Tame the Wolf
When Harry had first arrived in the cold and desolate plains of the far north he'd been rather pissed at Death. Being the beings Master fucking sucked if it got him placed in a place like this. Warming spells had swiftly become his best friend. Eventually he'd come across signs of others living in the area even if they were only barely there. The Thenns had been his first look at the people of this world and considering they'd attempted to kill and eat him he wasn't impressed. He put down three or four via hand to hand unarmed combat without even needing magic before they'd backed the fuck off. A disillusionment charm along with his animagus form of giant wolf got him out of there before he'd had to cull all of the fucks.
Turns out he wasn't the only one who hated the Thenns. He fell in with a few other clans before deciding that the cold of the so-called True North, what the Free Folk called the land beyond the wall, was not to his liking. His wolf form had allowed him to find a tunnel beneath the wall that led to a rather desolate and deserted keep he later learned was known as the Nightfort, and he was able to get to the other side of the rather impressive, in both size and magic, Wall.
He'd travelled across the North just exploring. Death hadn't exactly given him a mission when he sent him here after all, simply told him to have fun and try not to die and Harry had planned on doing exactly that.
Harry had meet Lord Stark about a year after he'd first arrived in Westeros when he'd saved the man's youngest son Benjen Stark from a feral shadow cat while they were all hunting in the Wolf's Wood. He'd been in his wolf form and had seen the cat sitting within the tree about to pounce and had knocked the boy from his seat upon his horse just as the cat had dropped. It had earned him a crossbow bolt to the side courtesy of one of the Stark guardsmen.
Harry hadn't exactly noticed his injury at the time, too busy tearing the shadowcat apart before it could once more turn upon the people Harry was attempting to protect.
Flashback
It felt good to amble through the wood in this form. It felt freeing. He'd been human since just before he'd gone to the castle known as the Karhold. He'd easily slipped in amongst the commoners in the small village that was just outside the walls. Even a few times walking invisibly through its halls. While not nearly as impressive as Hogwarts had been, it was certainly well built. It stood upon a cliff overlooking the sea, the sheer cliffside, impossible to climb from the beach leading for any invading forces from the sea to have to traverse the small almost mountainous path up to the castle, vulnerable to all a manner of defenses including arrows or rocks. The walls were a solid six feet of stone and twelve feet high. In comparison to Winterfell however it fell just slightly short.
Winterfell had two walls. The first and shortest was a full twenty feet and ten feet thick. It encompassed both the Keep within, several towers and a beautiful godswood, that had absolutely reeked of magical power, even more so than the godswood that had been near the Karhold but not within it's walls. The second wall encompassed the keep and two of the four towers and was almost thirty feet high and ten feet high. Harry could see exactly how difficult it would be for any attacking force to take such a castle, even if it wasn't the prettiest he'd ever seen, Hogwarts still that title. Nor was it the ugliest, the Dreadfort by far held that title. He hadn't gotten a chance to look within the keep's walls yet as he'd only arrived in Wintertown a few days ago but he was planning on doing so soon enough.
As he ran, padded feet making barely a sound on the lightly frosted ground he caught the sound of horses chuffing and the slight jingle of their tackle. He changed his direction being sure to stay quiet and low so he could watch without being seen. It would seem the Lord of Winterfell, Lord Stark with a quartet of guardsmen, was out with two of his sons, the eldest Brandon, whom Harry had caught glimpse of yesterday when the man had gone to Winter Town's brothel and the youngest whom Harry had only heard word of but could easily identify by his black hair and grey eyes.
The Lord was riding in front of the group, strung bow carefully held in one hand as the group road on. The scent of another predator caught in Harry's nose and he lifted his snout to ascertain it's closeness, while scanning around with sharp eyes. There upon a rather high tree branch, the shadow cat was watching the hunting party with hungry eyes that locked upon the smallest of the group. Harry had seconds to act as he saw the cat's muscles begin to bunch. He leapt forward claws digging into the ground powerfully as he jumped into the air using his shoulder to knock into young Benjen even as he twisted to catch his claws into the dropping shadow cat. A pinch of pain caught his right side but Harry ignored it in favor of keeping his eyes on the shadow cat in front of him.
He growled lowly and leapt at the cat as it leapt towards him meeting it in the air. Snarls and yowls disturbed the life of the forest around the fighting predators as Harry used his weight and strength to dominate the cat. Claws ripped at his chest as his fangs closed around the neck of the cat beneath him squeezing the life from it. He could feel as the blows weakened when the cat began to die. With one more powerful shake of his head Harry broke the beasts neck and released the cat. He licked his lips of the blood that now coated his muzzle before assessing his injuries. He had claw marks that sluggishly bleed along his chest, but his most debilitating injury was not from the cat but rather from the crossbow bolt firmly buried in his flank.
