Avalon - Chapter 98 - The Will of the Stars

The Will of the Stars

It was odd how quickly a battlefield could fall silent, how immediately the violence could cease and those that had been spilling the blood of another could only look on, waiting to see what would happen next.

What Dark-Eye and Harry decided between their respective decisions would determine whether or not the fighting was indeed over.

Myrddin, however, found himself in a state of surprise.

Having visited London and discovered what was happening there at the hands of Potter, he was already sickened by the man’s actions, but to kidnap hundreds upon hundreds of innocent women, children, and elderly to use as leverage was something he could not abide.

He could not deny it was quite clever move by the man, but he found it to be morally reprehensible, more so that he did not doubt Potter would follow through on the threat of killing them all if he felt it to be necessary.

What troubled him further was that Owain Peverell was not surprised, nor were many of those within Potter’s ranks.

Many even seemed to support what he’d done, but Myrddin could not bring himself to do so.

Humans were supposed to be better, more civilised in how they approached war, doing so with honour, integrity, and poise. It was what separated them from the baser creatures that inhabited the world.

Potter had proven to be no better than the goblins, and though he had not slaughtered them, not yet, at least, Myrddin knew he would if he felt it to be necessary.

What happened next was pivotal.

If Dark-Eye believed him to be bluffing, the king of the goblins was in for quite the shock, and Myrddin was not even certain that Potter was prepared for that eventuality.

The battle would inevitably continue in vain, and already, despite having held back the goblins thus far, the death of their non-combatants would ignite a fire amongst their ranks that Myrddin wasn’t certain could be extinguished.

Were that to come to pass, there would be no further negotiations, and no man, woman, or child left alive when the fighting was done.

Dark-Eye was a ruthless rule, more so than Cnut, and even Guthrum, and Myrddin could see no way that this confrontation ended in anything less than complete eradication if Dark-Eye did not comply.

If he did, however, and the humans emerged victorious, it meant that Potter would live, become more prominent than he’d ever been, and yet, undoubtedly the biggest threat in Britain, one that could shape the country into whatever it was he desired.

No, Myrddin could not allow that, could not allow the man to become such an entity.

No matter what happened in the coming moments, he knew he needed to decide on a course of action, one he had already settled upon one before the battle had even commenced.

“He is dangerous, Marcus, more than you can imagine.”

Flint nodded.

“I agree, but what are we to do?”

Myrddin released a deep breath as he pondered the predicament.

“Although I do not like it, I do have a plan.”

Even so, it did not sit well with him.

Were Myrddin to perish here just a short distance from Camelot, all he had worked for, all he had done would’ve been for nothing.

Would the stars be so cruel to one so devout?

It was another crackle of thunder tearing through the land that reminded him of the very first vision he’d witnessed so many years prior, and he steeled his resolve for whatever may come in the next passing moments.

The Storm-bringer.

Harry Potter was that ominous figure he’d been forewarned of, and despite what lingering doubts he may have harboured until this night, the stars had yet to steer him wrong.

Myrddin would not forget that, and whilst he waited with bated breath to see what was to occur, he prepared himself to face his own destiny; perhaps unprepared, no less willing to do what he believed was right.

(Break)

Harry’s gaze remained firmly on Dark-Eye’s, but the goblin’s was furtive, unsettled, and he found himself in quite the bind.

He’d not prepared for such an eventuality, but Harry had learned from his many mistakes in life that a cornered animal was at its most dangerous, and Dark-Eye was dangerous enough without finding himself in the position he did.

He narrowed his eyes in anger as he began pacing back and forth, his countenance slipping with each second that went by in silence.

“My people!” he spat.

“And mine,” Harry returned. “You have killed hundreds if not thousands. Why should I not do the same?”

Dark-Eye’s nostrils flared as he paused before he chuckled to himself.

“So, my people are to just return to our underground hovel?”

“Yes.”

Dark-Eye frowned and Harry held up a hand.

“The moment you attacked unprovoked is the moment you lost any leverage you might have when we inevitably found ourselves here. You have nothing I want, and all you need to do is take a look around at your warriors. Oh, they are loyal to you, but more loyal to their blood.”

“They are loyal to me!” Dark-Eye seethed.

Harry shook his head.

“We shall see,” he murmured. “You will all lower your weapons, now!”

The goblins hesitated only for a moment before doing so, and Harry nodded satisfactorily, breathing a sigh of relief that they’d complied. Had they not, he had no doubt the fighting would continue, and the result would be thousands upon thousands of humans and goblins losing their lives.

