Avalon - Chapter 73 - A Brief Moment of Peace

A Brief Moment of Peace

Although Britain was indeed at peace and had been for the better part of five years, from time to time, disagreements would occur, leading to skirmishes that often required the intervention of the king.

That was what brought Myrddin here to East Anglia, and not for the first time since Guthrum was soundly defeated by Arthur and his forces.

Over the past half decade, there had been several attempts to seize the land from Danes and Saxons alike, and though their efforts had been rebuffed, it remained to be a problematic piece of land for Arthur to oversee.

The latest man to try his luck in seizing the territory was another Dane, one who had arrived on the coast a matter of moons ago and had managed to gather himself quite the following of those dissatisfied with living under Arthur’s rule.

Not that Ivar had any hope of success.

According to the scouts, the man had mustered a force just shy under two thousand men; a paltry offering compared to Arthur’s vast army, but one that was quickly gaining support.

Ivar’s campaign needed to be quelled before it could become more troublesome, and as Myrddin observed Arthur poring over the several maps in front of him, the king nodded to himself.

Myrddin sighed as the man began speaking to his commanders, choosing not to consult his advisor.

The past eighteen moons had seen changes within the king.

He seldom sought the company of others, and had become deeply suspicious of all, particularly his wife.

He’d not been so with Myrddin, but the wizard had not been able to ignore the guardedness of the king, nor the confidence with which he caried himself.

What could be attributed to the changes, Myrddin didn’t know, but the kingdoms had not suffered, and yet, Arthur continued to grow older with no sign of an heir on the horizon.

For now, the concern was not so deep, but in the coming years, the man must sire a son to succeed him.

Myrddin had watched as Arthur and Guinevere had drifted apart, and more recently how she had seemed to attempt to reconcile with him, only for the king to not be receptive of her efforts.

Did he know of her infidelity?

Myrddin thought not but was in no doubt that Arthur had his suspicions.

Why would he not wish to spend time with his own wife is such was not the case?

Once more, Myrddin was stumped, and he couldn’t help but ponder again what it was that had changed seemingly so suddenly.

He frowned as he watched the man pour himself a cup of ale.

He did not seem as unhappy as he had been during the years that followed the victory of Guthrum. If anything, he seemed rather content, though distant from most he surrounded himself with.

Nonetheless, now was not the time to pursue his thoughts on the matter.

A battle was impending, one they would inevitably win, but as ever, a risk for Arthur to lead the charge into.

Despite Myrddin’s advice to delegate the command of his forces, Arthur had chosen not to heed his words, and fight alongside his men.

It was a significant risk, and should the worst happen, Britain would once again be plunged into war as those who believed themselves worthy would fight amongst themselves for such a prestigious position.

Myrddin looked towards the sky and shook his head.

It was a clear day, and yet, a storm was brewing across the land, much like the one that had rolled in shortly before Arthur had become what stood before him now.

Was it merely a coincidence?

Myrddin thought not and had considered the possibility that a certain man had resurfaced.

Although he had not seen Harry Potter for himself, he often felt the man’s presence when he ventured out of Camelot; a reminder that he was indeed here, perhaps merely lurking in the shadows for the time being, but still here, nonetheless.

(Break)

“Bloody hell, you’ll all get your share,” he chuckled as he caried the enormous bag of feed, fending off the dozens of chickens insistent on enjoying their breakfast.

Harry watched amusedly as they began to peck at the corn he was throwing handfuls of around the large yard the birds spent the day in, when the weather permitted, before he headed to the henhouse to retrieve the eggs they’d laid during the night.

He never thought that something so simple would bring him such joy as farming his land in Godric’s Hollow, but here he was, doing just that, and doing so contently.

“Alright girls,” he murmured affectionately as he reached the field where he kept their cows, chuckling as Philis, a large heifer butted his chest with her head.

He scratched behind her ear affectionately, his gaze drifting to the adjoining field where he could see Terry eying him with displeasure.

The bull did not like Harry, and whenever he needed to enter the paddock with him, the two would have quite the faceoff.

Perhaps Terry was jealous that Harry spent more time amongst the cows than him, or it was as simple as Harry suspected; Terry just didn’t like him.