He sat down and tried to twist his body so that he could reach it with his mouth he whined in pain as it pulled more with the movement and dug into the muscle. Unable to reach it he turned to watch the humans who were carefully watching him. He could see that one of the men was reloading their crossbow while two others had their own bows aimed in his direction.
His ears flattened and he gave a pitiful whine, trying to portray that he was not there to hurt them. Unfortunately that didn't seem to move them he was a rather large wolf after all. As painful as he knew it was going to be it was his only choice if he didn't want to become a wolfie pincushion, he allowed himself to change back to human. Luckily the men didn't seem to want to change him into a human pincushion.
"Help?" Harry asked his voice filled with pain, the bolt was buried deeply into the side of his hip in his human form and was debilitating and painful to the point where he quickly fell unconscious.
"My Lord," the man holding the crossbow said almost dumbly.
"Bring him to the castle. Son, are you alright?" Lord Rickon asked.
"Merely bruised from the fall Father. Certainly better than I would have been had the wolfman not stopped the shadowcat from attempting kill me," Benjen answered in surprise. Brandon brought his horse, slightly spooked as all the horses had been, with the exception of Benjen's who had been completely spooked and fled the other's having had their riders to calm them, to his brother and reached out a hand allowing his brother to mount behind him.
Flashback End
Harry had awoken about a day and a half later bandaged up and almost fully healed curtsy of his magic and status as the Master of Death, much to the surprise of the Maester that had been watching over him. After assuring the grey robed man that he was indeed perfectly fine, he'd been given a set of appropriate northern clothing and furs, apparently having bled through his own, and then escorted to see Lord Rickard Stark, ruling Lord of Winterfell.
The man had first thanked Harry for saving his son before asking if Harry was a werewolf and if there were any other of Harry's kind. Both answer's had been no of course. Harry had explained that he was in fact a magic user who could assume the form of a giant wolf, in fact a species known in this world as a Direwolf. As a reward for saving his son Lord Stark had offered Harry any abandoned castle belonging to the North as long as he would swear fealty to Lord Rickard. Harry had agreed and after looking at the maps Lord Stark had provided had quickly picked Moat Cailin. Though the man had not seemed all that happy about Harry picking one of the largest castles and the one that marked that a person was exiting the neck and entering the North, though Greywater Watch was located south of it, but considering the castle moved and only locals could find it Moat Cailin was the first look at the North anyone riding from the South would have.
Two years later when the castle had been almost completely rebuilt along with a true moat and an equally impressive canal that stretched the entire length of the neck from where the Fever River washed out to sea to just south of White Harbor into the Bite, Lord Rickard was much more impressed. Harry through the use of permanent transfiguration better known as transmogrification and charms had rebuilt much of the castle using white marble chased with veins of silver and blue quartz veins, only small pockets of the original black basalt stone peeking out from where it had been scoured of green moss and white goatskin. It boasted all twenty of it's original towers, as well as three thick walls, in ascending height much like the walls of Winterfell had been built.
With the increase of trade to the North after Harry had used his magic to create the canal Harry had also been able to afford building a small fleet, mostly merchant ships, furthering profit even more, but there were a few militarized vessels, the first the North had seen since Brandon the Burner. He'd even gifted several ships to the Starks. Mostly in an effort to ensure that he didn't seem to be trying to take power of the North away from the Starks even if he was fast becoming the Lord of the North's richest House. A rather large town had sprung up within Harry's first wall but outside of the second and third and had grown large enough to spill outside the wall as well. It was well on it's way to becoming the largest town, or perhaps city in the North, rivaled only by White Harbor the only other port city of the North.
Harry's main exports had been lumber and fish, as well as northern steel. Using magic he'd recently found a vein of precious stone deep within the ground, specifically diamonds. He'd used his magic to bring the precious clear and slightly blue tinted stones closer to the surface and had started a pit mine. The first shipment had recently come in and a small chest of the finished stones would be making their way to Winterfell, both to pay taxes and as a gift. Harry was happy to reward the House that had allowed him to grow so rich in the first place, even had he been able to do so on his own should he have wished.
