Hi! Still alive. Real life has decided to kick me in the throat, and I can't wait for the weekend so I can take a breather. But! I promised a chapter long ago and I am here to deliver. I'm glad you seem to be enjoying it. Unfortunately, the next one won't be out until Monday. The next dozen or so chapters have to be written somewhat in tandem, and I'm trying to get a handle on all the storylines - past and present.
This one sets the tone - magically at least - and we'll see our first glimpse of Harry's year learning to control his new powers and the (semi-dangerous) consequences of all the magic at play. Cheers!
Harry had unexpectedly found himself stood beside Randyll Tarly long after their ship took off.
The Reachlords had come with a half dozen ships, each with a crew of around fifteen men, and Dorne had provided another half dozen, sending them in the midst of pirates so as to wrestle ships and land from them. They had spent the better part of the last three days discussing how they would do so, with the Reachmen bringing some input to the task. They had landed their ships along the Western coastline at one point in their war, placing men at Crakehall and Tarbeck Hall and igniting Tywin Lannister's fury.
"How long should we expect it to take?" Randyll Tarly asked, jerking Harry from his thoughts on Westeros' wars. The man wasn't facing him; Randyll Tarly had spent the entire journey with his eyes somewhere Northwest of their location.
King's Landing, he guessed, knowing the man to be one of the few to ever give Robert Baratheon trouble on the battlefield and his eldest held hostage. Or Casterly Rock, seething at the thought of Tywin Lannister continuing to breathe where many of his fellow Reachmen did not.
"Bloodstone? Not long," Harry answered. "Perhaps a few hours."
Perhaps shorter, he knew. They had no true account of the numbers on Bloodstone, but the bulk of their men were more than prepared to take the islands, and Harry himself was more than enough to clear out the isle.
If only his magic did not feel so jumpy, he thought. The had come closer to the islands, sailing along the Broken Arm when he felt it, the stirrings of magic stronger than anything he had ever felt in Westeros. Stronger almost than anything he had felt in his entire life, his own magic reacting curiously.
The First Men crossed the Arm to wage war, and the Children had broken it in retaliation, he recalled Elia saying.
"The restoration," Tarly corrected. "How long until we launch the king's bid to restore his throne?"
Harry frowned, sweeping his eyes along the horizon as a tingle ran down his spine, the heavy feeling of magic becoming more pronounced.
"You would risk a war unprepared?" Harry asked, turning to face Randyll. The man had moved – forgoing his task of glowering into the ether at whichever House had earned his ire.
"Do you take me for a fool, my lord?" he asked, blue eyes cool as they stared at him.
"I took you for a soldier. One who knows not to eagerly run to battle," Harry said candidly, ignoring the press of magic as he eyed the man before him.
"As are you," Randyll stated. "Like calls to like, and you are not one with a life free of bloodshed, nor are you a stranger to death."
Harry smiled grimly, seeing his expression mirrored in the older man's face.
"War is not mere play for us. Certainly not this war," Randyll continued, face twisting as he pointed to the scar on his face. It was long, cutting across the side of his mouth to his hairline; had the cut been a touch closer to the right, Randyll Tarly would have been short an eye. "A token from Meryn Trant at the Fifth Battle of the Marches. I sent his head to his king and sacked Nightsong in answer. Don't speak to me of being an eager green boy. I've fought more battles than any commander in the Seven Kingdoms."
His blue eyes flicked to the opposite side of the deck, and Harry suppressed a sigh, knowing without turning just who the man was looking at. Arthur Dayne returning to his homeland had been a sour event; Ser Arthur staying to guard a girl had been a touchy point for the Reachlords, who had thought having the man at the Trident would have made all the difference. That Arthur quietly blamed the Reach for sitting in comfort in Storm's End did little to bridge the divide between them, but all parties had heeded their king's warning so far.
Ser Arthur remained Aegon's guard, and the Reach sought blood for all they had lost in the aftermath of the Trident.
"And yet you seek another battle even before this one," Harry pushed, the press of magic growing as they edged closer to Bloodstone. Vaguely, he noticed a few ships steer off course, no doubt headed to take the island from the south as they moved north.
