Prologue:

"Not Ivy, not Ivy, please not my daughter!" A voice was screaming, her mind noted. The voice was familiar, she knew, but something was different about it now. It came from the red-haired woman standing with her back to Ivy, a bright white light illuminating the tears dripping down her face. Ah, that was it. It was the screaming and the tears. A small bubble of panic welled up inside her.

"Stand aside you silly girl. Stand aside, now, and I will spare you." It was a high-pitched voice that spoke this time, seeming to come from the bright light behind the woman. Looking closer, Ivy could identify that the light formed the shape of a person.

"Not Ivy, please no, take me, kill me instead - Not Ivy! Please, have mercy. Have mercy! Not Ivy! Not Ivy! Please, I'll do anything!" This might be really bad, Ivy registered faintly.

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" The unfamiliar voice commanded once more, volume rising, and a hint of irritation seeping into its tone.

"No, no, no, no!" The woman screamed once more, even louder than before. "Please!"

The light lashed out at the woman, invading her body from every angle. In a matter of moments, her entire form was obscured within the bright light. Just as quickly, the light retreated from her body and she fell to the floor. The light continued to dissipate, soon fading out of existence to reveal a cloaked man. His red eyes gazed down at the woman on the floor in front of him. "I truly would have spared her too." He stated lightly as he stepped over her body, approaching the young girl the woman had tried to shield from him. His pale face contorted into a frown. "So, you are the one to vanquish me? Ridiculous."

The man's arm raised, pointing a stick at her face. "Avada Kedavra." He incanted, and a pale green light shot from the tip of the stick, directly at her forehead. Then it touched her, and her world became pain. It hurt - no other words seemed to describe the pain she felt, because those were the only words her mind was capable of producing. It. Hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, IT HURT!

Preoccupied as she was with the pain, her mind barely registered a dome of crimson fire surrounding herself and the cloaked man. "NO!" The man shouted as the dome began to collapse onto the pair of them. He whirled around, pointing his stick away from her and towards the oncoming wall of fire. The fire stopped dead a hair's breadth away from the man's face, meeting a shimmering golden shield that surrounded the pair of them. The pain in Ivy's body lessened the moment the stick turned away from her until she could once more think of something other than pain. And for a moment, Ivy saw the world standing still around her. Then the shield cracked, and Ivy watched as the fire rushed past her, solely focused on consuming the red-eyed man.

She thought he might have screamed as the fire burned him away, but she couldn't tell for sure over the roaring of the flames and the lingering pain in her body. It burned away at the man until nothing of his body remained but ashes, and the pain Ivy felt finally dissipated completely. The purpose the fire had previously moved with seemed to suddenly disappear, and in the blink of an eye everything around Ivy was burning. She welcomed it. As the fire raged around her, all she recognized was the thing that had taken away the hurt, and she reached out to it, beckoning it to come to her. It answered. The fire flowed over to Ivy's young body, dancing and twisting around her, caressing her skin – but never burning her. Ivy gazed around herself in wonder as the fire burned away the house around her, and she reveled in it.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

A chunk of metal as large as her head glowed orange on Ivy's anvil, little red sparks flying off of it as she brought her hammer down on it again.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

This much metal was far more than she would need for the eighteen-inch blade she meant to forge with it. That was fine though. This metal was impure, a blending of steel scraps taken from a sunken world war two submarine. Carefully selected pieces though they may have been, they were nowhere near high enough quality for the level of blade she aimed to forge. By the time she was done bringing the metal up to the standard she demanded to be forged into a blade, what was left would be only about the size of both of her fists put together.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Again, and again her hammer struck the metal until the bright orange glow faded to dull red, sparks of molten material chipping off with each blow. Her bare hand reached down to pick up the heated metal, now barely smaller than it was when she began hammering it out. She smiled, and turned to her 'forge'. Ivy had needed to rework her forge greatly for this dagger – it was her first experiment in forging a magical weapon that wasn't fire-based. To that end, she needed a way to heat the metal without fire. She had chosen to use steam, to match the water theme of the war-ship steel.

It had taken the young fire mage almost a week to rework her forge into a sort of ceramic steam hood that would capture and hold the gaseous form of water at temperatures up to three thousand degrees Fahrenheit without warping or cracking. Four tungsten steel rods crossed the bottom of this steam hood, the ends protruding two inches on either side, and the center forming a square hole which Ivy placed the metal in her hand upon. The water vapor had cooled some since she had first heated the material, and had begun to drip down into the steel tub that formed the bottom of her steam forge. That was something Ivy could easily fix.