He'd taken the name Peverell rather than Potter, as it seemed much nobler and was a tribute to Death, the reason he was in this world in the first place. His banner was simplistic, two blue howling wolves facing one another on a black field, with a white chief across the top. His House words were a tribute both to his form and to the Stark's own words. He'd chosen a slightly longer phrase of words but felt it was apt, the phrase being; Northern Wolves Bite Like Winter.
His banner flapped gaily as he rode beside his six man personal guard, the rest of his party only ten or so meter's behind. They were on their way to Harrenhal for a tourney. News at an inn from about four days ago had also said the King himself would be in attendance despite initial talk that he wouldn't be and Harry had yet to swear fealty to the man, and would likely be doing so at the event. Harry would also be meeting with Lord Stark face to face for the first time since he had received Moat Cailin, though he'd met Brandon Stark more than once as the man had ridden through to meet his betrothed at Riverrun and then rode back home.
Given the letter Harry had received via raven only a few days before he'd left Moat Cailin, Lord Stark was likely to offer his daughter's hand in marriage to Harry. He'd never met the girl, she'd been visiting Bear Island when Harry had travelled through Winterfell but he'd heard many stories. He'd even heard through the grapevine, (ie. his own little spy web,) that Lord Stark had held off betrothing his daughter to the Baratheon Heir in favor of binding Harry to the Stark House through marriage, though Harry had not officially been asked yet. Unfortunately Harry was very much in favor of the male form, something not well thought of in this world but given his ability to carry his own children may be better received than it usually might when he finally revealed his inclinations. But then again perhaps Lord Stark would not offer such a thing to Harry, especially in light of the Crown's predicament.
Many of the southern Houses had also begun taking notice of the newest Northern House and the successes it had brought to the North as a whole, even thought there were rumors that he was a witch or similar. Spies had been sent to his keep and town and they were dealt with, usually used to pass on false information, or at times turned and added to Harry's own little web. The Starks hadn't let word of his wolf form out of their castle it would seem, not that Harry would have cared if they had, though he was happy not to have the faith on him about his atrocity of associating with the sin that was supposedly magic. Still rumor did not curb his growing power, or those wanting to bind it to their own Houses.
In fact House Tully had sent an offer of their youngest daughter, a great honor. Harry had worded a polite refusal but with little explanation as to why, the Tully's had not become very fond of him. Brandon had laughed when he'd heard, slapping Harry on the back and telling him he didn't blame him for not wanting a floppy fish for a wife. It was clear the wild wolf didn't think to well of his very southern Lady wife to be.
The group of Peverell guardsmen and Harry himself rode into Harrenhal almost two weeks after they'd left, they'd bypassed staying at both the Twins, and Riverrun, preferring the road. He was impressed with the sheer size of the castle that hadn't been built using magic. His tent and that of his men's were set up less than an hour later. Harry decided to spend a little time mingling. It didn't take long before Harry found himself in the company of the young Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch. The man had told him how had become Lord at only age twelve when his father had fallen afoul a strange sweating sickness attributed to a poisonous bog moss. Now the man was approaching his seventeenth nameday only ten years younger than Harry himself, and would soon be looking for his own lady wife.
A few Frey squires had attempted to cause them trouble earlier, but a few well-placed ironically apt fraying charms on their pants had them unraveling and quick waddle back to their tents as they tried to avoid flashing their small clothes at everyone. Now the two young Lords were wandering as Harry attempted arrange a beneficial for both of them trading deal.
Most of the wood that Harry traded with the East and even the rest of Westeros came from forested land under control of Moat Cailin that was to the West of the castle, unfortunately as there was bog land in between Moat Cailen where the largest port was and the forest it had become a rather large expense to get the wood across. There was little point in building another port closer, especially as it would be easily open to attack from Ironborn Reavers or any other's who would attack his shipments for profit, since the garrison's from Moat Cailin could never reach it in time to repel an incoming attack. With the proposed agreement, Howland would provide experienced Crannogmen who knew the marshes like the back of their hand to transport the wood on flat barges and rafts across the bogs to port where they could be loaded and shipped across the sea. If Ironborn attacked the Crannogmen could simply use their skills to disappear into the marshes, the ironborn could attempt to follow but would likely lose their lives as most unfamiliar with the deceptively dangerous land were apt to do. In return Harry would give Howland ten percent of all the profit from his lumber trade as well as pay the Crannogmen handsomely. It was still an expense but would be less than he was paying as wages and danger pay to less experienced men already, and would create a strong alliance between their Houses.
