Just a quick timeline update, and the timeline for this chapter will run concurrently with the next one.
Bloodstone happens almost a week after they meet the Reachlords. Elia at the time of the last chapter is six months pregnant.
The beginning of this chapter takes place two weeks after that.
By the time we get to the end of the chapter, it's been six weeks since they landed on Bloodstone. Elia is around 7 and a half months pregnant, and it's two months into 296.
Thank you all for the reviews! I'm glad you continue to enjoy the story. I'll answer the comments at the start of the chapter this time.
osterreicher97: kind of on the money. Lol, I think this chapter might raise a few more questions but you're right about the rough history of the isles being important.
mordicus18: I like exploring magical oaths, so I took it more along the lines of something they would judge by intent. The magic is more intentional here. We'll see Harry's efforts to counter the oath here. As to how he's viewed by the others; only the allied lords have met him. They see him as a mix of those things but in a friendlier light because he's fought alongside them. The true test will come once the restoration moves forward and when they get to King's Landing.
Black Magic99: in terms of amenities, we've seen minor grumbles from the kids on that end. Society wise; they've been in Dorne, which is more akin to the magical world in certain terms. The culture clash will be more obvious once they meet the rest of Westerosi society. Send me a pm if there's something I missed. I'm happy to chat.
red demon161: hopefully this chapter answers your questions about Bloodstone.
Harry was nearly at his wits end, glowering at the runes etched into the floor.
It had taken a single trip for Harry to gather the portraits – except for his most monotonous ancestor – and the books, the trunks enlarged and all of the books placed together for ease of travel.
Bloodstone was a dilapidated castle, about half as large as Potter Hall with twisting corridors and a number of small courtyards within. The castle was smaller than Harry had first thought; nestled into the side of a small mountain, Bloodstone loomed over them with it's façade of towers, the additions to what they would discover was the original keep giving off the impression of a castle larger than it truly was. The rooms themselves were relatively well maintained – at least the few that had been in use – but the lower halls of the original keep were grimy, dirt and dust marked the highest levels, and bits of stone were missing from the keeps exterior.
One overpowered scourgify had been enough to convince them it was best to have Elia remain in Sunspear with the three oath-bound Targaryens until they had a better handle on the magic of the island.
Cleaning was difficult enough without the risks of the oath and a pregnant woman involved. They had left with most of the men, leaving behind only a skeleton crew that had volunteered to stay and guard them as they worked on the castle. Doran had wanted a number of servants to assist in preparing the castle, but Oberyn had agreed to follow his lead when it came to magic, unwilling to risk unsettling something that had so obviously affected Harry.
He had kept Rhaenys and Teddy with him, helping them get a handle on their magic, gleefully setting them to the task of removing the dirt and grime from the hall and rooms to the insistence of the portraits while Harry worked on finding a way to anchor the wards; the elder portraits recoiled at the thought of being placed on grimy walls, insisting they be cleaned.
Teddy had made the mistake of reminding them they were paintings on a canvas and had endured a tongue-lashing from some of the more pretentious Potters and Peverells on respecting his ancestors.
They had been at it for two weeks, the castle slowly but surely beginning to look as if it were newly built, starting from the entryway and moving further inside. He had not touched the island itself; what greenery rested on the mountain was a wild tangle, trees littering the sides in mimicry of a deadened forest, the magic of Bloodstone felt in every corner.
Harry had looked inside the dungeons. Bloodstone had been home to conquerors and pirates for a number of years, and the men that explored the dungeons had returned gagging from the stench of death and the sight of skulls and emaciated bones. He'd made his way down there, wand flashing quickly as he vanished the skulls littering the ground and battling the stench. This was the lowest level of the castle, the best place to anchor the wards closest to the source of the magic.
The wards had refused to take, the magic not as comprehensive as he wished. The first thing Harry had learned at Potter Hall – once he had learned to control the chaotic magic he had – had been the structure of the wards, learning where they had been layered and in which order as every Potter Lord before him.
Bloodstone had more than enough magic to sustain wards of the kind that had covered his home, but the rune sequence failed once it reached the third layer, the magic of the dungeons not providing enough of a source.
