks over at his son with a frown that immediately lets the young centaur know he said something wrong. He asks, again, trembling somewhat, about the beautiful woman he dreams about every night. Who is she? Where is she? Why hasn't he ever seen any like her in their herd or anywhere in the forest? The questions he's had for so long now come pouring out. He suspects that those his age have these questions too, or is he the only one who remembers? The only one who cares? The rules of the herd are clear - there are some things that are not asked about, not asked about but told, if they're told. Firenze knows his impatience is impertinence, and that by asking he shows expectation of a right to know, which is disrespectful to their rules.
He stumbles over the words, pushing himself, desperate to get them out. Afterwards, he stares at Anatolios in silent fear, almost surprise at his own boldness, and that fear makes his father's feature soften a little.
They walk for a long time in silence. Firenze notices that they are walking farther and farther away from the herd, from anywhere they will be likely to run into another centaur, and feels a strong hope that perhaps his father plans to tell him after all. His heart is beating wildly. He's too young for such an excursion; the young centaurs do not venture from a certain perimeter until they are old enough to hunt and use their bows well enough to defend themselves. It is only on very rare occasions that the older centaurs let the young ones accompany them, and Firenze can hardly believe Anatolios is granting him that honour.
They stop at a clearing and Firenze tells himself to be patient as Anatolios studies the stars above him, seemingly in no hurry to speak, not acknowledging Firenze's presence in any way. When Anatolios does speak, it's quiet and even, and Firenze startles.
"It is considered disrespectful, unacceptable even, to ask the questions you have asked." Firenze nods. Anatolios turns and there is a small smile on his lips. "But they all do, Firenze, make no mistake of that."
"They do?" Firenze hooves the ground expectantly, but his front leg freezes mid-air when his father raises a brow. Physical signs of impatience in front of an older centaur are a sign of disrespect Firenze has been often criticized for among the herd.
"Most do, yes, though of course most are not quite the same as you. They do not remember. You cannot expect kids to not slip up sometimes, the elders do, of course, but laws are meant to be perfect, and nothing that breathes is perfect, so sooner or later they all ask where they come from."
Anatolios hooves the ground and then chuckles quietly to himself when he catches his son's eyes. Firenze feels a rush of warmth; his father's mannerisms seem to have passed to him, and all of a sudden he feels less guilty of doing it as often as he has been. The fact that he is his father's son brings him pride every day as he watches Anatolios instruct the younger centaurs, and the way most of the herd steps aside for him, bows to him, address him with utmost respect. He is expected to be like his father, he knows, and he's heard the word "strange" pass the lips of elders in barely audible whispers all the time, but his father never lets on his has any doubts about Firenze. Firenze often catches him looking at him contemplatively, but never in serious anger or disappointment, even when Firenze knows he really deserves it, which seems to happen often.
Often Firenze finds himself faced with the elders, being lectured on this or that. Stepping outside the safe clearing, shooting a bow without an older centaur's supervision, questioning customs and traditions of hundreds of years that are known to be writ in stone and not for impertinent young centaurs to bring into question. Anatolios interferes every time. He leads his son away, his face set in stone, but once they're out of sight, his face features relax and they walk in silence. The only thing Anatolios ever says on any matter is "Do not do that again. Exercise your wisdom before your impulses, it will do you good."
Firenze almost wishes Anatolios would scold, but he never commands, never says the word "wrong" that is so popular among the elders. Even at a young age, before he learns all the laws of the pack, Firenze knows his father's methods of rearing him are quite unique. He sees the way Anatolios treats the other young ones - he's strict and stone-faced, no different from the elders. It seems almost as if Anatolios does not believe it is his place to impart his values on Firenze, but simply advise in a way that would still leave Firenze plenty of room to go against everything everyone he knows believes if he so chooses.
"Do you truly remember your mother's face, Firenze?"
Firenze's throat closes up momentarily at the word "mother". He knows the meaning of the word, of course, but he knows little about where he comes from. During their studies, there has been one very brief and very sombre lesson of reproduction. Firenze remembers looking at the sole coloured picture of two centaurs standing facing each other on a meadow, a few feet apart. He remembers looking at the centaur with the long black hair, slender arms, and breasts that made Firenze subconsciously run his palms over his flatness and wonder.