They shook hands to seal the deal even if they still had to sign the formal documents to protect everyone involved but all in all it would be a profitable venture for them both, and made their way into the Hall of a Thousand Hearth's where the Tourney's opening feast would be occurring.
As disappointed Harry was that there wasn't actually a thousand hearths despite the name, Harry found himself more than impressed by the meal and later by the entertainment. Harry got his first ever glimpse of the dragon prince, his white blond hair and slightly pointed features immediately reminding him of Draco, but his countenance and solemn eyes certainly didn't. When the man played his lute and sang Harry had felt the sadness within his voice and it pulled at his soul. He wasn't the only one, all of the women and even a good portion of the men were either openly weeping or had tears in their eyes.
It was no secret that Princess Elia Martell had recently died in childbirth along with the babe leaving Prince Rhaegar a widow and in need to remarry as he had only one daughter as heir. It was believed that the Prince was actually the one funding the tourney rather than the Whent's in an effort to find himself a new wife, thought there was also rumor that he sought to overthrow his father, which was likely the reason King Aerys was in attendance. Harry had witnessed the rather unkept King shortly before dinner began when he'd sworn his fealty and couldn't say he'd been impressed.
The man's silvery hair had been as wild as the man's wet purple eyes. Black bags hung beneath the King's eyes as though he hadn't slept in months let alone the last few days. His nails would be better attributed as claws, lengthy and dirty, and Harry's rather sensitive nose, accredited to his animagus form, had caught the scent of madness and old sweat as he'd knelt before the makeshift throne. He'd also repeatedly insulted not only Harry but all Northerners along with a blond Lord with a perpetual scowl and eyes not quite as green as Harry's own.
Other than the King the dinner feast had been splendid. Afterwards Harry had taken the opportunity to take a quiet walk to the godswood, the largest in the south with the exclusion of the grove that was said to be on the Isle of Faces. Though it was the largest it wasn't the most splendid. Winterfell and Moat Cailin's godswoods held the title. It was however exceedingly humbling. Harry could see the score marks from both sword and fire on the trees, from the time known as Dance of Dragons. He let his fingers run along the score in one of the weirwoods, even now it still leaked blood red sap over a century and a half later. The trees around him literally bleed as they told of past battle.
"Oh," a voice said from behind him and Harry turned. "I hadn't realized that the godwood was occupied. I'll leave you to your prayers," said the Prince. Behind him stood two of the kingsguard. Howland had identified these a ser Arthur Dayne and ser Lewyn Martell earlier in the day.
"You are not disturbing me as I was not praying my Prince," Harry said.
"You are the new Lord of the North are you not? Lord Peverell?" the Prince asked.
"Yes, Lord Hadrian Peverell at your service my Prince, or Harry if you would prefer," Harry answered.
"Many thanks, Harry," Rhaegar said though he did not give Harry leave to use his own given name. Harry didn't blame him, for Harry he simply disliked being referred to as Lord, he was not yet, if he ever would be friends with the Prince and therefore likely wouldn't be given leave to speak to the man so familiarly until such time. "You said you weren't praying?"
"No my Prince," Harry said. "Although I love the quiet beauty and hidden power of the godswood and often enjoy simply thinking within, I do not pray to gods that hold no power over me, that includes both the old and the new," Harry said.
"You do not believe the gods have a hold on you?" Prince Rhaegar asked in surprise.
"I know they do not," Harry said, "The only god I am beholden to is Death himself, my Prince. Truly though in life we may attempt to serve others, we all become his subjects in the end one way or another."
"I suppose you have some logic," Prince Rhaegar said, "Forgive me if I do not follow it, however."
"Of course my Prince," Harry said. "May I inquire as to why you have come? I was under the impression that members of House Targaryen served the Faith of the Seven?"
"We do," Rhaegar said. "I suppose I no longer know what I believe anymore," the Prince's voice was filled with remorse.
"My apologies my Prince. I did not intend to remind you of your loss," Harry said. "Perhaps it is time to take my leave, if you would permit my Prince?"
"Of course," Prince Rhaegar said waving him off gently. Harry gave a small respectful bow and left to find his tents, having not been important enough to the Whents, along with the House not wanting to piss of their own Liege lords, to be invited to have rooms within the castle proper. Harry didn't mind, his tent was rather luxurious if he did say so himself. It was also easier to keep spies and other little eyes and ears from seeing and hearing what went on within.