He tolerated Morgana well enough, and Harry suspected he only did so to annoy him, but he was a most useful beast to have around, churlish and surly and best, but necessary when it came time for breeding.

That wouldn’t be for several moons yet, something harry was grateful for, but that didn’t stop Terry glaring at him, almost challenging Harry to enter his field.

With a shake of his head, he checked that the cows had all they needed before apparating to the gates of Hogwarts and making his way across the grounds and into the forest.

They had discussed the idea of having their farm here, but with what lived amongst the trees, he and Morgana had decided against it.

Not even terry would be able to fend off some of the magical creatures in the forest, so they had opted to take advantage of the land they had in Godric’s Hollow, ensuring the contributed their fair share of meet and other products to the villagers.

“How are they?” Morgana asked, easing herself into a chair at the kitchen table and helping herself to some tea.

“They’re fine,” Harry chuckled. “Terry still wants me dead.”

Morgana rolled her eyes at him grimacing as she did so.

“It’s lively today,” she grumbled.

Harry beamed as he looked upon his heavily pregnant wife, crouching down to rest a hand on her swollen belly.

“It gets it from you.”

Morgana quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You are the restless one, Harry,” she huffed. “You were out again late last night.”

Harry nodded as he released a deep breath.

“Nothing,” he sighed. “There is still nothing.”

“And there won’t be until they decide they’re ready,” Morgana pointed out for umpteenth time. “The goblins will show themselves when they believe they can win. For now, just forget it. It won’t be long until this one comes along.”

Harry smiled brightly at the thought.

“It won’t be long until they get here either,” he said amusedly, nodding towards the treeline in the distance.

The Founders had developed a habit of visiting each day since they’d discovered Morgana was pregnant, each of them fretting over her in their own way.

“It won’t be long,” his wife agreed, shooting him a glare as she stood before waddling towards the sink.

Harry did his utmost not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it.

In all, Morgana was coping well with everything, though Harry couldn’t say the same about himself.

He was terrified of what was to come and found he would sooner be waiting to fight a battle on the frontlines than be responsible for something so delicate and helpless.

“You’ll be fine, Harry,” Morgana spoke, pulling him from his thoughts. “You’re not the one that has to squeeze it out.”

Harry conceded the point with a nod.

“We are not naming it Salazar if it is a boy,” he huffed, reiterating his thoughts on the matter since the man himself had suggested. “It’s not happening.”

“Godric would have a fit.”

“We’re not naming it Godric either.”

Morgana giggled amusedly.

“Well, we do need to start considering names,” she pointed out.

Harry nodded.

The days since he’d learned he was going to be a father had come and gone quickly.

For the most part, he and Morgana had been working the farm, but his wife had been focusing mostly on gathering potions ingredients to brew the concoctions from the books she had brought back with her.

There were so many illnesses here that were fatal she could now cure, and she intended to share her knowledge with Hogwarts and beyond.

For Harry, when he wasn’t farming, visiting those he was fond of, or taking short trips across Britan to listen for any troubling rumours, he continued to train, just as hard as Godric had always pushed him knowing he would one day need it again.

Besides, it had become habit for him to do so, and it was not one he would break, not even when their child arrived.

He shook his head at the memory of how his impending fatherhood had been revealed to him.

Flashback

He was woken by a rather unpleasant sound coming from the bathroom, and he frowned as he pushed himself out of bed, only to find Morgana with her head in the toilet.

“Are you unwell?” he asked worriedly.

The pale woman looked up, glaring at him.

“You could say that,” she growled, and Harry grimaced as she continued emptying the contents of her stomach.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like me to send for Helga?”

Morgana’s breathing was laboured, but she nodded.

“You should,” she agreed. “You can be the one to break the news to her.”

“What news?”

Morgana chuckled humourlessly.

“I’m pregnant, Harry,” she huffed.

End Flashback

He’d frozen.

He didn’t know how long he’d stood there in a state of shock, but evidently, Morgana had taken it upon herself to send for Helga, and the woman had arrived by the time he’d managed to pull himself from his stupor.

Harry snorted at the memory, and Morgana could only shake her head.

