Avalon - Chapter 48 - The Dead

The Dead

The layout of the land had changed in his absence, and as Guthrum’s gaze swept across the length and breadth of it, even in the darkness, he could see the remnants of the battle that had taken place.

The tang of blood filled the air, and if he listened closely enough, he was certain he could hear the echoes of the screams of dying men.

The fighting had concluded only recently, and yet, he had arrived too late, despite the pace he’d insisted upon from his men.

Having secured Lars to ensure he could not be taken again, they’d marched hard and fast back to where Eadwulf called home and had expected to find Arthur’s army still camped on the hillside, ripe for an ambush.

Evidently, the man had anticipated such, and now, he was either dead or feasting to his victory in the halls of Eadwulf.

Guthrum would prefer the former, but in truth, it mattered not who had emerged victorious.

They would be weakened now.

Not that any strength of army could stand against his own.

His witches had assured him of that.

Still, he had sent a scout to learn of what had occurred here, and as the man returned on horseback, he dismounted and prostrated himself before Guthrum.

“My king, it is Arthur who emerged victorious,” he said breathlessly. “Eadwulf surrendered, and Arthur granted him mercy. They now stand as one behind his gates.”

Guthrum frowned as his gaze once more flittered towards the keep.

“It does not matter,” one of the witches purred in his ear.

“No, it does not matter. The stars speak of your victory, my king,” the other followed, and Guthrum shuddered at the warmth of her breath on his neck.

“But do we attack?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Guthrum frowned as he looked upon the scout, who appeared to be concerned.

“The Crow is here, my king. He stands atop the battlements with his wife.”

The two witches hissed in response.

“Do they present a threat?” Guthrum demanded.

“Perhaps.”

“But unlikely. They wield magic like no other, but it is not enough to destroy what we have created. Only we can do that, my king.”

Guthrum eyed the legion of dead waiting to be unleashed upon his enemies.

He had seen what they were capable, had become accustomed to the chill they brought with them, and yet, he could not help but feel that something was wrong.

The king was furious that his son had been taken, along with his fleet in his absence from his homeland.

Even from here, he could see the familiar sails in the distance, mocking him from afar.

“We will observe,” he decided, “but only briefly. Let the magic they can undoubtedly feel unsettle them and the fear crawling through their veins grow. We will attack soon enough.”

Turning his back on the keep calm his temper, he returned to his tent to warm his hands, for what little good it would do.

Guthrum had felt no warmth in many moons, and couldn’t remember what his life had been like before the witches had come to him with their proposal.

He remembered his wife, the woman he’d been so fond of, and yet, he could not remember what it had been to love her.

All he knew now was the coldness around him, and the very same in his heart, though that had come before the witches had entered his life.

All the love he had left was for his son, and he was grateful that he stood opposite such honourable fools to keep their word, unless that was their intention all along.

Guthrum paused at the thought and shook his head.

Their plans were not his concern.

They could not hope to defeat the great army he’d amassed, with or without the damned Crow and the wife that even seemed to unsettle the witches of East Anglia.

(Break)

Witt the threat of Morgana still ringing in his ears, Myrddin kept his gaze firmly on the trees in the distance where he could sense the presence of Guthrum and his horde of dead, though his thoughts were not quite in the moment of what would soon inevitably come for them.

They were with Potter.

For the most part, he’d not truly pondered the man beyond his involvement with Arthur and the ongoing campaign, but from the very beginning, there had been something undeniably unsettling about him.

He was as courageous as he was cunning; two traits he’d not be shy to demonstrate, but now that Myrddin stood so close to him, he could feel there was so much more to the man than he could even fathom.

There was an alertness, a readiness to strike at any given moment, and a power within him Myrddin had never experienced.

For now, it seemed to be swirling contently throughout Potter, and yet, his own magic warned him of the man so readily.

It was unsettling to say the least, and it was in this very moment that Myrddin realised that although Morgana was indeed a dangerous witch, it was Harry Potter that all should be wary of.