"Papa!" came the shout, and Harry felt his heart stop for a moment before reminding himself they were not in the thick of battle. Teddy didn't sound panicked, voice tinged instead with excitement and a touch of nervousness reverberating across the halls.
He sprinted upstairs to the ground floor, following the sound of Teddy's excited chatter to the back of the castle. The grime was most noticeable here, clinging thickly to the walls. They had noticed a splash of colour on the walls as they cleaned, thick veins of a deep black that sparkled in the light mixing with the grey stone. It almost reminded him of the Peverell halls, with the striking purple and silver cutting across the black stone.
"…feel something that powerful," Teddy was explaining, Oberyn's brows furrowed in concentration as he glanced at the dirty wall before them. "There's something there."
It was nondescript; had Harry not been leery of the magic in Bloodstone, not so attuned to the changes as he had been forced to become, he might have dismissed it as another part of the castle that required cleaning.
He could feel it, a deep well of something ancient stirring along his senses, the wand strapped to his forearm practically singing in response.
"It needs blood," he murmured, stepping closer to inspect the wall, unable to make out any markings beneath the grime.
"It's a wall," Oberyn drawled, a sceptical look on his face. "The back wall of the castle."
"A partial illusion," Harry corrected, certain he was right. "Didn't you say there were Targaryens that had claimed this island? Could be one of them had enough magic to hide something here."
"If Daemon Targaryen had magic then the Dance might have gone differently," Oberyn countered, a grim look on his face. "The Rogue Prince is the last Westeros would have wished to see with magic of the kind you wield."
"Good thing we're fairly rare," Teddy chirped, a wry grin on his face. "Imagine if Maegor held such magic?"
Oberyn shuddered, "Thank the Warrior that has not happened."
Harry ignored their words, twisting his wand to remove the grim from the wall, feeling his magic respond freely. It was the same as the rest of the castle, grey stone interspersed with veins of deep black, with nothing to show how to proceed.
He grimaced, reminded of the cavern with the lake as he raised his wand to his palm.
"I'll do it," Oberyn volunteered, striding forward with a knife in hand.
"No," Harry said, shaking his head as he grabbed Oberyn to stop him. "There is power in blood. Magical blood even more so, and these things need more than a touch of blood."
He sliced his palm lightly, pressing the bloody appendage against the wall and smearing his blood across it, his magic caressing the bloody path.
The wall didn't open as he expected – not as the wall hiding the Peverell home did, or even the one protecting the cavern. Instead, Harry heard the rumble as his blood and magic seeped into it, a deep echo shuddering throughout the small mountain above them, forcing him to step back and drag Oberyn with him, a shield springing into place.
The tingle of magic was the only warning, pushing them backward as it battered against Harry's shield, seeping outward before it flared in a ripple, the shockwave sending them flying back. He had enough control over his magic, stirring angrily in response as the sound of shrieks rang from outside, to slow Rhaenys and Teddy's movements, keeping them upright and redirecting the jagged rocks as Harry crashed into a wall, head tucked between his arms, Oberyn falling next to him as their legs collided.
Should have used a bloody cushioning charm, he thought, wheezing lightly as his ribs protested.
He was slumped against the wall, dirt and dust clinging to his clothes and hair as he blinked furiously.
"My Prince!"
The dozen rushing guards came to a halt, spears helf aloft as they stood gaping at the sight before them; the entire hall was a ruin. It was as if the wall had been holding the mountain up before it collapsed, rubble lining the floor the entire width of the back wall. In the midst of it all were Rhaenys and Teddy, unharmed and relatively clean, and Harry and Oberyn, both sporting signs of recent battle with rocks.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked, back screaming in pain as he turned to check on Oberyn.
"Wonderful," he wheezed, the wind knocked out of him. There were bits of rock in his hair, the dark locks dishevelled and a slightly stunned look on his face.
"Bloody hell," Teddy breathed, green eyes wide as his hair flashed in surprise, his hand gripping Rhaenys.
Harry glanced at them, seeing the two unharmed by whatever it was that sent them flying backward.
"Rhaenys."