“What about James if it is a boy?” she asked.

Harry smiled at the thought.

“No,” he murmured. “I appreciate it, but it doesn’t feel right. Our children should have their own names.”

“After this one, you’ll be lucky if I let you near me again,” Morgana huffed irritably.

“Apparently it gets easier the second time.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s what Godric told me.”

“Ah, the very expert on being pregnant.”

Harry grinned as he wrapped an arm around his wife.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised. “You’re going to be amazing.”

“So will you.”

Harry wasn’t so sure.

He had no idea how to care for a baby, and the advice from Godric had not been much use.

“Just don’t let it die.”

Helga had been invaluable to them both, visiting often and providing Morgana with potions to help her and the baby.

Godric and Salazar came to, but Harry had finally found something both were quite useless with.

Whenever the impending birth was discussed, both men would pale and make an excuse to leave the room.

It was quite the source of amusement for Harry, who insisted on asking them questions about the very thing they were trying to avoid. Neither men were pleased, but Harry was no longer a boy who was deterred by their threats.

He smirked at the many moments of discomfort he had caused the men whilst enquiring to the intricacies of childbirth.

“Serves the gits right,” he muttered.

Morgana shook her head amusedly.

“Before you continue searching through that evil mind of yours for new ways to upset them, don’t you have some vegetables to gather?”

Harry offered her a mock salute before taking his leave of the kitchen into the garden his wife usually tended to.

In her current condition, it was not easy to do so, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t watching him closely through the window.

Turning, he offered Morgana a wave, and despite her bests efforts, the woman smiled in response.

Harry had come to adore such simplicity.

Here, he didn’t need to be the Crow or the battle-hardened man he’d always needed to be.

When he was home, he was mostly just a farmer, despite the Founders best efforts to lure him to the castle to teach. Perhaps one day he would acquiesce, but for now, he was content with all he was sharing with Morgana and the babe that would soon arrive.

Still, he was not ignorant of what was happening outside the bliss of the castle grounds.

A war with the goblins was indeed brewing, and when it came, he would be ready; more so than he was for fatherhood.

(Break)

Arthur prided himself on not being an angry person.

Even during times of battle, he liked to think he remained level-headed, calm and measured in how he fought, but today was different. Today, he allowed himself to be rid of some of that anger he carried.

He’d thought of his failing marriage as he’d driven Excalibur into the guts of his enemies, the suspicions he harboured of the woman’s habits around his home, and how she had so easily allowed them to drift apart.

In truth, Guinevere had never put any effort into their marriage; something Arthur was acutely aware of now.

Even so, as his gaze flittered around the battlefield, he took no joy in the bloodshed, suffering, and death of others, but it had been the perfect release for the king when he’d needed it most.

He shook his head as he remembered the brief visit he’d had from Harry.

Ever since, Arthur had been paying close attention to those around him, and though he’d thus far lacked the courage or confirmation of his observations, he would act upon them soon enough.

There would be consequences to be had for those that had wronged him, but he would prefer to approach what was to be with a clear head.

He had considered asking Harry to help with such confirmation but had opted against it.

His domestic problems were his own.

Parrying a blow from another Danish axe, he brought Excalibur to bear once more, unleashing a guttural roar as he relieved his attacker of one of his legs, and silencing him quickly as he removed his head.

The battle may be dying down, but that ferocious part of Arthur he’d not known existed was still not satisfied, and he threw himself into the dying embers of the fray, pushing his own men aside so that he could engage his enemies.

His blade whistled through the air and scarcely ceased as it cut through foe after foe until none remained before him.

Arthur was breathing heavily, and he remained where’d he’d been standing when he struck the final blow to steady it.

“My king?” Gawain spoke, breaking into his thoughts.

“Take anything of value,” he barked. “Burn the dead.”

He stalked back towards his tent.

There was no desire to return to Camelot and the mostly miserable life he lived, but there was nothing left to remain here for. He would grant his men their celebration and then another day of rest before beginning the journey home.

That thought alone elicited a shake of his head, and as Arthur poured himself a cup of ale before draining it.

“Is everything well, my king?” Myrddin asked as he entered the tent. “You’ve had a great victory today.”

