I've been re-writing the past few chapters.
Reviews are answered through the PM function :)
Chapter 3: Libertas In Adulescentia
270 A.C, 5th Moon, 1st Day - Highgarden, Westeros
The Tyrell family was a rich and prosperous house. Their wealth stemmed from the granaries and fields which supplied food to the millions of people across the continent. It was this wealth and prosperity, that would give them power over other great lords and others who were all too willing to remind them of their previous steward status. Wealth gave them the many swords and shields to armour their large populations and form massive, if unskilled, armies.
However, the power came with consequences, especially during the time of Luthor and Olenna. As the Tyrell family continued to grow and branches split, more and more men would vie for the throne of the Reach.
Not only were houses like the Florents and Hightowers, major powers who also sought the title of lord paramount, but other Tyrell children from side branches were all too ready to fight against their cousins for power.
Every major kingdom had its share of usurper houses. The Tyrells have the Florents and Hightowers, the Starks have the Boltons, the Baratheons have the Conningtons, the Martells have the Yronwoods, Tully's - Freys, the Arryns had the Arryns of Gulltown, and the Lannisters had the Tarbeck-Reynes.
Had.
The Lannisters slaughtered their usurpers, and while Olenna Tyrell respected Tywin for his power and might, she found it quite distasteful. She would also be remiss if she ignored the might of the old Winter Kings, as they slaughtered the rebellious Greystark family.
The North was a... tragic Kingdom. A strong and evolving region, back before the Conquest, when they might've been one of the leading provinces in scientific and medical development. How had they fallen so far? At one point, they were overflowing with gold and riches.
Now, with their falling keeps, and ever-diminishing populations, do they start acting humble. As if they never recognized that they were once a rich and extravagant kingdom who spent thousands of gold on southern luxuries. Only when the gold left, and there was no more money coming, did they cut back on their external fiscal policy.
Perhaps it was when Aegon conquered the kingdoms, or when Alysanne Targaryen gave the New Gift to the Night's Watch.
She would never see the most fertile areas of the Reach fall to another household like the Starks had with the arable land south of the Wall. In a kingdom where land fertility equalled power and money, losing valuable assets meant the demise of their House.
This was the mindset that one Olenna Tyrell had. One where she viewed the land, and it's people as tools for power and money. Assets to place in the bank, to gamble away, to conquer. She might seem like a simply-cunning woman. They never truly saw how dark she might've been. An individual who was controlling, power-hungry, and cared about her family's legacy a bit too much.
She had information to seize, and a household to reign over.
Many years later when a small girl was born, Margaery Tyrell, would the house realize the extent of Olenna Tyrell's micro-managing. It was the prickly feeling behind one's neck, knowing how deep this woman's plans went.
She was an amazing and apprehensive character all at the same time.
Harry could only begin to learn from her and attempt to gain some of her expertise as the Queen of Thorns.
As he continued his studies with Maester Arrel, who somehow began having an infernal twinkle in his eyes, he had no idea of the plans to encourage him towards a career in the Citadel.
It was certainly welcome, as he truly thought that he could do this life justice entering that institution.
Olenna Redwyne was a cutthroat and calculating young woman. With four children and a still virile husband, she could still go strong in producing heirs for her house.
It was only the slight detail that she hated childbirth and pain, too much to actually care to bring another child into the flower fields of the rich. She also needed to focus on shaping her children into not becoming dunderheads.
Mace Tyrell was not dumb by any means, at least to the point of Jaime Lannister. She heard just last week at the floral festival, that he was having terrible issues with reading and writing. A lord who couldn't understand his letters.
What a joke.
Of course, she only needed to worry about exposing Mace, her daughters, and Harry to the court. Her last one seemed to have a much better head than her other children. Still a bit annoying, and impulsive, but nothing too hard to have snapped out of him in the Citadel.
It helped that Harry might've looked a spitting image of her.
As Maester Arrel had so eloquently put it, Hariloas must be thrown to the Citadel.