"My Lord," said his assistant steward, Bryan Condon the man having travelled with him to assist while Harry had left his main steward a older man by the name of Brock Snow in charge of Moat Cailin and another Mikael Siggurdson in charge of Moatfast, the name of the swiftly growing town and port instead of leaving both to Tommen his Maester. He distrusted the man, he reminded him to much of Pettigrew, and several times his spies had intercepted letters from the man to various Archmaester's at the citadel, mostly saying that there was no confirmation that Harry had any magical powers even if things such as the sudden earthquake that crated the canal, the quarry of beautiful marble that Harry had used for rebuilding, or even the finding of the diamond mine seemed to occur miraculously around him.
"What is it Bryan?" Harry asked as he entered his tent, steward following behind. It was split into two portions with a length of cloth for privacy, a place for him to sleep and a place for him to conduct business.
"I wrote up the contract agreement between House Peverell and House Reed you requested. I put it on your desk for review. You have twelve letters, I organized them according to your liking, green ribbon marking economic request outside your lands, red for economic request within, black for the marriage proposal's and silver for missives from House Stark, my Lord," Bryan said.
"My thanks, Byran," Harry said surpressing a sigh. "I will review them tonight and write their responses to be sent tomorrow."
"Of course my Lord," Byran said.
"Why don't you go find your bed Byran," Harry said. "There is no need for both of us to lose sleep."
"Thank you my Lord," Byran said and gave a half bow before hurriedly leaving the tent before Harry could change his mind and have the man help him with the letters. Harry plopped himself down heavily despite his general lack of weaponry and armor.
Harry's armor was light weight looking like a very thin dyed black leather, molded directly to Harry's lithe but well built form, and he'd been wearing it when he'd first arrived in this world along with a small bag with a few other items. It was in fact basilisk skin treated with fiendfyre and then softened in the snakes own venom. In addition to being impervious to any and all magical attacks, including the killing curse, it also easily repelled blade strikes and arrows. Harry had begun wearing it as his everyday clothing rather than the jeans and t-shirt that he'd had in his bag, after the incident in the Wolf's Wood. Had he been wearing it then, the properties would have transferred over to his wolf form and he likely wouldn't have been injured at all. While he didn't have a sword, he had three daggers on his person at all times. One easily visible on his hip, a second also easily visible if one was behind or beside him at the small of his back and a third hidden within his boot, more weighted to throwing than the other too.
Harry was not in anyway a swordfighter. If worst came to worst he could hold his ground with a war axe, or a quick fight with his small blades or unarmed, but he preferred his wolf form for fighting or magic. Though he was an excellent archer and enjoyed practicing as a way to wind down after a particularly bad day.
Harry sighed deeply as he took in the missives. As Bryan had said they were organized. One was from House Stark, three were tied with the green ribbon, two with red and six marked with black. He opened the one with his Liege Lord first. It was a rather short letter that simply requested his presence to hold Lunch within the Stark's pavilion tent on the morrow. That one would have to be answered immediately so that his response could be delivered right away. A fresh sheet of parchment and several smooth strokes of his quill later and Harry was casting a quick drying charm of his acceptance.
"Have a servant deliver this to Lord Stark if you would?" Harry asked one of the guardsmen who stood at the entrance to his tent. The guardsman took it and gave a nod to Harry.
"At once my Lord," the man said.
"Thank you," was Harry's reply before he returned to his desk to pull out the next missive. He pushed off the marriage proposal's to last focusing instead on the economic missives. For a guy who had rarely attempted to do better than Acceptable in school Harry was in fact rather smart when it came to business and politics. Likely due in part to having taken on the Potter, Peverell, Black and Slytherin titles and responsibilities after having defeated Voldemort. He'd learned the best and fastest way he could, through experience.
The first of the green was from the Dornish House Yornwood. They were requesting a formal contract for continuous shipments of wood, from Harry at a greatly reduced price. While it would ensure continuous business for the duration of twenty years, as stated by the contract the price Yornwood was requesting to pay was almost half of what Harry charged now. It also greatly undercut a recent contract Harry had made only four months before with House Martell of Sunspear.
He tapped the quill to his mouth for a moment as he thought. Although Yornwood was a rather powerful House in Dorne due to their rivalry due to the death of Lord Edgar Yornwood at the hands of Prince Oberyn Martell almost seven years ago, they were not powerful enough that he could risk spiting the Martell family. With that in mind Harry worded a politely careful response that due to cost at this time they could not make such a contract, but mentioned that they could arrange for a price to have first choice directly after House Martell to a portion of all wood shipments to Dorne.