“Everything is just wonderful,” Arthur grumbled irritably. “Ensure the men are ready to leave once they have enjoyed the spoils of war.”

“Where are you going?”

Arthur shrugged.

“For a ride,” he answered.

“It is not safe…”

Arthur held up a hand to silence the man.

“There are no enemies left, Myrddin,” he snorted humourlessly.

Once more, he took his leave of the tent and headed towards the stables to retrieve his horse, pausing at the sight of the bloodied Tristan.

“You know you can’t go off alone,” he sighed.

Arthur deflated as he nodded.

Tristan was one of the very few men he did not doubt the loyalty of.

The man was happily married, already a father of two, and had only ever been honest with him.

“Then you’d best come with me,” he huffed, checking that his treasured coin was within his pocket.

(Break)

“It won’t be much longer now,” Salazar commented excitedly as the trio made their way towards the forest.

Godric grinned.

He’d never seen Salazar so excited when it came to children.

The man had been a great father to his own, Godric had seen that for himself, but he was almost giddy at the very thought that Morgana and Harry would soon have on the three of them could dote on.

“It may be another few weeks yet,” Helga reminded him. “She’s not going to have it today.”

Salazar nodded but was not discouraged from his enthusiasm.

That, however, would change if Harry decided to ask them any further awkward questions.

For a man so adept at dissecting creatures and brewing the parts in his potions, Salazar was rather squeamish when it came to the discussion of childbirth.

Not that Godric was any more proficient in such things.

He grimaced at the thought and shook his head, grateful that Helga would be the one to help Morgana through the birth and not him or Salazar.

“Do you not find it odd to see him like that?”

Salazar was grinning at the sight of Harry holding up a bunch of parsnips, nodding satisfactorily before placing them in a basket.

“I suppose for him it is still a novelty. He’s spent his life fighting one war or another.”

“He has, but it is still strange,” Salazar chuckled. “He is perhaps the most dangerous man in the country, and here he is, gardening.”

It was an amusing thought, but Godric was happy for the young man.

Harry needed this, a sense of normality and something to look forward to when the fighting would one day end.

He had no doubt the man hadn’t forgotten what yet lay ahead of him, but for now, he was focused on caring for his budding family.

He greeted each of them with a warm embrace before leading them into the home where Morgana was preparing lunch, something Godric and especially Salazar would have never expected to see.

The girl that had arrived at Hogwarts so many years prior spoke nothing of domestic bliss, and yet, here she was, positively thriving with a husband she adored and ready to birth their first child.

It was the most welcome of sights, and as Helga began fussing over the woman, Godric could only smile proudly at just how far the two had come from their very first interaction by the lake.

He remembered it so vividly, and it seemed that ever since, Harry and Morgana had been all but inseparable until he’d taken the time to travel and found himself embroiled in war.

They both deserved the happiness they wound, even if it was destined to be intruded upon.

He’d heard nothing from the goblins he considered his friends, and Godric suspected that no longer considered him such, or that they had been killed during the power shift.

It was a distinct possibility, and one that did not rest easy with him.

Nonetheless, if the goblins did choose to revolt in the coming months or years, it would be the very man before him serving soup they would be faced with; a thought that would become exceedingly harrowing for the creatures when they faced the Crow for themselves.

It would be a most unpleasant realisation, and one that would only eventually lead to a resounding defeat.

Until then, however, Harry seemed determined to enjoy what reprieve he was to be granted before he brought his wand and sword to bear once more in aid of peace across the land.

Not that he had forgotten the warning they’d received.

Godric had seen him day in and day out, continuing to train, running around the lake and swimming through the waters in all weather, ensuring he stayed in top physical condition, just as he had taught him to be.

He smiled proudly once more, knowing that Hogwarts would one day be in the safest hands of the man and his wife that would see the dream of the four Founders continue long after they had departed.

(Break)

He’d fallen into step behind the king atop his own horse, watching the man he had come to respect and admire with no small amount of concern. To see Arthur in such a way was disheartening to say the least, but it had been this way for some time.

For years now, it was as though the king had the weight of the world resting upon his shoulders.