Of course, he’d watched Potter kill a dragon, had heard of his other feats up and down the country, and even bore witness to how he’d rescued Guinevere, but even now, Myrddin was certain he’d yet to see what he was truly capable of.

It was a disconcerting revelation, but one he’d should’ve been more expectant of.

The stars would not have warned him of the Storm bringer so ardently and frequently if he would be but a mere inconvenience.

No, Harry Potter was undoubtedly the most dangerous man in the entire country, and perhaps the entirety of the wizarding world.

He was a problem that must be solved at all costs, but once again, he would prove himself pivotal in the coming battle, something Myrddin would be watching closely.

He was keen to see just how Potter intended to be rid of the dead, but he already knew the man would take action that would earn Myrddin’s disapproval.

He could feel it already, the very magic he so strongly opposed surrounding the man, and yet, he knew this would only be one of the many tests he would face now and in the future whilst acting as Arthur’s advisor.

This test would see his morality pushed to the very limits, would urge him to look on as one of his kind used such unspeakable magic for the benefit of Myrddin’s king.

“You are certain of this, Harry?” Arthur asked nervously.

The man nodded, his unblinking, almost burning eyes remaining on the enemy they could not quite see.

“I will handle the dead, but that is all. Guthrum and his men will be yours to deal with, whether you win or lose.”

“Very well,” Arthur agreed quietly, his hand coming to rest on the pommel of his sword in anticipation.

Guthrum was undoubtedly out there, watching and waiting, and Myrddin suspected the man was merely biding his time to ensure the full force of the magic emanating from his dead was felt..

Fear was a powerful ally on the battlefield, and as Myrddin looked around him, each and every man wore an expression speaking of little else, all accept Harry Potter.

His expression remained unreadable, but if anything, Myrddin would say he seemed to be savouring the thought of the challenge his head.

When he’d taken leave of his senses in such a way, he didn’t know, but there was no fear in Potter’s eyes, nor could Myrddin sense it coming from him.

No, besides the danger and readiness, he could feel little else of the man only a short distance away, and Myrddin could not help but feel slightly unsettled by the lack of urgency or terror.

(Break)

He took a sip of the sweet wine and swirled it around his mouth before swallowing.

“If Arthur has defeated Eadwulf, then all that remains is the war with Guthrum. Once that is concluded, the entirety of Britain will be for the taking by the victor.”

Godric nodded his agreement.

“And if that is Arthur, it could make things particularly difficult for Harry, especially if Myrddin somehow convinces the Wizard’s Council to openly endorse Arthur as the King of Britain. If Myrddin has as much influence as we believe, he could all but name him a fugitive.”

“Would the council such action?” Salazar asked.

“If it could ensure the peace between muggles and magicals, they will,” Godric sighed. “If Arthur does win, I think it is best that Harry returns to Hogwarts. He will be safe behind the protections.”

Salazar chuckled as he shook his head.

“Harry is too much like you in your younger years. He will not flee and hide. He will damned well seek out those looking for him.”

“Of course he bloody will,” Godric grumbled, “but not even Harry can take on the might of the Wizard’s Council. Every magical is beholden to them and the blasted laws they enact. None will wish to find themselves provoking their ire. If anything, they will side with the bastards.”

Salazar nodded thoughtfully as he took another sip of his wine.

“Well, there is the distraction of the goblins,” he pointed out. “They will not wait forever, and Britain will be at its most vulnerable during any transition.”

“And when they are defeated, the Wizard’s Council will just turn their attention back to Harry.”

“True, but if there is any advantage to e had in the situation, Harry will find it.”

Godric shook his head.

“His only hope is that the goblins win, and he would still find himself in an unfavourable position. I cannot imagine the goblins treating any of our kind well.”

“The castle is protected, and we have made more than enough concessions for Hogwarts to survive the duration, regardless of who might emerge victorious.”

Godric nodded his agreement.

