Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 137: Goodbye
Harry turned around slowly, his body screaming in protest. Every muscle, every bone felt like it had been shattered and roughly pieced back together.
Arthur was on his knees, the glow in his eyes continuing to dim.
When he spoke Merlin's name, his voice sounded almost like his old self.
Harry approached slowly, warily. Even without the stone, Arthur was still a dangerous warrior. But the king made no move to attack. He simply knelt there, his body trembling, his hands resting on his knees.
"Arthur…" he said, stopping a few feet away. "Is there truly something left of you in there?"
Arthur let out a weak laugh. "I feel like I've been asleep for fifteen hundred years… and woken up to a nightmare." He looked down at his hands… at the cracked armor, the black ichor, the ruin of his body. "I remember everything, Merlin. Every death, every betrayal, and every innocent I slaughtered."
His voice cracked.
"I killed them. My knights. My wife… I destroyed Camelot. I spent centuries spreading hatred across the world. And for what? Because a stone whispered lies in my ear?"
Harry shook his head. "The stone amplified what was already there. But it wasn't you, Arthur. Not the real you."
"Wasn't it?" Arthur looked up, and his eyes were filled with tears. "The jealousy, the anger, the fear… those were mine. The stone just permitted them to grow."
Harry had nothing to add, even if he knew how powerful the influence of that black stone could have been.
He had seen what this black tome had caused while in the hands of normal humans.
Arthur had been an extraordinary man, but without Excalibur, his body was no more resistant to the influence of the cursed artifact than any normal man.
Harry knelt across from Arthur, bringing himself to eye level.
"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered. "For everything… I'm sorry, Merlin."
Harry could not bring himself to say anything in response. Even though he knew that this was not truly his fault, he could not just say that he was forgiven after all the pain that he had caused.
Instead, he reached out and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder in a reassuring manner. The armor crumbled at his touch, flakes of blackened metal falling away like dead leaves.
Arthur's body began to tremble violently. Cracks spread across his skin… not from battle, but from age. Centuries of decay, held back only by the stone's power, were now catching up all at once.
"I suppose… this is it," Arthur said. "This is goodbye."
"Arthur…" Harry muttered his name.
"Don't mourn me, old friend. I've had more time than anyone deserves." Arthur's form was becoming translucent, golden motes of light rising from his body. "Tell Morgan… tell her I'm sorry. Tell her she was right, about everything."
"I'll tell her," Harry promised.
Arthur's eyes locked onto Harry's. "And Merlin? Thank you. For not giving up on me. For freeing me from that thing."
"You were my king," Harry said. "And my friend. I could do no less."
Arthur smiled… a real smile, warm and sad.
His body began to dissolve into particles of light. Faint, golden motes rose from his armor, his skin, his hair. The corruption fell away, revealing the man beneath… young again, handsome again, the king Harry had once served.
"Goodbye, Merlin," Arthur whispered.
Then he was gone.
The golden light scattered like stars, rising toward the ceiling of the chamber, fading into nothing.
Harry knelt alone. He reached out and picked up one small remnant… a single, untainted piece of Arthur's armor, no larger than a coin. He closed his fingers around it and pressed it to his chest.
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The purple mist filling the chamber began to dissipate. Without the stone to sustain it, the corruption evaporated like morning dew. The torches on the walls returned to their normal orange glow.
Outside the chamber, Harry heard two loud crashes. The sounds of bodies collapsing. Gareth and Lucan. Without the stone's power, the necromancy holding them together had failed. They were finally at rest.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Morgan burst through the cracked door. Her robes were torn, her face streaked with soot and black blood. She had clearly fought hard to get here.
"Merlin!" She stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene… shattered stone fragments scattered across the floor, the absence of Arthur, and Harry kneeling alone in the center of the chamber.
"It's over," Harry said, his voice hoarse. "Arthur is gone. The source of his corruption has been vanquished."
Morgan's eyes widened. She lowered her staff and walked slowly toward him. "Are you… are you alright?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer—
And collapsed.
Morgan caught him before he hit the floor. "Merlin!"
