A/N: Not beta'd. Mistakes? Let me know.

'Thoughts'

"Speech"

"Spells."

&Parseltounge&

#Valyrian#

302 A.C

Harry no longer could recall the feeling of snow under his feet. The icy environment he had been born in was nearly lost to him. He was only seven when Ser Dwan had told him he had to leave Westeros, and he had regretted trusting him enough to do so. He should have gone home, inquired on who was responsible for killing his parents and raised his banners.

Life would've been simple. Even if he had lost the war, he most likely would've been executed, and that was preferable to having to wake up every morning fearing and having to fight for his life - or more accurately for him, having to kill a minimum of six people a day. He thought that it was ironic, he had hated fighting - but now he was subjected to it on a daily basis.

But it didn't matter anymore. What Harry loved or hated didn't matter. He was as far away from home as he could be. The ship Ser Dwan and him were travelling in was attacked at night. Ser Dwan had thought it to be the very people that killed his parents, coming after him. But he couldn't have been any further from the truth. It was the Meereenese Fleet, escorting ships filled with slaves.

Ser Dwan's throat was slit in front of him, and he was forced on board one of the slavers ships. Most of the people on board were younger than him; few were older. Some of them were even from Westeros.

Harry was taken to Meereen. He was measured and weighed by other slaves who served the Great Masters, the ones in charge of setting them up into different classes. Some were set up to become servants to the Masters themselves, some were sold again to other Masters in nearby cities, and others were killed because they were handicapped in some way. Others were found strong enough to enter another category of service; the gladiators.

He wasn't surprised when had been cast to the last category - he was taller and broader than most people his age. He was given a sword and shield, and he was told that he was going to entertain the Great Masters and would participate in the Great Games. That was going to be his duty for the rest of his life.

Gladiator fights consisted of confronting two or more slaves, who were to initiate in a battle - with the loser paying the price with his life and the winner having the chance to live and fight another day. The fights took place in an arena, the Great Pit of Daznak. A dry circular perimeter coated by sand. The arenas seating areas are separated into different tiers, differentiated by colours: the bottom tiers, in red and orange colours, are for Great Masters, while those furthest away from the arena, in black and purple, are for the poor and the slaves of Meereen fortunate enough to be allowed to watch.

Most of the gladiators hadn't been previously trained to fight: Something he found the audience enjoy more than the traditional combat. Those who had survived the longest here were the most skilled, and most of the slaves that were new here were put up against the 'veterans'. But Harry was one of the lucky few to fight a new gladiator like him on his first day her. He'd killed his first person that day.

His life had only gotten worse as he won more gladiator fights. He was forced to participate more because people had taken a liking to him - he was one of the only two surviving slaves from his group. The other was an unusually large guy, taller than him - and with noticeably large front teeth. He was also Harry's only friend.

Or at least, the closest thing he could get to a friend. They avoided decapitating each other during 'training', and were never put against each other.

Until today.

#We were almost there,# Harry whispered in Meereenese Valyrian - he had picked it up from Marar, his friend. Who he was moments away from having to fight. They both stood inside the tunnel that led into the arena. Where they were going to fight each other in front of this new queen. Marar acknowledged him with a shrug, but Harry knew he disliked this as much as he did.

#There was never escaping this life. For either of us.#

#And here I was, trying to have a moment with you,# Harry smirked when he felt the giants gaze snap towards him.

#No attachments,# Marar said, his gaze unshifting from him.

#We both know it's too late for talk like that.#

The taller man sighed, #Yes, it is. But I'm not dying for you. That leaves me no other choice but to kill you.#

#You seem so certain that you'll be able to do that,# He raised an eyebrow, #Always too arrogant for your own good.#

#I have never lost a fight.#

#And I'm standing next to you because I have?# Harry paused, heaving a sigh,#No. Let's not talk like this. It makes it seem like we enjoyed killing all those people#

#I did#

#It's difficult to hate something you're good at. I understand#

The cheering of the people and the drums of the arena being played signalled it was time for them to enter the arena, #I hope you understand that I'm not dying for you either# Harry said, before jogging towards the rectangular light that was the arena entrance ahead of them.

The crowds' intensity grew as they entered the arena and moved to stand on opposite ends of the conductor. Though that didn't draw his attention - the Queen, however, did.

