Come Death, Come
The grip of the man was feeble at best, much like the rest of his body, and Owain could only shake his head sadly as he sat vigil by his ailing father's bed.
Ignotus Peverell had always been so strong, quiet and observant for the most part, but not lacking in the strength that filled those around him with confidence. Now, however, he was not so.
His body had been deteriorating for some years now, but until most recently, his mind had remained sound.
The moments of lucidity had become less frequent these past several days, and he spent his waking hours speaking with those long dead.
Owain had never met his Uncle Antioch or Uncle Cadmus, but the way his father spoke with them throughout his delirium spoke of the fondness they had for one another.
As much as it was nice to see him smile, it was equally painful to see his father's mind following his body.
Owain was at a loss to what could be done.
Nothing.
Morgana had visited several times to check him over, and despite her best efforts, she'd only been able to alleviate his symptoms temporarily; something his father had insisted be halted during one of his moments of clarity.
Whatever it was ailing him would soon be the end of Ignotus Peverell, and all Owain could do was be by his father's side until the very end.
"How is he?" Anwen asked as she entered the room to bring the man some broth.
It was all he'd eaten for weeks now but had not touched any the past few days.
Owain could only shake his head.
"No better, but no worse," he murmured.
Anwen gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze before taking her leave of the room, but it was the squeeze of his hand that brought him immediately back to his maudlin moment.
"Owain?" his father whispered.
"I'm here, father," Owain assured the man. "I'm not going anywhere."
The man offered him a fond smile, and for the first time in a number of days, his eyes were devoid of the glaze that had clouded them.
"You're a good boy," Ignotus praised, attempting to push himself up onto his pillow.
"Father, you should be resting."
Ignotus waved him of.
"I'll be doing enough of the soon enough," he said dismissively. "Come on, boy, help me."
Reluctantly, Owain did so, and when his father was propped up, he spotted the bowl of broth on the bedside table before grimacing.
"Water?" Owain asked.
Ignotus nodded appreciatively and managed to take a few small sips before he felt drained from the effort.
Nonetheless, he chuckled as he shook his head.
"It won't be long now," he sighed. "He'll be here soon enough."
"Who?"
"Death, my boy. Our reunion has been a long time coming."
It was said without a lack of fear, but a mere acceptance of what was to come.
Even when Owain opened his mouth to protest, his father held up a trembling hand.
"No man can avoid it," he said as firmly as he could. "You already have the cloak, and you will have my story when I am gone. We were fools indeed, Owain, but I have no regrets. My life has been full, and I will soon be with those who departed before me. You have your family, and I cannot tell you how proud I am of you."
Owain swallowed deeply as he nodded.
"I know, father."
Ignotus squeezed his hand once more, this time with a little more vigour.
"I would have you send for Harry for me," he requested. "I have words to share with him before my time is done."
"Of course," Owain complied as he stood.
Ignotus offered him a smile, and Owain left the room briefly to get a message to the other man.
His disappearance had been difficult to come to terms with, but his return had been quite the boon.
For the better part of eighteen moons, he had spent much time here, helping the locals and reconnecting with the Peverells.
He had been missed, and Owain was glad to have him back, perhaps even more so knowing that his father would soon depart. He would need Harry to help him whilst he inevitably grieved.
With a shake of his head, he sent the message before making his way back towards where his father rested.
How long the man had left, Owain didn't know, but he suspected it could only be a matter of a few days before he was no longer with them.
(Break)
He'd scarcely taken his eyes off the boy since he'd come into the world.
Every little thing he did was fascinating to Harry, from the way he yawned when he was sleepy, to the way he reached to touch his face whilst he held him.
He'd never expected that he could immediately love something so wholeheartedly, had not understood the magic that had protected him during his formative years courtesy of his mother, but now he did.
There was simply nothing more powerful than the love of a mother or father for their children.
Still, despite the months of watching a pregnant Morgana waddle about their home, the preparations, and already the lack of sleep, he couldn't believe he was a father.
"Any thoughts on names yet?" Salazar asked, taking the boy from him.
Harry shook his head.
