Sorry, if it has been a long time, but, well, life. Still, I'll try to add something once in a while. Having read a bit more on ASOIAF, I figured I'd see if I could try writing a coherent insertion of Harry Potter into the story. He's basically been raised from about 12 years old in Winterfell, and now he's perhaps the chief lieutenant of the King of Winter.
AC/BC, Dragonstone Island, Blackwater, Westeros.
Dawn rose over the Blackwater, silhouetting a ship, whose single sail bore a symbol of a charging wolf, cast in bloody scarlet on the blue sailcloth. The ship seemed small on the great expanse of the estuary to those who watched it, placing it betwixt the sun and water to the east of the sleeping volcano that formed the island of Dragonstone, the fortress of the Valyrian House Targaryan.
"So, the Northmen's envoy has come. Perhaps the Frozen King himself to kneel before us." Rhaenys Targaryen commented as a longship, swept along the calm waters by proficient oarsmen neared the shore, having been lowered overboard from the deck of the great war galley that lay well offshore.
"Torrhen Stark is many things, but not one to kneel." snorted her sister, Visenya Targaryen, resisting the urge to comment on her sister's stupidity. Aegon passing over her and taken Rhaenys and Rhaenys alone as his wife still rankled. "The flag of the blood-stained wolf isn't the Stark sigil. Perhaps your lessons need repeating, dear sister, but the Starks fly a direwolf's head in grey on a field of white."
"I have heard of that banner – the bloody wolf running on midnight blue. They say he is to the Winter's King what Orys is to me, kin and right hand." Aegon replied; "The Red Wolf, people say he's the second bastard brother of the Stark of Winterfell. When the Three Sisters declared independence from the Vale, the Red Wolf landed his fleet. Every man who resisted was put to the sword, the remaining males were shipped to the northmen's wall, the women sent to join the defenders of Bear Island."
"Barbaric savage." said Rhaenys contemptuously.
"He could have put every living being on those islands to the sword, as the northmen have before." Visenya countered; "And it was a good move. Torrhen was widowed, now he is married to the Widow of the Vale. We face a more united enemy than ever before."
"Are the preparations ready?" Aegon asked.
"Aye, the most outspoken and fanatical of our supporters leads the guard of honour. We'll see how our northman gets on with him." Visenya's stern look broke into a momentary smirk. "We should head down to the gates, for I should not wish to miss the entertainment."
"Ship oars!" the Red Wolf ordered, allowing one oarsman at the stern to propel the longship, along with the remaining momentum, up the black-sand beach. Leaping over the bow, with another man doing the same on the other side of the prow, he seized a rope and, with more men disembarking, hauled the ship up above the tide and secured the ropes to rocks.
The northmen, a hundred in number, clad in chainmail and leathers, with half-face helmets, round shields, spears and short swords quickly disembarked, forming a line five deep and twenty wide behind their commander, a tall man of maybe twenty years, with a shock of windswept black hair and burning green eyes. He made little noise despite full-body chainmail, a dark-blue surcoat and cloak with his sigil, a blood-coated wolf, armoured boots, a longsword and a shortsword sharing his belt. A visible limp made it necessary for him to lean on a staff of bone-white wood with blood-red and black runes carved and scorched into it.
"His Grace King Aegon Targaryen, First of His Name King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." announced a Targaryen Guardsman as three figures, one male, tall and well-built, one female, short and smirking, and another female, stern of face and clad in plain chainmail in contrast to the other two who wore fine silks.
"Awfully fond of their fookin' titles." commented the squire of the Red Wolf. "Anyone told 'em they only rule the Blackwaterlands, the Riverlands, the Westerlands and the Reach. If your lessons of numbers are right, that's four kingdoms."
"Watch your tongue barbarian! You stand in the presence of your king!" snarled the guard commander.
"Watch your tongue." growled the Umber squire; "We are men of the north, and we know no king but the King in the North, and his name is Stark."
All fell silent to listen as the Red Wolf opened his mouth to speak.
"In peace, under flag and agreement to treat with the the last dragon lords we have come to this godsforsaken rock, and already they have proven themselves weak, for they cannot curb the tongues of their soldiery. For this, I pity you." the soft, slightly husky baritone of the Red Wolf demanded attention; "I came not to trade barbs with an overdressed thug, but the one who calls himself king."
"Aegon Targaryen, the dragonlord." the ruler of Dragonstone introduced himself with only one title and little boast.
"Harrion Potter, the Red Wolf." the leader of the northmen; "Though I fear some southrons think me a Snow."