Her hands touched the surface of the water, bringing it to two hundred and twelve degrees near instantly, a new cloud of steam drifting up to be caught by the hood above. Still, two hundred twelve degrees was almost two thousand less than the forging temperature of steel. This was the secondary purpose of having Tungsten Steel rods lining the bottom of her steam hood. Her hands came up to grasp the protruding edges of the Tungsten Steel rods, and slowly, she activated her magic.

This was the most difficult stage of the process. In order to keep the experiment alive, she couldn't allow any fire into this process. The flame within her needed to stay within her, only the heat could make it past her skin. A single slip in her focus would mean beginning again with new steel, untouched by her fire. As if this wasn't difficult enough for her, she also needed to rotate between all eight points where the rods protruded from her forge to ensure even heat through the whole forge. The one plus to her setup though was that she'd made the steam hood tall enough to ensure convection currents in the water vapor would help spread the heat evenly and bring her metal to forging temperature faster than an ordinary forge. In this way, her war-ship steel reached two thousand two hundred degrees quickly, and Ivy's bare hand once again carried the heated metal back to her anvil.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The hammering began again. The cycle continued in this manner from when Ivy had begun in the morning well into the night. Finally, long after Ivy had lost track of the number of cycles in the forge, she deemed the now high-quality metal good enough to become a blade. One more cycle in the forge brought her steel up to temperature again, and Ivy began hammering the metal into shape. She began slowly and carefully, first drawing the metal out into a long brick. Once she was satisfied with the length, she picked up a new tool from her workbench, looking like a small axe head with a blade on one side and a flat hammer head on the other. She carefully lined up the blade of her tool on the center of her little metal brick, and she brought her hammer down on the back of it. A few more powerful blows of her hammer drove the hot-cut tool nearly all the way through the center of her brick. After removing her cutting tool, she poured anti-oxidizing flux over the back of her metal and carefully folded it over. Then she brought it back over to her forge and brought the metal back up to over two thousand two hundred degrees, slowly forging her metal brick into a billet. Her hammer finished the process of forging the metal back together and she smiled. One down, fourteen more to go.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

With fifteen folds finally completed, Ivy once more hammered out her steel billet. When it finally reached the eighteen-inch length she desired, she hammered a long tang into the base of the blade and chopped of the leftover steel. Two more cycles in her forge first hardened, then tempered Ivy's blade. A high-pressure water jet took the place of a belt sander in cleaning it up and carving a short fuller down the center of her blade. Once she finally had a smooth, shiny blade, she turned away from her anvil and forge to the workbench behind her. She had already completed the other three parts of her blade the previous day, and they laid on the workbench in front of her now.

The small bronze cross-guard slid on the tang first, the metal taken from the ram of an ancient Greek trireme ship. An ash wood handle slid on next, taken from a tree with its roots grown underwater. It had been wrapped in the skin of a sea serpent, then in cloth made from sea silk produced by a species of clam in the Mediterranean in the same manner as the wrap of a katana hilt. The pommel fit on the end of the tang, made from the same bronze as the guard. Two pearls were fastened to each side of the pommel, grown from oysters found in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Britain, and probably the least expensive item she'd needed to attain for this sword. She held her breath as the pommel slid into place. If she had screwed up at this stage, that would mean that she had wasted two whole days of work. With a soft little click, the pommel nestled snugly up to the wrapped hilt – with a centimeter of the tang sticking out of the end. Ivy's thumb gently brushed across the centimeter of the tang sticking out of the round pommel, her blood boiling hot.

The end of the tang heated quickly as her magic ran through her body, yet not a single spark escaped. To expose her blade to fire now would ruin everything she had slaved sleepless over for the past forty-eight hours. She took a small hammer in her other hand, and moved her thumb out of the way as she gently hammered the end of the tang. Alternating between her thumb and her hammer, she was able to heat and tamp the tang down on the end of the pommel quickly, securing the parts of her blade together. Ivy exhaled. With a slowness borne of anxiety and nerves, she closed her right hand around the hilt of her new sword.

Ivy's family - descended from Arturia Pendragon through Mordred - had begun with steel. After the King's death at Camlann, Mordred had tried to gather the rest of the Knights of the Round to keep the kingdom from collapsing. None had agreed to aid her, many instead fighting her over the role they perceived she had in causing Arthur's death. In the end, Mordred had amassed most of the weapons and armor of the knights of the round, but none of the people who had wielded them.

