Harrison Slytherin frowned, sweat glistening from his spores as he danced through a series of kata. His lean frame practically shaking with exertion. Littered around him were twitching mannequins, the enchantments that kept them moving beginning to fail.
The sword clutched in his hands clashed and clanged against metal, sparks flying in all directions as the heir of Slytherin was slowly being forced back, he frowned. 'Trust Salazar to push me this far.'
The undead person of his ire stood a short distance away, his sunken grey eyes assessing his form for any discrepancies.
Harry's emerald eyes glistened with magic, a trick his adopted father had recently taught him, his considerable magic bolstered his body as his dark power blazed through him. The sword in his hand began to emit black smoke, as the tip began to sear with heat. His muscles were pumped full of his magic, that was just begging to be released in a maelstrom of fury and rage.
The mannequins pounced, their movements were crisp and robotic, instead of coming at him one by one, they fell upon him in droves, light reflecting off different assortment of weapons they held. Some with swords, others with spears. They were so caught up in their charge that they didn't notice the faint tremors coming from the ground beneath them.
In a sudden burst of exploding earth, one of the mannequins gave a shudder as a large, thin spike of hard marble levitated from the air and pierced it where its head was. The wooden structure was propelled in the air as similar spikes of marble shot up, impaling the rest of its brethren without a shred of mercy. Within a single second, the horde of transfigurated mannequins were suspended in the air as rows of razer-sharp spikes held them in place.
A resolute sound of clapping reverberated around the training ground underneath Slytherin castle, as the undead lord of the house stepped forward. ~You waste too much magic in a single spell. This will lead to your demise. ~
Harry panted with exhaustion, using magic without his wand was taxing for him. ~Must I continue to learn how to use a sword? I can fell a man with words alone. ~
Salazar exhaled tiredly, his protégée always liked to do things the easy way. The undead lich could agree with that sentiment. In his youth, before he had met the rest of the founders he had similar ideology as his adopted son.
~There will come a time when even your magical reserves fail you. One on one against any resident of this world and you will defeat them easily. But, against an entire house? An alliance of houses? ~ Salazar shook his head, his moss eaten robes billowing around his skeletal form. ~No. You will fall in a battle of attrition. That is why if there ever comes a time when you're without your magic, you have certain contingencies and other skills to fall back on. ~
Harry frowned as he stared into Slytherin's eyes. He would never tell the man to his face, but he was unnerved by his lack of mortality. ~Gryffindor's sword is not a good conduit for my magic anymore, it's becoming even more resistant since you took me up as your heir. Father, if I am to learn the way of the sword, can I not do so with another blade? ~
~No other blade would be able to channel your magic. Loathe as I am to admit it, despite Godric's many idiotic tendencies, procuring a goblin made sword was tactile genius. You can either use a normal sword or keep Godric's. ~
He glanced down at the ruby encrusted sword. Six years ago, he was in awe of the elegant script that was written in slant across the length of the blade. Now, he felt nothing but the desire to cast the sword out into the sea. Every time he wielded it, his hands would burn. It was as if, the spirit of Godric Gryffindor didn't take kindly to an heir of Slytherin using his blade.
He sheathed it across his back, glancing back towards his adopted father. ~So, what did you think? ~
~There are signs of improvement. You have come a long way from the short, malnourished teen I saw long ago. However, there is much that needs doing. How goes your integration with the people of Westeros? ~
~It is going well, with the new swell of recruits it puts us at two thousand fighting strong. ~
It had been a long couple of years. In between training Harry, Salazar would send him on frequent diplomatic missions throughout the seven kingdoms and even to the East to acclimatise himself to the political stance of this new world and claim new thralls for their cause.
He remembered the first time he left to claim new thralls.
Flashback [3 years ago- Harry is 15]:
The boy who lived walked across seas of grass, vast and distant till the eye could see. Stalls were spread out, distanced with even intervals as merchants ushered people to buy their wares.
Exotic fruits, animals, clothes, wines, even the maidenheads of girls. All were on display.
The hustle and bustle of the crowd pressing against him, cries of people permeated the air, as they spoke about the injustice of some of the prices. Gold dragons exchanged hands from person to person, greedy looks were passed frequently, and the odd grope of slave women was made apparent for all to see.
Harry just watched, his green eyes assessing.
'Westeros is so similar to the Wizarding world.'
And it was true, both worlds were embroiled in draconian laws. The wizarding world elite looked down on mudbloods, half-bloods, and magical creatures, whereas the Seven Kingdoms and the lands to the East looked down on those poorer than them. It was a never-ending cycle no matter where he went. The strong would always prey on the weak. Those in power would look down on those who lacked it.
'There is no good or evil, only power… And those weak to seek it.' A dark grin stretched itself across his face. Voldemort was right about something.
His musings were interrupted as a hush befell the populace. The crowd dispersed as fast as it could and sweat began to pool on the brows of the merchants as the sound of galloping hooves could be heard.
In a matter of moments, the entire settlement was surrounded by tall men on horses, their dark eyes hungrily gazing at the nude females on display, with synchronised fashion, they urged their horse's closer, trotting towards the many stalls.
Harry focused on his occlumency, as he brought the knowledge Salazar had taught him to the forefront of his mind. 'Dothraki. Nomadic horse-mounted warriors, that fight with curved swords called arakhs. They come to places like this to procure slaves which they either keep for their khalasars or sell in Slavers Bay. They abhor easily cowed people and respect those who resist them.'
'Father did say not to draw attention to myself, but he also told me to find thralls. This is too good an opportunity to pass off.'
One of the men atop a black destrier dismounted. His long-braided hair swayed left and right as the wind blew ominously around the khalasar. The horses gave pitying whines as they reared as if sensing the foulness perpetuating the air.