“Still, we must see who emerges victorious between Arthur and Guthrum. Surely Harry knows he could well be sealing his own fate by siding with Arthur in this.”

“I expect he does,” Salazar said thoughtfully, “and if that is indeed so, it means he already has a plan. He may be much like you, Godric, but he is as cunning as me when it matters. He has not shared as much, but I am willing to wager that Harry is not as clueless as most would be to the self-inflicted peril he will inevitably face should Arthur conquer Britain under Myrddin’s guidance.”

“We can only hope you’re right, old friend,” Godric sighed.

(Break)

She could almost taste the different kinds of magic in the air.

It was nauseating, sickly sweet in comparison to her own and her mother’s, but two were particularly prominent.

The Crow and his wife.

Hers was almost as though it had been gifted to her from the rivers, trees, and anything else that contained life in nature. It was an odd concoction, and yet, there was something darker lingering beneath it, waiting to be unleashed.

As unsettling as it was, the magic of the Crow was most troublesome.

There was almost something of herself about him, but there was so much more.

He tasted of Death, but life equally.

He was contradictory to himself, and he could seemingly call upon either if or when he needed them.

Nonetheless, she, her mother, nor King Guthrum would be deterred.

No other magic could hope to withstand theirs, gifted to them by something that even Death could not comprehend.

Their magic came from the devil himself, the very thing that all men feared.

It brought a grin to her lips, and she shuddered with eagerness to unleash their creation upon their enemies once more.

“We should advance,” she whispered, biting her lower lip so hard that she drew blood.

She savoured the taste of it on her tongue, and her mother gripped her wrist tightly.

“Calm yourself, my dear,” she urged. “We are going to advance momentarily. Isn’t that so, my king?”

Guthrum’s gaze did not shift from the fire as he nodded, and only a moment later, he drew his sword and made his way back to where the trees ended.

“We advance,” he murmured, raising his blade.

The men cheered as they followed the man, but she took no interest in such a mundane thing.

No, her interest was only in her own army, the very same that her unborn son would one day lead.

(Break)

“And here they come,” Harry murmured.

The first of Guthrum’s men emerged from within the trees, but it wasn’t the dead he’d perhaps expected, but a long line of men and women stretched across the breadth of the field.

Harry frowned as he watched them curiously.

“They’re magicals.”

“There must be close to fifty of them,” Myrddin said worriedly.

Harry chuckled as he drew his wand.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” he asked. “We’d best intercept them before they get close enough to tear the gates and the walls down.”

“We cannot stop fifty of them.”

Harry shrugged.

“We’ll never know if we don’t try,” Harry replied before hurling himself over the battlement, and slowing his momentum.

Morgana joined him without hesitation, and the two of them walked towards the oncoming magicals.

“He might be right,” the woman sighed.

“Maybe,” Harry agreed, “but if they breach, it will make the fight harder than it needs to be.”

“They’ll breach. It’s not as though they’re gathered in a single group.”

Harry grunted as he nodded.

It was unlikely they’d be able to stop all of them, but they needed to mitigate the threat at the very least.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Myrddin huffed as he fell into step with them only a moment later. “Even if one of them get through, the gate will not hold for long. “We’d be better served where we were.”

“I prefer not to wait and be on the defensive,” Harry returned irritably. “At least here, we have space. Up there, we are restricted on what we can do.”

“And what do you suggest we do with them?” Myrddin asked, nodding as hundreds upon hundreds of armed men spilled out of the forest and barrelled towards them in a seemingly endless wave.”

“Are you not a wizard?” Harry sighed, parting Guthrum’s army with a wave of his wand as they drew a little too close for comfort.

With a few additional charms, he ensured they would not bother the trio, and he blocked an incoming attack from one of the magicals, sending the blasting curse back towards the caster.

The man screamed as the lower part of his leg was torn from his knee before collapsing to the ground to hold tightly onto the remaining stump.