Over Mordred's tenure as the mysterious "Last Knight of the Round", a wandering knight who never spoke nor allowed their face to be seen, she collected the remaining arms of her once fellow knights, including the shards of Caliburn. Only Excalibur and Avalon remained apart from her collection. When Mordred finally settled down after slaying her mother, Morgana Le Fay, who she held as the one with the greatest responsibility for the death of the King, her son inherited and grew her collection of the deadliest weapons on the planet. By the time Ivy was born, it was the largest and deadliest collection of weapons from all corners of the planet, from three Masamune swords, to dozens of Aztec knives and daggers, to Laevateinn, the sword of Loki. Ivy had grown up with a few of the simpler ones as decorations around the house, although "simple" in this case really meant weapons that wouldn't kill people for touching them and looked to a casual non-magical observer to actually be decorations instead of weapons capable of casually wiping out a city block. Clarent itself hung most prominently on the mantle above the fire as a silent homage to their ancestor, Mordred.

Ivy had sworn that she would add a weapon of her own to their massive collection, and had earnestly studied each of the nine legendary blades casually sitting around her home. She'd begun converting her workshop to a forge when she was eight, and was never more grateful for the enhanced strength her ancestor's dragon's blood granted her. Her blades improved massively in the first year, but she seemed to hit a cap in her forging then, being unable to imbue her blades with the same great magics as the blades in her home. When she had turned ten, she had finally been permitted to see the rest of the collection, now large enough to fill an entire (warded to the gills) warehouse from floor to ceiling. An elevator installed in the corner of the warehouse was still barred from her, the weapons under the warehouse highly cursed or otherwise too deadly for her to be allowed to see yet, but that was only a few dozen armaments. In front of her now there were thousands. Earnest study of these weapons led her to one conclusion. The material of each of these weapons was completely imbued with magic from the beginning. Cursed weapons were made with a monster's bone, or steel quenched in blood. Divine weapons were made with divinity, a god's hand in their forging obvious – many of them were made in forms that should never have been effective weapons yet were still deadlier than almost anything else on the planet. Holy weapons were made perhaps from the nails holding together an old church. Ivy had to use materials that were themselves already magical.

Ivy began her experiments with fire. She had forged her first blade from the grates of a grill, with middling success. The steel was slightly more accustomed to fire magic, and took to the enchantments a little easier than the control blade she'd forged out of a regular steel bar. In her next experiment, the blade had been melted and cast from an ancient Greek bronze brazier. The enchantments took much more readily in the older metal and the strength of the fire increased noticeably. Emboldened by her success, Ivy made thirteen more fire blades from similar bronze. The strongest of them was a Greek-style xiphos cast from bronze heated by Greek Fire, the hilt and scabbard wrapped in the shed skin of the hundred-headed drakon Ladon (which the Hesperides now sold so they could pay the cable bill). She'd named it καύμα, or Kavma, meaning burn in Ancient Greek. Ivy had next forged a set of Iron armor – gauntlets, greaves, and a breastplate – from the rest of the grill she'd used to make her first fire sword "so that she could wear flaming armor", proving that she was indeed a ten year old tomboy despite her great talent as a blacksmith.

Almost a year later, Ivy was ready to forge a different kind of sword. The world war two submarine from which she'd gotten her steel had been part of a combined magical and non-magical unit. She'd taken only the enchanted parts of it, or rather her Uncle, who was a treasure hunter had sought it out for her. The Greek Trireme her uncle had also tracked down and from which she'd taken her bronze was similarly enchanted. The pearls in the pommel were commissioned from the Edelfelt family for a pretty penny and filled with a water spell that packed as much magic as could reasonably fit in a pearl. The hilt, and sea silk of her grip were both enchanted by her family for the stunning dearth of ancient water enchanted wood and cloth commercially available. Her Uncle had tracked down the young sea serpent whose skin was also part of the grip, and she had slain it and prepared the skin herself. Ivy had chosen each of these items carefully for the strongest magical connection to water, even adapting her forge to use heated water and eliminate any trace of fire in the forging process.

Now, Ivy held in her hands the culmination of a month's worth of research and acquisition, and forty-eight hours of sleepless work. Slowly, and carefully, she channeled her magic into the blade, doing her best to keep it at a low temperature and desperately praying it didn't burst into flames. With her eyes focused on the blade, she didn't notice the effects at first. A soft sloshing sound is what drew her attention to the water in the quench tank behind her. In defiance of gravity, the water was pressed against the side closest to her, leaving the other side bone dry. She next noticed the steam hanging in the workshop and clinging to her body rapidly dissipating, drawn to the blade held in her grip. She eagerly pumped more magic into the blade, the water in her forge and her quench tank veritably leaping to her outstretched hand. It rapidly flowed up and around her hand on the hilt, extending the width of the blade an inch and the length to about twenty feet. Hurriedly, she pointed the now massive blade at the other end of her workshop. Luckily, she had years ago built a testing range at the other end of her forge, and the blade just barely fit the distance. Just as well, her magic was keeping the water in place so it didn't noticeably affect the weight of the blade.