Her eyes were closed, her breaths coming deeply as she no doubt attempted to calm Auriga. It took a minute before she opened them, purple orbs glowing lightly as she slumped against Teddy.
"We're fine," she said, sending him a weak grin. "She won't come running just yet."
Harry nodded, green eyes lingering on her until she gave him a firm shake of her head.
Harry struggled to his feet, coughing despite the ache in his ribs as he held out a hand for Oberyn. His back protested, the strain of lifting the man to his feet agitating his bruised back, and Harry did his best to push through the pain as two guards rushed forward to help.
Merlin, I hope I've got a pain relief in the trunk.
"Alright?"
"I'll survive," Oberyn said, a slight grin on his face. His dark eyes were staring intently at the hole, curiousness in them even as his countenance became serious. "What is it?"
There was a faint light visible behind the rubble, lingering ominously in the gaping darkness the collapse had made. "A hidden passageway," Harry murmured.
"Prince Oberyn," one of them spoke, blue eyes flitting nervously between them and the pile of rubble. "Is it wise to continue?"
"How else will we know if it is safe to harbour my sister and her family here?" Oberyn said, brushing off their concern. "You may join us if you wish, else you can return to manning the front of the keep."
They exchanged a look, an unspoken signal passing between them before the one who spoke nodded. "I shall accompany you, my prince, as will Ser Andrey."
"Splendid," Oberyn said, "Lead the way, brother."
"Whatever I say goes," Harry said firmly, glancing pointedly at his children and the two guards in Martell orange. "If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to leave me behind, I expect you to do so."
He waited until they all swore to follow his orders, echoes of the past ringing in his ears.
"Right," he muttered, raising his wand to vanish the rubble before he hesitated. The outer parts of the keep still needed mending, missing chunks of stone that he had thought to conjure could be replaced with existing stone, and Harry instead moved the rubble aside, piling it against the wall to the far right.
"Bloody hell," Teddy breathed, voice tinged with excitement.
"It's another castle," Rhaenys murmured, eyes wide with surprise as she peered intently into the void.
"Wands out," Harry ordered, gesturing for them to follow him. "And don't touch anything. Rhaeny, Teddy—"
"Shields ready. Right," Teddy said, gesturing for Ser Andrey to follow him.
They moved slowly, his wand tip lighting to push back the darkness. The magic of Bloodstone felt stronger here, thicker and yet less chaotic than it had when Harry had first landed on the island.
The walls were a deep black, light shining off it in a manner similar to the way it had on the veins in the outer castle, the high ceiling disappearing into the darkness.
"Black Stone," Oberyn said, voice echoing against the walls. "The Hightower is made of it."
"What is it?" Teddy asked, a curious note in his tone.
"We don't know," Oberyn shrugged. " It looks similar to the Hightower and the Black Walls of Volantis, but the maesters have ruled out any Valyrian work done on the Hightower. The castle was raised before the Valyrians came to power."
"But they could have come here," Rhaenys stated.
"Perhaps…" Oberyn trailed off, an odd look on his face. "See this?" He pointed to the walls, blank and unadorned in any fashion. "The Valyrians have markings on their walls. Dragonstone has the visage of a number of creatures. This is plain – more akin to the Hightower."
There was something he wasn't saying – some unspoken connection that Oberyn did not want to share, and Harry narrowed his eyes before he settled his expression, feigning calm.
There was a sconce just ahead, glowing faintly under the light of his wand, and Harry flicked his wrist to send glowing orbs of light throughout, brightening the room they were in.
Only, it was a large corridor. The walls were smooth, a few doors placed evenly before they ended off at the foot of a grand staircase. The staircase split into two, branching off into a balcony that disappeared along the walls. Behind the stairs was a large hall – grand enough to feast a dozen kings – with fireplaces along the walls, five on each side.
"Upstairs or downstairs?" Oberyn asked, voice low.
"Downstairs for now," Harry murmured, eyes narrowed. There was something tugging on his senses, a well of magic he needed to find. The ward source, he thought. The illusion would have been anchored somewhere, and if Harry found it he could set up his own wards.
"Stay close," he told them, moving through the hall. There was a draft coming from somewhere above them, the scent of the sea carrying inside, and Harry looked up, seeing only a shaft of light near the ceiling.