"No, not yet," he yawned. "I will leave that to Morgana."
Salazar nodded as he smiled at the sleeping babe.
"Cherish it, Harry," he urged. "They grow up so quickly."
"You miss your children."
"Always," Salazar replied, "but they are living their lives as they wish. They write regularly enough, and I saw two of my sons only last year. My daughter is expecting another girl of her own and has promised to send her to Hogwarts to be educated."
"Then you have that to look forward to."
Salazar nodded once more, shaking his head as Godric began snoring in the chair he was snoozing in.
Morgana too was having some much-needed rest.
She'd woken up to feed their son, and neither she nor Harry had said much as she did so, both content to simply revel in the presence of the boy.
"I think he might be hungry again," Salazar chuckled as the babe began to fuss once more.
"Bring him here," Morgana called tiredly from the adjoining room.
Harry relieved Salazar of his little burden, and headed into the room, where he found his wife to be quite awake, but Helga to be seeping soundly in a chair, much like Godric.
"You'd think it was this lot that had given birth," he chuckled as he handed Morgana the boy.
She nodded as she took the boy from Harry.
"How're you feeling?" he asked.
"Tired," she answered immediately, "but it was worth every second."
She looked upon the now feeding boy with just as much love as Harry felt for him, and though neither had ever felt that their lives together were unfulfilled, there was no denying just how much more the babe brought them.
"Any ideas what we are going to name him?" Morgana asked. "We can't keep referring to him as the boy."
Harry snorted amusedly.
"I have no idea," he answered honestly.
Morgana frowned thoughtfully, and the two of them were disturbed by a knock at the door.
"Harry, there's a Thestral outside carrying a letter," Salazar informed him.
He immediately felt his heart sink to his stomach.
"Ignotus," he said worriedly.
"Go," Morgana urged. "We'll be here when you come back."
Harry nodded as he stood.
He knew what the letter meant.
Ignotus was not long for this world, and he was being summoned to say his goodbyes to the man who had come to mean so much to him over the years they had come to one another.
"Taran," Morgana called.
Harry paused at the door, offering his wife as warm a smile he could muster.
"For the storm that brought us together."
"For the storm that brought us together," his wife echoed fondly. "Taran Potter."
He nodded his agreement.
It was an apt name, a strong name for a boy who would undoubtedly be strong himself.
"Taran," he spoke aloud before taking his leave of the home, retrieving the letter the Thestral carried in its mouth.
Unrolling it, he took in the simple missive and released a deep breath.
My Father wishes to speak with you.
Owain
I was indeed time, and though Harry was not ready to say farewell to the Peverell patriarch, he had known this day was coming.
Ignotus's condition had only worsened this past year, and the man had done exceedingly well to hold on for as long as he had.
Soon enough, however, he would embrace Death as an old friend, just the way he had always insisted on doing when his time was up.
(Break)
"You must be calm, Willan," Myrddin urged.
"Calm?" the man scoffed. "He took my boy!"
"Because your son was hosting a most distasteful sport. You will find very little sympathy amongst your peers for what Dustin has done. The evidence against him is overwhelming, and you must remember, Arthur is the king of all Britain. We may be magical, but he is not a man you wish to find yourself on the wrong side of. Such a thing would only lead to considerable loss and bloodshed."
"He is only king because you made it so!"
"No, he is king because the stars willed it," Myrddin countered firmly. "It would be best if an accord can be reached."
Willan's nostrils flared.
"And what of my son? This Potter cut his hand off."
"And by Arthur's own laws, he could've taken his life."
"He is one of us! He is beholden to our laws!"
"Our own laws dictate much the same," Myrddin pointed out. "From what I have managed to gather by visiting the scene myself, Dustin and his companions were seeking to round up muggles like cattle with the intention of hunting them, something he has been doing for some time. You may not like it, but you hold no advantage here, and Potter is not a man to cross lightly. Even you must have heard his tales."
Willan snorted.
"Shite," he declared. "The stories surrounding him are ludicrous!"
"And yet, I have witnessed his feats for myself. You do not doubt my word, do you, old friend?"
Willan frowned.