In many ways, such was true, but even during his most desperate moment as a budding monarch, Arthur had never allowed himself to be so encumbered by all that plagued.

It wasn’t until several moons after he’d secured his throne that he’d adopted this demeanour, his countenance shifting seemingly overnight.

He scarcely attended celebrations and was seldom seen in the company of those he had so welcomed to join him at the round table situated in the Great Hall of Camelot.

Here, he still attended, though only in body.

For the most part, Arthur’s mind was elsewhere, and Tristan had come to worry deeply for the man he’d pledged himself.

He seemed sound enough when it came to matters of the throne. His decisions made with fairness and wisdom, but everything else seemed to have simply fallen apart.

Myrddin had voiced his own concerns, but Arthur did not pay the man’s words as much heed as he once had.

For Tristan, it was indeed worrisome, and yet, he would remain at Arthur’s side.

The man had earned his loyalty, and even the loyalty of the country at large.

No, it wasn’t being King that troubled his friend, it was something of a more personal nature.

Having spent much of his time in the court, Tristan had seen it for himself, the distance between the king and his queen, and how the woman comported herself with others.

He’d not missed the glances she’d shared with Lancelot, even if it seemed the man was not so receptive of them, though Tristan could not ignore those Lancelot returned when he certain Arthur wasn’t looking.

Perhaps these glances amounted to nothing.

It was the only suggestion he’d witnessed for himself to give him reason to pause.

Woe betide the man that would dare accuse the queen of all people of such a thing.

If proven to be false, a swift, summary execution would follow.

No, although Arthur and Guinevere had little affection for one another, Tristan could not imagine anything so nefarious being the cause.

“You know, I can almost hear you thinking,” Arthur finally spoke, pulling Tristan from his thoughts.

They found themselves trotting along the edge of a river, with only the sound of flowing water to be heard.

“I wasn’t aware you wished for me to speak, my king.”

Arthur chuckled humourlessly.

“No, it seems it is the same for most of my men,” he sighed. “Everyone has advice and wisdom to offer to everyone else, just not me.”

“Is there something you need advice with?”

“Perhaps,” Arthur mused aloud. “The only sound advice I received recently was from someone urging me to be cautious of those I surround myself with. He said little else, but his words only echoed my own thoughts.”

Tristan frowned.

“Do you no longer trust us, my king?”

“You, Tristan, I trust implicitly,” Arthur assured him, offering a warm smile. “You have never given me a reason to doubt your loyalty, even when you did not follow my advice when it came to taking your wife from your father.”

“I admit it wasn’t my finest moment, my king, but I still stand by my decision.”

Arthur chuckled as he nodded.

“As do I, old friend.”

He said nothing else for several moments, seemingly content to allow the conversation to be left where it had. Tristan, however, was not so, and he shook his head as he pondered what Arthur had spoken of.

“Who do you not trust?” he pressed.

“My wife, for one.”

“The queen?”

Arthur nodded and Tristan felt rather uncomfortable.

“My king, it would never be my place to comment on such things, nor my intention to disrespect you.”

“It’s fine, Tristan,” Arthur comforted. “You need not say anything, but I would have you listen.”

“Always, my king.”

Arthur dismounted his horse and looked across the stretch of river.

“It’s peaceful here,” he murmured. “I only wish I could say the same for everything else.”

“The country is mostly at peace,” Tristan pointed out.

“It is,” Arthur agreed, “but little else seems to be. Perhaps I should be grateful for all I have and even my achievements, but I find it has become rather bitter.”

“Because of the queen?”

“Partly,” Arthur mused aloud. “I fear she no longer has any affection for me, or truly never did. I was so blind by own for her that I didn’t see it. There is no love for me from Guinevere, just pity.”

Tristan said nothing, and Arthur chuckled humourlessly to herself.

“For too long, I chose to ignore it, to focus on the kingdom. The people need me, Tristan, but I have grown tired of being so deeply unhappy. Oh, I am grateful for all I have, make no mistake, but I cannot help but think something is deeply amiss within my own walls. Myrddin has proven he is willing to go against me if it suits him, and I find that if I cannot truly trust him, who claims to serve me against the judgement of his own kind, that I can trust so few.”