"Harry," Oberyn said, an odd note in his voice. "Aren't we meant to be beneath a mountain?"
"An illusion," Harry told him.
"Not entirely," Oberyn shot back. "I happen to recall a pile of rubble sending me arse over into a wall."
"Arse over teakettle," Teddy groaned, shaking his head at the incorrect use.
"Yes, that," Oberyn said, waving a hand carelessly. "Do you not recall, goodbrother?"
Harry rolled his eyes, pointing at the light. "A partial illusion, professor," he said sarcastically. "Ten galleons there's a pile of rubble at the other end of this castle. We'd have been buried if it weren't an illusion."
A flare of light stopped him short, whirling around to see Rhaenys holding a ball of fire, the guard beside her relatively unfazed. Harry didn't know who he was but he guessed he was one of the men that had been present when he had given them impromptu lessons on controlling their magic on the island.
She shrugged nonchalantly at his look. "It's easier to do here. Easier than it was outside at least."
He pursed his lips, acknowledging her point. His own magic had settled a touch more, and Harry wondered if it would remain settled should he return beyond the walls of this new keep.
"Is it safe to touch?" Teddy asked.
"Carefully," Harry warned. "Don't cut yourself. We don't know what else feeds off blood."
They separated slightly, the guards sticking close to their charges as Oberyn followed behind him, peeking into the few doors they saw as they continued beyond the grand hall. Most led to what he would consider a sitting room, the wood inside preserved for the most part, the slight rotting convincing him that magic had played a part.
He felt the magic growing each step he took, letting it direct him to a door at the end of a corridor. There was a slight draft here, the sound of the howling wind letting him know the door would lead outside, and Harry frowned at finding it locked.
"Alohamora," he murmured, blinking slightly as it worked. He had almost expected it to refuse, the magic of Bloodstone surprisingly yielding easily.
Harry blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the suddenly bright sunlight.
The air was eerily still here, not a hint of the howling wind he heard inside.
A forest, he first thought, seeing the greenery. But there weren't many trees here; far fewer than there were on the mountainsides.
There was a single tree, large and thick with sprawling branches reaching high into the air. If he tilted his head back, Harry could see the windows of the keep, each with a vantage to the tree dominating the space, black stone diverging outward.
It was pale wood – white with splashes of grey bark, its leaves a deep red colour all across – a solemn face carved in the wood with sap leaking from what he guessed were the eyes. The roots were massive, disappearing into the ground with a few verging into the pool at its feet, a low heat emanating from it.
He half expected a basilisk to come crawling out from its depths.
He heard the sharp inhale before the crunch of footsteps, turning slightly to see Oberyn coming toward him.
"What is it?" he asked, unable to recall.
"A weirwood," Oberyn said quietly, dark eyes troubled. "The Old Gods linger wherever a godswood with a true weirwood can be found."
Harry spared a glance at the tree; his magic stirred eagerly, sensing the source of power in the island. Bloodstone might have been chaos incarnate on the outskirts, but the magic of the ley lines remained strong here, and Harry had the odd sense that it was done purposefully.
"Nobody south of the God's Eye keeps to the Old Gods," Harry remembered.
"The Children did. 'Tis the reason the First Men ever swore to the weirwoods," Oberyn replied. "They warred for years before making their pact at the Isle of Faces, and the weirwoods were carved with faces so their gods might bear witness. They say a man cannot lie before a weirwood."
Harry sent him a sharp look, green eyes assessing as he saw the contemplative look on Oberyn's face.
"Where else have you seen these walls?" he asked bluntly.
Oberyn blinked, surprise flitting across his face as he stared at Harry uncomprehendingly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The walls. The Black Stone," Harry pressed, feeling the lightest stirring of his magic as he pinned Oberyn with an intense stare. "You've seen it elsewhere. Someplace you did not want to mention."
He was silent for so long Harry thought he might have to compel him to answer before he spoke quietly, weariness evident. "Asshai-by-the-Shadow. The walls there are not quite like this, but similar enough. In Asshai the buildings are supposedly made of darkness, drowning out any touch of light. I did not linger long."