'Still,' she thought. 'Wielding a twenty-foot blade in battle would be quite difficult.' As if in response to her thoughts, the water pulled back into itself, the strain on her magic increasing greatly as the pressure shot up, until she was left holding a five-foot blade with ironically greater difficulty than it took to hold the twenty foot blade. The water roiled angrily against her magic, above all else desiring to slip its restraints. A manic grin stretching her lips wide, she aimed the tip of her blade at her target, a mannequin she had cast from iron. Then she let it go.

THWOOOOOM!

With a massive sound like a cannon going off, Ivy was knocked over by the recoil, her sword tumbling out of her grasp. A massive fog bank obscured her view of the target, created by the water that had instantly boiled the moment she released control of it. Grasping the sword that had clattered to the ground beside her, she pushed a small amount of her magic into it, focusing on pulling the fog away to restore her sight. When visibility returned, she held a three-foot blade in her hands. At the sight before her, the blade clattered to the ground again, accompanied by a small splash.

The left arm of her iron mannequin lay on the ground against the back wall. The rest of the mannequin lay ten feet away, bent double at the chest where the water had impacted it. A gaping hole on the left of its torso glowed cherry red from the passing of the scalding hot water that must have sliced through it like a hot knife through butter. The concrete of the back wall had finally stopped the compressed water jet, leaving a crater four feet deep and two feet across. "Whoa…" she breathed out.

BANG!

"Eeeegyah!" Ivy exclaimed in surprise as the door to her workshop slammed open.

"Hello young lady." Ivy turned around to face the intruder in her workshop, a sheepish smile on her face.

"Ehehehe." Ivy nervously chuckled, her hand coming up to scratch the back of her head. "Hello Aunt Petunia."

A tall, dark haired woman stood in front of Ivy, her arms crossed over her chest. Despite their relationship, the two women could not have looked more different. Whereas Ivy had light blonde hair and tanned skin, Aunt Petunia's hair bordered on black, contrasting greatly with her pale skin. Ivy's exotic green eyes and slit pupils were directly opposite of her Aunt's beady black eyes. Aunt Petunia towered over Ivy, standing at six feet tall opposed to Ivy's four feet, short even for an eleven-year-old girl.

Their personalities were directly opposite as well. Ivy was a boisterous tomboy, delighting in a day's work in her forge. Petunia Dursley wore skirts and dresses and spoke in a refined and delicate manner. Yet all the same, they both gave off the same air of self-confidence and assurance leaving no doubt as to their relation.

"Do you happen to recall what your uncle and I told you about testing your weapons Ivy?" Aunt Petunia inquired.

"To not do it unsupervised." She replied, casting her gaze off to the side.

"And do you further remember," Aunt Petunia carried on. "Exactly what we said about staying up all night in your workshop?"

"Huh?" Ivy looked up at her Aunt questioningly. "Umm, what time is it exactly?"

"What time do you think it is young lady?"

"Eleven O'Clock?" Ivy asked, drawing out the eleven in a lilting tone.

"It is currently three in the morning Ivy."

"Oooh." Ivy said, an unrepentant grin stretching across her face. "My bad."

Aunt Petunia sighed, a small frown drawing across her lips. "Get to bed young lady. We're heading to Diagon Alley in six hours."

"Wait, that's today? Awesome!" Ivy exclaimed, darting around her Aunt towards the door of her workshop. "I'lljustbeheadingtobednowthen." She said in a rush.

"And Ivy?" Aunt Petunia inquired, a small smirk on her lips as her niece stopped just before she could reach the door behind her.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?" Ivy asked, turning around to once more face her Aunt with a nervous smile.

"You're grounded for a week."

"Oh."

A/N: This is my first fic, so I suspect the quality of my writing will get better with time. PM me or leave a review with any mistakes you catch, and I'll fix them right away. I'll answer any questions with a PM, even if my answer is just that I'll answer your question in a later chapter.

If you didn't read the summary, this is going to be a Multi Cross-over. I currently have plans to incorporate ideas and characters from obviously Fate Stay Night, and Harry Potter, but also Lord of the Rings and Percy Jackson. More will be included later, but I haven't really planned in exacting detail what I'm doing when. If any of these aren't your cup of tea, I'm sure there's something else out there for you to read, but thanks for giving this a shot.

Ga3_Bolg out.