Now, if he was fortunate, that was something Harry could avoid.

“I will not drop my weapons!” Dark-Eye snarled, pulling him from his thoughts.

“I didn’t give you the option to,” Harry said gravely. “You will not be returning home only to rebel once more. No, your life is forfeit, and I will take it for myself. Perhaps then an accord can be reached with your kind, but you will not live to see it.”

With a wave of his wand, the cages holding the captured were propelled backwards, leaving a large enough space for Harry to do what was necessary.

He may have acted in a way that many would disagree with when he’d taken his prisoners, but Harry would not deny his enemy the fight he sought.

Harry sought it too, and rather than watch countless die in a foolish pursuit for power, he would sooner settle it this way where only one of them need die.

That would not be him, however, and though Dark-Eye likely knew the outcome himself, he did not shy away, raising both his sword and wand in anticipation of the impending fight.

(Break)

“Why would he fight if he knows he will lose?” Lancelot asked.

“What makes you think he will lose?”

“Because he is fighting Harry.”

Owain snorted as he nodded.

“Wouldn’t you if you were in his position?”

Lancelot frowned for a moment before nodding.

“I would,” he sighed. “It’s a matter of pride and honour.”

“And despite what he has done, Dark-Eye is nothing else if not a true warrior. He wanted better for his people, I can respect that, but murdering for the sake of murdering is something I cannot forgive.”

“Wasn’t Harry going to do the same just then?”

“He would’ve,” Owain said thoughtfully, “but what we must consider is why. Harry’s intention was to end the war, and although it is something of a questionable nature, what he has done has already stopped the fighting. Now, it will be settled between him and Dark-Eye, without the need of further bloodshed.”

“Only if Harry wins. If Dark-Eye wins, the fighting will continue.”

Owain hummed as he nodded.

“It will, so we’d best stay sharp, and make sure no one interferes.”

“I don’t think anyone will dare.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Owain murmured.

His gaze came to rest on Myrddin.

The man was not to be trusted, after all. Already, he had tried to kill Harry once before, and judging by the expression he sported now, he was considering doing the same right now.

For the time being, he was staying his hand, evidently content to either watch Dark-Eye weaken Harry, or perhaps the other way around.

Owain could not be certain, but he would be watching the man closely in the coming moments.

What was transpiring before his eyes would become a significant moment in history, the meeting of two warriors fighting for two different causes, the very future of Britain likely hinging on the outcome of the duel.

Not that this was a sanctioned bout two lords might contest between one another over an assumed slight or falling out.

This was much more than that, and as Dark-Eye unleashed a guttural roar of fury, and burst forward with incredible speed, his blade clashed with Harry’s, the sound of the steel colliding ringing out across the land, almost as loudly as the thunder that followed.

(Break)

For what he lacked in experience fighting against humans, Dark-Eye more than made up for with his speed and tenacity. His form with his blade was quite exceptional too, and the goblin-armour he wore was perhaps the only type that could withstand a strike from Harry’s blade without being penetrated.

Had it not been made by the same creatures that had forged his blade, Dark-Eye would’ve been dead within a matter of moments, but thus far, it held firm against the blows.

Nonetheless, the king of the goblins was no seasoned warrior. Slaughtering muggle men, women, and children was no preparation for such a fight he found himself engaged in now, but Harry was taking nothing for granted.

As ever, he was only one mistake away from being killed by his relentless foe.

Still, he did not intend on making error, nor giving Dark-Eye even a moment of respite. As such, their blades continued to clash, and spells spewed from their wands as they fought, neither willing to give even a margin of advantage to the other.

Even so, this was where Harry thrived the most.

Dark-Eye may have spent his life gaining support for his cause, and perhaps having to fend off his own kind, but Harry had spent his fighting against Dark Lords, the Death Eaters, a myriad of creatures, and many others he’d met on the battlefield over the many years he’d been at war.

His combat was refined, unpredictable, and he would not tire.

Godric had trained him well in the art, had pushed him to the very brink of his limits, and Harry had always found a way of going beyond them.

Dark-Eye was undeniably skilled, and had everything to fight for, but it wouldn’t be enough to see him to victory.

Using his blade to block a particularly vicious rupturing curse, Harry returned fire with a flurry of his own, forcing the goblin to abandon his attack briefly to defend himself from the violent magic, giving Harry an opportunity to use his creativity.

Propelling himself backwards with a burst of wind, he whipped his wands upwards, tearing a sizeable chunk from the ground in front of him before breaking it into several sections.