To his astonishment, Randyll Tarly smiled. It was a grim thing; dark and tinged with years of pain dealt and received and strife. "You've four children, my lord, and another to come. Would you not seek redress from those who've harmed them?"
I already have, he thought. Teddy had been safe the night Andromeda died, protected viciously by Kreacher, and Harry had been quick to find and eliminate what he could of the group that had attacked his family. "Your son is alive," Harry pointed out.
"My son…Samwell was always a soft boy. King's Landing has hardened him where I could not," he scoffed in disdain. "I mean to see them bleed for killing an heir of Horn Hill."
Lovely, he thought, a lance of pity shooting through him for Samwell Tarly, written off as dead by his own father.
Harry ducked beneath a haphazard swipe, a blast of magic pushing the man back as he cursed.
Bloodstone was far more than he imagined, and Harry had not been fully prepared for the onslaught of magic in the air.
Teddy was right, he thought, absentmindedly sending a piercing hex at the downed pirate. It had done more than he expected, a gaping hole instead where he had meant to pierce a precise point in his face.
Ley lines were dangerous enough, with only few buildings in Britain having been constructed atop them. Hogwart's wards had held unbroken for near a thousand years, falling only in the face of onslaught from Voldemort, the Ministry had fallen to other security concerns, and – as far as Harry knew – Potter Hall had never fallen in the hundreds of years it had existed, the Peverell home remaining hidden for much longer on account of the single line it had been constructed atop. A broken ley line; Harry knew now why none had dared search for any such phenomena to his knowledge. The magic was heightened, an almost crushing presence as they battled brigands and pirates – the odd Tyroshi captain also present to stake his claim to the island.
A spear thrust past him, skewering a groaning pirate before Oberyn made quick work of him.
"Have you forgotten how to fight?" the man teased, eyes serious as he grinned at another foe.
"Not nearly," Harry shot back, flicking his hand to send two men flying into each other as he lifted his sword, the two of them working in tandem to clear a path to the castle.
The first man to witness Harry using magic had frozen, the awe and terror in his face the last thing he would ever feel as he paid for his hesitance with his life. The others had learned to move quickly after that, barely paying more attention than they could spare.
Dornish archers covered their backs, aiming for the men fleeing to their ships as others covered their prince, another group of them dogging Viserys as he fought alongside Daemon Sand.
Aegon was up ahead, Arthur Dayne removing any obstacle in their path as an honour guard surrounded him. Another group had branched off to keep an eye on Rhaenys, Teddy next to her as he made use of the lessons with Oberyn.
Harry had been clearing a path to them, feeling his magic lash out in response to the magic of the island, swearing once more as he ignored his wand.
He had felt this way once before, and he knew he did not have the space or the time to regain control of his magic as he wanted, furiously battling the wave of pirates as they made their way further inland.
They were winning; he'd lost count of the number of pirates they had fought but there were far more of their men standing and fighting, archers shooting at the ones manning the ships.
"Egg!"
"Viserys!"
Of course, that was when he felt the tug in his core, the oath he had sworn all those years ago screaming at him to fulfil it as he heard the frantic shouts from their left.
Harry spun, heart stopping at the sight of Aegon cradled in Arthur Dayne's arms. He could not make out the expression on his son's face, but there was no blood as there was on Viserys, a streak of red on his face as a frantic Daemon Sand held him up.
"Mother have mercy," a man of the Reach breathed, eyes wide as he stared at the sky, ignoring the swirl of sand as the men around him gaped.
"Dragons!"
Harry sprinted over, taking Aegon in his arms. There was a pained look on his face, features twisted in agony as he gasped. Bloodstone loomed over them, the sun blotted out by the wings of the roaring dragons, and Harry felt all the blood leave his face at Aegon's mutter.
"Vis…Viserys. Swore... Viserys," he gasped, contorting in pain as a ripple of magic tore through him.
"Teddy," Harry snapped, seeing his eldest from the corner of his eyes. "Make sure they don't burn anything."