She laid him down gently, her hands checking for wounds. Then she saw it… she spotted the deep gash on his right shoulder. The cut had been made by Arthur's dark blade, and it was oozing a thick, purple ichor.
Morgan's blood ran cold. She recognized that substance.
"Poison," she whispered. "The corruption… It's poisoning you."
She examined Harry's face. His skin was pale, his lips had turned blue. The veins in his neck and arms were turning black, spreading like cracks in glass.
He was starting to convulse, his body fighting against the toxin.
"No, no, no…" Morgan pressed her hands against the wound, trying to stem the flow, but the ichor was already in his bloodstream. She could feel his heartbeat slowing down.
"Morgan…" Harry's voice was barely a whisper. His green eyes fluttered open.
"No…" Morgan snapped. "You are NOT dying! Not after everything we went through. Not after getting you back."
Her mind raced, trying to find a solution. She had brought some healing potions, but no antidotes.
"Wait!…" She just recalled something.
The Lady of the Lake and the gift she gave to Harry… the Panacea.
"The potion!" she gasped. "Harry, the vial! Where is it?!"
Harry's hand moved weakly to his robes. Morgan tore open the fabric and found a small vial. Panacea was the most powerful healing potion in the world. A legendary substance capable of curing any illness, any poison, any wound.
She remembered dividing it into two halves. One for her. One for him. She had kept her half hidden away in her shop, never needing it. But Harry's half was here.
She uncorked the vial. The liquid inside glowed with a soft, golden light.
"Hold on," she said. "Hold on, Harry."
She poured half of the contents into his mouth, tilting his head back to make him swallow. Then she tore open his robes and poured the remaining half directly onto the wound.
The effect was immediate.
The golden liquid seeped into the gash, hissing as it came into contact with the purple ichor. Harry's body arched off the floor, a strangled cry escaping his lips.
The black veins in his skin began to recede, retreating from his face, his neck, his arms. Color returned to his cheeks, and his heartbeat steadied.
Morgan watched, barely breathing, as the wound closed. The purple ichor evaporated, leaving behind only healthy, pink scar tissue.
Harry's eyes opened. "Morgan…" he whispered.
She pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly. Her body was shaking from fear...the fear of almost losing him.
"You idiot," she said, her voice muffled against his hair. "You absolute idiot."
Harry laughed weakly. "I've been called worse."
She pulled back and looked at him. His face was still pale, but alive.
"It's over," Harry said again. "Arthur is gone. The stone is destroyed. The Argent Flame has no leader. Whatever is left will soon disband."
Morgan glanced over at the remnants of her brother. At the scattering of dust and ash where Arthur had knelt. She felt a strange pang in her chest. Grief? Relief? Both?
"He asked me to tell you something," Harry said quietly. "Before the end."
Morgan's jaw tightened. "What?"
"He said he was sorry. And that you were right about everything."
Morgan was silent for a long moment. Then she stood and walked to where Arthur's remains lay. She pulled out a small, empty container from her robes and knelt down.
Carefully, she gathered the ashes and dust that had been her brother. A few golden motes still glowed faintly among the grey.
"I'll spread them over the land that was once Camelot," she said, her voice soft. "It's where he belonged. Where he should have been laid to rest centuries ago."
Harry pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. He walked to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"He loved you," Harry said. "Even at the end. The stone twisted it, but the love was still there."
Morgan closed the container and stood. "It's over," she said.
Harry nodded. "It is."
They stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by the ruins of the chamber, the shattered remnants of the black stone, and the echoes of a war that had lasted fifteen hundred years.
Then Morgan stepped forward, grabbed Harry by the collar, and kissed him.
It was a fierce kiss, desperate and full of everything she had almost lost. Harry kissed her back, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard.
"Don't ever scare me like that again," Morgan said.
Harry smiled… a real smile, tired but happy. "I'll try."
Morgan glanced over at the container in her hand, then at the chamber door. "We should leave. This place won't stay stable for much longer."
Harry picked up Excalibur, its runes glowing softly, and strapped it to his back.
He looked around the chamber one last time and then spoke again. "Let's go home," he said.
They walked out together, leaving the darkness behind.