Banishing them towards Dark-Eye, he transfigured the dirt into molten projects, but the goblin responded quickly, tapping the chest plate on his armour with his own wand.

It glowed an eerie blue colour, and a shield formed around him, blocking the attack and giving him the opportunity to counter.

The projectiles fizzled out as they thudded to the ground in front of the goblin, and he sent them back towards Harry, the hot slag sizzling against his own conjured shield.

Dark-Eye, however, was already closing the distance between them, his wand a blur as he cast a flurry of curses and raised his sword to strike a blow against.

Harry parried it well enough, and even blocked the follow up attack Dark-Eye sent his way using his own dagger against him; the very same one Morgana had gifted him for his birthday.

The goblin grinned mockingly and Harry’s nostrils flared as he struck back, sending Dark-Eye skidding through the bloodied dirt.

Once more, his armour stood up to the force of the attack, and he nimbly got back to his feet, breathing heavier, but no worse for wear from the blow itself.

If anything, he became more determined and charged forward again behind a myriad of spells whilst attacking with his blade.

Harry expected it made for quite the sight, but despite the showmanship of his goblin foe, he did not falter under the relentless attack, and he even managed to smash the pommel of his sword into the face of the eager goblin.

Dark-Eye spat out a mouthful of thick, dark blood as he stumbled backwards, but grinned, bearing his stained teeth.

As ever, undeterred, he pressed forward once more, and Harry responded in kind, the clashing of their blades ringing in the night, and the spells escaping each of their wands as deadly as the swords they carried.

Something had to give, and as Harry blocked yet another ferocious attack from the goblin, he jabbed his wand towards Dark-Eye, eliciting a scream from him as a large gash ripped through his cheeks, splattering the ground with yet more blood.

Fortunately for the goblin, he managed to turn his head to avoid the worst of the spell, but the damage had been done.

Nonetheless, it only seemed to fuel his anger further, and he hurled Harry’s own dagger at him before withdrawing a red crystal from somewhere in his armour.

It glowed ominously, and as he spoke a few words in his mother tongue, it became brighter still.

When it was almost blindingly so, he threw it into the air.

The resulting explosion was not so troubling, but the fiery dragon that formed in the flames and dived towards Harry was not something he wished to fall victim to.

Casting a golden dome over himself, he knew he needed to think quickly.

This was magic he was not familiar with, but that had never stopped him yet.

With a frown, he struck back, using just a little of the cunning that Salazar had instilled within him, and another gift he’d received not so long ago.

(Break)

Much of what was unfolding before him was lost on Arthur. He understood the majesty of the swordsmanship both exhibited, but he knew nothing of magic and the practical applications of it.

However, the murmurs and appreciative sounds of the magicals nearby did not escape him, and he looked on as the sky was lit up by the dragon Dark-Eye had somehow created.

He watched as Harry covered himself with a golden dome, hiding him from view, and turned towards Owain whose mouth was agape in awe.

“What is it?” the king asked.

Owain shook his head.

“That shield you are seeing, it is something spoken of as though it is a myth. There are stories of it being conjured throughout history by exceedingly powerful wizards in a moment of need, but there are none I know of who have seen it, not even my own father, and he saw much throughout his life.”

The power of the shield thrummed audibly, pulsing with magic, and even Myrddin was taken aback by Harry’s ability to create it, his expression one of shock before it formed into one of determination.

Perhaps he intended on mastering the magic himself.

Before Arthur could ponder such further, the dragon had collided with the shielded, and he and those around him were sent back dozens of feet, their vision occluded by a thick fog of dirt and debris that erupted from the ground.

“HARRY!” Owain called from somewhere to Arthur’s left.

The voice was muffled, and Arthur’s ears rung for several moments whilst the haze began to slowly clear, and the first thing he saw when it did was a hole in the ground that much of Camelot could fit in.

“My god,” he whispered worriedly as he spotted a broken body at the very bottom.

It was horribly burned, the features indiscernible through the seared flesh, but the sword by the side of it was unmistakeable.

It was Harry’s and Arthur felt himself filled with a sense of dread as the goblins began cheering, celebrating the victory of their king

The atmosphere immediately became tense once more, and the creatures began all but salivating at the opportunity to slaughter more humans again, only for an eerie silence to fall over the battlefield before they could take up arms once more.

Arthur was confused.

He could feel a disturbance in the air around him, almost a whisper of something that didn’t belong, and even Myrddin paled at the sight of the figure at the bottom of the crater sitting up, draped in a black cloak that seemed to ripple like smoke around the one wearing it.

“DEATH!”