"There is truth to them?"
"All of them are true," Myrddin assured him. "Without Potter, or the Crow as he is known, Guthrum's dead would have swept across the country like a plague, and Camelot would have likely fallen whilst Arthur's reign was in its infancy."
"So, he truly killed a dragon?"
Myrddin nodded.
"He is a powerful wizard, Willan, more so than any other I have met except for myself, but it is prowess in matters of war that should concern you. He is a warrior unlike no other, and his highly respected by the king himself, and amongst our own kind."
"So, I should allow what has happened to pass without repercussion?"
Myrddin shook his head.
"No, but for the time being, diplomacy is for the best. When the time is right, you will have your vengeance. Patience, old friend. Appear pious before Arthur. He will be your greatest ally in the years to come."
Willan's jaw clenched as he pondered the predicament.
"Do not think that it has gone unnoticed that it is because of you our worlds have been brought together. Were it anyone else interfering, Myrddin Emrys, they would have been eliminated long ago."
"I only do what the stars bid," Myrddin replied. "For now, heed my advice. We do not need war between our people and the muggles. Your time will come."
Willan hummed.
"And what of Potter?"
Myrddin deflated, the vision he'd witnessed so many years prior coming to the forefront of his mind.
"His time will come too, old friend, and I would have your assistance when it does, along with the rest of the council."
Willan nodded thoughtfully.
"Very well, but he cannot be allowed to get away with this in the interim. I am curious to see this man for myself. I will discuss it with the others and summon him to explain his actions, but I will not act against him yet. Not until I have a measure of Harry Potter."
Given the rather dire circumstances, it was the best Myrddin could hope.
Although he did not condone the hunting of muggles for sport, Potter could not have picked a worse man to apprehend for such a thing. Willan Rookwood was a prickly man at best and carried much influence amongst his peers of the Wizard's Council.
Even so, that influence would not be enough to justify what Dustin had done.
What Myrddin did not understand was the damned foolish brazenness of it.
He could admit he had not paid enough attention to all that was happening, and Myrddin could not deny that there had indeed been an increase in unpleasant incidents involving magicals taking liberties with their muggle counterparts.
He expected problems, but nothing like this.
From now on, he would need to keep a closer eyes on things and perhaps employ more informants across the length and breadth of Britain to avoid further unpleasantness, and ensure Potter had no reason to alert Arthur.
The king had become a strong-willed man and was fiercely protective of his subjects.
He would not take kindly to further incidents, and it was something Myrddin would need to put a stop to.
Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he entered the throne room where Arthur was holding court.
"I have managed to find Dustin's father," he explained. "He will arrive in two days from now to discuss the matter."
Myrddin had urged the man to allow the king's temper to abate before arriving, though judging by Arthur's thunderous expression, it would remain until he felt justice had been done.
The man merely responded with a nod but said nothing.
For now, Dustin would remain in the dungeons, bereft of his wand hand, a revelation Willan had not taken well.
The man would indeed bide his time until he acted, and Myrddin hoped to mediate the situation well enough that it would not be Arthur that faced the brunt of it.
Amongst the magicals, Willan was a powerful man, and if he could garner the support of his colleagues, it could spell considerable trouble.
Potter was too stubborn to back down, and the Wizard's Council could not all one man to flout their authority.
Myrddin shook his head at the thought.
A war amongst the magicals could be as devastating as a war between Arthur and the Wizard's Council.
Either were most undesirable, and Myrddin could only hope that, given time, any animosity would fade.
Perhaps a suitable accord could be reached.
For that, he would have to speak to Harry Potter on the matter and urge him to appear humble in front of the council; a stretch, but necessary to avoid a fallout that few could comprehend.
(Break)
It was strange to shift so suddenly from what was undoubtedly one of the greatest moments of his life to finding himself in one so sombre almost immediately after, but as Harry looked upon the frail frame of Ignotus Peverell, he could not deny that this would undoubtedly be the last time he saw the man.
"Is that you, Harry?"
He nodded as he took a seat at the bedside.
"It's me, Ignotus."
The old man offered him a fond smile.
"I thought as much. I could feel it."