He heard his furious hissing in the odd stillness that had taken over the island, pleas failing to reach an upset Iacomus as the dragon swooped low, a screech renting the air to announce his presence. Auriga had landed near Viserys, her wings outstretched as she crouched protectively over rider, Rhaenys no doubt tightening her hold on the bond.
"What did you do?" he asked lowly, green eyes glowing as he focused on pained indigo.
"Promised to protect," Aegon muttered, face twisting as he gasped, a lick of flames leaving Iacomus in response. "Viserys."
"Take them inside," Harry ordered, "and keep them close."
The dragon came closer, grey scales gleaming in the light, and Harry saw Teddy rush forward, hurriedly explaining Aegon's state. Iacomus leaned forward, head looming over them as the men surrounding Aegon scrambled away in fear, Arthur Dayne frozen as he blinked up at the creature in wonder.
"Move!" Harry hissed at both dragon and men, pointing to the castle just behind them.
"Loose! Loose you bastards!" he heard the yell, turning to see a few ships had made to leave, sailing north.
Sailing to Westeros, he thought, knowing they could not afford to lose what advantage they had, even with the bloody dragons.
There were three ships that he could make out in the distance, their oars moving frantically with another five following, the archers successfully stalling the other two that made to join them.
Harry closed his eyes briefly as he ignored the dragons and people around him, senses stretched to test his magic before he grimaced. He had almost forgotten the feeling, the Elder wand falling into his palm as his magic sang, stirring stubbornly against the chaotic currents of the land.
There had been a story Persephone had told him, all those years ago when Harry had sequestered himself inside the Peverall home, eager to fix what he had thought was wrong with him.
"A true elemental, Harry, is one that works within the confines of their element," Persephone had emphasized, the parseltongue rolling easily off her tongue. "A true elemental is dangerous, and only those who wield the chaos of the wild alongside their cores can be viewed as their equal."
"Do you mean to say…" Harry trailed off, blinking as he imagined the power Persephone was suggesting. The woman had refused to allow him to speak only in English, appalled at his lack of mastery in Parsel and eager to correct it.
"You were born to wield the powers of those before you, nephew. 'Tis not an easy task, taming the chaos within, and few learn to master it."
"Have any of you mastered it?"
"Only several before you have been born as such. Claiming air is a difficult task, I daresay. Calming the chaos, merging the two is perhaps the more difficult endeavour."
"I've not managed it," he said, frustration leaking into his tone. "The spells are still to powerful, or not powerful enough. The magic does as it wishes."
She laughed, a throaty thing as she tossed her head back in amusement. "Did you believe Pontus' boasts, nephew?" she teased, a familiar glint in her blue eyes. "Pontus spent years attempting to master it, and even then, it was his brother who had done the necessary task. Aurelius was much like you, but the boy thrived in the chaos of magic and stubbornly pushed through. The Greeks did not thank him when he tore through their island, but none could accuse him of seeking to harm them when he brought the battle to Herpo.
Magic is a wild thing, Harry, even more so when one is as attuned to it as you are. Wield it as Aurelius had – whether in chaos or in harmony – lest it rule you and you find yourself falling to it."
It was her words he recalled, the oath urging him forward as the wand in his hand practically sang in anticipation. Death had handed Antioch a weapon, and Harry felt his blood – the blood of Ignotus, of House Peverell – respond to its call, magic tearing through the heavy sensation that lingered in Bloodstone.
The sea began to stir, a slow frothing that picked up as the winds blew quickly, slowing the movements of the few ships that had begun their escape.
He flicked his wand, feeling the strain as he lashed out, slowly dragging the three ships back amidst a rising wave. Harry could feel the headiness of the magic, could tell when his own began to push through to force the sea to do his bidding as he flung his wand arm out as if to grab at the ships, the magic coursing through him in spite of Bloodstone's defences.
With a sudden jerk of his arm – almost a pull – the wave rose, cresting over the three ships as they were dragged high across the water. It was near as tall as Bloodstone's castle, the three ships almost. They crashed into each other, a thunderous sound ringing in the air as bits of wood flew haphazardly across the water. He could barely make out the sounds from the sea, hearing the shouts for the archers as the remaining five ships were dragged to the shore.
