Author's Note: I am overwhelmed by the number of readers who have chosen to favorite or follow this story. While I have tried to personally address each person who has done so, I may have missed somebody, and I would like to let them know that I am grateful for their support. That said, I would like to state rather explicitly that this is not a straight out action/adventure. This is going to be a dark tale, and there are bits that are likely to make people uncomfortable. I will not be putting in any trigger warnings, so if you are someone who is likely to be affected by unpleasantness, please be careful or stop reading. That said, nothing that I write will be worse than what's already in ASOIF/GOT.

Lady Sansa had always imagined that her wedding would be grand. In the halls of Winterfell, she oftentimes dreamed of being cloaked in the Sept of Baelor by a kind and handsome prince. At other times she used to dream of being wed to a gallant knight in his castle's Sept. After all, as the eldest daughter of House Stark, this was only to be expected. When Sansa had heard that the King had set aside her betrothal to him, she had been ecstatic. When the Tyrells had proposed that she wed into their house, Sansa had spent her days dreaming of being wed to Lord Willas Tyrell, the kind and gentle (if crippled) heir of Highgarden.

Instead, she had been rudely marched to the altar at the Sept of the Red Keep, where she found herself cloaked in Martell colours. Her new husband, who had only just vowed to protect her, lay unconscious on the floor, blood trickling from his temple.

The wedding had been a relatively small affair and while the Lannisters, members of the small council and some of their retainers were present, no other Stark or Martell was in attendance. Even the Tyrells, who had not long ago promised to make Sansa one of theirs, seemed absent.

Sansa had never felt more alone. To add salt to her wounds, King Joffrey had taken the place of her father for the ceremony. He had then made a point of brushing Sansa's breast while removing her maiden's cloak, smirking over the groom's discomfort. When the Septon had declared them wed: one flesh, one heart, one soul, Joffrey had been quite coarse to Sansa. When Sansa had resisted and the Martell prince had looked to object, Joffrey had ordered his guards to teach them both a lesson.

In a blink of an eye, Ser Meryn Trant, always quick to obey such commands, had knocked down the Martell prince, who lay still, a trickle of blood under his black hair, and had moved towards Sansa. Then, before she knew it, a young man with black hair standing in Frey colours miraculously disarmed Ser Meryn. There stood her saviour, messy haired and with Lannister green eyes, a hundred feet from the altar, the Kingsguard's sword in his hand. How it got there, Sansa could not determine.

Sansa stared at the youth, even as she heard, as if muffled, Joffrey yelling in outrage, demanding the Frey's head. The Septon at the same time was declaring that blood spilled in the house of the Seven would curse whoever wielded the blade. The noise rose, and threatened chaos.

"Silence!" boomed the voice of Lord Tywin Lannister, and the Sept was once again quiet, with only a hum of whispers audible in the cavernous room. "My Lords and Ladies, while there has been an unfortunate accident, I am sure all will be well in a few minutes. I suggest we all adjourn to the Small Hall for the feast and celebrate this happy occasion together."

Sansa watched as the guests trailed out until only Lord Tywin, Ser Meryn Trant, Joffrey and the Frey remained. Her husband still lay unconscious on the floor.

Lord Tywin directed Ser Meryn Trant to fetch a maester for the unconscious prince and then addressed the young man, who seemed to be looking quite disoriented. "What have you to say for yourself Hareld?" The Frey seemed taken aback at being addressed. After pausing for a moment or so, as if to get his bearings, he said, "I did not know it was the done thing to strike a lady at the altar." Even as he replied, Harold still looked disoriented, as if he were in a place where he shouldn't be.

"You do not deny interfering with the King's order?" asked Lord Tywin sharply.

"The King's order? The King ordered this beating?" Hareld exclaimed, looking wide-eyed, disbelieving and a bit disgusted.

Hareld's reply seemed to have surprised Lord Tywin. There was a flicker of around his mouth, a hint of a smile, which was gone almost instantly. "As I thought, Hareld. You are, of course quite correct. The King could never have ordered such a travesty." Lord Tywin, glared at his grandson, as if daring the King to contradict him. "The King would do well to control his Kingsguard." He added severely.