He caught little more than a glimpse of the white-eyed raven that flew over the battlefield, but the same couldn’t be said for the white-eyed man that floated out of the crater.

The coldness that washed over them sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine, and he frowned as it revealed nothing.

Instead the cloak pooled to the floor, leaving no one standing where it had seemingly been draped around someone’s shoulders, and it slithered across the ground, almost like a snake towards Dark-Eye, who banished it with an irritable snarl.

“Where is Potter?” the king of the goblins demanded to know.

None had an answer for him, and Arthur only had eyes for the smoky fabric that began shifting shape, shrinking until it became little more than a dot. He realised quickly that it was a stone of sorts, and it shot through the air, slamming into Dark-Eye’s chest.

The king of the goblins was sent sprawling, his eyes wide with fear as Harry Potter coalesced in front of him in a cloud of smoke.

Dark-Eye held his gaze as he began to scream, a metallic screeching sounding before his chest plate was torn open, exposing his scarred torso.

He fell silent upon reaching for his sword, only to find he was bereft of both his weapons.

Harry took the dagger he was holding and plunged it into the goblin’s sternum, leaning in and speaking quietly, but loud enough for those nearby to hear.

“You’re not the only one with special crystals,” he murmured.

Dark-Eye attempted to speak, only for yet more blood to spill from his mouth, his mismatched orbs bulging as the life faded from then.

Silence followed and none moved as they bore witness to the demise of the goblin king, and it wasn’t until Arthur stepped forward did any pay heed to anything else.

“It is done,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering, though he could not profess to feel as confident as he sounded. “The goblin king is defeated, and I know Harry Potter to be a man of his word. The prisoners will be released.”

“As soon as the streets of London are returned to you, Arthur,” Harry confirmed, “but this is not the end of the matter. The goblins will be expected to attend peace talks to ensure that nothing like this happens again. Dark-Eye’s generals are to be apprehended and presented at the gates of Camelot within three days from now. Only then will negotiations begin.”

Arthur nodded.

He didn’t quite understand what negotiations would take place between the humans and goblins, but the unspoken undertone of what Harry had said wasn’t lost on him.

This would be a negotiation between the magicals and goblins only.

Not that Arthur minded.

He knew little of the culture of each, and though his own had suffered at the hands of the creatures, he trusted Harry explicitly to do what was best for all.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Dozens of voices spoke the words, and Arthur felt something slam him to the ground, where he was held tightly as chaos erupted around him once more.

“Stay down, my king!” the voice of Myrddin urged.

“What is happening?” Arthur demanded to know. “Myrddin, get off of me!”

“I’m afraid I cannot. It is for the best, my king.”

Although Myrddin was no longer on him, Arthur found he still couldn’t move. He could only look on as violence broke out all around him where he could already see several more dead than there had been only a moment prior.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but I must get you away from here.”

“NO!”

Arthur could do nothing as Myrddin placed a rock on him and he felt as though he was hooked through the navel before he was spent spinning into the abyss.

(Break)

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Having honed his instincts against such a thing over the years, at the utterance of the first syllable of the first word, Harry sprang into action, flattening himself to the ground whilst cocooning himself in a thick layer of dirt.

Upon doing so, he vanished within the folds of his cloak before apparating, just far enough away that he would not find himself in immediate danger.

When he had his wits about him, he watched only for a moment to understand the threat he and his men faced, and he narrowed his eyes in realisation as he spotted a familiar figure assisting them.

“Bastard,” Harry growled, readying his wand before apparating once more.

He found himself quickly set upon by a few men, each falling in quick succession as he simply blasted his way through them and stepping out of the path of another curse.

Conjuring a large whip, he lassoed the man that had flung it in his direction around the neck, he screams filling the air joined by the scent of seared flesh shortly after.

He kicked the man’s severed head aside as he continued on his way, pausing briefly to assist Owain, who found himself pinned down by a sizeable group of his own.

Hurling his dagger into the back of one, Harry cast a flurry of spells towards the rest, followed by another to strike down any who had managed to survive the first onslaught.

“Fucking Irish,” Owain groaned, nursing a particularly nasty cut to the side of his neck. “What the fuck are the Irish doing here?”

“The same reason they were here before,” Harry answered, nodding towards Myrddin.

Owain growled as he took aim with his wand, and Hary placed a hand on his forearm to prevent him attacking the man, using his own wand to stem the flow of blood spilling from his neck.

“I’ll handle it,” he assured him. “Did you see…?”

“I don’t know, Harry” Owain sighed. “It all happened so quickly.”

Harry nodded, his focus shifting towards the man he would be confronting.