Only a fool would think her unfair. She had violet eyes, skin that told him that she was once paler than she currently is today, pale silver-gold hair and a slender frame. She sat next to Hizdahr zo Loraq, a member of one of the older slaver families. Next to him was a dwarf, most likely the advisor the other slaves whispered about. On the other side of the Queen, was another beautiful woman - her other advisor, the one who was also once a slave. Standing behind them all was a bearded man, who only stood out to him because he didn't wear the attire of the unsullied.

They all sat on top of a platform, which was hidden from his view by the red, three-headed dragon banner on it's front.

'She really is a Targaryen,' Harry eyed her. He didn't believe it before, as he had been told that her house was wiped out a year before he was born. He thought it was a fanatic that wanted to uplift the name of an extinct house.

#My Queen, our first contests! Who will triumph: the strong, or the quick?# The Conductor gestured towards both of them. Harry was supposed to step up at this moment as they were told.

Harry took a step forward, looking directly at her, #I fight and die for your glory, oh glorious Queen!# His words were hollow, holding no indication of honesty. He saw the Queen's female advisor glance reluctantly towards her.

Marar took a step forward, #I fight and die for your glory, oh glorious Queen# His words were almost passionate, and it took quite a bit of Harry's willpower not to turn towards him. The conductor behind him made for the exit. Harry gripped his spear, waiting for her to clap her hands and begin the fight. It was time again, no hesitation or regret. It was kill or be killed. And he preferred the former.

He paused when it didn't come immediately. Like everyone else, his gaze was on the Queen. She seemed confused as to why everyone had suddenly turned to her, like she didn't know what to do. Hizdahr next to her said something to her he couldn't make out, but she turned back to them having a more hesitant look that an unsure one. She slowly raised her hands.

Clap!

Harry bent under a swing from Marar over the roar of the crowd. Rolling away after his opponent brought his sword up for a slash. His attacks were slow, but they were still fast enough to keep Harry on edge. He jumped backwards, avoiding a stab from Marar - whilst mid-air, Harry threw his weapon towards his head. The spear pierced through Marars eye, exiting on the other end of his face - blood spilling out of the back before his body even hit the ground.

The crowds cheering escalated. Harry moved to Marars head and pulled the spear out before they dragged his body away. He didn't gaze upon his dead body for even second. It was necessary. He turned to the surprised faces on the platform and dragged his spear on the sand to dry out the blood.

The conductor returned with more gladiators, looking somewhat displeased.

'Probably thought it would have lasted longer,' Harry deduced, as the other gladiators asserted the Queen of their 'vows'. The more he heard them say 'for your glory', the more it felt like they were trying to force it down her throat. Before this - before her - the conductor was the one to give the speech to the slave masters on how they were fighting for their glory.

Once. They didn't need to repeat it. They didn't need to, because the slave masters couldn't give two shits. As long as they got an enjoyable fight.

A sudden silence made him look up towards the Targaryen. Did she forget to clap again? No, it didn't seem like it. Her gaze was focused on the gladiator on the other end of the straight row they stood in. He couldn't tell what she was feeling, but she was certainly surprised. He personally had no idea who the hell the man was, but he was important enough for Hizdahr Zo Loraq to be told something by the bearded man behind them easily interpretable as' shut your mouth'

It lasted a few breaths before she clapped her hands once again. All the fighters in the pit turning to their favoured opponent, including Harry. He faced a partially armoured man, who also wielded a spear of his own. The man spun the weapon his hands, whilst turning it over to his other hand and then over his back. He wanted to intimidate him. It wouldn't take a genius to see that.

Harry brought the shaft of his spear up to block an attack, just at the right angle to prevent the head from shattering the hilt of his own. Using the shaft of his spear, he guided the spear still touching his own to the side - creating an opening for a kick. The man staggered a few steps backwards regaining his balance. Focusing on Harry again, the man charged at him, leaving what Harry believed was an opportunity for the kill.

Harry ran towards him, set on put his spear in the man's head - but just as they got close, the other gladiator somehow managed to put his weapon in the space between Harry's forearm and his arm, and continued to manoeuvre down over his leg and onto the ground, unbalancing him and make Harry drop his own spear - before he gripped tightly onto Harrys body.

He struggled to break out of the hold, but the man didn't budge. It was causing quite a bit of pain on his leg, and it was uncomfortable on his arm. He felt the pain increase as the other fighter tighten his grip on him. Exhaling, he used his other hand to force them man's helmet off and deliver punches on his exposed face. The other fighter seemed to endure some of them, before trying to break the lock but Harry held onto the spear as the man took a few steps back.

