Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Harry Potter

The Song of Builders

By Jojobevco

AN: This chapter starts directly after Chapter 2 and before "The North Remembers" For the timing between this and the previous episode, all indications suggest several days, between Arya's journey up the Kingsroad, the Night's Watch arriving at Craster's and Tyrion's arrival in King's Landing.

AN2: If you are looking for musical accompaniment for Harry's Flashback, it pairs well with the soundtrack from the Battle of Coruscant in Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

Chapter 3

Exposition: its Sexposition, but with Clothes!

Harry's Bedroom

An Undisclosed Location

Beyond the Wall, Westeros

Harry finished dressing in a set of pristine ivory robes. A rising phoenix perched on a fist was embroidered on the front of the robes: his sigil. He checked the mirror, making last minute adjustments before stepping out into the hallway. Harry was briefly surprised by how empty the place was. The only people he could see were the two guards outside his room. After a moment, he remembered that most of the staff was away on the annual Cold Weather Survival Exercise. The two guards snapped to attention as he passed. Harry nodded at them and walked down the hallway toward the Small Conference Room. His footsteps echoed in the stone corridor. Arriving at the oak door, Harry paused for a moment before entering. He walked in and crossed the room to look out the large window overlooking the Frostfangs. Even with winter coming, the view was lovely. Harry smiled, gazing at the peaks. Within a few moments, he was joined by the Starks.

"Lord Stark, Ladies, Welcome to the Seat of House Potter. Please, have a seat." Harry gestured to several chairs circling a round, heavy, wooden table.

As they got comfortable, Sansa noticed the view and was captivated. "It's beautiful," she remarked.

Harry smiled, "That it is, Lady Sansa, that it is. Lord Stark, I intend to return you to Robb and his army in the Riverlands as quickly as possible. Your son has shown himself as an excellent tactical and strategic commander, but the Northmen are rather anxious for your return."

Ned chuckled, "I look forward to meeting with them as well. And the girls, can you return them to Winterfell?"

Harry took a deep breath. This was the tricky part. "I could, but I propose an alternate arrangement. I propose the girls remain here and learn from my staff. Arya would enjoy it; I have a Water Dancer on staff with whom she can continue her lessons. As for Sansa…well, bringing her home may complicate matters for you."

"How?"

Harry turned and locked eyes with Sansa. His startlingly green eyes bored into her pale blue ones until she finally spoke to her father. "If I went home, you would have to kill me," she said quietly.

Ned was flabbergasted, "Why?"

"I informed the Queen of our departure because I didn't want to leave."

Ned was livid, shouting, "You what!? Why?"

Sansa looked at her feet rather helplessly, tears rolling down her face. Arya looked at her sister contemptuously.

Harry looked at Sansa with sympathy. "Ned, do you see the problem here? While Sansa is not entirely to blame, her actions did contribute to the death of your entire staff and guard in King's Landing. By warning the Queen, she caused the preemptive strike on your household. Most of your staff's families live in Winterfell. They will want some of that famous Stark justice."

"I just…"

Harry gently pointed out, "Ned, you are the Keeper of the Relationship. You know they will be safe here and that there is much honor found in our service. If you'd like, I can make it a formal request. They will always be free to leave; we're not the Night's Watch, you know."

Ned took a deep breath. He owed Harry his life and probably his daughters' lives as well, "No, I trust you Lord Potter, as we always have."

"Very well. I'll give you some time to say goodbye. I have to get their first lesson."

Harry left the room and walked down the corridor to his solar. He touched his hand to the lock for a moment before opening the door. Harry shut the door behind him and again touched the lock. Only he could open the door now. He stepped toward a narrow, plain cabinet before opening it and withdrawing his pensive. Taking the pensive with him, he walked back to the conference room, sealing the door behind him. The Starks were still saying goodbyes. Ned was hugging his daughters, his back to Harry. Arya looked collected, but Sansa looked rather distraught. He kissed both of them on the head before standing up straight and shaking Harry's hand.

"Look after them," Ned entreated.

"Of course I will." Harry handed Ned a small metal chain and led him to the door, telling him, "Go to the Departure Room, and say your words." Harry then opened the door and directed one of the guards to escort Lord Stark to the Departure Room.

Ned nodded and followed the guard. He was visibly upset but holding it together as he stepped down the hallway.

Harry placed the pensive on the table. He drew the Elder wand and placed it to his temple, withdrawing a gossamer memory.

"Ladies, please touch the surface of the liquid."

The ladies and Harry touched the liquid and were sucked inside.