“You can trust me, Arthur.”

The man smile sincerely.

“I can, but I can also count those I think of n such a way on one hand. As a king, I expect deception, but not from those who I hold in such high regard. My wife was once one of those.”

“But no longer?”

Arthur shook his head.

“I was once infatuated with her beauty, but beneath that, there seems to be little. Oh, she will spend time with the people offering kind words and platitudes, but I have come to learn that she cares only for herself. Whether or not she has always been this way, I do not know, but I no longer love or admire her the way I once did, nor her me.”

Again, Tristan remained silent, allowing the king to think and speak what was on his mind.

“Tell me, Tristan, what did you think of Harry Potter?”

He was taken aback by the question, but he remembered the man fondly.

He had served Arthur well some years prior and had even hidden Tristan and Iseult when they’d almost being caught up in the battle between the Welsh and Irish.

“He was a good man, Arthur,” he answered honestly. “He saved our lives when we needed him more than once, and his advice was always good.”

Arthur nodded.

“Indeed,” he murmured before chuckling. “I saw him, some time ago now, and it was he who urged me to be cautious of those around me, and not for the first time. Perhaps I was once simply naïve to the machinations of others, but that is no longer so. Even without his words, I see it, Tristan, I sense that something is amiss, and I will get to the bottom of it, no matter the fallout.”

“What do you require of me, my king?”

Arthur smiled fondly as he shook his head.

“Nothing, my friend,” he replied, “just your ears hearing my words has been a balm for my soul. Of course, what we discussed is to go no further.”

“It will not, my king.”

Arthur squeezed his shoulder appreciatively before he mounted his horse once more, and Tristan questioned whether or not this was perhaps a trick to discover those he suspected of disloyalty.

How many other conversations like this had he shared, and who with?

Not that it mattered.

Tristan had nothing to hide, and as he followed suit, climbing atop his own horse, he realised just how difficult it was to be king, and decided that he would not wish it for himself.

No, Arthur was a good man, a great king, but still the former with the troubles of any other.

Tristan felt sorry for him, but also hopeful that somehow things would change, and that Arthur might one day be truly happy again when he’d done whatever it was he was compelled to.

Still, consequences would undoubtedly follow, but part of being a king was accepting just that, after all, no matter what they would be.

(Break)

“You look happy, Harry,” Godric commented as they circled the edge of the lake.

“I am,” the younger man sighed contently. “I never thought I would live to experience any kind of peace.”

“But here you are.”

Harry nodded.

“Here I am.”

“There’s a part of you that misses it, isn’t there?”

“Misses what?”

Godric shot him a pointed look.

“You’re not so different from me, Harry,” he chuckled. “It’s okay to miss it, the adventure, the danger, even the fighting.”

“I do miss it sometimes,” Harry conceded. “It’s like there is a part of me drawn to it.”

“Because it’s one of the things that has always been a constant in your life,” Godric comforted. “I know that feeling. I love teaching, and I couldn’t be prouder of what we have built here, but there is a reason why I would venture off during the summer, and why I was so keen to do so with you. It is in my blood, all of it.”

Harry nodded once more.

“It’s not as though I won’t get my fill when the goblins rise, or when I come to blows with Myrddin. I love the life we are building together here, Godric, and I want to be content with it.”

“But there will always be that part of you that wishes to be in the thick of it all,” Godric said knowingly. “There’s nothing wrong with that, it is in your nature, you just have to be cautious and choose your adventures. When your child is old enough, you’ll be able to do the same thing we did.”

“Hopefully without all the violence,” Harry snorted. “No, I do like the peace I am enjoying, but it is getting some used to.”

“And what of our offer for you to come and teach at the castle?”

“I will,” Harry assured him. “After the baby is born and everything is settled, I will do it. None of you will take no for an answer.”

“We won’t,” Godric said with a grin, looking at Hary questioningly as he frowned and removed a coin from his pocket. “Is something amiss?”

Harry shook his head.

“No, but Arthur wishes to speak with me.”

“The King?”

“The very same,” Harry sighed. “I visited him when we first returned but have heard nothing from him since. Maybe he is finally paying attention to those that are not as loyal as they appear.”