He tilted his head curiously, glancing back at the keep. "Why not? What makes it so dark there?"
Oberyn grimaced, the first sign of true distaste coming to his face. "You said this was magic that required blood, something the Children are said to have dabbled in. Men were sacrificed to the weirwoods for thousands of years before the practice was abandoned. In Asshai…in Asshai none of that is forbidden, and men tinker with necromancy. Can you imagine? The dead walking amongst us because a few dared to work the darker arts."
Harry frowned, glancing at the tree once more as his mind flashed with memories of a horde of inferi, of bubbling cauldrons and a serpent-like face, of the stone he kept hidden.
"The dead I can imagine," Harry answered softly, shaking off the memories. "Best dealt with through fire, those ones, or outright avoidance."
"Yes, well. Thank the gods we don't have to worry about that," Oberyn said. "Only a little blood."
"A lot of blood," Harry said. Bloodstone was an apt name for the island; blood magic lingered in the air – from the godswood, from the island itself, from as far as the Broken Arm. "How many do you think have died and bled on this land when the Arm of Dorne was broken?"
"Doubtless a number of men and women. Even more blood when we consider the history of these islands," Oberyn added. "None have managed to hold it in the years since the Breaking. I couldn't tell you how old this keep is."
"Old enough," Harry replied, reaching out with his magic to lightly press against the source. "It's magic feels old."
The wards will hold, he thought, glancing around the area surrounding the weirwood and certain it was where he needed to draw the necessary runes. The magic here was potent; ancient and powerful, the likes of which Harry had not seen other than perhaps Hogwarts. Older than Hogwarts, he thought. He couldn't know if it were the Valyrians who had done so, some five thousand years past, or if it was older even then that, judging by the godswood they stood in.
He jerked in surprise, yanking his magic backward as soon as it touched the weirwood, startled at the fleeting glimpse of a young man with dark hair, a wall of ice towering over him.
The godswood was larger than they had anticipated; the new keep itself was shorter than the towering additions that had been made. It was four levels above ground, all made of the same black stone, but what it lacked in height it made up for in sheer size.
He couldn't tell if the godswood had been here first, or if the castle had been built with it in mind.
They had spent two days exploring before he was confident with settling roots here; the branching halls of black stone curled around the godswood, the keep expanding outward toward the two hills on either side of the castle, four levels with rooms of varying sizes. It would have been a terror to defend, with mountainous hills surrounding them but that they had a curtain wall to the rear, built into the hills and arcing across in smooth blocks half a hundred feet in the air, making it difficult for any invaders to gain a foothold. There was room enough between the wall and the weirwood for Auriga and Iacomus to land and rest comfortably, and Harry wondered whom the keep was built for.
It was here he etched the runes, the magic calm and damn near agreeable as he busied himself with scrawling the necessary runes to interlock the many layers.
"Careful," he warned, seeing Oberyn falter slightly as he peered down at what Rhaenys was doing near the base of the weirwood.
"What is that?" he asked, pointing at the sequence she was working on.
"Sowilo," Rhaenys answered absentmindedly. "It's a rune of power. The wards need them in a specific pattern to hold this much power for however long."
"I suppose having it stamped on your forehead is another sign of power then," Oberyn mused out loud.
They froze, Harry barely managing to avoid ruining the sequence as he flicked green eyes at a contemplative Oberyn.
"That's ten galleons," Rhaenys said, grinning at Teddy.
"How the hell did you make the connection that fast?" Teddy grumbled.
"Am I right?"
"Hmm?" Harry said vaguely, focusing on finishing the last runes. It had taken them three days to draw the runes in the godswood; another day spent measuring the distance they would need the wards to cover, and a final day spent in the section they would claim as their private rooms, ensuring they would be able dictate who came and went freely. The pattern was specific; some parts were unable to be laid down unless another had been done in tandem, some runes were finicky and would activate quickly if drawn out of order. He was fervently grateful he had not been born centuries ago, when the ward upgrade at Potter Hall had required months of work and a number of Potters working in rotation.
"How powerful does one have to be to have a rune of power seared onto their skin?" Oberyn questioned.