"Old Oak!" came the shout, a man rushing forward to secure the ship closest to him. His words caused the others to move, their eyes dipping warily to Harry, flinching at the sight of the wizard standing calmly, green eyes glowing with power as the sea moved angrily in tandem with his magic, drowning the remnants of the three ships.
"Where's my son?" Harry asked, pushing past the Dornish guards into the room. He didn't bother to hide his annoyance at the sight of Oberyn, but the other man simply did not care, his guards nervous as they closed and barred the door behind them.
"Have a drink," Oberyn said, hand outstretched with a wineskin as he sat.
"I don't want a drink," Harry replied curtly, eyeing the room in disdain. Some pirate lord had ruled here, bolts of fabric falling from the walls in mimicry of a tapestry, a featherbed pushed against the corner and a small sitting area before him. There was a window facing north, the edges of the ships he had dragged ashore visible. "If you think this will hold me then you've clearly knocked your head."
"I don't mean to hold you," Oberyn said, hand raised in a gesture of peace. "Not indefinitely at least."
Before Harry could snap, feeling the lingering magic stir, Oberyn continued, "Do you want to be around your children with your control near lost?"
He closed his mouth, swallowing heavily even as he glared at Oberyn. "What do you know of control?"
"No man wishes to show their children the worst of themselves, Harry," Oberyn countered, an almost soft look on his face. "Nor should you question him with your control almost frayed."
We're past that point, he thought darkly, taking the wineskin and the open seat. Much as he hated to admit it, Oberyn was right. He had long been past the days of losing control magically, but Bloodstone was not England, and Harry had moved too hastily to gain proper control in such an environment.
"Viserys is well, if you were worried," Oberyn said. "A minor wound that will teach him to not throw himself in the path of others."
"I knew he was fine," Harry answered. Aegon might have died elsewise.
"A curious thing, magic," Oberyn continued, an odd look in his black eyes. "It can be used to bind others to protect those under their care."
His lips tightened. "A fool's errand," Harry replied. "Aegon is not finished his magical education and unaware of what an oath requires."
Oberyn's lips quirked slightly. "Your ancestors have told me some of the danger we might find ourselves in."
"Oh?" he drawled, knowing the portraits had not discussed his history with Oberyn – especially not in the little time they spent with the prince. "What danger is that?"
Oberyn stood, sauntering over before he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Destroy what you must inside here, brother. Aegon needs his father to berate him, not the man ruled by his powers. I'm certain he can worry himself for a few hours more while Rhaenys keeps his dragon under control."
He was almost to the door when Harry spoke, head tilted as he glanced curiously at his goodbrother. "Most people run the other way when faced with such magic."
"I've studied magic at the Citadel," Oberyn said. "If you swear not to hang me by my innards I promise to be a most attentive student. Dragons. I had never thought to see them in my lifetime."
Harry rolled his eyes at the almost giddy look on Oberyn's face, closing his eyes as he breathed, struggling to regain the control he needed for the conversation ahead.
To answer any questions:
Harry's injuries during his time in captivity were fairly mild. The hits mainly came along his hair/jawline, which tend to bleed easily and can make things look messy. Oberyn's chokehold as well was a max of like ten secs, before he was pulled off, and in character with the hothead we met in canon.
red demon161: Glad you enjoyed the UK arc. Westeros is definitely going to be jarring, but it's meant to be that way so I'm glad it showed. Ah, I'll check to see and fix the sword/arms training comment. Could have sworn it was Narcissa who said that.
Centurion18: Hopefully this gives you a bit of a glimpse, but we'll see more ripples from Bloodstone beyond the tactical advantage.
era-romance: Jon is still Jon! Arthur left too early to know, but he is a guy and he is still in Ned's care. We'll see more of how that happened once we actually meet Ned.
017: don't think we'll see something like a flying castle or floating city here (unless Harry upends part of a castle in battle).