Her youngest child's cherry hair came into view, and she put away whatever documents the useless treasurer had brought to her to sign. Why was she surrounded by these foolish workers, unable to finish their jobs and missing half of their heads at every turn of a project? She wasn't a farmhand, who handled a nest of chickens.
She might as well throw all them out, and deal with the work by herself.
Alas, Harry was a silent reprieve from the immense work that was being a mother and a lady. She was sure that he was much too smart with those, at times, beady verdant eyes.
He was an intelligent and often cunning boy, both of which fit her ideals for a Tyrell child. Hariloas may not have wanted the seat of a lord, but she knew that he could reach even greater positions of power.
How Olenna could manipulate Harry into following her demands, as she had with so many other men, was unknown. Her duties needed to focus on the wealth and continued growth of the Tyrell house, but she knew that she could strike a good form as a caring mother. She had only been named the Queen of Thorns recently, the last name day of Rhaegar Targaryen she thought. Before that title, however, she was an actress. A flexible tongue can become sharp with age and experience.
Olenna knew that he would grow to be as cutting as the thorns of a golden rose that symbolized the Tyrell house. His mix between her auburn hair and Luthor's own dark brown sheened with a rich sense of life and vitality.
She still had so much work to do.
270 A.C, 9th Moon, 1st Day - Highgarden, Westeros
As Harry grew older, he could only see the bleak contrast between his old life and this new one.
He had a mother, a loving father, a brother, and two sisters. He wasn't punished for his freakishness like in his childhood with the Dursleys, and he wasn't being hunted by a sociopath this time around.
The only features of this life that could compare to his last, was his magic and his wealth.
His magic had changed on the way here, to this strange new world.
It was a strange sensation. It felt less polluted than with the industrialization of his past world, but it certainly felt much older. Almost as though some ancient souls merged with the magic core of the planet. The shadowlands of Asshai were definitely much older than the histories of Westeros, and the Starks themselves had reigned as Winter Kings for 8000 years. 8000 years after the gruesome tale of the long night, and before Aegon's Conquest.
Far longer than any Earth magic. These people had remained relatively stagnant for 8000 years, and magic stagnated with them.
For Harry Potter, wandless magic was difficult and troublesome to deal with.
In this new world, however, his magic was much more malleable and versatile. He suspected that this flexibility was due to the age that this world's magic had compared to his last, and also due to the greater number of magic users. Asshai, Valyria, Qarth, and the North were all variables included in how magic evolved quicker in this world.
He would've at first suspected that this world's magic would be much wilder or harder to control. At first glance, it could be, but he heard about the divination of Red Temple acolytes and the massive intricate illusions that could be cast by Asshai priests.
Magic was much different, and it scared him.
One of the more fascinating subjects he could research were the differences between the dragons of Valyria and those he had met at the Romanian Reserves.
These dragons would show some similarities to the ones on Earth, like their sleek designs and scaled ridges and curves. However, one of the key differences, he noticed, was their inner anatomy. Planetos dragons had one larger duct to breathe fire through, located in the middle of their soft-palate (back-roof of the mouth). They seemed to evolve from serpents, as those reptiles do not have uvulas. However, Earth dragons have two small ducts which breathe fire, in front of each tonsil. They seemed to have evolved from a mainly mammalian monster - most likely a chimera or griffin.
He was fascinated by the anatomy of not only monsters but also of humans. Here, he could learn about the human body in full capacity, without being labelled as a dark mage who wanted to use human pieces in evil rituals.
Those baboons in the ministry put strict regulations on anatomical or necromantic-related information unless you were a member of a healer's organization or had a job in a hospital.
They were at least smart enough to make their wizards stupid enough. Stupid enough to not even have the information needed to perform dark rituals which would inevitably scare them away from dark magic in general. Both that fear and lack of knowledge would limit the use of rituals and blood-magic severely.
Either way, learning about the anatomy of new and unheard-of creatures, as well as of the history of the kingdoms were much more interesting than going out into the wet and dirty courtyards to train in murder and killing
Hariloas was a tragic pacifist. As he grew up he would gain an immense fear of bloodshed.