Arya asked curiously, "What is this?"

"A memory. My memory to be exact, of an event from long ago."

Both girls were astonished and flabbergasted by this. This shouldn't be possible. Then, they looked down and saw Harry's memory playing. The scene below made their jaws drop.

Chief Auror Harry Potter flew on his Firebolt, scraping the ground as he flew just feet over the Frostfangs at maximum speed, until suddenly his path cleared. Below him, tens of thousands of wrights and White Walkers swarmed a group of men. In the east, the sun was just cresting the mountains.

Arya was intrigued. "Where are we?" she asked.

"The question is not where, but when. To answer you, though, we are in about the same place. We haven't moved much, if at all."

"Okay, but, when are we?"

"This is the final battle of the Long Night."

Sansa responded, "The Battle for the Dawn." She turned to look at Harry. "We are at the Fist of the First Men?"

Harry nodded. "Well, we've done some construction over the years. You're right though. The battle took place at dawn. Legend gets a few things wrong. There was no Long Night before it. It was a Long Winter: just one of the many misnomers that happen over 8,000 years. Here is another. Watch."

Harry dove closer to the group and started firing off powerful flame spells as he swooped toward the Fist of the First Men, occasionally shielding as an arrow or a spear came too close. Harry came in for a hard landing in the middle of the group. A young-looking Master Auror Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin looked at him. "Come to stab me again?"

Harry shook his head and lobbed a fireball with the Elder Wand at a wright that had made it inside the defensive perimeter, "You did ask for it."

Tonks mirrored his action, "Yeah well, getting stabbed in the heart hurts, a lot!"

Sansa was astonished, "The Last Hero. You're the Last Hero?" She asked Harry disbelievingly.

"Sounds like someone liked listening to their Old Nan's stories more than they let on, Sansa. Really, there was no single Last Hero. The story of the Last Hero is a collection of many people that fought at that time. The closest actual account is that of Azor Ahai, which I guess was someone mispronouncing my old title that I held to through the war: Auror."

Sansa asked, "So is that…woman your wife?"

Harry paused before answering, "No. My deputy."

Arya questioned, "But if you're The Last Hero, or one of them, then you're-"

Harry cut her off, "We'll get back to that."

Suddenly a voice crested from the ridge, "They're making the final push, Men of Westeros, Winter is Coming!" This voice belonged to a man with a rugged appearance, dark of hair, with grey eyes.

Arya noted, "He's a Stark."

"Not 'a Stark,' Arya, but 'The Stark.' Meet your many times great grandfather Brandon, also known as Bran the Builder. He led and managed the construction of The Wall, the Castles of the Night's Watch, and Winterfell."

Harry, Tonks, and another man took positions at the front of the Fist and stretched their wands out across the world as a fourth, a teenager who couldn't be seen clearly from Harry's point of view, fired bolts of fire down on wrights climbing up the rear…

Coming out of the pensive, Harry waved his hand and retrieved the memory. "This is why you are here. For 8,000 years, since the time of your founder Bran the Builder, we, The Builders, have held a close and special relationship with House Stark."

Sansa returned to Arya's question, "If that was you in that memory, which I'm not sure I believe, then you are…"

Harry nodded, "8,000 years old and, as far as we know, immortal."

Arya was once again flabbergasted, "What? How?"

Harry shrugged, "To be honest, we have no idea. We were brought here through an accident involving a massive magical explosion, a group of Death-based artifacts, a dragon, and a phoenix feather wand. Since then we have shaped history, mostly for the world's own good. Sometimes out of boredom. We have freed cites, saved families, founded empires, and much, much more, mostly with a subtle force of direction. Yet, our main objective has been to serve as a continual check against the White Walkers."

Sansa and Arya looked like they wanted to ask more questions, but Harry cut them off with a wave of his hand. Breathing deeply, Harry gathered his thoughts. "Now, Arya, you will continue to learn to dance, with an expert in the art. He is down the hall on the left. Sansa, you will remain here, your instructor on...more recent history will be here shortly." Harry guided Arya out the door, leaving Sansa to sit at the large round table alone. She examined the tapestry across from her, which showed five people in highlight. One was clearly Harry, the second was the woman with pink hair, and the third was the other older man. They were standing with those sticks of theirs raised toward The Wall. The teenager was older now and off to the left, pointing his stick at a pile of bricks, with his back to the viewer of the tapestry. A fifth man was directing a group of giants. At least, Sansa speculated it was a man. There was a charred hole where the man's face should have been.

