The Throne (Prince Harry fanfic #6)

Epilogue

The royal physician had come to make sure Lucy was in fact dead, like anyone needed to test that. People would've started coming by tomorrow to pay their respects. The news was starting to break across the world. For now, Harry needed some silence. The grandchildren and his children had gone upstairs while Harry waited in the kitchen. His eyes looked out. He wondered what the world response would be now. Would there be quiet and reserved mourning? He didn't wish for a fight.

"Dad," Henry said behind him, and Harry slowly turned to face his son. "I have something for you."

Harry slowly moved toward his son.

Henry held out an envelope. "Mum asked me to give this to you, when her death came."

Hesitantly, Harry's trembling hand took the envelope. "Thank you."

Henry nodded. "Dad, why don't you go sit in the telly room? I'll make tea."

Harry agreed and took his wife's letter. Slowly he want into the telly room, and it grew quiet in the nice. He pulled out the letter from the envelope, and he saw the date. It was written in 2033, long ago. This was the letter Harry had known about for a while, but he never read. Lucy didn't allow it. Tony had it for a little bit before his death.

Lucy's handwriting sprawled across the page, slanted and curved. Each letter was written in remarkable individuality. Lucy wrote:

Dear Harry,

It seems like the world is falling apart right now. We haven't been on the best of terms, and I write this for when I die. It might be tomorrow or next week or next year or today-- please don't be today-- but I will die. We all die. It sucks.

I've seen death. I've looked in the face. I told it to go fuck itself. I want to do that again. I may or may not have cancer, and I think I might. My head hurts, and it's been hurting for a while. My whole body aches and I want to vomit. Then there is everything else, like our world. The monarchy is slowly crumbling, and I don't know if I even help anymore. And then there's us. What are we? We aren't what we used to be. I want to be that again. Sometimes it feels like death would be easier.

But then I think about our children. I think about my duty. I think about you. Death is not easier. I want to live. I want you.

However, if you're reading this, then I'm dead. Sorry about that. I tried to survive. I promise I did. But sometimes you don't get a choice.

I'm happy to have spent my life with you. You are my husband, even when the world shits on us. You are the man I married and I will always love. Because I fell in love with you in Africa, and I have loved you in every place we've ever been. I love you now and tomorrow and every day in the past. There are no words to describe how much I love you, because I can't say it enough.

Harry, if the world is going shit and I'm not there to kick ass and save you, like always, remember: they're on your side. People are on your side. They're in your corner. It's not just your family. But it's complete strangers. They believe in you. They will help you.

The world continues to move. You move with it.

You will always be my Prince Charming, who managed to swoop me off my feet. I don't know how you did it, but you did it. Thank you.

Because I don't say it enough, Harry, I love you always.

Luce.

Harry stared at the letter in his hands. She signed it there, at the bottom, but there was another page to go. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he pulled them in. He wouldn't lose them today.

Hello, Prince Charming, I assume today is not a good day. If you're reading this, then I'm dead. I didn't plan it like this; I didn't mean to be so dramatic. But if cancer didn't get you once, it'll come back. But at least we had our years together, Harry. We had our lives together, and I wouldn't trade anything for that.

And I don't mean to make you sad, Harry, because I know you are. You have to continue on with your life without me, which is a terrible journey to lose someone you love. We've done it too many times. And I'm sorry that I was the first to die. You would think because you're older, you would go first. I wanted to save you this pain. I was willing to take it, but I'm sorry that you have to go through this.

I think I'm sad to know that I'm dying. I want to live until I'm 118, because why not? I survived so much, and I've seen the world stop and go. I wanted to see the world thrive, and now you have the ability, Harry. Help the world thrive with your days left, how ever many they be.

Don't mourn me for too long, hopefully. I don't want you find a new wife, but if you want....

Do you remember, Harry, what we said when we first met 60 years ago? Do you remember? I do.

"Harry," you said.

I said, "Let me guess: ginger hair, hand-me-down clothes, you must be a Weasley."

"What?" you said.

I said, "You're British."

"Yes," you said.

"That was a Harry Potter joke?" I asked.

You looked very confused.

"Lucy. Don't make Harry Potter jokes, noted," I said.

"No, it's fine. Prince," you said.

"Queen," I said.

"What?" you asked.

"I thought we were naming 80's musicians," I said.

"I'm a prince," you said.

"I'm a badass queen," I said.

"No, I'm a prince, as in royalty, the British monarchy," you said.

"I'm a human being, as in Earth, the Milky Way. Is that all?" I asked.

"Maybe," you said.

"Let's go," I said.

There you go. That's how a fairy tale happened. It happened when we met on the sand. It's been going on since we met. It continues even now with my death. It is within you. You are the only one that can tell that story now. You're the only one that understands. You're the only one that can share it.

If you want to share it, scream it from the rooftops. Or keep it hidden under your bed. It's your story now, all yours.

Thank you. I love you.

Luce.

(2/3)