“Rally the men and kill them all,” he instructed. “Emrys is mine.”

Owain’s nostrils flared in response before he hurried away to do as he was bid, and Harry continued on his way, bringing his wand to bear once more to remove any who stepped into his path.

(Break)

“Your land is thriving, Fergus. Your father would be proud.”

The Irishman laughed hollowly as he stood and through a chicken bone to the ground.

“My father told me about you, Myrddin Emrys. He said that you’re as slippery as a snake, as cunning as a fox, and as sharp as any blade. I too am sharp. Now, speak of what you want and leave my lands before I change my mind about allowing you to do so with your life.”

Myrddin did not feel threatened by the man, nor the dozens of others within the Great Hall ready to draw their swords on him.

“I am only here to give you what it is you want, what your father failed to take.”

“And that is?”

“Land on the west coast of Britain, and Potter’s corpse.”

Fergus quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You have my attention, Myrddin Emrys. Speak. Tell me how this will come to be.”

“Potter and Peverell must die. It is their magic that protects the land they call their own. If they die, the magic fails, and it will be yours for the taking. Fortunately for you, Fergus, their entire army will be at Camelot. If you and yours strike when the time is right, both can be killed in one fell swoop.”

Fergus frowned thoughtfully as he paced back and forth, pondering the offer.

“Why? Why would you turn on them when it is Potter who is winning your war against the goblins?”

“Because it is for the best, Fergus. Harry Potter is too dangerous. Magically, and politically, he has become too powerful for one man. He is a dark wizard, and I have seen for myself that he will be the ruin of all I have strived for. He must be stopped.”

Fergus met his gaze before nodding cautiously.

“Then perhaps there is an accord to be reached between us, Myrddin.”

Seeing Potter eliminated was not a difficult decision to make. It would play on Myrddin’s conscious, not when he reminded himself of all that had led him to this very moment.

It was something of a shame that Owain Peverell had to die too, but such collateral damage was necessary.

He would not allow Potter’s death to go unpunished, and the last thing Britain needed was more between Peverell’s men and any they believed to be their enemies.

The loyalty to Potter was so deeply ingrained, but as Myrddin watched the violence unfold around him, he quickly realised that such loyalty had not only been instilled within those from the west, but in all magicals that had come together to face the threat of the goblins.

It was an unexpected development, and now, it appeared the Irish would serve as little more than a distraction whilst he resolved the problem that was Harry Potter.

It was no matter.

If anything, it would perhaps be for the best that the Irish were not so successful.

If enough were killed here, or if Fergus’s entire force was slaughtered, there need not be any loss to Arthur’s kingdom at all.

So long as Potter and Peverell died, that was all that mattered.

Not that such a feat would be easily achieved.

Despite the sudden and unexpected attack from the Irish, both men yet lived, and Harry Potter was stalking towards Myrddin, killing any who dared attempt to stop him.

“Damn!” he cursed irritably.

Thus far, all was not going to plan, and though Myrddin suspected he would likely have to face the wrath of Potter’s wife in the future, he’d been hopeful that his efforts here would bear fruit.

Perhaps they still could.

With a nod, he readied himself, his grip tightening around his wand as Potter drew closer to him, his eyes alight with an unbridled fury, much like they had been the night the two of them had rescued Guinevere when she’d been held captive.

Evidently, Potter had immediately seen the betrayal for what it was, but much unlike that night on the burning ship, there would be somewhat peaceful resolution.

No, the two of them would face one another here and now, and as Harry Potter unleashed the first flurry of spells towards Myrddin, he knew the task of subduing, let alone killing him would be the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do in his life.

(Break)

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

His vision was filled with the eerie green of the curse, and he all but froze as inevitable death descended upon him.

As he felt the air forced from his lungs by something ploughing into him, he thought that he was indeed dead, but he could still smell the faint tang of blood in the air, and the hard ground under his back.

Still, he remained frozen, though not from fear, but because something heavy was laid across his chest.

Salazar groaned as he tried to move it, stilling once more as he realised what it was holding him down.

“Godric!” he whispered, wriggling frantically to free himself.

After a moment of panicked flailing, he managed to shift the weight of the man just enough that he could slide himself free, but the sight of the lifeless eyes of his friend made him wish one of the many curses had collided with him.

Godric appeared to be at peace, his expression devoid of any emotion one would expect to see another experience in their final moments of living. There was no fear, no determination, and no indication of suffering.

It was as though the man had simply ceased to be, and Salazar cupped the cheek of his closest friend.