A short time later, the door opened, and a man waddled in.

"Lady Sansa."

Sansa could not keep the surprise out of her voice, "Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion chuckled dryly, "Yes, yes, I know, a Lannister serving The Builders. The irony is astonishing."

"How long have you served them?"

"A long time. When I was sixteen, my father did something unforgivable, and Lord Harry told me the truth about it. Since then, I have worked as an agent of the Builders. "

282 AL, Shortly After Robert's Rebellion

The Golden Flower

Lannisport, The Westerlands, Westeros

An 18-year-old Tyrion Lannister was participating in his regular evening hobbies: drinking and whoring. He was taking a break, standing on the balcony of one of the higher-class whorehouses in Lannisport, brooding at the sunset and town below.

"Lovely evening, isn't it?"

Tyrion looked over at his unwanted company: a handsome man, in his late twenties, dark of hair, with the strangest jewelry around his eyes. He was wearing a finely made robe, dark, with a particular sigil on it, a rising phoenix perched on a fist. There was something familiar about it. Something he should remember but couldn't right then. Maybe he'd had a little too much wine, despite his amazing tolerance.

"Indeed," Tyrion sipped his wine, "And what brings you to this…fine establishment?"

"You do, Lord Tyrion of House Lannister."

"Ah, the Imp of Casterly Rock, your local tourist attraction," Tyrion replied, with no emotion. He'd been called Imp far too many times to be very upset by it.

The man chuckled, "No, not the Imp. In this case, I'm after the maligned son of Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock."

Tyrion quirked a busy eyebrow, "You have my attention."

"What do you know about Tysha?"

"How dare you!"

The man answered calmly, green eyes piercing, "Because you do not know the truth of the matter. Do you want to? Do you want to know exactly how badly your father hurt you?"

Tyrion was a man with much pain in his life; he truly felt that Tysha was a good woman for him. Until she betrayed him. "There is nothing to know. She was a greedy whore."

"Was she? Come, it's time you learned the truth." The man quickly looked around before holding out his hand. After a moment Tyrion took it, and they were off with a loud CRACK!

After being squeezed through what Tyrion felt was an exceedingly small tube for him, they landed in a windowless cell room. The only person in there was Tywin Lannister. Tywin was clearly being held prisoner; ropes bound him firmly to a wooden chair.

The man waked over, smirking. "Hello, Tywin. I think it is time that you spare us a few lies," he tipped the Lion's head back and poured a few drops of something into him.

"Tywin, what do you think of your son?"

Tywin answered in a monotone, "He never should have joined the Kingsguard. I lost my heir because of that stupidity."

The man pinched his nose, "I don't care about Jamie. I meant Tyrion."

Tywin monotonously replied, "He is a lecherous, drunk demon that killed my wife and sullied my family. I wish he had died."

"And who was Tysha?"

Tywin spat, "His common born wife."

"Did you or Jamie pay her to have sex with him?"

"No."

"Why did you tell Tyrion she was?"

"She was a commoner. After what my father did to my mother, with his mistress. She was just having sex with him for the money."

"Yet, she wasn't paid. At least, not by you." The man sighed, asking him, "Did she love Tyrion?"

"Yes, yes she did."

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know."

The man smirked, "Good, I do," He held up some sort of stick and muttered, "Obliviate!" The man then tapped Tywin's coat button and his father suddenly disappeared.

Tyrion, confused and disoriented, snapped. "What the fuck just happened?"

The green-eyed man in the phoenix robe opened the door, "Follow me."

They walked through the door, past other empty cells, and up a flight of stairs. They entered a round room with a table, and a view. A view of winter.

"Where the fuck are we? Who the fuck are you? What do you want?!"

The man smiled, "You're at the Fist of the First Men. I am Lord Harry Potter, and we are here to save the world."

"And that is when I joined the Builders."

Sansa was only focused on one thing. Having experienced her own trip to the Fist, she was willing to accept the rest of Tyrion's story completely, but she still wanted to know one thing. "What happened to Tysha, my lord?"

"She killed herself, about a month after my father…arranged our divorce." Even now, far away in time and space from those events, Tyrion's voice shook with pain. Tyrion didn't notice; he would have controlled it immediately if he did. "My father's actions directly lead to the death of my wife. Hence, one of the reasons I don't give a damn about my family. Well, my father anyway."

Sansa looked at him sadly, eyes glistening with tears, "I'm so sorry, my lord."