Green eyes flicked to lock onto black, grinning slightly at the confused expression on the man's face.
"That, is a family secret," Harry told him, rising to check their work. Teddy had just finished the last of his section, the lines connecting with Rhaenys' work to circle around the weirwood.
"We're family," Oberyn protested, eyes glinting in humour.
"Not of the blood," Rhaenys said in amusement, snorting at the thunderstruck look Oberyn sported.
"Not of the blood…" he trailed off, turning dark eyes to Harry in amazement. He sized him up, a slow smile coming to his face before he grinned. "I think I'm beginning to understand this magic you speak of."
Twin snorts met his proclamation, putting a wounded expression on his face.
"Where are your men?" Harry asked.
"Inside the keep," Oberyn responded, straightening the orange tunic he wore. "The inner keep."
"Good. Go join them, all of you," Harry said.
"You're powering all of this alone?" Oberyn wondered. "Wouldn't you need assistance?"
"It's just a bit of blood," Harry assured him.
"Blood?" Oberyn asked, aghast at the thought.
"You dabble in poisons and a little blood magic scares you?"
"Yes, as it would any sane person," Oberyn shot back. "The Valyrians dabbled in blood magic and look where it got them. Not to mention the Far East."
"That's different," Harry insisted, voice taking on a lecturing tone. "All wards – familial wards, at least – are sourced by blood magic. It's how the magic knows who to protect and who can make changes to it."
Oberyn blinked once, twice, staring at the runes on the ground. "That's not ink, I gather?"
"What gave it away?" Harry said sardonically. "Go on, then. The sooner I get this over with the sooner I can work on that oath. Don't forget to keep to the great hall!"
He waited ten minutes, giving them more than enough time to situate themselves before he crouched down, the Elder wand in hand as he hovered over the runes. His magic came much easier, confirming his choice of location.
The activation was fairly anticlimactic, magic shuddering lightly as it touched the runes, the sequence glowing briefly as it spiralled through the individual layers.
He stood, wand held firmly as he waited for the backlash.
"Chaotic magic gives way in the face of will, Harry," he remembered, bracing himself as he felt the wards begin to take hold. He could imagine it, spreading slowly to cover the keep of black stone.
The first stirrings of resistance came once the magic passed the boundary of the castle, clashing violently against Bloodstone's protective defences. It was through that mix of blood and magic tying him so closely to the wards that Harry felt the deep well of dark and ancient magic surging furiously against the expanding wards, faint screams echoing in his mind from the lingering remnants of the Breaking. His arm shook, knees buckling as he poured every ounce of stubborn will forward, forcing the magic to cave in the face of his power.
He let out a sharp laugh, breathless as he fell to his knees. His hair was plastered to his forehead, sweat-soaked tunic clinging to him as he grinned. It had been so long since he'd had to fight to gain control over that much magic and he was filled with a sense of joyous accomplishment as he let his magic loose, feeling the thin film of ancient power covering the outer wards.
For millennia man has failed to hold this island, he thought, victory written in the lines of his face as he laughed, knowing he would be the first to have tamed Bloodstone.
"There, yes right…no, no, not that one," his mother said, forcing him to bite back a sigh.
They had gone through the books, scouring the family journals and leaving Oberyn to look through some of the more esoteric texts that were written. Harry had been forced to let the man down, telling him he couldn't read the texts written in Greek or Latin, ancient dialects with no similarity to the languages of this world.
The prince had taken it as a challenge, goading Harry as he swore to learn the languages even if he had to spend hours with the portraits.
"Which one?" he asked, quill hovering over the parchment. They had taken the study in the lower levels for this, the insides relatively well preserved with a functioning wooden table and bench, scrolls piled on it as they poured over the notes the had made. He had hung the portraits he needed in the room for the time being, the Martell guards working to hang the rest in the halls of the inner keep.
I'll have to do something nice for them, Harry thought, grimacing at the thought of them putting up with the bickering portraits. They were normally mild-mannered, but each had their own thought on where they belonged, insisting they be hung near certain relations, and the guards had not yet fully accustomed themselves to the idea of talking portraits.
"What was the oath? Exact wording," Cassiopeia demanded.