The woman looks nothing like his mother, but she is of the same kind. Firenze has never seen a "female centaur", as the elder in charge of the lesson addresses her, and Firenze isn't clear on how exactly a new life comes about, but what he has always known is that she had once been there, holding him, and the thought haunts him.
Anatolios observes Firenze's reaction. Firenze nods finally, barely a move of the head.
"Her name was... is Eumelia. It means melody. She has the most beautiful voice."Anatolios smiles a little, and Firenze can't take his eyes off his father's face. There is gentleness in it that he has never seen before. Never knew his father is capable of.
Firenze is silent, waiting for his father to continue, hoping he does. He's afraid to scare this away.
"The female centaurs of this region," Anatolios continues, "do not believe the same things we do. About humans, in particular." Firenze nods. He hasn't seen a human, either, but he's familiar with their unmistakeable deformities that would set them apart if he ever runs into them. "As you very well know, Firenze, humans haven't been... kind to us, for we share some anatomical similarities, and appear to be half of them. They have for a long time considered us "Halflings", creatures." Anatolios doesn't look as angry or as upset speaking of humans as the other elders do. "Eumelia's herd was a part of ours, once, very long ago, and a male and female ruled at all times. However, Eumelia's great-grandmother had had a falling out with her mate about humans and left, taking most females, with her. With time, as the other females died of old age, Eumelia's herd refused to give us their female offspring, and we became a herd of males only. It became tradition. That was very long ago. To this day, the forest is vast, but there are only two herds in it, so far apart that they never cross. Except... on certain occasions. Mating."
"They come here?" Firenze asks, louder than he intends.
Anatolios shakes his head. "We meet. We choose a mate. The children are then brought to us when they are old enough for us to take care of but young enough..." Anatolios gives him a long look and then almost-whispers, "Young enough to not remember."
"They only send the males?"
"Yes, but not all."
"They are not all females, then, within their herd?"
"No. We do not agree, but we are of one kind, we are brothers and sisters all, and they understand that a male and a female both are needed for our herd's survival, and the product the union produces, such as you, the young. As is with humans, we may not want to intertwine ourselves in their existence, but we do not wish them harm or extinction."
Firenze digests that for a long time. It seems strange to him, unnatural. He has been brought up to understand that everything within a centaur's life goes in a natural circle, natural progression. That centaurs live as one with the forest, with the nature around them, and with the stars above them. Firenze knows enough, however, to know that what Anatolios is speaking of doesn't sit right with him. There is nothing natural about it.
"They give up their children?"
Anatolios sighs. "I know what you're thinking, Firenze, and you are right. These laws have been in place for hundreds of years, and we are taught, as you know, to adhere to them and to not question them above all. The laws of a mother attached to her child is something you and I can perhaps never understand, however, and it is indeed a huge sacrifice only required of the leaders of the herds. It is their choice alone whether to place the young one into a father's arms, but they know they have to make it, and they know, of course, the price of making a choice not popular among the herd."
"So there really is no choice, is there?"
Anatolios meets Firenze's eyes and suddenly the young centaur is overwhelmed. He doesn't know how he knows that it's the only time Anatolios will speak to him like this, will acknowledge the things he has said, but Firenze knows it's the truth. Something in his father's eyes tells him to ask now to be answered. It's almost as if Anatolios wants Firenze to ask something specific, and Firenze lets his sense of propriety and fear of his father go. Just this once.
"Are the mates chosen at random?"
"By stars, no. You will know this, Firenze, at some point in your life, that when a centaur meets his or her mate, there is no doubt about it. He or she knows. Mates are predetermined, chosen by the stars before they ever meet or are even born, the connection is made. This connection is stronger than anything you may ever feel."