"You could feel it?"
Even the man's eyes were pale when he opened them, and he offered Harry a conspiratorial wink.
"You found the others. I can feel them. I could feel you had even before you arrived, during the storm."
Harry did not need to consider Ignotus's words. He immediately knew what was being referred to.
"I did," he confirmed.
"And are they everything you hoped?"
"I can't say I purposely searched for them. One I took out of necessity, and the other inadvertently found itself in my possession," Harry explained as he removed the wand and stone he'd taken to carrying with him.
"It has been so long since I saw either," Ignotus sighed. "My brothers were foolish for choosing them, but I cannot fault their decisions. Antioch could have done much good in the world had he not been a braggart, but the stone…"
He broke off disappointedly.
"It could never have ben what Cadmus wished, but perhaps it will serve you better."
"I have no intention of raising the dead."
"No, I do not expect you do," Ignotus chuckled, "but it may be of use, nonetheless. Keep them close, Harry. They may just be what you need. Death is a powerful an ally as he is a foe. Can you feel him close?"
Harry nodded to himself.
"Always," he murmured.
Ignotus smiled once more.
"What about now? How close is he? Take them in hand," he urged, nodding towards the Hallows.
Tentatively, Harry did so and shuddered as the magic washed over him, though it did not feel unpleasantly intrusive. It was merely something familiar, only stronger.
"It is closer."
Ignotus hummed.
"He will arrive soon enough," he chuckled. "Now, I will pass in the knowledge our home is in yours and Owain's safe hands, and when the time is right, Aeron will stand in his father's place."
"And my own son in mine."
"Your son?" Ignotus whispered, grasping for Harry's hands. "Oh, my dear boy, the babe arrived."
"Late last night," Harry said with a smile. "We named him Taran."
"For the storm," Ignotus acknowledged proudly. "Yes, he will be a strong wizard, just like his mother and father. Godric's Hollow truly is in the safest of hands, but do not forsake him, Harry. You possess his gifts and he shall not be shunned. Death is not to be feared, my boy, not when your are his ally."
"Were you his ally?"
Ignotus snorted as he shook his head.
"No, he despised us for what he did, but not you. The magic of the Hallows welcomes you. I can sense that they will become one with you. Allow them to, Harry. Your journey is far from done."
Harry nodded and squeezed the man's hand, nodding towards Owain as he entered the room.
"Did you hear the news, son?" Ignotus asked excitedly. "Harry has a son!"
"A son?" Owain said fondly. "And a fine boy he will be."
He offered Harry a smile, but it was quickly replaced with a look of concern as he looked towards his father.
Ignotus had all but frozen as he stared at the corner of the room.
"And so he comes for me," he whispered.
Although Harry could not see it, he could feel the change in the air, a presence that grew stronger by the second, and Ignotus's gaze shifted between Harry and Owain.
"You are good boys," he said affectionately. "Be there for one another, and for our people. We will meet again when the time comes."
He sunk into the mattress, and Harry felt the grip on his hand slacken as Ignotus Peverell breathed his last.
As far as deaths went that Harry had witnessed, this was the most peaceful of them, but it was no less harrowing for him to see someone he'd come to care for so deeply pass on.
Shifting his gaze towards Owain, he saw the steady stream of tears spilling down his cheeks, and all he could do in the moment was pull his friend into a tight embrace whilst he mourned for his father that was no longer with them.
(Break)
She groaned in a mixture of discomfort and relief as she slid herself into the steaming water. Morgana was sore, and would be for a number of days yet, but the bath quickly proved to be exactly what she needed to alleviate the aches of giving birth.
Currently, Taran was with Helga, who was checking him over once more to ensure he was as healthy as could be.
The woman was more concerned about the boy than Morgana herself, but she was grateful Helga had been there to help her through the ordeal.
Still, she stood by her words.
Every moment of pain had been worth it the moment she held her son in her arms.
Already, he looked much like Harry and even had the same eyes as the man that had sired him.
Thoughts of both elicited a feeling of warmth within Morgana, a feeling that her life was just that much more meaningful.
Not that it hadn't been before.