This seemed to be the catalyst for the other magicals to double their efforts, and soon enough, Harry, Myrddin, and Morgana found themselves inundated with spells whilst the muggles continued charging towards the waiting Arthur, who remained safely within the keep.

How long he would stay there, Harry didn’t know, but Arthur was not a man to wait for his enemies to come to him. No, it was only a matter of time before he took the initiative.

(Break)

“LOOSE!”

Arthur watched as dozens of arrows found their mark, and the sound of screaming soon filled the air as many of Guthrum’s men collapsed to the ground with the projectiles protruding from various limbs and torsos.

The fortunate ones died quickly, and those that avoided the onslaught hesitated before cautiously proceeding.

Although they were sprinting, most did so aimlessly, hoping to reach the walls of the castle where they could not be so easily his as they could in the surrounding field.

“LOOSE!”

Another salvo of arrows felled more of them, and yet more screams followed.

With the keep as well provisioned as it was with food and weaponry, Arthur and his men could keep this up in perpetuity, but as he looked towards where Harry, Morgana, and Myrddin were doing their utmost to fend off what could only be described as insurmountable odds, he knew he would not be granted such an easy victory.

Already, half a dozen or so of the magicals had broken away from the fighting between their own kind and were hurrying towards the gates of the castle.

“THEM!” Arthur boomed, pointing towards the group.

Having seen something of what Harry and his kind were capable of, he knew he’d always be at a disadvantage when it came to facing druids and other magicals, but to see dozens of arrows simply stopped in mid-flight with such little effort and drop to ground without coming close to reaching their targets, he realised just how out of his depth his army would be against even such a small force as the one before him.

Nonetheless, he would not be deterred.

“AGAIN!” he commanded.

This time, one of the men did not react quickly enough, and he was struck by four arrows, three before he hit the ground, and the fourth buried itself deeply in his chest, killing him instantly.

So, magicals could be killed using mundane methods, but to do so was certainly no easy feat, and before Arthur could even celebrate such a minor yet incredible achievement, he realised that dozens of others just like the man continued to fight against him.

“AGAIN!” he commanded once more, knowing this was the last volley he would get off before they reached the gates. “Shit!”

The arrows fell from the sky once more, and before Arthur could consider what to do next, the entirety of the keep shook from the force of the gates being blown open.

“WITH ME!”

Drawing Excalibur, he charged down the long stone steps towards the courtyard, where he found the men awaiting the breach in considerable peril.

Several were on fire, and some of the others were trying to put them out.

Pushing his way to the front of the group, unsure of what he could even do in such a situation, Arthur raised his blade just in time to block a sickly yellow bolt of light that hurtled towards him.

Closing his eyes in anticipation of experiencing something most unpleasant befalling him, he did not see that the magic of his attacker was sent back towards the man.

It was a pained scream that caused Arthur to look, and though he was momentarily distracted by the twitching figure on the ground, it was the odd symbols glowing down the length of his blade that caught his attention.

Excalibur had somehow deflected the magical attack, and Arthur was as utterly dumfounded as he was grateful.

The man who’d fallen victim to his own attack continued to scream, and his companions looked on, wide-eyed at what had transpired.

“HE CAN’T BLOCK US ALL!” one of them declared boldly.

He was right.

It had been purely instinctual, and Arthur was under no illusion that he could defend himself from all of the magicals, which seemed to be his impending fate as each of them raised their wands in unison.

Arthur did not understand the words they spoke, but as a plethora of colours hurtled towards him, he could only brace himself for what was to come.

It never did.

Although he’d been determined not to flinch, he’d evidently closed his eyes, and when he opened them, it was to see Myrddin standing between him and the other magicals.

“Myrddin,” Arthur whispered, relieved by the appearance of his mentor.

Myrddin did not acknowledge the greeting.

Instead, he twirled his wand so quickly that it appeared to be a blur in the light of the rising sun, and spell upon spell careened from it; some used to defend him, and others to attack his enemies.