"But if it's so strong -"
"How can it be so brief? Just once?" Anatolios looks down. His eyes are filled with pain and sadness and Firenze aches inside for something he finally begins to understand. "It is the laws. The elders will all tell you the same - it's an urge, a feeling that will pass, a feeling you must fight. If you look at them, the elders that have lived much longer than even I, you will know that they have overcome it. Whether they buried it, forgotten it, or tucked it away and keep it away, I do not know. They believe in following tradition blindly, it has been like this for many years, it's expected to always be like this. But things are changing, Firenze. Eumelia knows this, has foreseen this, says her tribe has always seen it in the stars."
"Is it in the stars?"
"Our kind is known for the ability to, without bias, interpret the stars. See the truth in the skies for what it is and in its' entirety. It is believed the centaurs have been granted this gift because they were the only ones who could handle knowing the future without making an attempt to change it. But I do not believe this. The centaurs are living breathing things with a conscience beyond just instinct, and that means we cannot be completely objective or unbiased. I do not believe we can see in the stars what we do not want to see. If the world is changing, but we resist this change, are afraid of it, and do not want it, then we will wilfully close our eyes to it. The elders will not see. They who do betray our ways of life and our belief, because by seeing the truth you do not have a choice but to, even subconsciously, acknowledge its inevitability. It takes strength to follow our laws, Firenze, but not as much strength as it takes to discover and follow your own."
Firenze feels as if he stops breathing for a moment. The meaning of Anatolios's words, and the danger of uttering them, hits Firenze like a stone in the head, and he stares at his father, eyes wide open. This conversation was planned, he realizes. In a week Firenze will begin to learn star-reading, marking his first step into adulthood, and though it seems that Anatolios have confided in his son in an overwhelmed spur of the moment, provoked by Firenze's question, Anatolios tells him what he wants him to hear when he needs to hear it. Firenze will not be able to look at the stars the way the elders would want him to again. He knows, before even beginning his lessons, that what he will see in the stars will be more than the rest of the herd, that it will eventually ostracize him and force him to make a difficult choice. He knows his father knows this, too.
Whether he is ready to make that choice, or to acknowledge what is the right choice when the time comes, he does not know.
~*~
There is angry yelling, and Firenze is wondering, secretly, how he has not been struck yet. It is dark and they crowd too close around him for him to be able to make out the faces of those in the back rows, but he desperately searches for his father's eyes. When he finds them, he locks on to them, the feeling of fear and apprehension immediately releasing him.
Gradually, a silence falls, and the younger centaurs, always the first to attack, step back and then part respectfully to make way for the summoned elders. The oldest centaur in the herd, Volence, walks forward and then gestures until the rest of the group fall back.
"Is it true?" Volence says, and the silence becomes so heavy and absolute Firenze can't help but feel a chill. It's as if the forest itself is listening, holding its breath for the judgement. It's as if the olden legends that centaurs are of the forest are true, and the forest feels the anger and disappointment clearly written on Volence's face. On everyone's face but his father's.
He looks down and sighs. He wants to stand proud and tall, but something inside him makes him want to curl up and disappear. He will never let them know that, he tells himself.
"You are no longer a youth, Firenze." Volence's voice is not a shout or a snap, but there is graveness in it that is much worse than those uncontrolled emotions. "Do not look down, ashamed, and wait for a lecture!" Volence thunders. It is so uncharacteristic that Firenze isn't the only one who jumps in shock. Even Anatolios's eyes widen in surprise before being over-clouded by concern. "This is not one of your usual disobediences! Not something the elders will shake their heads about, and your friends will laugh about. You have broken a law that lowered you in the eyes of this herd! You have committed a grave crime in the eyes of our kind! To let a human ride you like you're some common horse, a beast!"
Firenze clenches his fists, willing himself to be silent. He knows that even after something as grave as what he has done, he will be given a chance to speak. Volence will not break laws of order while berating Firenze for disregarding their traditions. His father looks at him warningly, obviously reading his son's mind. Firenze wants to tell the elders, the entire herd, of their wilful blindness, of their hypocrisy. Anger is threatening to overflow for the embarrassment he is forced to face, being thus lectured in front of the whole herd. Anatolios closes his eyes momentarily, and when he opens them, Firezne hears the usual plea. Exercise your wisdom before your impulses, it will do you good.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Firenze?" Volence's voice is calm again. "Choose your words wisely."