All she and Harry had shared together had always been enough for her, but sharing a child was another thread that connected them together.
Taran would be loved by both his mother and father, more than the babe could ever understand.
Allowing her thoughts to continue to wander, Morgana remained in the bath for some time before taking her leave off it, drying herself off and dressing before entering the living area, where she found that a rather deflated Harry had returned.
He didn't need to say anything, and Morgana closed the distance between them before wrapping her arms around his neck.
"He's gone," Harry said simply. "He went peacefully."
Morgana nodded and placed a kiss on his cheek, frowning as he held up a piece of parchment.
"A summons from the Wizard's Council," he snorted. "They wish to meet with me."
Morgana could only shake her head.
"What will you do?"
"I'm going to meet with them," Harry declared. "I would like to meet those who believe they have the right to exert themselves without any authority."
"Are you going to cause trouble?" Morgana sighed amusedly.
"Probably," Harry answered with a shrug, "but they can wait until I am ready. For now, I want nothing more than to see Ignotus buried and spend some time with my wife and son. Fuck everything else."
"Language!" Morgana chided.
"It's not as though he can understand me."
"No, but it is a bad habit. I will not have our son cursing the way you do, Harry Potter."
"Being around Godric, that's unavoidable."
The Founder in question was affronted, though he could not deny that his own language was often colourful.
"I won't swear in front of the little bugger."
Morgana quirked an eyebrow at the man, though she realised just how well protected her son would be.
Between her and Harry, she did not doubt that there was nothing that could hope to harm Taran, but with Helga, Salazar, Godric, and even Owain, there truly was nothing that could hope to get near enough.
Taran was perhaps the most protected little boy in the country, but Morgana knew that wouldn't matter to Harry.
As soon as the boy was old enough, he would wield a sword, just like his father, and undoubtedly follow in his footsteps.
Morgana could only hope that their son did not attract trouble as often as her husband did, though as she looked upon the boy tugging on Salazar's beard, she already had her doubts.
No, mothering a child with Harry meant that Taran would be just as adventurous, just as mischievous, and inevitably just as much trouble.
"He's got quite the grip on him," Salazar chuckled, wincing as the boy continued to tug at his chin.
Yes, the boy the man held would certainly take after his father on more than just looks.
(Break)
His thoughts remained rather turbulent and maudlin.
With his suspicions surrounding his wife and her conduct plaguing him, Arthur could do without the additional stress of handling what he hoped would be a diplomatic meeting, yet one he could not help but think would not go as Myrddin intended.
He could not be seen to allow the hunting of his people by magicals go unpunished, despite Myrddin's insistence he found a way to make peace with Willan Rookwood.
How such an accord could be reached, he didn't know, not when his own would look to him for justice.
It was a most delicate situation indeed; just one of many problems facing the king.
Fortunately, or perhaps not, Arthur had not decided yet, Harry was not here. The man had been furious by what he'd discovered, and given his lack of tact, the impending meeting would not end favourably for any.
Nonetheless, the king would accept nothing less than justice and assurances that such things would cease immediately.
He looked on as his guest entered the room, his expression guarded, but his eyes as steely as his own.
Willan Rookwood was a tall, lithe man, with dark hair, cold blue eyes, and he carried himself with unwavering confidence.
"Are you Arthur?" he demanded to know.
"That's King Arthur!" Bors growled, his hand resting threateningly on the handle of his axe.
Rookwood was unmoved by the gesture, his gaze shifting quickly back towards Arthur sitting on his throne.
"I am Arthur," he confirmed, offering his guest a nod. "Now, I believe a discussion is to be had pertaining to the fate of your son."
"My son will be released!" Rookwood spat.
"Willan," Myrddin interjected firmly.
Rookwood's jaw clenched.
"What are your terms?"
"For the hunting and murder of hundreds of my people?" Arthur scoffed. "The only acceptable sentence is death. The evidence against your son is overwhelming, to say the least. For the sake of my people, I cannot allow him to be set free."
"He will be freed, one way or the other," Rookwood chuckled humourlessly. "You may wear a crown and proclaim ruler of these lands, but it means nothing to my kind. If I so wished I could…"
"Willan!" Myrddin warned once more. "We discussed this."