The next was from the Hightower's of the Reach who needed an additional ten thousand dragon's worth of steel with the next shipment. Harry did the quick math and formulated a response as to the cost, and that he would see it done if they agreed to the price. The final green ribbon tied letter was not from Westeros at all but in fact from Braavos.
Essos, while it had many resources was lacking in one thing; wood. They had a few so called forests, but most of the trees in them were stunted things and no good for building. Their one decent forest was made up almost entirely by soft wood trees, better for furniture and light construction that was not meant to last long term. Harry had begun an exclusive trading deal with Braavos concerning his House. He would not sell the hard wood of the alder trees he cut down for trade on his lands to any other Essosi city leaving Braavos with the majority monopoly as further North was covered mostly with fir and other gymnosperm trees that were excellent for lumber but still softwood. Of all the Northern lands his held the largest forests of hardwood trees. That wasn't to say that he didn't ensure that Braavos didn't get a full monopoly. Harry had a contract with the Manderly's. Harry would 'gift' them several shipment's of wood which they would in turn sell to places like Pentos and then they would 'gift' him gold back, bypassing the wording of Harry's contract.
The missive from Braavos was simple, they wanted to renew the contract between them. Originally the Sealord of Braavos had only agreed to a one-year contract having wanted to feel out the new Northern Lord before jumping into business with him. Evidently as they were now offering a twenty-year contract with all the same clauses he had impressed them well enough. He would agree to the contract but would request a slightly higher price. If they refused he could always go to Pentos with the full contract instead after all.
The two red ribbon tied letters were from the Crannog Houses Cray and Quagg respectively, both requesting the same thing. They wished for help in bringing their main resource to larger market, peat. Harry was happy to write them missives back. He had thought about such a thing for a while but had been contented to finish the projects he already had in place. Peat would be an excellent product to sell, especially to the Vale, where it was cool enough that fires were necessary to stay warm in the later hours but with the exceedingly stony soil from the mountainous range that cut through the majority of the Vale land, also burned expensive amounts of wood. With his ships it would be simple enough to bring shipment's of peat, to Gulltown to be bought and distributed across the Vale. With that in mind he wrote two more missives, one for the Arryns of Gulltown and a second to Lord Arryn of the Eyrie.
Finally he was just left with the marriage proposals. For the smaller landed knight or in the case of the North Masterly houses it was simple to write a polite decline without insult. That went for House Tallhart, a Northern House who had offered their daughter a barely thirteen-year-old Eddara's hand in marriage, as well as the offer of the hand of fifteen-year-old Erena Glover from the Northern House Glover.
Slightly harder were the Noble Houses. He had to balance the refusal without offering any kind of insult. In the case of House Appleton a smaller Reach House however he had a little less difficulty as they had insulted him first by offering him the hand of Lady Tayla Appleton, a woman swifty approaching her forty fifth name day, and unlikely to be able to even be able to bear children any longer. In the regards with the other two Noble Houses, House Westerling from the Westerlands, and House Manderly of the North, he'd politely declined stating that he needed more time to settle into his position as a Lord along with the white lie that he had far to many duties to be looking for a wife at the moment.
The final offer of marriage was a little harder to dismiss, as it was for the hand of one twenty-one name day old Victaria Tyrell. While the woman's family was not in direct line to inherit Highgarden they were still cousins to the Paramount family and therefore more difficult to maneuver around. His missive was polite, simply stating that he would consider the offer but was still unsure. Hopefully that would knock them away long enough for him to figure something out. Yawning he sealed each of the letters with blue and white mixed wax with small crushed flakes of black basalt and pushed his ring into it holding for a moment to let it set with his sigil. He gathered them up and placed them in the small basket on his desk specifically for such purpose. Byran would deal with them in the morning. Utilizing a switching spell Harry quickly crawled atop the soft furs on his bed and fell asleep in his night gown and small pants.
He groaned as he heard slightly raised voices through the thin curtain of fabric that separated his sleeping quarters from the rest of the tent. A liberal use of refreshment, shaving and a general cleaning charm on himself along with a switching spell to once more be dressed armored and armed and Harry was ready to go for the day.
"What is it that has you in my tent arguing with my steward, Lord?" Harry asked with a slight pause not recognizing the thin man in his tent as he came out from behind the privacy curtain.
"Baelish, Peter Baelish, my Lord Peverell," said the thin man as he gave a stiff inclination, "As I told your steward I simply wished to discuss a few matters with you and would wait quietly in here as to not be stuck beneath the beating sun as it is rather hot today." Baelish said and with a flickering glance towards his steward he added. "Despite my assurances that I meant no harm and had no weapons your steward saw fit to argue." Harry recognized the attempt to manipulate him into punishing his man immediately. He'd been manipulated by enough people in his past not to fall for it again.