Firenze takes a deep breath, pushing what he impulsively wants to shout into Volence's face to the back of his mind. Not the time quite yet. Common sense and Anatolios's looks signify that he needs to stay with the herd for now. It is not a time for a rebellion yet. He needs to make nice.
"My apologies to you, Volence, to the elders, to my father who must also suffer my shame, and to the herd," he says wa, hoping his voice sounds humble enough. He continues to look at the ground to keep away temptation of truth. "I am aware of the rashness of my actions, but I must say in my defence that the one I saved was a child, and were I not there to interfere and carry him to safety, the child, innocent and already burdened as he is, would have likely perished."
"You know we are the observers of fait. We have no place interrupting what we have been gifted to foresee. Such gifts as our foresight, as it often works in this world, can only be wisely granted to those not intending to use them. If the youth's death was predetermined, you had no right to meddle. He is a human, Firenze. Humans do not concern us as long as they keep out of our wood and let us be. They live brief lives and vanish into the same nothingness out of which they came, nothingness equal to their significance."
"With all due respect, Volence, the child we speak of is no ordinary child. His destiny was not to die in a forest killed by something barely existing. His fate has been written in the stars for many years now, brighter that most others'."
Volence's eyes narrow. Firenze knows well now that many things that he sees in the stars, nobody else but Anatolios and somewhere far away, his mother and her herd, sees. Everyone knows the importance of Harry Potter, of course, but Firenze sees the fate of himself and his kind intertwined with Harry's, because though they are different, in essence they are one and the same, and Firenze believes that most of all. The elders cannot accept being no different in the universe's eyes as the humans they so despise, which, as Anatolios have once rightly predicted, makes them incapable of seeing what Firenze sees.
"Do you suggest, then," Volence's says, his voice strained, "that since the child was not meant to die but you were the only one there who could save him, that your fait is somehow connected to his, a human's?"
"I'm saying we all know what lives in these woods, Volence. We know that it is no longer human and will never be human. It has the power and the intention to turn the world upside down, as it has once already done, but this time not be stopped. Do you sincerely think we will be unaffected by the horrible things it will bring with it? The whole world will be! Already its presence has drawn such creatures to our home that exhibit evil and even we are powerless against. Harry Potter is far from insignificant."
Firenze chances a look at the herd. The young ones at the front all look confused, at least, and Firenze knows he's escaped the worst of it this time around. The elders will make the ultimate decision, but ostracising by Firenze's equals, even if the elder let the matter go, would make it impossible for him to stay. He can see that the younger centaurs waver. There is still anger and disbelief in their features, but Firenze is assured that, in doubt, they will adopt the elders' decision, whichever way it may sway.
"Volence, allow me to speak." Anatolios steps forward. There is a certain reverence that the younger centaurs have for him, and though they know the only thing Anatolios can do, they still stare in anticipation.
"He is not a youth, Anatolios, for you to be able to get away with trying to get him out of trouble as you always have done." He gives Firenze a hard look. "There are allowances we make for our young, but they do not extend into adulthood. When a centaur matures enough for those allowances no to be required to be made, they are replaced by the respect of the herd and the adult standing and responsibility. This once, Firenze, out of respect for your father, ever loyal and constant in the herd for so many years, and with consideration to your age, the elders grant you their pardon. Be not mistaken that something was lost today, Firenze, and that a closer eye will be kept on you."
As Volence walks away, the others give Firenze uncomfortable, unsure, still disapproving looks, and disperse. It's not long before it's just him and Anatolios.
"You could have broken free today," Anatolios says barely audibly. "You were going to, were you not?"
"I thought about her."
"But it's not the time yet, Firenze." Anatolios starts to walk, and Firenze follows. "You know well one cannot see their own future, but I have seen yours. It is beneficial for you to stay with the herd for now, and learn what you can from them and under their watchful protection they would only extend to their own. You must remain close to Hogwarts, close to Harry Potter. Everything will become clear. Your path will, too, but it will only be truly your destined one when someone else sets you on it. You almost made this decision tonight, but it wasn't the time."