"Aegon of House Targaryen, all his titles and whatnot, swears to protect to the best of his abilities, to defend so long as they do not betray him," Teddy said, scribbling at the arithmetic sequence Uncle Charlus had described.
"To provide hearth and home and to not knowingly place them in danger," Rhaenys continued, scowling down at the book. Ralston's journal, if he remembered correctly.
"How unfortunate," Cassiopeia muttered. "A good thing I'm a Black, hmm?"
"Who else breaks oaths as easily," Cousin Dianthe muttered from her place in Cousin Charlus' portrait.
Harry groaned, knowing the portraits would soon break into argument, the hissing tones of Pontus egging them on as he joined beside his mother.
"Can we focus?" he snapped, magic rippling to get their attention.
"Harry," his mother said gently, a soft look in her green eyes. "They'll be fine."
He made a vague noise from the back of his throat, not agreeing or disagreeing.
"Harry."
"Let's run through it again," he said, ignoring the sad look in her eyes. There was no room for failure, no option beyond removing the oath. They had been at it for three weeks now, creating a ritual and failing and starting all over again, working with the different rituals they had used in the past to see if it fit. To his frustration, all of them had failed, forcing the Potters to work on an entirely different ritual. Ignotus had volunteered his assistance, as had Pontus and his cousin Aurelius, guessing that the elemental nature of the three involved would have to be accounted for.
Harry had been equal parts furious and terrified when he had realized what his son had done. The fury had abated, but the terror remained, lingering until he was certain Aegon would no longer be tied to this oath – that Daenerys and Viserys, already so haunted by their years in Essos, would not be bound to a poorly worded oath.
A vicious part of him hoped the lesson – lecture – his grandfather's great-uncle Owen was giving them would force them to think before doing something so idiotic, knowing the man to be the most technical of all his relations and a monotonous taskmaster.
"Begin with algiz," Uncle Charlus said briskly, thankfully slipping into a no-nonsense attitude. "Three-quarter turn, add another."
"You'll need sowilo at the centre of the chain," his mother chimed in, green eyes contemplative as she glanced at Charlus and Cassiopeia. "Puts less stress on you to maintain the sequence."
"Here," Aunt Cassie pointed at the pages before him. "Uruz, ehwaz. Turn the nauthiz a half turn like so…no, the other way, yes. Teiwaz at the end, with a linked sowilo."
Harry blinked down at the sequence he had drawn to their exacting standards.
"This looks like rubbish," he said dryly.
"That, nephew, is how magical scholarship works. Pah! You didn't think we stuck to clean rune lines did you?" Aunt Cassie scorned. "Your wards certainly didn't look so clean-cut."
"Those made sense," Harry grumbled. The wards had been explained to him in depth, and he had not been willing to test the knowledge of generations of Potters against his lack of Ancient Runes.
"As do these," his mother said, slight amusement in her tone. "We would explain the thought process, darling, but time is of the essence."
"When is the next crescent moon?" Uncle Charlus asked, blue eyes turned to Oberyn.
The man in question glanced up in surprise, realizing they were speaking to him. "It's just passed. We'll have to wait for nearly another moon's turn."
Harry grimaced. He'd not seen his wife and youngest children in over a month. By the time the ritual was ready, Elia would be due to give birth any week, and he vowed to return to Sunspear while they waited.
"Harry," Aurelius hissed, blue-grey eyes focused intently on him. "Do not forget to add in a rune for pertho. This is chaotic magic we are meant to counteract. Channel the remnants of the broken oath into the ward scheme."
"What about the islands defences?" Harry asked lowly. "It's chaotic itself."
"Aye, and you will need to counter it with wild magic itself. The wards will strengthen, as will the isle's defences."
Aurelius looked quietly confident in his assessment, and Harry nodded as he turned to make the necessary changes.
The other rituals had collapsed before they could even begin to power them, and Harry hoped this one worked as well as it looked.
Up next; more politics as we check in with Elia and co on Sunspear to see what they've been up to these last six weeks, and we say goodbye for now to the Reachlords.
The resolution of the oath will come in the chapter after, as we see more of the magic in Bloodstone.