"Leaving your weapon was a bit stupid," He raised the spear, thrusting it into the gladiator's face. Killing him.

Harry sighed, before picking up his spear. He turned his upper-body just in time to avoid being punctured by a thin blade. He grabbed his attackers wrist, pulling him with all his might onto the direction of the head of the spear he held in his other hand. It penetrated the gladiator's heart and exited through his back. The man let his guard down, thinking it was an easy kill, Harry deduced.

Harry let go of his weapon, which percolated itself even more through the man as it hit the ground. He picked up a sword from a fallen gladiator on the ground. It was a bit on the long side, but he would manage it. Surveying his surroundings again, he found that he and the man that the Queen was staring at earlier were the only ones alive. He looked relatively unscathed.

He barely focused on Harry, glancing at the Queen on some of the passing moments as they sized each other up. The last Potter took a single glance at the Queen himself; she seemed conflicted - he could practically see it rolling off of her in waves. Turning back to his opponent, he made the first move - an overhead attack. It was deflected, almost effortlessly.

The other fighter countered with an attack of his own, thrusting his sword towards Harry's abdomen - that he dodged. The man was slower than Harry, but he was definitely stronger. Harry dodged a slice, bloodied steel parting the air where he had just been standing. Trying to use the moment of vulnerability, Harry attempted a slice of his own only to be backhanded on the jaw.

He staggered a few steps backwards, clutching his jaw but keeping his guard up. That hurt. His opponent slashed, but Harry loosely parried his attack - before headbutting him. Making him reel backwards this time.

Harry spun his weapon his hands, just as his opponent recovered. The last Potter charged at his opponent, who rolled towards him and made another attempt at stabbing his abdomen. He turned his body to the side just in time to avoid the pointed weapon, but it was what his opponent expect - hooking Harry leg with his hand and making him fall on his back.

The other gladiator was already standing over when Harry had recovered, about to deliver the finishing blow with his sword raised. Thinking fast, Harry kicked at the man's testicles as hard as he could and used his other leg to hook his opponent's ankle so he fell on his back. Harry used this opportunity to get on his feet.

He kicked the groaning gladiator's weapon out of his hands and raised his sword to kill him - paying heed to his own balls.

#Stop!# Harry heard from the platform where the Queen was seated. It was her who had said it - she still sat on her seat but she a near desperate look on her face.

Harry was reluctant, but he complied nonetheless. Throwing his weapon some distance away from both he and the other gladiator. "Wonder if she would've stopped it a second ago when he almost killed me," He muttered, "Why am I even asking... Of course, she wouldn't have," He said to himself. He was rather unsure of what to do now. Something like this wasn't meant to happen.

So he just stood there. Watching as the man, he had been fighting moments ago stood up. The audience around them made their disapproval known by booing. He still didn't understand what they found so captivating about watching people mutilate each other. He eyed the queen, waiting on what she exactly she wanted him to do. When she stood up, everything went silent.

#What's your name, skilled warrior?#

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," He said simply. She seemed taken aback by his use of the common tongue, as did her companionship.

"Are you Westerosi?" She questioned, enticing a nod from the last Potter, "What's your name?"

Harry stared at her for a moment. If he told her, and she did believe him - it might put him danger... Again. But she was a Targaryen, and they lost the throne twenty-one years ago. By the looks of it, she wanted to take it back. Why else would she be conquering the Free cities? He wanted nothing to do with the Iron Throne. He just wanted House Potters seat in Moat Cailin. Perhaps he wouldn't be in danger, they could be on the same side.

"Har-"

A scream tore through the silence, making them all turn in the direction it came from. A man donned in a golden mask had slit the throat of a woman. All around the arena, some people in the crowd put on the masks - those already wearing them killed the closest person to them and were fighting the Unsullied The crowds were scattering, people were screaming. It was chaos.

He knew it was the Sons of Harpy, the insurgency group opposing the rule of the new Queen.

Harry turned to find the sword he was using, but he caught it midair from the gladiator he was facing - who then ran past him, towards the Targaryen. He helped her down from their platform after a brief pause they shared, moving towards one of the exits. Harry avoided being stabbed by one of the masked men, hitting the mask with the hilt of his sword and slicing open his throat as he staggered back.

The Queen came back into the arena, and he knew immediately that the Sons of Harpy had the exit covered. It seemed like the Queen was trying to get to the one across from them. He moved towards it himself, he didn't fancy dying today. He was a lot closer to it, and just as he was about to open the door - it swung open on its own. Dozens of golden faces stood behind it.