They walk on in silence. Firenze wonders about his father's role in all this. Sometimes, Firenze almost feels as if he's doing everything his father was meant to, want to, do but never managed to. Or perhaps Anatolios's part is to simply guide. He wonders, but doesn't voice his thoughts. He knows it would be disrespectful, but he also suspects it may be painful. All will be clear, he tells himself. It has to be.
~*~
He takes many days to consider the offer, but the moment it is presented he already knows that the choice have been made a long time ago, as his father had once predicted it would be.
There's something about Dumbledore that makes Firenze believe, somehow, that he is different. That he has the gifts of reading the centaurs claim to be in sole possession of. He seems to know all, have planned his life every year ahead up until his death, and be surprisingly calm about the inevitable he knows is coming.
Dumbledore tells Firenze what he already knows - Firenze can't have it both ways, and time has come to make a choice. As the all-knowing blue eyes search Firenze's features, Firenze opens his mind. Dumbledore would never intrude, but the centaur needs the Headmaster to know that his mind is made up, has been made up for some time. He doesn't need to hear what a big decision he is about to make, or what heavy consequences may follow.
"You are, in resolve, no different than your mother," Dumbledore says with a soft smile, as Firenze fights from bursting into millions of questions, something they do not have time for.
Firenze knows that trees whisper and wind travels faster than he ever can, and by the time he reaches the herd, the news have preceded him. All the elders stand tall to meet him, with the rest of the herd closely behind. There is no confusion or wavering on Firenze's peers' faces. He has overstepped the line this time, not simply blurred it, and though he knows the outcome already he comes back out of respect for those who have been his family his entire life. He owes them that, at least.
This time, they do not let him speak. He tries to persuade them, explain to them, but he has committed a betrayal worse than murder in their eyes by agreeing to teach their art to human children. By agreeing to leave the wood and live in human dwellings, eat their food, adapt to their lifestyle.
Desperately, though he knows the uselessness of his efforts, he tries to persuade his peers and the elders to understand what's coming, the signs pointing towards the same horrible future, the need for combined efforts.
It's a young centaur that fires first. It's a rock, not an arrow, which is a sign of kindness Firenze does not expect, but it hits him hair in the shoulder and he stumbles. There is a roar and the centaurs charge at him.
Before he knows it, there are centaurs all around him, blows landing blindly on everyone equally, all meant for him.
"Run!"
Anatolios's appearance make the centaurs halt momentarily, loath to hurt someone so deeply revered, but a moment is all Anatolios needs to grab Firenze's elbow and start at a gallop towards the castle. Firenze puts his entire strength into running as Hagrid and Fang run out to meet them, distracting and somehow holding back the pursuers long enough for the two centaurs to reach a boundary where their domain ends, and Hogwarts begins. As a teacher, Firenze knows he is safe on these grounds. The centaurs would never dare cross into Hogwarts ground to exact violence on any of Hogwarts' inhabitant, and Firenze is now one of them.
He turns to his father, only now noticing that there is a gash on Anatolios's shoulder and that he himself is bleeding from a cut on his arm and a swollen lip.
"You shouldn't have come," Anatolios says when both finally catch their breath. "You knew they would sooner kill you than accept what you have done."
"I followed our traditions to the end, coming to demonstrate respect in letting them publicly deny me and facing them for my conviction," Firenze says, a note of pride in his voice.
"You've moved a little past respect and traditions, Firenze."
"You shouldn't have gone to get Hagrid, or involved yourself at all. You should have been gone hunting, or hurt, so they would not later accuse you of having anything to do with this. Now you cannot go back. What will you do? I am sure the Headmaster will gladly -"
"No." Anatolios shakes his head with a small sad smile. "Back to the herd I will not go. Where I will go, I must say, I will probably be as welcome as back there," he gestures towards the forest from where shouts can still be heard, "but I will go nonetheless and hope there is something there that will accept me. I am now doing what I have wanted to do for years, what I should have done as soon as I knew I must, but my cowardice have prevented me from doing it until necessity left me no other choice."