Rookwood spat on the floor in displeasure.
"I am willing to compromise," he declared a moment later. "For the sake of my respect and friendship with Myrddin."
The other wizard nodded approvingly as he stepped forward.
"May I offer my advice, my king?" he requested.
"What would you advise, Myrddin?"
The man released a deep breath.
"For the sake of diplomacy between our people, I ask that you stay your hand. Willan is a prominent member of the magical community and holds a position akin to your own amongst our kind. His son was foolish, none can deny that, but to allow the transgressions of one man to cause such turmoil would be foolish for both sides. Willan has already been disabled with the use of his wand and sword hand. That in itself is a considerable punishment for a wizard. I propose that he be released into the custody of his father and is punished by our own kind. Willan will give his assurance that no further transgressions occur, and I will personally vouch for his word and character."
Arthur frowned.
He did not like the stipulations, but he equally knew he was dealing with a most dangerous enemy.
He had seen what wizards were capable of, and though he did not like it, a war with them would never be favourable.
Not having expected such a thing to be brought before him, he'd not prepared for it. As much as it pained and irritated him to admit, there was little else he could do.
For now, at least.
Already, his mind was working to ensure that he would not find himself at such a disadvantage again, and for that to come to fruition, he would need much assistance.
That, however, was for another day, one where he need not concern himself with repercussions he could not be prepared to face.
"Very well," he murmured, "but concessions will be made to the crown, ad there are to be no further incidents. There will be no more acts of mercy from me. Gawain, fetch and release the prisoner!"
Reluctantly, the man did so, and it was Arthur's turn to feel irritated by what had transpired today.
His gaze shifted between Myrddin and Rookwood as he pondered his next steps.
A part of him had hoped the latter would be remorseful for the actions of his son, but evidently, it had only been false.
Never again would he find himself so helpless to bring justice for his people, and as his idea began forming, he knew there was only one man he could once more turn to.
A more permanent alliance needed to be made, one that could not be influenced by his advisor, and one that would serve only the people of Great Britain.
Arthur was their king after all, and it was his responsibility to keep his subjects safe.
As things were, he did not feel he could, but soon enough, that would change, should his efforts prove to be successful.
He looked on as the cowed Dustin Rookwood was led into the throne room and released into the custody of his father. He'd gotten less than he deserved, but Arthur would have the man watched.
He would have all threats to his people monitored and dealt with if and when necessary.
With that in mind, he took his leave of the room, noting the absence of his wife and several others he was quickly becoming suspicious of.
Arthur shook his head.
For too long, he had allowed too many liberties to be taken, and that would soon change. If Guinevere was indeed up to no good as he suspected, he would deal with it.
He was a king.
There was no hiding from his problems, even such things would lead to his embarrassment.
After all, it couldn't be any worse than being made a mockery of.
(Break)
"Are you really going to ignore the summons?" Godric asked.
Harry shrugged as he continued to comfort his son.
"For now," he answered. "I do not want to give them the impression that they have me at their beck and call. Oh, I will speak with them, but I must do so with a cooler head. I am angry, Godric, and meeting with them now will do me or no other any good. I despise diplomacy and politics, but Salazar has shown me the necessity of diplomacy from time to time."
The man in question nodded his approval.
"But you'd rather gut the bastards with your blade," Godric snorted.
Harry nodded as he took a deep breath.
He sooner would.
"Sometimes words are sharper than a blade," Salazar reminded him. "The Wizard's Council is a dangerous entity to find yourself an enemy of, Harry. Forty members, each commanding a force of their own, for their protections, of course," he finished with a snort of derision.
Harry could only shake his head.
"So, they came together to avoid confrontation?"
"Exactly that," Salazar confirmed. "They meet and fancy themselves the authority of all wizarding Britain. What you must understand, Harry, is that is not so far from the truth. The majority of our kind fall under their influence simply because of where they live. Collectively, they control most of Britain."
"Not Godric's Hollow," Harry pointed out.