"Yes, well, thank you." Tyrion's voice was brisk and matter of fact again. The emotion was gone, buried in the past with his wife. "However, it is far in the past, and we have the present to concern ourselves with. I have only a few days to teach you politics and strategy. I suggest you pay attention."

"Then what happens?"

"Then I go and try to stop the kingdoms from ripping themselves apart before Daenerys Targaryen arrives to do it herself. Our lessons will continue after I leave when we have the time."

Tyrion went to a nearby bookshelf and pulled out the familiar book of families, sigils and words, as well as a map, "House Potter, one of the most ancient houses in history, the house of the Builders. Their Sigil, a Phoenix perched on a rising fist, on a white background. Their words, 'We Are the Builders.'

"Their long form title is Builder of the Wall, or, occasionally, Builder of the Fucking Wall. They possess a standing army of about 5,000 during peacetime, but during wartime, they can field an army of 100,000. Their two main enemies are the White Walkers, and the Thenn…"

And thus, their next days continued, with Sansa spending just about every waking hour with Tyrion. First, he taught her about the Builders, then covered just about everything she could ever want to know about the Great Houses and Lesser Houses. In the evenings, they played Cyvasse as Tyrion quizzed Sansa on what she had learned, and Sansa drew story after amusing story (many of them toned down for the presence of a lady) from Tyrion. Their final night together, Tyrion changed out the Cyvasse set for a map of Westeros, complete with pieces denoting armies and their current position.

"Tonight, Lady Sansa, we see how far you have come. Tonight, we play the Game of Thrones."

"Why do they call it that?"

"My Lady?"

"Lord Tyrion, why do they call it Thrones, plural, as opposed to say, The Throne."

Tyrion pondered," You know, I never gave it any thought. I suspect it comes from the time that the Seven Kingdoms were independent, and each had its own throne. There were several thrones, but only one game."

They began setting up the board. As they reached the last of the pieces, a wolf, both their hands touched it at the same time. Both snatched their hands away. Sansa was left holding the wolf, staring at it.

Tyrion suspected he had startled her. "I apologize, My Lady."

"It's not you, My Lord, it is, well, what I have done."

"What you've done?" Tyrion prompted, quirking an eyebrow at Sansa.

"You mean Lord Harry did not inform everyone?"

"About what?"

"About me going to the Queen, telling her we were leaving, triggering the attack on the household."

"Oh, that. Yes, Lord Harry told us. We mostly shrugged. My sister has been deceiving people longer than you've been alive. She's deceived men and women who should know better."

Sansa cried slightly, "She did not deceive me; I went to her."

Tyrion walked over and held her hands between his, "Why?"

"Because I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay, to marry Joffrey."

Tyrion smiled, "Ah, so it was love. Never fear, love makes fools of us all. The Seven know I was a fool."

Sansa fell to her knees and sobbed, "My mistake got dozens of people killed."

Tyrion really did not have much experience dealing with crying girls, all he could do was gently pat her head. "Then make it count."

Sansa sat up away from him, wiping her eyes, "What?"

Tyrion looked her straight in the eyes, "Find a way for their deaths to mean something. Make it up to them. I wallowed in pity for two years after my wife died; do not make the same mistake I did."

Sansa nodded and stood, finding some new strength within her. Turning back to the board, she asked, "Where were we, Lord Tyrion?"

Tyrion smiled, "Lady Stark, you may survive this game yet." And then he began talking her through her through the movements the players were making.

Several Days Earlier

Meanwhile, across the hallway, Harry led Arya into a practice arena, where a young man, about eighteen years old, stood waiting. The man still had something of a rounded face of youth. He was dressed in the loose fitting, yet warm attire Syrio Forel of Bravos favored. "Arya, I'd like you to meet our local dancing master."

The man introduced himself, "Well, I'm nothing compared to Lord Harry. I am Podrick Payne, um, Agent of the Builders, I suppose, and I play the role of Squire to Agent Lord Tyrion Lannister."

Arya really had nothing to say. "Hello."

"I have only a few short days to teach you. I understand you studied with Syrio Forel?"

Arya nodded, proud, "I did."

He drew two slim practice swords from a nearby rack and tossed one to her, "Then let's see what you've got." He quickly attacked.

Arya immediately found herself slightly out of her depth, it was clear the older squire had been practicing the art of Water Dancing longer than she had. She continued to give it the best she could but found herself dead about once a minute.

For the next several days it continued, with Arya slowly getting better and better. However, Podrick slowly increased the skill he used to fight her, so, although she improved, he continued to beat her. She could recognize her progress, yet she recognized that mastery would take years of practice. On their last night, right after Podrick 'killed her' for the millionth time, he stopped.