The two of them had experienced several fallouts over the years, had even come close to violent confrontations, but along with Helga and Rowena, they had built something quite incredible, and forged a lasting friendship whilst doing so.

Salazar could only shake his head as a tear rolled down his cheek.

The damned brave fool had not hesitated to save his life, had given his own so selflessly and likely done so without thought of the consequences to himself.

That was the Godric Gryffindor he knew.

He was bull-headed, stubborn, but the bravest and boldest man he’d ever met, down to his final fault.

He shook his head as he wiped another tear from his eye, still lost in the moment of loss, unaware of all that was unfolding around him.

“BASTARDS!”

The roar of anger pulled him from his thoughts, and Salazar peered up to see Owain Peverell nearby, his gaze flitting between the fallen Godric, and the many enemies they had not expected.

With his sword in one hand and wand in the other, it was as though he was possessed by something inhuman as he cursed and cut down all who dared engage him.

It was only then that Salazar realised just how furious he had become, his hands trembling from the anger pulsing throughout his veins.

Godric had been murdered by cowards; a most unfitting end to one so brave.

Gritting his teeth so forcefully he thought they might break under the strain, he stood and raised his own wand, unleashing a hiss, and an unparalleled misery on those who had dared take Godric from this world in such a manner.

(Break)

He paid little mind to what was happening around him, focusing only on clearing his way to Myrddin. Even when fighting Dark-Eye, he’d not allowed his anger to get the better of him, not like this.

Perhaps it was because the king of the goblins had little against him personally, but what Myrddin had done was nothing but.

Harry remembered the night on the ship the man had shown his true colours, and he had done so again here tonight, staging a cowardly atack in a bid to catch him off guard.

This time, however, it wasn’t just him he’d targeted.

No, the Irish that had arrived had not only taken aim at him, but many of those he had spent the past years fighting alongside, and even those he considered family.

Harry had expected that he and Myrddin would eventually come to blows.

He vividly remembered what the Lady of the lake had told him the first time he had been brought here. He’d never forgotten it, never allowed it to wander to far from his mind, and now, the moment the two of them were to fulfil a destiny of sorts had arrived.

There was no reason for any words to be exchanged between them.

Harry had nothing to say to the man. His actions had been clear enough, and he brought his wand down in an arcing motion, sending any near where the blinding bolt of lightning careened into the ground scattering, the same way animals fled an incoming storm.

His attack may not have struck down Myrddin as he’d intended, but to Harry, it didn’t matter.

The man would die for his transgressions against him, and his traitorous act against his own people.

Myrddin responded in kind, conjuring a ball of white light that he flung towards Harry, who caught it on the tip of his wand before hurling it into the sky. It flittered between a myriad of colours before exploding, raining down dozens of spells onto them.

Harry covered himself with a suitable shield, but neither he nor Myrddin remained idle, both firing spells towards one another which clashed in mid-air.

They circled around one another briefly before the latter struck again, only for Harry sweep aside the gout of fire to manipulate it for his own gain. The flames shifted from a brilliant orange to black flecked with green, and it surrounded the two of them at around knee height; a deadly barrier that began lunging towards his foe.

For his part, Myrddin defended himself well enough from the grasping flames, but it was clear he was concerned by them, unfamiliar, and improvising his defence as the duel progressed.

In a bid to quash them, he fired another spell, only for the fire to increase in size, though his efforts did subdue them somewhat, the snatching limbs that formed becoming less frequent in their attacks.

Harry nodded appreciatively.

The defence the man had mustered was not conventional, but he’d certainly snuffed the magic enough so that the duel could continue in earnest, though it would still be foolish to wander too close to the flames.

Just smallest amount of contact with human flesh would see the victim engulfed entirely and burned until only the blackened bones remained.

Myrddin may not know that, but he could undoubtedly sense the danger permeating from the magic itself that he so steadfastly opposed.

Even so, he remained undeterred, and a loud explosion sounded from the tip of his wand as he sent forth a large flock of doves towards Harry.

He immediately sensed what would come of him if they were to succeed in reaching him, so he responded in kind, though his birds were his chosen crows.

They mingled amongst themselves, fluttering past both Myrddin and Harry, each fending off the other, preventing them from harming their caster.

Not that either were safe from them, and Harry kept a close eye on the doves as he continued his assault, only for Myrddin to respond in kind, the back and forth continuing between them, though Harry was not content in allowing it to remain so.

No, he would not see this delve into a tit for tat exchange, not when he wanted the man dead just as badly as he had Tom Riddle.