Harry took a step forward, his gait confidant. "No further horse-lord."
The tall man stopped to glance at him, before a bellow of laughter escaped his lips. The wind died down, and the horses calmed. Now instead of them sensing foulness, they sensed laughter resonating around the site as the Dothraki dismissed the raven-haired teen as a threat.
Harry frowned before withdrawing a shaft of holly, he pressed it to his throat and gave it a tap. Harry had been unable to learn the languages his father had tried to teach him. And even the great Salazar Slytherin had a shortage of patience to offer his adopted son whose knowledge of learning new languages eluded his understanding.
"No further horse-lord." Harry said darkly, his hands resting on the ruby hilt of Godric Gryffindor's sword.
"So, the people of Lhazar flock to a boy who hasn't seen fourteen winters to be their champion?" The man spoke, his voice the paradigm of harshness. This was a man whose sole purpose was to spill blood.
Unfortunately for him, Harrison Slytherin also relished a good fight. Salazar Slytherin had been a harsh taskmaster and a perfectionist demanding nothing but the best. With just three years of tutelage under his belt, he felt more than ready to kill this barbarian.
"I champion no one but myself. You are the Khal of this khalasar are you not?"
"I am Khal Bharbo. And you are?"
Harry proffered the man a smirk that didn't reach his emerald eyes. "Dead men have no need to hear my name."
Bharbo tensed, his arakh twirling in his hand as he assumed a defensive position. His fast actions just saved his life, as Harry sent a trickle of magic through his system and covered the distance between them in an instant. The sword of Gryffindor whistling through the air as it collided with the arakh.
Khal Bharbo visibly goggled, his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he was pushed away from the smaller and much thinner teen.
The Khal couldn't afford to look away as the silvery hue of his opponent's sword nearly detached his head from his shoulders. He ducked, wisps of his hair were caught instead as he with great deliberateness brought his curved sword up, intent on bisecting the emerald eyed boy.
It wasn't meant to be, with skill that boys his age shouldn't possess, Harry twisted the silver sword and brought it close to his chest, with magic trickling through his arm muscles, he was more than a match for the giant Khal's strength.
SNAP!
The sword of Gryffindor couldn't be denied nor contested, especially by mortal weapons. The Khal's arakh broke cleanly in half, but Harry's strike wasn't finished, he carried on with the blow, ramming the blade through Bharbo's chest.
Silence. Pure unadulterated silence. The undefeated Khal, coughed, blood escaping from the inside of his mouth. He stumbled and fell, kneeling by Harry's feet. Every spore in his body seemed as if it was on fire. Unbeknownst to him, one of the most fast-acting and potent magical toxins now resided where his heart used to be.
He gave a couple more minute twitches before Harry withdrew his sword with an audible crunching sound as bits of sinew, bone and blood dripped from the serrated edges of the blade. Wiping the crimson substance on his tunic, he kicked the Khal away.
The man who had raped and killed hundreds had been defeated by none other than a child he had been laughing at a while before.
Harry knelt beside the man's body and withdrew a small knife. With crude form he slashed and hacked, the rest of the khalasar was visibly repulsed as one of their most sacred rituals was brutalised.
Standing to his full height, Harry let the great Khal's long-braid fall into loose curls beside his feet, before he stomped on it. Then he punted the man's head at his blood riders. Everyone could see the last look on the man's face. Pure terror and disbelief.
Harry felt inordinately smug. Withdrawing his shaft of holly and phoenix from the crevice of his inner pocket, he twirled it in his fingers as he stared down at the khalasar darkly.
"Your Kahl is dead. Slain in one on one combat by my own hand. He was leading you to ruin. Even with all his vaunted strength and undefeated status, he picked fights with people who couldn't defend themselves. He offered no glory, no riches. Except shame and ridicule. I offer you the power and status. No more will the Dothraki be set aside by the Seven Kingdoms. They will own the Seven Kingdoms!"
The khalasar was quite for a long while, before they bowed their heads, some even getting off their horses and kneeling before him. Cries of green eyed god echoed throughout the air.
Harrison Slytherin just smirked, the blood from the Khal slowly making its way down his face, giving him a demonic visage.
***Break***
Unknown to the khalasar or Harry, a small child who had witnessed the fight averted its gaze, before making its way back into the bowls of the city. A certain spider would like to hear of these events, especially with what had transpired.
***Break***
Lhazar was in open celebration, from the slopes of their mountain side they cried out with sheer joy and happiness as the thorn on their side had been killed, and quite brutally at that. No more would they be plagued by this Dothraki horde. Drinks were passed around and feasts were devoured.
They spoke of the green-eyed boy in soft tones, such reverence was associated with his name that come the morning, they would begin plans to erect a shrine in his honour, one to rival the Great Shepherds in magnificence.
Flashback end:
Harry's emerald eyes flashed before darkening. His carefully crafted plans and webs of intrigue were beginning to span the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. Soon, his house would be above everyone else's.
The people of Westeros would either revel in his company or die at the end of his wand.
They would either have the mercy of a God, or they would stroke his anger and he would smite them. He wouldn't give second chances anymore, he was that sort of a man.
AN:
Well, I am honestly in awe at how many people have favourited, reviewed, followed and PM'ed me. I can't thank you readers enough.
All I can say is this; keep them coming, I enjoy reading the reviews!
Also, I plan on updating this fic every weekend, be it Saturday or Sunday. So, keep an eye out on that!
Some of you have messaged me or reviewed about the pairing, that is something I will leave up for interpretation although I'm kind of leaning towards Margaery. Review who you want Harry to get with!
Till next time, Uzunami 669