All Arthur knew was that by the time the man stopped, all of the attacking magicals that had made it to the keep were on the ground, sporting various wounds, and some even unmoving.

Myrddin had not even received a scratch, nor did he appear fatigued from his efforts.

No, and instead of speaking with the king, he waved his wand once more, and the gate that had been in several pieces was as it had been before the battle begun.

“I fear it is not over yet, my king,” Myrddin sighed. “Guthrum still has many more men at his disposal, the dead, and undoubtedly more unpleasant surprises waiting for us. Stay vigilant, Arthur.”

With that, the man vanished into thin air, and Arthur took a moment to recuperate with his men and prepare for what else Guthrum might send their way.

(Break)

She brought moved her wand in an upwards motion, and the three men charging towards her brandishing their wands were swept up and entangled by the grass that seized them.

Morgana watched as they were throttled, though she was not granted a reprieve.

Two others had come in their wake, firing spells in her direction.

She twirled out of the path of both and returned fire, felling one with a curse that caused the eardrums to explode, and the other collapsed only seconds later, screaming as he was flayed alive by an unseen force.

The first line of men and women to emerge from the trees had been but the very beginning of Guthrum’s magical forces, and still they came in droves as quickly as Harry and Morgana could cut them down.

She turned to check on her husband.

With a sword in one hand and his wand in the other, he was nothing less than an unstoppable force, vanishing from one spot to the next, slashing at his enemies, and cursing others.

Even now, despite all they’d been through, it was odd to associate the gentle man who held her close to him in their most intimate of moments to the one before her now.

Harry truly was an incredible warrior, and he went about the task of fighting as seamlessly as he breathed.

Yet, as the coldness that permeated the air only became more prevalent, Morgana looked towards the trees to see what they had been expecting all along.

Accompanying the army of the dead that Guthrum was now unleashing upon them was one of the witches, and as Harry took note of their presence, he apparated next to Morgana.

“Fiendfyre!” he said darkly.

The coldness vanished almost immediately as the summoned flames spewed from the tip of his wand, and even the witch paused as she eyed the enormous, fiery basilisk that lunged towards her and the dead.

Everything in its path was reduced to ash, and molten dirt was sent in all directions.

Even so, the fiendfyre was halted in its tracks before it could reach the witch, and Harry frowned.

“She knows how to defend against it,” he whispered.

Morgana shook her head as she watched the witch.

She was just as surprised as both of them to see the fire unable to reach them, and Morgana’s gaze shifted towards the treeline.

“It’s not her doing it,” she said in realisation. “It’s the other one.”

“Where is she?”

“Somewhere int here,” Morgana answered nodding towards the trees. “I’ll handle her. Will you be okay?”

Harry nodded as he tightened his grip around his sword.

“I can manage,” he murmured, setting the blade of his sword ablaze and readying himself.

Taking the briefest of moments, Morgana kissed him firmly on the lips before vanishing, knowing she needed to act swiftly.

(Break)

The conversation they shared had only become more troublesome in recent months.

With the muggle king from the east traipsing across Britain with an army of the dead, Myrddin’s involvement with Strenger, and most recently, Rowena’s worsening condition at the forefront of each of their minds, it was difficult to find any joy from the world around them.

Helga was not one to fall into bouts of melancholy, but with how things were, it was all but impossible to avoid on the worst of days.

Still, two of the problems plaguing her would be resolved, well, all would though the third not in a way that would bring her any semblance of peace.

She’d always expected Rowena to outlive them all, and yet, her illness had become a stark reminder that life could always be so unexpected and cruel.

Even so, having spent the past hours discussing the most unpleasant of matters regarding the goblins with Salazar and Godric, Helga was looking forward to spending some much-needed time with her friend.

Besides, the sun was coming up now, and Rowena always did enjoy the sunrise.

She would often say that the troubles of yesterday could be forgotten with the coming of a new one, and Helga could only wish such an innocuous statement was true.

Still, she smiled as she opened the door to Rowena’s rooms.