“Myrddin?”

“No, he is loyal to Arthur to a fault,” Harry reminded him. “There are others he should be wary of. Anyway, I’d best go and speak with him to see what he wants. He knows not to summon me unless it is important.”

“Then do so,” Godric urged. “I will inform Morgana of where you are.”

Harry nodded appreciatively before heading towards the gate.

Even now, Godric was pleased to have the man and his wife back with them.

Their journey back to Harry’s world had gone as well as they could’ve hoped, and though Godric knew he still missed those they’d left behind, Harry was truly where he belonged, and where he was needed most.

There had been the most troubling of rumours pertaining to the activities of the Wizard’s Council, and even more so of unrest beginning to brew amongst the magicals of the country.

Having not ventured out so often since returning, Harry would not be as aware of them yet, but Godric suspected that soon enough, he would be.

For now, he was indeed content to live the life he and Morgana were building for themselves, but one day in the future, Britain would need him once more, and not likely just to quell a goblin rebellion.

(Break)

Myrddin took a sip of his ale, frowning as he placed his cup on isolated table. Not that any could see his troubled expression. As recognisable as he was, he had taken to wearing a hood to hide is features when conducting his affairs outside of Camelot.

What was happening with Arthur was one thing, but tonight, his concerns pertained to his own kind, as he spotted his contact entering the pub, he waved the man over.

Gilligan was new to the Wizard’s Council, but the father he was succeeding had been one of the founding members close to one hundred years ago. He’d passed only recently, and his son was more than happy to keep Myrddin abreast of the working of the Council.

“It is good to see you,” Gilligan greeted him enthusiastically, pouring himself a mug of ale.

“And you,” Myrddin acknowledged, raising his cup. “What news do you bring?”

“Very little,” Gilligan huffed irritably. “There remains those who wish for us to continue to operate as we are, using our influence to take what action we deem necessary, and then there are those like me who wish for progress, to create an officially recognised entity. Many countries on the continent already have, so, we are unfortunately behind them where progress is concerned.”

“Official capacity,” Myrddin replied with a frown.

“A recognised government, much like the Romans and Greeks,” Gilligan confirmed. “For magicals, of course. There must be established law and order, Myrddin.”

Myrddin hummed thoughtfully.

In the future. Perhaps such a thing would be beneficial, but not until his work was done.

There were many that did not approve of his involvement with Arthur, and it was only his reputation that afforded him the tolerance of the council as it functioned now.

No, anything resembling a Roman Senate would not do.

“Well, that is for the future,” he sighed. “I expect one day the Council will become such.”

Gilligan nodded.

“Any word on the goblins?” he murmured.

Myrddin shook his head.

“I have seen nor heard anything of an uprising,” he replied. “I will of course remain vigilant and report any findings.”

Gilligan hummed.

“Perhaps they’re merely rumours then,” he huffed. “We hear whispers, but nothing comes from them.”

With a shake of his head, he placed some silver on the table.

“Same time, same place?” he asked.

Myrddin nodded and Gilligan took his leave from the pub, allowing the former to ponder his thoughts on the rumours of the impending uprising y the goblins.

Myrddin was not foolish to believe they were merely rumours, but he was hoping such a rebellion would grant him opportunities to cement his reputation further and perhaps be rid of a foe or two in the process.

Yes, the goblins were indeed preparing something rather grand, but Myrddin was not inclined to stop them, not when he could emerge a hero; the man who united mankind against the nasty little creatures.

The very thought brought a smile to his lips, though a frown soon followed as he remembered the storm that had come only a matter of moons gone by.

Although he had not laid eyes on the man himself, he was aware of the Crow.

Potter was here somewhere, his presence more prominent than it had been in several years.

There paths would indeed cross again, and though Myrddin was unsure what reason would be the cause, he expected it to be when the goblins emerged from their den to take Britain for themselves.

What part Potter would play remained to be seen, but Myrddin would not miss the opportunity to be rid of the man, should it present itself.

Once more, he smiled at the thought, anticipating such a time, but also reminding himself to be cautious.

Harry Potter was not a man to take lightly, after all.