Firenze places a heavy hand on his father's shoulder; the only contact they have ever shared. "She will understand," he says quietly, and though Anatolios's eyes widen, he doesn't deny that Firenze knows where Anatolios will go and why, and returns his son's smile with a small one of his own.
As Firenze watches his father galloping away, perhaps for the last time, he closes his eyes and listens to the great Hogwarts. Centaurs listen to the forest, can communicate to it, and Firenze is surprised that like the forest, though in a different tongue, Hogwarts is also humming and communicating. He lets the new energy wash over him, become his present. Then he turns around and walks slowly towards the castle.
~*~
He is wounded and exhausted, having lost count of how long he's been swinging, firing, kicking. He thinks he hallucinates when he hears hooves, and leans on a tree in a rare moment of rest when all those who pose danger around him are dead, and a new wave has not yet come. He knows he is gravely wounded and is losing blood fast, and knows equally well that he will not be able to uphold his strength and his consciousness much longer. He is somewhere between the ground and the forest, and Hogwarts whispers to him that somewhere within her walls something has taken place that will soon end the bloodshed, while the forest shrieks in terror and pain in his ear from the horrible dark intruders hiding among its shadows.
He drifts off, and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself in his first memory again, except his mother's face is farther away from him and contorted with rage. He blinks once, twice, three times until he finally accepts that there is indeed a female centaur that draws an arrow and shoots an approaching hag, her eyes cold as stone, her hair fanning behind her, making her look even more menacing.
She looks around and then her features soften as her eyes land on him, leaning against a tree, barely holding himself up.
She is by him in three jumps, her cold hands lifting his head to look at her, skilfully applying some kind of foul smelling ointment to his wound and wrapping them with large leafs. When their eyes meet, he feels a pang at the bottom of his stomach, and knows that if he could tap into an appropriate physical response, he would bawl, letting the tears ease his overexcitement. Her eyes look confused for only a second before they widen and then she smiles.
She leans in, whispers something he cannot decipher into his ear, and it is the last thing he remembers.
~*~
Firenze watches out of his forest classroom as Hogwarts slowly stands straighter, her broken walls repaired and her shattered spirit glued precariously back together. He hears her clearly now, she runs in his blood the way only the forest had once done, and when he steps foot in his former home the voice of the forest is much quieter.
Making the decision to stay at Hogwarts when two herds, both dear to his hear, offered him a place, is much harder than the first time he is forced to choose it over all else.
He knows his former herd will take a long time to readjust their values and views, and he feels that it is not his to rebuild or be a part of anymore. He knows he has made the biggest contribution to their eventual eye-opening by his decision, and the decision to leave is a big part of that.
He smiles as he puts the letter from a stranger named Eumelia. She believes that someday soon she and Anatolios will be able to bring the two herds together like it was always meant to be, but Firenze knows that change takes time and blood, and while enough blood has been spilled, there is still a long hard road to walk.
She writes him about the herd and his father, but she does not acknowledge their relation. They never speak face-to-face after the night in the forest. Her face no longer haunts his dreams once he realizes that though he is of her, she is a stranger that he has nothing to say to. There is no warm big family feeling or a heartfelt reunion. He recognizes her on that night as his mother, and she him as her son, and it's the closure both of them have been seeking perhaps the whole of their lives.
The bell will ring soon and wide-eyed third-years, in Divination for the first time, will file into his vast green room. They will stare openly at his strong front and hind legs, his tail, his long blond hair, and his bare muscular upper body. They will look in awe at the bow he will never take off, the size of most of them, and listen with baited breath when he launches into an introduction of Divination.
The dead are buried and soon Hogwarts will look as if she took no damage. Soon the students in Hogwarts will only know of Harry and the Battle of Hogwarts from books.
He remembers something Volence has once said: "Life goes on, as it does not have a stake in anyone's suffering", and he knows now it's the truth. The history books praise him as the first centaur to start building bridges for inter-species cooperation between centaur and humans, but he knows all he's ever done is simply walk his destined path.
He looks up at the stars less. He reads the future in his students' eyes.