"As well he should. I will be speaking to my guards, as they should not have let you in without my permission either," Harry said.
"My Lord," Byran said. "Oxfess and Crester were both supposed to be on duty this early this morn. I found Crester piss drunk and Oxfess got into a fistfight with another guard and is apparently sitting in the Harrenhal dungeons sleeping off his drink. I sent Dacker and Joer to find beds as they hadn't slept since going on duty shortly after dinner yesterday, and told them to send two guardsmen to take over. The guardsmen they sent haven't arrived yet." Harry gave a nod.
"If you would, inquire as to if someone is seeking reparation for whomever it was Oxfess decided to try and pummel. Is Crester still sleeping it off?" Harry asked. Byran nodded. "Good, go double check that the guardsmen to take over duty are on their way and then take three more and have Crester dumped into a water trough to sober him up," Harry ordered. Bryan's lips twitched and he nodded acceptance of his Lords order before he left.
"Now Lord Baelish," Harry said turning his attention to the man, "May I ask what is so important that you, despite my steward's protests against it decided to violate my temporary living quarters?" He asked as he sat down lightly on the chaise that had been set within the tent and picked at the grapes and cheese that had been placed there, likely by one of the servants Harry had brought with him, specifically for that purpose.
"My apologies once more My Lord Peverell, it was not my intention to bring discomfort," Baelish said, and Harry fought not to sneer. The man was a twenty years younger less elegant version of Lucius Malfoy and twice as slimy. Harry found that the twenty-two name day-old lord irked him and made him want to take him in hand. "I simply had to speak with you before you talked with Lord Stark this afternoon." Harry raised an eyebrow.
"May I ask, how did you know I was to talk with Lord Stark?" Harry asked.
"While I was recently banished from the halls of Riverrun as I had earned Lord Tully's ire, something we share in common I believe?" Baelish said and Harry's face remained blank, causing Baelish's own smile to falter for a moment as the man's mask almost fell, before it readjusted and he continued. "I am still good friends with the Ladies Tully and Lady Catelyn mentioned it." Harry raised an eyebrow but didn't repute the explanation that he knew to be false given how unlikely it would be that any of the Stark children would have told the eldest's betrothed anything of such nature.
"Continue with what you wished to speak to me of Lord Baelish," Harry said before plopping a piece of tangy cheese into his mouth savoring it as its flavor ran across his tongue.
"I understand that rumor has recently been that the Lady Lyanna Stark was to be your betrothed, an honor for such a new but highly successful House, but early last night, Lord Stark and Prince Rhaegar came to an agreement that she would marry him. I simply did not believe you should be caught off of such guard," Baelish said watching Harry carefully for a reaction. Harry's lips twitched into a slight smile that was more nasty than friendly.
"Lord Baelish," Harry said smoothly standing. "I would ask what you think you're doing," Harry continued as he slowly walked towards the thinner and slightly shorter man. "But I expect I already know the answer to that."
"I'm not sure I understand?" Baelish said questioningly trying to backtrack his words and even taking a step back. Harry's hand whipped out lighting fast to grab Baelish's arm and twisting, pulled him forward into a restrictive hold. Harry stood with Baelish's back to his chest Harry's arm round his throat and the other round his chest pinning both arms to the smaller man's side.
"Do you believe I am a stupid man," Harry asked his voice quiet and deadly soft beside Peter's ear, "Lord Baelish?" Peter's own voice was also quiet but filled with a thin thread of fear.
"No my Lord Peverell."
"Good," Harry said. "Then perhaps you would like to explain to me why you just attempted to have me form some kind of resentment towards the Houses of Stark and Targaryen?"
"I'm sorry my Lord it was not my intention…" Baelish was cut off as Harry shifted so that the arm around Peter's throat could be replaced by Harry's hand which squeezed lightly and pushed Peter's head to the side even as Harry plastered himself to Peter's back. Harry's wolf within growled as Peter was forced to bare his neck or be choked.
"I thought we agreed not pretend you believed me stupid, Lord Baelish," Harry's voice tickled Baelish's ear as Harry pressed the man forward and practically threw him at the chaise. Baelish scrambled quickly around to face Harry managing to stand up as Harry stepped directly in front of the smaller male. Baelish was breathing heavily and for a moment Harry was confused, though he'd pressed lightly in warning against the other man's windpipe he'd not choked the young man. A glance to the south provided him his reason why.