Never had she met someone with such a brilliant and profound mind, nor would she ever again.

“It’s not like you to still be sleeping at this time,” Helga sighed amusedly. “I’ve already sent for your breakfast.”

She frowned as she received no response and turned to look towards her dearest friend.

Rowena’s eyes were open, and she was looking out of the window towards the sun, but she wasn’t truly seeing anything.

Helga could only swallow deeply as she felt the tears prickling her eyes and she took a seat on the edge of the bed. Grasping hold of Rowena’s slightly warm hand, she followed the woman’s gaze.

It truly was a beautiful morning in the grounds, and yet, the warmth of the sun could not lessen the coldness in her heart.

Rowena was gone.

She’d lived long enough in her final moments to witness her final sunrise and had seemingly passed on peacefully. Her expression showed as much, and despite the grief tearing through her, it brought Helga a little comfort to know she’d not suffered unnecessarily.

For a while, she remained where she was, unsure what to do, but acutely aware that she would need to inform Salazar and Godric.

Both would take the news terribly, as would a certain young man who’d spent days and weeks by Rowena’s side, undoubtedly foolishly praying that she might just get better.

She hadn’t and wouldn’t.

Rowena was indeed gone, but she was now free from whatever discomfort she was feeling, and her very essence would remain within these very walls she given so much of herself to.

(Break)

The silent wings of an owl were perfect for swooping through the trees undetected, and as Morgana spotted a small gathering of robed and hooded figures surrounding the woman, she knew she had found the other witch she’d been seeking.

Still, getting to her would not be so easy with the shield the druids had formed.

They chanted ominously as she focused, evidently having suspected the legion of dead would need additional protection, and yet, it would not be enough.

Reverting back to her natural form, Morgana raised her wand and began chanting her own spell, calling upon the magic of the fairies that flowed through her veins for the assistance she needed, and slowly but surely, the chanting of the men began to quieten as their own magic was dulled significantly.

“Something disturbs us,” one of them whispered, shuddering in discomfort, and choking on his own blood as Morgana’s blade was shoved through his back.

She used his body as a shield and cast a cushioning charm on herself, fortunately before she thudded into a nearby tree from the explosion caused by the sudden disruption of the powerful magic.

Most of the other druids had been torn asunder, and the glaring witch continued to urgently mutter her incantation despite now being exposed.

Before Morgana could right herself, however, the witch offered her a grin.

“You are too late, child. The magic is done.”

“But it will be broken with your death.”

The woman laughed as she raised her wand.

“You cannot kill me. My blood is that of the great Her…”

She broke off and her eyes widened as Morgana hurled a flurry of spells towards her.

She’d not come to receive a History lesson, nor listen to the boasting of a hag who was not long for this world.

Even so, the woman showed her adeptness with her own magic as she avoided the onslaught of spells and returned fire.

Morgana merely shook her head and raised her hand, causing the magic to dissipate.

The witch narrowed her eyes, but she could not hide her shock nor concern.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

Morgana tilted her head curiously as she briefly pondered the question.

“Everything you wish you could be,” she replied, filling the surrounding area with a thick black fog.

Although she could not see the witch, she could sense her efforts to clear it, and when that didn’t work, she could feel her trying to escape on foot, to no avail.

Morgana simply guided the fog to follow her, avoiding the various, unpleasant curses sent blindly by the woman.

Her magic was indeed powerful, but it seemed that she’d been gifted the perfect counter to it.

Had the fairies not come into her life, Morgana would perhaps be facing an insurmountable task, but Guthrum’s witch found herself in a bind.

She’d likely never even considered there was someone who could find a way around the magic she used, and now that she had, she was in a state of panic.

Still, she continued to fight, and if one of the curses she opted to use were accurate, Morgana knew she would be in trouble.

Unwilling to take such a risk, she waved her wand, and the fog formed into a crow, an effigy of her husband, and though the witch attempted to shield herself from what was about to happen, Morgana’s magic tore through hers, and buried itself deeply into her chest.