Visenya kept a cautious eye on the northmen as they entered the ribs of the dragonhall of Dragonstone. The spearmen were disciplined and followed every order of their commander, seating themselves at one of the lower tables of the hall. That was both a strength and possibly a weakness, depending on how skilled a tactician and strategist their commander was, and what might happen without said commander.
By the end of the meal where the Red Wolf, Lord Hadrian Potter seemed mostly agreeable to exchanging smalltalk with Aegon and Visenya, while Rhaenys preferred to ignore the 'barbarian'. And it was only Visenya who actually noted who had led them to slipping into the High Valyrian tongue of the dragonlords. He was a scholarly man by all accounts, given his knowledge of Essos.
The subtle nuances of politics were not, however, to Visenya's taste. A sword in hand made answers far simpler.
"Will Torrhen Stark bend the knee?" she eventually asked as the last course of the meal was taken away.
"I highly doubt it my lady. It was all I could do to persuade the Lords of the North not to march south with the might of the armies of the Vale and the North." Harry answered, having given himself a few moments to compose an answer.
"And they really think that the fire from the maws of three great dragons would not burn them, as they have a hundred thousand gallant warriors before them?" scoffed Rhaenys.
"I fear my lady that you have much to learn of tactics and strategy. As we have learnt, the dragon is an impressive weapon of war on the open battlefield and in some sieges." scorned Harry; "What were to happen if a host of ten thousand were to split into a hundred or more small groups, taking up banditry and assassination? A mass of men can be defeated by dragons, but without the supply-lines to feed your men, with your commanders dead..."
He paused for a few seconds.
"You have failed to conquer the Dornish. Ambush tactics and a heavy defence of their fortresses with siege weapons that do not allow your dragons close enough to burn them." Harry continued; "No, the North will not bend the knee. We know but one king, the King in the North and his name is Stark. That does not mean that we must war upon one-another."
"No, no, I cannot allow that. The kingdoms must be united." Aegon interrupted.
"You would leave no choice but for the kingdoms to descend once more into the crucible of war?" Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Can you not see, I look to establish a new Valyrian Freehold, where art and architecture, knowledge, pleasure and riches are abundant?" demanded Aegon.
"Do you know what I see?" the Red Wolf snapped; "I see a tyrant, the last of an accursed reign who ruled in a city of slaves and slavers. Where freedom was born into, and name alone made you 'great'. No, we are well-rid of Valyria. Madness and terrible ambition, greed and arrogance is all I see. However, my king wishes to make peace with you on equal terms."
"The North would wait how many years before turning its blades south?" asked Visenya.
"An oath is an oath. To break it is unthinkable." frowned Harry; "No. But you forget your position at the moment. You are fighting in the south against a skilful, cunning and ingenious foe in the south. The Reach and the West submit to you in terror of the slaughter of the dragons. The strength of the Stormlands is spent, spent fighting you. The Riverlords are the only force not to have suffered so badly."
"And the North?" replied Aegon, probing for information.
"Has had nought to do since the last winter but build strength, and plenty of warning of your return. The Vale has joined with us, and thus two of your flanks are weak." Harry shrugged, not mentioning that as he spoke, Brandon, Torrhen's half-brother was subduing the Iron Islands for the North. If these dragonlords had yet to find out, far be it for him to inform them.
Preparations for conflict were going well. The Andal lords of the Vale and the First Men of Mountain Clans no longer fought, for the Mountain Men had come to the agreement that if a house were to be rendered extinct in the coming conflict, that they would take their holdings, but in the meantime had taken up residence in the North.
"The treason of the Vale shall not be forgotten." said Rhaenys darkly.
"Treason is a malicious act against your monarch. The Vale is under the rule of King Ronnel Arryn and the regency of King Torrhen and Queen Sharra and we have made no malicious act against them." Harry shook his head; "I apologise, but I had been told you had wit, I find you disappointingly devoid of it."
Visenya almost smiled as her siblings coloured. The Northman's bluntness and his occasional sharp retorts were a thing of beauty, for a few moments he settled into a pattern of blunt counters, then riposted when you were off guard with a viciously sharp near-insult. It was shame that he seemed deeply wounded, limping in a fashion that indicated an old wound, for otherwise he was all that the Northmen were said to be, and more. A fearsome warrior by reputation and bearing, keen of mind and possessed of cunning, drive and cunning, with it a good dose of ruthlessness, but unlike so many lords, had no care for the intricacies of diplomacy. Perhaps a test was due.