(Break)

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, dragging Lancelot backwards by the collar of the tunic as Harry and Myrddin continued their fight in vain.

It was not safe to be within at least a hundred feet of them, the magic they wielded devastating anything caught up in it.

“What the hell is going on?” Lancelot asked.

Owain shook his head.

“It’s been a long time coming,” he sighed, surveying the scene around them.

The Irish had been quickly subdued.

Myrddin had not evidently considered that the magicals here were loyal to Harry and had immediately come together to rid themselves of the unexpected threat.

“But Myrddin…”

“Is a damned fool who is set in his ways. He believes Harry to be a threat to everything he has worked for.”

Lancelot shook his head.

“That’s not Harry.”

“No, but Myrddin can’t see it. He sees Harry differently to us, for reasons known only to him. He’s a damned fool, and he can expect no mercy this time.”

“This time?”

Owain snorted.

“He tried to kill Harry once before, the night they both rescued Guinevere when she’d been captured.”

“I just don’t get it.”

“Myrddin is not used to meeting others as powerful as him. He is an excellent wizard, but he is no warrior, not like Harry.”

Lancelot said nothing for a moment as he watched the fight unfold, his eyes widening at the myriad of colours that light up the darkness of the night and the destruction the two men wrought.

Even Owain was taken aback by the display.

He’d always known Harry was exceptional, and Myrddin’s reputation certainly preceded him, but the two of them at odds in such a way was unlike anything he could’ve imagined.

“Is this what hell looks like, Owain?”

“Aye, I expect it is.”

The two of them retreated further with the others looking on, none wishing to intervene.

Even if any was capable of stopping what continued to unfold just a short distance from Camelot, they would not be inclined to.

Owain continued to look to on, wincing as trees were torn asunder by the force of the magic the two wielded, how they conjured a myriad of objects to use as projectiles in between hurling spells that caused the ground to tremble towards one another.

The night sky was lit up by them, the very air smelled of violent magic, and it sounded nothing short of an ongoing crescendo, the sound of the warring magicks colliding loud enough to hurt the ears of those watching so helplessly.

“My god, they’re really going to kill each other, aren’t they?” Lancelot gasped.

Owain nodded.

“One of them will die. It has been a long time coming, and tonight, it ends.”

Neither said anything else as they watched with rapt attention, wincing and grimacing as the earth shook, courtesy of two men intent on killing one another.

(Break)

It was undeniable that Myrddin was an exceedingly powerful wizard. He had a command over magic like no other Harry had met, but for all of his brilliance and creativity, he lacked the ruthlessness that had made Tom Riddle such a formidable foe.

There were moments during their exchanges that Harry noticed the man almost questioning himself, hesitating for just the briefest of seconds before casting a spell, and he seemed more intent on trying to lead Harry into making a mistake that would see him succumb to his own efforts.

It somewhat mitigated the threat but made Myrddin no less dangerous.

He was a cunning wizard, creative with his tools, and as he raised his wand once more, Harry did not miss the expression of focus.

The offering sounded like the blast of a canon, and the purple beam of magic that was hurled towards him shifted into a fist, tearing the air from is lungs as it collided with his shield.

Harry, however, stood his ground well, twirled his own wand in response and conjured dozens of knives which he banished towards Myrddin.

The man’s eyes widened, and he created a wall of water between himself and the projectiles, capturing them with before sending it back towards Harry in an almighty wave.

Along with his own knives he could see being churned around the choppy waters, the volatile ravens, doves, and anything within the vortex of magic was caught up.

Knowing that he could not allow it to reach him, Harry redirected the impending, splitting it down the middle, so that it gushed either side of him.

Spinning his wand in his hand, it coalesce once more, staying at his back whilst he was forced to defend himself from another onslaught of magic from Myrddin.

Spells continued to come towards him, and he used his nimble footwork to avoid the myriad of lights, sweep aside others that came into his path, and push back against anything attempting to shove him backwards into the torrential waters Myrddin was intent on implementing.

Once more, Harry held firm and even manged to land a glancing blow with a cutting curse that tore open Myrddin’s cheek.

He staggered backwards, his eyes widening in shock.

It was likely the first time any had challenged him in such a way, let alone wounded him.

Even so, he seemed to take it in his stride well enough and continue don with his efforts to end the duel on his own terms, but Harry’s own composure did not waver.

He watched Myrddin’s wand closely as the man cast his spells in an attempt to find any pattern to his work, but there wasn’t any.