It would be his first visible weakness.
He never enjoyed killing in his past life, and he would ensure that not a single soul would die from his hand in this one. Except in the last life, blood never truly could run in rivers. The killing curse was too quick and bloodless.
Some people might've thought that Jaime Lannister was a joke due to his dimness, but imagine a member of a Great House becoming haemophobic.
In a world of death and war, it was nigh-impossible to not have some form of malice against some party or individual.
After all, in the game of thrones, you either win or you die. However, Hariloas would rise up over the ancient system and simply choose not to follow it.
In any case, he was always to pre-occupied to even think of war or the game.
He had so many questions about how the North had a reigning family for eight-thousand years and never had their kingdom really evolved from a medieval society from the dark ages. He never considered this age to be near the stages of the renaissance because there was no progress made for a printing press or cultural/philosophical re-emergence. They seemed to be stuck in their religious fanaticism, and misdirection.
Humanism, which was a concept that embodied the Renaissance, was not being introduced anywhere here - apart from Braavos. Even there, though, he heard of their secretive assassin groups and extreme payment forms for overdue loans.
The terrible gender-specific tales were another monstrosity in the east. Stories of rape and assault on the women of the Dothraki peoples, and the castration of men in Kayakayanaya before they can age, forced to become eunuchs.
Inequality and strife across the nation, women were forced to become loyal dutiful housewives with no power unless you ruled. Apart from the 3 cities in central Essos (Kayakayanaya, Samyriana, Bayabhasad), gender inequality was still tipped in favour of one side.
Had these people not evolved past the most primitive thinkers, in the more than six thousand years of written history? It seemed that the Valyrians were getting somewhere until they blew themselves up with the dark magic that rose from unkempt souls and dissident slaves.
He wanted to enter the libraries of the Citadel and see the towering bookshelves of information hidden from the common people.
Magic was believed and well-known throughout the nations, and he could only think about how much more the citadel could offer as the keepers of knowledge in Westeros.
He would never know how much he would be disappointed with what he found later.
271 A.C, 1st Moon, 30th Day - Highgarden, Westeros
His mother and Maester Arrel were planning something and it was only until he used his nearly lacking legilimency skills on them, that he found out their plans for him. If he were any other boy in this world, he would have been thoroughly angered or would have rejected their idea, but it was exactly what he wanted.
He knew already that he wouldn't have been able to get his own keep to rule anyway since there were already so many land disagreements between cousins and other lords in the Reach. Hariloas was excited beyond belief when his governess - a portly woman who had an ample bosom and stout fingers, called him to his father's study.
Ariadne was a woman with 3 sons and two daughters, using her influence as Garth Tyrell's wife, to gain herself a position in the castle household. Harry, knew of her small manipulations in raising him to be a bit more tolerant of his cousins. No doubt, they would try to pry a path into his private life and become confidants, but he wouldn't allow for that.
He needed to compose himself, and hide any sort of excitement he had until he had returned to his room. They could not know how much he had been waiting for this. However, he wouldn't attempt to lie about how he didn't want to leave, his mother could catch it much too quickly,
As he entered the hallway of the study and walked to the ornate door with tapestries of old lords, hanging on each side, he prepared himself for a battle with his father.
While his mother and maester may have been fully amicable with the idea, his father would not agree to it. He was a man of the sword, not one for books and sleek words. Much like the lords of the north, who Harry heard had no cunning, Luthor believed that might was the greatest power.
His governess opened the door, as his 4-year-old body was still too short to reach the latch.
Mother and Maester Arrel stood on each side of his sitting father. The slightly thick, but still strong man leaned back his broad shoulders on the ornate, velvet-cushioned throne.
The firm weirwood table lay flat in the centre of the room, and the empty chair on the other side of the lord-paramount was ominously inviting.
As Harry toddled his way to the tall chair, he could only beg the Mother to convince his father to set him on his path of knowledge and the Crone to guide his way in Westeros.
He plopped himself up onto the green and teal wrought-copper chair and stared at his Father for some indication.