"Nor Hogwarts and much of Scotland," Salazar added, "but their influence cannot be denied. They do not agree on all things, but most are willing to help one another within the council should the need arise."
"But there are rifts?"
Salazar nodded darkly.
"There has been considerable unpleasantness amongst them," he explained. "Agreements have often been made through the marriage, which has allowed some to put their differences aside. Still, there is significant division amongst them when it pertains to certain matters."
"What of treatment of muggles?"
Salazar shrugged.
"Given that we have seldom interacted with them, I couldn't tell you."
Harry hummed thoughtfully.
Perhaps he could learn much more from the impending meeting than he had first anticipated.
Nodding to himself, he frowned as he was alerted to another summons altogether.
"Arthur," he sighed. "I suppose dealing with those I took to him did not go as intended."
"I expect not," Salazar warned. "No member of the Wizard's Council will take kindly to their children being apprehended and handed over to a muggle king. I would say you have not endeared yourself to them."
"Honestly, I couldn't give a toss," Harry chuckled as he handed Taran to the man. "I won't be long," he assured them.
With that, he took his leave of his home to meet with a king who was once more becoming a little too familiar for comfort.
(Break)
He paced back and forth whilst he waited for Harry to arrive, his displeasure with how the meeting with Rookwood had gone only becoming more palpable.
Arthur was the king of Britain, all Britain, and yet, he'd been nothing but powerless when faced with a problem pertaining to the magical citizens here.
He did not believe for one moment that all bad, or even some.
If that were so, he would not be where he was now, but he couldn't deny that the community had its share of unsavoury elements, and Arthur could not abide them interfering with his running of the country.
No, he needed to mitigate such a thing, and the idea he had permeating might just so to do just that.
All that he needed was help, and there was no other he trusted than the Crow that had felled a dragon to save Camelot so many years prior.
"You rang?"
Arthur jumped at the sudden intrusion of his thoughts, not having heard Harry arrive.
"I did," he sighed.
"I suppose meeting with Dustin's father did not go to plan."
Arthur shook his head.
"Willan Rookwood made it very clear he was not there to negotiate."
"Rookwood?"
"The name is familiar to you?"
Harry frowned before nodding.
"Vaguely," he murmured. "Let me guess, he threatened you."
"Not in so many words, but it was more than implied," Arthur explained irritably. "I can't be powerless against your kind, Harry. What kind f king am I if I have no power against a handful of citizens?"
"You have no power over me."
"I have nothing to fear from you, old friend," Arthur chuckled. "You're a good man. You have done more for my people than I could ever thank you for."
"But there is more, isn't there?"
Arthur nodded.
"Myrddin attempted to mediate, but he refused to take sides. I get it, I do. He has to appease them, but he is supposed to be in my service. He made no effort to bring Rookwood to justice for his crimes. I've realised I cannot rely on him when it comes to dealing with the Wizard's Council, not if he cannot support me."
"No, you cannot," Harry agreed.
"That is why I have been thinking. For the sake of everyone, I am going to be creating another aspect of my court, one that deals with magicals, in both diplomatic matters, and those of justice. I would like you to lead it, Harry. It would make you the second most powerful man in the country, only below me. It would give you the authority to handle matters between my kind and yours when the need arises, to keep the peace in Britain for us all."
"I don't think Myrddin or the Wizard's Council will like that," Harry sighed. "The council see themselves as an authority to our kind."
"And from what I have seen today, I cannot trust them. I am not asking you to flout them, Harry, but to represent me and the crown when these situations inevitably occur. From there, if it is successful, I will take any advice you may offer in how it should function and expand if necessary."
Harry released a deep breath.
He was far from convinced by the idea, but Arthur believed it would work.
"I need to consider it," he eventually replied. "I have been summoned to meet with the council, and I will think about the need for it. There may be those among them more approachable than Rookwood."
"Of course," Arthur agreed. "Still, even if there is, that doesn't protect me and my kind from those that are not. Please, just think about it. I can think of no other I would trust in such a position."
"I'm still not going to kneel in front of you and kiss your arse."
Arthur chuckled amusedly.
"I would never expect you to."