The witch gasped and her eyes widened before blood began to leak from them.

“No,” she choked. “It is impossible.”

Morgana shook her head as she approached and dragged her thumbs across the rivulets of blood.

Taking a moment to draw several symbols on the witches forehead, she whispered in a tongue that most would not understand.

“When you perish, your soul will be granted no peace,” she murmured. “For eternity, it will be tormented for all you have done and unleashed upon the world. As magic itself as my witness, I curse you to suffer a most unpleasant fate, and I curse your children, and your children’s children.”

Morgana stepped back and watched the suffering of the witch until she breathed her very last, though she wasn’t sure if it was her lungs that gave in first or she fell victim to the loss of blood from every orifice of her body.

It didn’t matter.

She was dead now, and Harry could finally be rid of the woman’s creations.

(Break)

It was with considerable difficulty that Harry managed to extinguish the fiendfyre, which had become furious at somehow being repelled.

He could not leave it unchecked whilst he fought from fear that it would slip from his control and perhaps turn its attention towards the keep only a short distance away.

Without it, he knew he would be all but helpless in vanquishing the dead, but he needed to keep them at bay at the very least.

Even with his flaming sword removing limbs as easily as though he were cutting through nothing, his efforts were in vain.

The dead continued to crawl, or lumber towards him, intent on tearing him limb from limb.

Several times in the passing moments, he’d almost found himself ominously surrounded but had thus far manged to avoid being overrun.

Still, he knew he could not do so forever, and as he felt the circles begin closing in on him once more, Harry raised his wand in a bid to create some space for himself.

Much to his surprise, however, before he could cast anything, the dead were sent spinning away, and Harry offered a reluctant nod towards Myrddin, who’d seen fit to join him.

For some time, they fought oddly in synchronisation with one another, doing their utmost to keep the dead away from the living, whilst fending off attacks from Guthrum’s remaining magicals.

It was no easy task, but Harry was finally able to see why Myrddin was so revered by others.

He was undeniably a fantastic wizard; creative, intuitive, and certainly not lacking in ability.

Watching him work, Harry was indeed reminded of all he’d heard of Dumbledore.

He’d studied the war against Grindelwald in History of Magic, one fo the few series of lessons he’d paid attention to, and all Professor Binns had spoken of regarding the Headmaster was applicable to Myrddin.

His power was unlike anything else Harry had witnessed, and he wielded magic with such natural ease and grace.

When they eventually met, as fate had decreed, it would be no easy fight for Harry, though he’d never expected it to be.

As Myrddin created another powerful gust of wind to send the dead spiralling away, Harry followed it up with a searing flame that scorched the flesh of their foes, and even a few of the magicals, though the dead remained as determined as ever to reach them.

“The magic must be broken!” Myrddin said gravely, using his wand to carve a large, deep circle into the ground around them.

Taking the imitative, Harry began filling it with water in a bid to gain them some time.

Almost as one, he and Myrddin began swirling the enormous pool, forming a powerful vortex that made the very trees on the edge of the forest bend and creak from the force.

Even so, despite the rest of the magicals being pulled into and slammed unceremoniously into the bowed trees, the witch guiding them, and the dead continued to persevere, and both Harry and Myrddin seemed to be at a loss at what to do next.

Releasing a deep breath, it was Harry that began manipulating the water further, shaping the waves into sharp, yet mundane weapons that removed yet more limbs, but still it proved to be not enough.

What they could do next, Harry didn’t know, but as he caught sight of Morgana pushing her way free from the forest against the wind, he knew it was time to act.

“FIENDFYRE!” he roared once more, and immediately found himself fighting against the magic he’d become so familiar with.

Still, he felt himself flooded with relief as it began engulfing the droves of dead, and the with looked towards the trees in shock, evidently realising what had happened to her mother.

“NO!” she shrieked, raising her wand as the basilisk lunged towards her.