Despite not being such a veteran of war, he was not foolish enough to fall into habitual offerings, but for what he possessed in his creativity, Harry knew it wouldn’t be enough, even when he unleashed a guttural roar and an enormous eagle barrelled towards him, screeching as it attempted to dismember Harry with its claws.

It served to distract him from his own efforts, but Myrddin took the opportunity to become relentless in his own, firing spell after spell that Harry was hard-pressed to deflect or defend himself against, though the tact proved to be to Myrddin’s own detriment.

Having cast a powerful blasting curse towards Harry, who was occupied in his efforts to keep all of his limbs, he did not expect him to react so quickly in diverting the spell towards the eagle.

The creature screeched as a large hole was blown through its chest, but it did not even hit the ground before Harry utilised the remains.

With a wave of his wand and a muttered incantation, the eyes of the bird shifted from gold to red, and it bellowed before swooping towards Myrddin, the dark magic oozing from the wound in its chest coating the brilliant white shield he’d conjured to defend himself.

Seeing his own opportunity to strike a significant blow, Harry’s attention turned to the turbulent waters behind him. Raising both his wand and free hand, he began hissing, manipulating the water, the captured spells and projectiles within, and unleashed them upon the unsuspecting Myrddin.

The gout of water lunged forwards, coalescing into an enormous serpent before it crashed against the man’s tainted shield.

The force of the blow sent Harry skidding through the resulting mud, and though the wind was knocked out of him, his foe was in a much worse state.

Struggling to his feet, Harry summoned the wand that Myrddin had dropped, pocketing it before following suit with his discarded sword.

Catching it, he approached his downed opponent.

Myrddin was still alive, but already, he was not long for this world.

Evidently, he had managed to defend himself from some of the attack, but not enough to see him continue their duel, let alone survive to see what was to come after the goblin rebellion.

In his own way, Harry felt bad for the man, but any sense of sympathy he felt evaporated as he remembered all he had done; the transgressions against him, against his wife, and any other who dared speak or act out against his damned vision for the world.

Myrddin wheezed as Harry reached him.

Most would’ve already perished from the wounds that littered his body, a testament to the man’s will.

Nonetheless, he would be gone in a matter of moments at best, and Harry took a knee next to his fallen foe.

“It was never set in stone who would emerge victorious,” he murmured. “The stars only showed me you, that your vision and mine would not be the same.”

Harry shook his head.

“I had no vision for the world. I only wanted to live in peace.”

“And yet, you have been the one to shape it,” Myrddin pointed out, grimacing in discomfort. “I do not regret what I have done, Harry Potter. Perhaps some outcomes were undesirable, but I did what I felt was right. Still, it wasn’t enough. You won.”

“It was never about winning,” Harry huffed irritably, “and you put too much stock in what the stars have to say.”

Myrddin shook his head.

“They did not steer me wrong,” he said firmly. “Despite where I find myself now, they were not wrong about you. Perhaps that is a lesson you can learn from. The stars may lead you down a path, your own path, even if you do not believe it, but it will always be the right one. It seems that this was my destiny all along, but I would ask one thing of you, from one great wizard to another.”

Harry nodded in response.

“Keep Arthur safe. Despite our differences, he is a good king, and an even better man. Whatever you choose to do now with your influence, just ensure he fares well.”

“Do you think I would do anything less?”

“No, but I had to say it. We have both played our parts in Arthur’s efforts, and Britain, for the most part, is at peace for it now. The Wizard’s Council cannot oppose you, and I expect they will treat with you rather than attempt to do so. My final piece of advice would be to do so. Let there be peace, Harry Potter. These past years have seen too much war.”

“They have,” Harry agreed, “but it was necessary to be where we are now.”

Myrddin offered him a weak smile before falling still, undoubtedly disappointed that his vision would no longer come to pass but comforted by Harry’s promise to watch over the king they had both served in their own way, even if it hadn’t always been for the best.

“He’s gone?” Owain asked as those that had retreated cautiously approached.

Harry only nodded in response, his mind wandering to the very chilly February morning so many years prior that had led to this moment.

The Lady of the Lake had known his life would lead to this moment and try as he might to avoid it and even mitigate it, she had been right.

It was a lesson he would not forget, but one he hoped he ‘d not need reminding of.

For now, he could indeed be at peace, he could live without the burden of prophecies or interfering beings leading him to another pivotal moment like this one here, or when he had triumphed over Voldemort.

To Harry Potter, that was greatest of gifts, and one he had more than earned through his own trials and tribulations, overcoming the odds, and fighting for all that mattered to him.

Now, he could return home to his family, to Hogwarts, and he wasn’t sure if or when he would ever have the desire to leave either again.