Another part of my MoD!Harry series in which Harry interacts with lots of other fandoms. There were grand plans for this, but I think it's fine as a one-shot. Title comes from 'Til Kingdom Come' by Coldplay, which is a top ten methur song tbh
Being the Master of Death meant that Harry mostly worked with, well, the dead. However, there were some occasions when he had to deal with life. For the most part, Harry could do as he pleased, but every so often he'd be given a task. By whom he couldn't really say, but he assumed it was Death or one of her equally mysterious and mythical coworkers.
Harry knew things were going to get interesting when he came in to find a file on his desk labeled 'Pendragon, Arthur'.
As expected, included in the file was a record of Arthur's death. Some divisions of the afterlife called them Cinematic Records, and every death had one. Ground-level associates could view them only during the collection of the soul, but as Death's Master Harry had certain privileges. Similar to memories, they could be viewed with a Pensieve. Not just any Penseive, but one specifically for the Master of Death's use.
At once, Harry summoned his Penseive and poured in the death record. He'd worked with some famous people before, but this was King Arthur, a legend as great as Merlin himself. This was a once-in-a-lifetime event, even for an extended lifetime such as his. Harry stuck his face in the bowl and settled in to watch.
The scene he came across was a somber one; nothing unusual, really. Death records were rarely happy things. But this one struck Harry as being more somber than most. Two young men were on the shore of a lake; one fair and one dark of hair. One of them was very clearly on the verge of death. That would be King Arthur, then. If Harry had to guess, he'd say the dark haired one was the legendary Merlin. He was struck by how young they both were. Merlin was always painted as a wise old man and Arthur a great and noble king, but here there were just two friends. Two best friends, and nothing more.
"Stay with me," Merlin sobbed.
"Just- just hold me." Arthur struggled to say. Merlin could do nothing but comply, and hold his best friend even tighter.
The unspoken I love you rang in the silence.
The King died, and Harry felt the land's magic react. Considering who was witness, Harry wouldn't be surprised if magic itself was mourning along with Merlin. The raw power coming from the unassuming man was awe-inspiring.
Harry watched as Merlin conjured a white boat and laid the King in it, rearranging him so that he lay with his hands on his chest and his cape proudly displaying the crest of Camelot. With a final touch and a few words, Merlin tearfully bade goodbye to his best friend. The boat pulled away from the shore and smoothly sailed itself into the mists of the lake. Merlin watched it go, watched even after it disappeared. Finally, he looked down to the sword lying in the grass. Excalibur. Picking it up, the warlock seemed to consider it before throwing it at the lake. It sailed, end over end, before landing in the grip of a pale hand that came up out of the water.
It looked like Harry needed to go track down Merlin. Albion's need was greater than ever before.
The Once and Future King would rise again.