As awkward silence ensued, he was reluctantly left to begin the conversation.
Damn this old coot.
"Hello Father, how are you doing…?"
Ugh - disgusting conversation skills. He could not believe that he was too cowed under the dim stare to even attempt small-talk.
"I am of perfect health, Hariloas. However, Olenna and Arrel have informed me that you have some interesting choices of paths laid in front of you?"
What was he even supposed to say? Currently, the clueless child would be the most realistic facade he could display, but the tone in which Luthor used "interesting" was... well, it wasn't a good one, for sure.
He better pull out all the big guns with the mediocre acting skills he gained from the bureaucratic Auror Department. While it may be different from attempting to rise in his position, it certainly couldn't be completely useless.
"I don't understand, father? What do you mean by choices?"
"If you were presented with the choice of going to the Citadel and becoming a maester, what would you do in response?"
"Um, are there any books there?"
Arrel cut in before Luthor could even attempt to form an answer. "The Citadel is an institution that provides challenges for some of the best minds across Westeros. You would do well under the tutelage of the Archmaesters. Of course, the Citadel is also the largest fountain of knowledge in the known world!"
Harry was even less amused by the old maester. Even if he was a bright child who had a large vocabulary, Maester Arrel acted as though Hariloas was a much smarter child than he had let his facade be. Also, the near blatant ignorance - the Citadel could not be the greatest centre for knowledge because many more cities and lands are older than Westeros was a continent. However, he kept his mouth shut about the issues surrounding Arrel's little recruitment-propaganda speech.
"I want to go then! Can I go, Father? I want to see all the books."
As Luthor sighed, Harry was concerned that his excitement would fail at convincing his Father the other direction. It wasn't for nothing, however, as Luthor slowly began to open his mouth and recite some of the best words Harry had heard across his years as both an Auror and a student.
"Very well then, Olenna and Arrel will stay and talk about arrangements, and the servants can begin packing up your clothes and food in a few days. I expect that by next week we will have our travel plans ready and we can send a few guards to escort you to Oldtown."
While Olenna was decently satisfied that one of her children chose the path of knowledge, Arrel and Hariloas were ecstatic about the plans. However, Luthor seemed to view Harry in a much more cold manner most likely since he was choosing books over the sword.
While Harry lost a bit of the excitement he had, seeing the disappointed and dismissive face his father pulled, he tried to cheer himself up about the opportunities to find out more about the magic in Westeros.
As his emotions grew to greater heights, the magic around him slowly swirled faster around their lover. It was gaining the excitement that it's love was feeling, even if it had no idea what it was all about.
Magic was going to watch over its little doe, and if it failed it would choose to end itself and leave the planes of existence with Harry.
Magic had a life and soul too, but no one knew. That was a sad thought. It was a childish being. A bit mischievous but woefully courageous and loyal. Almost like an excited dog as it bounced around Harry in small waves ruffling his hair in unnoticeable breezes.
Tom Riddle was just as beloved as Harry, but the former fell in battle against the latter and it simply could do nothing as they both used it to their own ends.
It loved Harry all the same, through the person's rise and fall, death and life.
At the same time.
Something greater ripped a hole through the spacetime of planetos and unknowingly spread its roots and power over new lands.
It was Death, and he was coming for the soul that was stolen from him.
He didn't want to alert any of the other deities until the very end of its plan, where even they would not be able to interfere quickly enough. Death simply wanted what was promised to him. To take back something that was never meant to exist in this universe.
Too many creatures of death existed in this world for a proper balance, and he wanted to leave it as soon as possible. Mayhaps the servants of the Many-Faced God, would be able subordinates. That god was still much too powerful.
Decisions, decisions, and no right or easy choice.
All it had to do was find the irregularity. Unfortunately, even if Harry was using magic, Death would still need to sift through every which magic-user in Planetos.
He was ever coming and eternal, and Magic didn't know what big mistakes he had unleashed upon Harry as a result of moving him out of his natural timeline and fate.
A big mistake indeed.