As Harry glanced back up to Baelish's face he saw panic and was quick to wrap an arm around the other man's waist when the man, well truly little more than a boy, tried to escape.
"Where do you think you're going? You haven't answered my questions truthfully yet," Harry asked smirking as he pulled Baelish to his chest. His smirk grew larger when Peter shuddered lightly at the contact.
"I was angry my Lord," Peter said hurriedly. "Lady Catelyn was my good friend and Lord Brandon will not treat her as she deserves. I tried to defend her and was punished and almost killed for daring to do so. I wanted to get some kind of revenge against the Starks. It was petty I'm sorry!"
"I can understand your frustration," Harry said lightly, "But I do not like being manipulated you understand?" Peter nodded quickly eyes towards the ground, keeping one arm around the other's waist Harry used his other hand to lift Peter's chin so that he could look into Peter's eyes. "Words please Peter," Harry said.
"Yes my Lord I understand," Peter said eyes filled with confusion at Harry's politeness and sudden use of his first name. "May I leave now?" His voice was quiet and gave away just how nervous he was. For all the pomp and slyness he'd shown only moments earlier he was truly just a young man barely out of boyhood.
"Not just yet," Harry said voice filled with amusement even as his belly stirred.
"But I answered your question and even apologized!" Peter protested.
"You did," Harry said. "But you also lied."
"I didn't mi'lord I told the truth I swear," Peter's voice was panicky again and his proper speech slipped a little as his wide dark eyes stared into Harry's bright emerald ones.
"You did about your intentions, after a little prompting, I will agree," Harry said, the hand under Peter's chin skimming lightly down to rest his fingers lightly to Peter's throat. "But," Harry's thumb stroked over Peter's adam's apple as the man gulped. "You lied about where you got your information about my meeting with Lord Stark." Peter obviously couldn't help his little gasp in surprise at Harry's knowledge and neither could he help the little whimper that escaped his throat when Harry forced his leg to Peter's crotch and asked words slow and voice low and husky,
"Now what's to be done about that?"
"My Lord, please I…" Peter was cut off when he gasped as Harry's arm round the man's waist forced Peter into a thrust allowing Harry to better feel the hard length within Peter's pants. Harry fought off the groan that threatened to escape his own lips as he twisted to sit pulling the young Lord down with him to lie cross his lap.
"Personally it is my belief that naughty boys deserve spankings," Harry said his voice still low. "Do you agree Peter?" Harry asked as though he was having a pleasant conversation. Baelish's breath caught at Harry's words. "Shall I take your silence as an agreement?" Harry asked letting one hand run up Peter's back to push the man's chest further into the chaise even as the other skimmed the boy's ass. Peter shied away from the hand on his buttocks but then moaned as his movement brought contact between his and Harry's groins. This time Harry couldn't help the noise that escaped his own lips.
Regaining himself Harry brought his hand down hard on Peter's still clothed ass. Peter gasped and jolted forward. Harry shifted his legs a little wider and brought his hand down again. Twenty harsh slaps later and Harry forced Peter up to straddle his waist. Peter had to put his hands on Harry's shoulders for balance and tears streamed down the younger Lords cheeks despite the very obvious and still very hard cock that strained in his pants. Gently Harry wiped away Baelish's tears.
"Such a good boy Peter," Harry cooed quietly. "You took your punishment so well. I think you deserve a reward," Harry continued as his hands moved back to Baelish's waist and forced the smaller man to grind his cock down into Harry's own even as Harry thrust up, and Peter gasped his hands clenching hard to Harry's shoulders. "Don't you think you deserve a reward for being a good boy?" Harry asked grinding again causing Peter to gasp again, but not answer. Harry stilled.
"Your words Peter," Harry said, for a moment Peter was silent and then,
"Please," was whispered breathy and quiet.
"Please what Peter," asked Harry voice equally as quiet.
"Kiss me," Peter begged and Harry obliged.
Though the nuptials of Prince Rhaegar and the Lady Lyanna were the main talk of the tourney, and the whispers told of the coming coup to place the Prince on the throne, there were still whispers and giggles as Lords, Ladies, and commoners alike all gossiped and wondered who exactly had screamed in such pleasure within Lord Peverell's tent on the first morning of the Tourney. At the end of the event Harry had a new customs master for Moatfast, and perhaps in time and with trust a new husband as well. For now his paramour was simply a very eager bedmate.