He cut the hand off the one closest to him, who had extended it to try and gut him with his knife. He retreated backwards, whilst avoiding the knives swung his way. Thankfully, there was only one entrance - so he only had to watch his front until he made it back into the arena. He killed three of them before he was back in the arena again. Upon leaving the enclosure of the hall, he noticed the small phalanx of Unsullied surrounding the Queen and forming a protective circle around her.

He positioned himself in the middle of a group of Unsullied troops, near the forefront position of the right flank. The Sons of Harpy flooded out of the exit way he had just been covering, adding more numbers to those who already surrounded them. He could hear the heavy breathing of the Unsullied soldiers next to him. His previous fights, coupled with how he was scared of his losing added to the fatigue that was slowly crawling onto him.

But he refused to die here. He couldn't die, not yet. There was no way he'd make it all those years of fighting gladiators only to be killed by people who most likely haven't been fighting for as long as he has. The circle was getting smaller by the second, with more of the Unsullied being killed off. He exhaled sharply when they had reached his position, he side-stepped a stab - holding onto the wrist of masked man before guiding his torso onto his sword, taking the knife from his hands. Only to throw it into the chest of the next Son of Harpy with his free hand.

Two more came towards him; he bent his torso backwards to avoid the slash of the first insurgent, before dropping his own sword and grabbing onto the man's arm and using his body as shield against the next attackers stab - again taking the knife from his hands and throwing it into the second Harpy's chest.

&I'll burn you all!& A loud sound from the sky made the entire arena stop, silence overtaking the chaos. It sounded like a screech to most, but Harry could understand it as clear as he could Valyrian or the common tongue. He - like everyone else- turned to the sky. A dragon soared out of a flame burst, &You dare harm mother!&

It was the most majestic thing Harry's ever seen. Although that wasn't saying much. He circled the arena, and some the Sons of Harpy started backing away from them. It landed with a ground-shaking thud some distance in front of the Queen. Which Harry assumed was who it meant by 'mother'. Harry knew he was most likely the only one who could understand it fully, he was sure the Targaryen could too, but to a lesser the degree.

The Targaryen front was covered by two guards just as a Son of Harpy attempted to attack her, but he was wholly disposed of when the dragon reached out with its head and engulfed the man's upper body with its mouth - shaking his large head until the lower body of the man in its jaws tore off. It then proceeded to throw the body in its mouth towards a group of unsullied before breathing fire upon them.

It turned to another group, burning them - before a spear found its way to its back. Harry caught himself, morphing his bewildered expression into a serious one. It wasn't invincible, it could be hurt. He needed to get it to leave before it was killed. He was certain Unsullied reinforcements would soon be here., they would be fine.

Another spear found the dragon's neck.

&You need to leave!&

"Drogon!"

The Queen and he shouted at the same time, but only the Unsullied soldiers next to him glanced his way. The Targaryen moved towards the dragon, grabbing the spear that was embedded in the beast and using her strength to pull it out. There were no words that Harry could make out as it turned to her, roaring into her face before it stopped - as if recognising who it was about to unleash its fury on.

'She's gonna get herself and the dragon killed,' Harry frowned at the scene. It was as if they forgot they were surrounded by people who wanted to kill them, &Go! Before they kill you!&

The Dragon immediately raised its head, looking directly towards him, &A Speaker?& A spear found its way into its lower back, and it gave out a roar of pain. The Queen climbed onto the dragon, as more spears were thrown towards it. She whispered something, and it moving towards the middle of the arena - as if preparing to take-off, but it stopped directly in front of the last Potter - much to the surprise of the Queen.

&I give you permission to ride me to safety, Speaker& It turned to him, growling lowly. Harry didn't need to be told twice. He needed to escape. .

"How?.." He heard the Queen whisper from the top of it. Harry climbed up as fast he could, trying to avoid more harm being done to the rare beast. It started running as soon as he was on, nearly reaching the end of the arena circle before thrusting itself upwards, launching itself into the sky. It continued ascending, eventually getting to the point of giving both its riders a birds-eye view of Meereen. Though Harry couldn't see it with the bloody cape of the Queen's dress covering his face

Harry folded the ends of the cloak with hand before quickly put the hand back down to secure his grip. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. He was slightly nervous; he had never been so high in the sky.

"Who are you?" The Targaryen asked after a moment.

Harry took a breath, "Harry Potter."

A/N: Thanks for reading.

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