For a moment, there seemed to be quite the struggle taking place between them, but she seemingly did not possess the same skill as her mother in repelling the fire.

With a final scream of fury and defiance, she was overwhelmed, and only a brief echo remained before the fire lunged towards Morgana to continue its feast.

Gritting his teeth, Harry managed to prevent it from immolating his wife, but the remaining magicals and dead were not so fortunate.

The fire tore through the rest of them and much of the surrounding field before Harry was truly able to bring it back under control and eventually snuff it.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and his breathing was laboured.

Myrddin was no longer anywhere to be seen, and even the fighting in the keep seemed to be dwindling.

“What now?” Morgana asked.

Harry shrugged as he placed his wand up his sleeve.

“This is no longer our fight. Guthrum is defeated, even if he doesn’t know it yet. Come, I have somewhere else I need to be.”

“Rowena?”

Harry nodded.

“She’ll be expecting me soon.”

(Break)

“YIELD!” Arthur commanded.

Guthrum looked around the courtyard of the keep seeing that his men had already given up the fight, and with his witches having somehow being defeated, he knew it was over.

“I yield,” he sighed, dropping his sword.

“Seize him.”

Gawain and Bors did the honours, and Arthur glared at Guthrum.

The man was dangerous, and though he would usually give any man he’d captured the opportunity to defend their actions and perhaps find a way to a mutually beneficial outcome, there was no redemption for Guthrum.

“Place him on his knees.”

Gawain looked at him questioningly, and Arthur merely nodded, licking his dry lips as Guthrum was led to him.

“For your crimes against the people of Britain, for what you allowed your witches to do in desecrating the dead, leading to the slaughter of hundreds of innocents, I sentence you to death. Do you have any final words?”

Guthrum glared at him before spitting at his feet.

“For you? No.”

“Then may God have mercy on your soul,” Arthur murmured.

Excalibur sang through the air as he swung it, and only a dull thud broke the silence as Guthrum’s severed head hit the floor.

“Throw his remains in the sea,” Arthur instructed. “I will not have him poison these lands further.”

With that, he made his way to the top of the battlements and looked across the field below.

Nothing lived.

Where the grass had been lush and the trees as large as any Arthur had ever seen, only a thick layer of ash coated the land, and the king doubted anything would ever grow here again.

“Harry is gone?” he asked as he heard the familiar footsteps of Myrddin approaching.

“He is, my king. He did as he promised.”

Arthur nodded.

“He did,” he agreed. “I do not expect we will see him again, unless something brings us together once more.”

Myrddin said nothing, and Arthur released a deep breath.

The other prominent kings across the land were either dead or defeated.

Now, it would merely be a case of marching his army across the length and breadth of Britain to ensure the rest conceded theirs.

From there, the country would be his, and though Arthur knew he should be pleased, he could not bring himself to celebrate.

Now, more than ever, the weight of being responsible for so many weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he had been prepared for this day, even if his work was only truly beginning.

(Break)

None of them had said a word.

Each had been lost in their own thoughts as they sat vigil around Rowena’s body, and neither Godric nor Salazar had been able to take their eyes of her.

It had seemed only yesterday that she was roaming the halls, teaching her classes, and just being her ever-brilliant self.

Now, however, their lives had suddenly become much emptier.

They had known she was not long for this world, no matter how many times Rowena told them she remained well enough.

They could see it her fading with each passing day, and yet, they’d continued the charade in a bid to maintain their somewhat blissful ignorance.

Now, that was no longer possible, and as the door to the rooms opened, Godric could only close his eyes.

This was going to break Harry’s heart.

Still, the silence remained, and when Godric chanced a glance at the young man, the expression he wore was much worse than he could’ve anticipated.

His features were not twisted in a bitter agony of loss but were almost blank as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“She’s gone, Harry,” Helga whispered gently.

The young man merely nodded, and he bit his lower lip in an attempt to stem the flow of his tears, to no avail.