"You keep pulling your finishing strikes."

Arya shrugged, "It's practice; it's what you're supposed to do."

Podrick pointed out, "We have practice swords, Arya."

"I don't want to hurt you."

Podrick chuckled, "You're not going to hurt me."

Arya stuttered, "B-but, I killed-"

Podrick answered knowingly, "You killed that boy in Kings Landing."

"Yes."

"Arya, you just got your hand on your sword and had less than a second to aim it. No, all you had was instinct. Good instincts, too. He wanted to hand you over to the woman that had just ordered the deaths of your entire household. It was defense of yourself, plain and simple."

Arya nodded.

Podrick smiled, "Now, shall we begin again, my lady?"

And they with a clash of steel they did.

The Morning of Tyrion and Podrick's departure.

Informal Dining Room

The Fist of the First Men

North of the Wall, Westeros

Harry walked into the conference room, pushing a cart of food magically. He stepped over to the table, passing out breakfast orders. "Okay, we have an egg white omelet with bacon; Sansa, this is probably yours. Arya has pancakes with a side of scrambled eggs. Dora, here's your usual full English breakfast. The same for Podrick. Tyrion has his smoked salmon bagel and bacon burnt black, which is the absolute worst way to eat bacon, but it is the easiest to cook. All you do is throw it in a pan and pull it out right before it catches fire." The whole table chuckled.

"What is English?" Arya asked around a bite of pancakes.

Harry shrugged, "The cook who invented it. Died of heart disease."

Impressed, Sansa asked, "Did you cook this yourself, Lord Harry?"

"Only some of it. Most of it was done by the kitchen staff. I learned to cook as a young boy and like to keep in practice, keeps me humble."

Tonks smirked, "As humble as he ever gets, anyway." Fortunately, Harry didn't hear her. At least, he didn't act like it.

Harry took his own, full English breakfast, and sat eating as everyone went over plans for their day. Sansa and Arya had knife throwing lessons with him, while Tonks had Bran Duty, and Tyrion and Podrick were heading back to rendezvous with the Hill Tribes before heading into King's Landing. After that, there was a summary of the long discussion that Harry and Tonks had held last night regarding the Red Comet. After everyone was finished eating, Harry walked Tyrion and Podrick to the Departure Room.

"I'm concerned about Sansa," Tyrion said quietly to Harry.

Podrick echoed, "And I'm worried about Arya."

Harry nodded, "I'm aware, and both of you did well last night. I will keep an eye on them."

They nodded, standing quietly in the Departure Room. Harry handed them each a short chain, saying, "This will put you down in a room in the guardhouse near the Dragon Gate. You'll be able to greet Bronn when he gets there. Where does he think you have been by the way?"

"Whoring our way down the Kingsroad."

Harry chuckled, "Speaking of which. Regarding Shae: I'll take your suggestion under advisement. For now, bring her into your confidence on the small stuff, and keep an eye on her. Do not reveal the Builders or our plans."

Tyrion nodded, "Understood."

Harry waved, "Have fun."

They proclaimed, "I serve the Builders," activating their Portkeys.

AN: I know that with such a bold maneuver, people expect some sort of justification. Here it is.

Immortality exists in Harry Potter- See Philosopher's (Sorcerer's) Stone.

"Unkillability" exists in Game of Thrones and Harry Potter- See Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr, Wrights and White Walkers; also see Horcruxes.

The magical explosion Harry and Tonks were in involved the following powers:

Harry Potter- The Master of Death (powers of which are unknown) who is also an extremely lucky wizard.

Nymphadora Tonks- A Metamorphagus who can alter her appearance and body at will

A wand containing a Phoenix feather (phoenix feather turned molten in explosion)

The Elder Wand and other Deathly Hallows (Created by Death itself)

A Dragon (with unknown blood properties)

There is a price exacted as a result (said price can be overridden by the Builders in unanimous agreement). This will be demonstrated later.

There is a major exception for their immortality (However, it isn't easy).

AN2: Since I know someone is going to ask it, the answer to the question, "Where did Harry get a pensive from?" will be revealed later. However, for now, I have two words: Hermione's Handbag.

AN3: "So, Harry has been there the whole time, and everything turned out the same?" Yes, and no. Things are better in some places, but much more complicated and many more changes lie beneath the surface. Harry and the Builders have suffered setbacks galore, a major one being the Doom of Valyria, which will be discussed later.