Lord Tywin stared at Hareld for a moment, then added, "You do your grandmother credit, Hareld. When did you get here?"

"Only just"

"How go things at Crag?"

Hareld suddenly looked panicked as if he did not know what to answer, and turned his gaze around the room, as if hoping that someone would tell him what to say. There was a pause as no help seemed forthcoming from anywhere.

Hareld was about to stammer some reply when Lord Tywin said dryly, "It is as expected, then. Your expression answers for you. We will do what we must do to check Robb Stark. Your Grace," he added looking at Joffrey, "I do not think you have had the occasion to meet your cousin, Hareld Frey. He has come down from the Westerlands and his grandmother, Lady Genna has requested that he be squired at the Red Keep under a knight of some renown."

Joffrey looked at Hareld disdainfully. "Isn't he a bit old to be a squire?" He turned to Hareld, "You are a bit slow, aren't you? Bet you are stupid as well. Well you are the great-grandson of the Late Walder Frey. It's only to be expected you'd be late at this. We'll see how you fare tomorrow. I will see you at practice at the grounds to see where you stand. We use only live steel here."

Hareld's eyes narrowed, but he replied politely, if a bit frostily, "I am honoured that your Grace is willing to set aside Royal duties to help me. I am sure I shan't disappoint."

This was not a reply Joffrey expected. He glared at his newly introduced cousin with intense loathing and stormed out of the Sept.

The feast in the Small Hall was halfway done by the time Sansa entered. It had begun with the arrival of the King, who could of course, never be kept hungry.

Sansa had stayed back in the Sept with Hareld Frey, the maester (who had arrived shortly after), and Lord Tywin. When the maester had started his examination of the unconscious prince, Hareld's eyes had widened and he had exclaimed something like "That Snake", and Sansa's heart had plummeted. Of course they would have wed her to someone with the reputation of a snake. Her hope shattered, she turned away, proceeding towards the feast, tears escaping her eyes.

She did not see Hareld Frey follow behind her, and proceeded to her place at the Head Table, sitting next to the empty chair of her husband on one side and Joffrey on the other.

Harry Potter had wanted nothing more than family. When he had heard Sirius' story at the Shrieking Shack, Harry had been ecstatic at the idea of getting to live with his godfather. Just when this fantasy was in his grasp, he had been pulled cruelly into a strange world where a knocked-out Snape had been married to a pretty girl and Harry was known as Hareld Frey. Worse, he seemed to have an even more horrible cousin than Dudley. And his horrible cousin was King of wherever he had been transported.

It was obvious that Joffrey was out to harass the pretty bride who had stood crying in the Church-like room, and Harry knew she needed to be protected from the turd. So, even as Snape was the only person in the room that he recognised from his own world, Harry found his footsteps following the girl into a hall packed with people, leaving Snape with the maester man.

For all that the room was called the Small Hall, it was quite large, perhaps the size of the Dursley's entire house. There was a High Table, much like at Hogwarts, where the King was seated. Perpendicular to the High Table were three long low tables, where presumably the lesser nobility and gentry were seated. Harry very much doubted that any of the commoners (except for the servants and a singer) were present at the feast.

No sooner had the girl taken her seat, did Joffrey say something that made her look very uncomfortable. Harry saw the people sitting at the High Table frown, but they did nothing. Taking a seat at one of the low tables, Harry resolved to keep an eye on Joffrey and the girl, and intervene if need be. Harry did not know what he would do exactly, but the disarming spell had obviously worked and everyone here seemed to be muggles. It would not be too difficult to get away if things went awry, he figured.

Harry found a place at the end of one of the tables and sat, one eye on the bride at the High Table. His own table was laden with bread, cheese and a small selection of meats. There was some type of wild fowl as well, too large to be chicken or duck, and some rabbit. There weren't any vegetables except for some carrots and peas, which had been added to some sort of stew. Most of the guests though ignored the food and were helping themselves to wine, a much duller red than what he was used to seeing at Aunt Petunia's. Harry could not see any water at the table. The only choice of drink seemed to be wine or ale. Not particularly hungry, having already dined at Hogwarts, Harry limited himself to some bread and cheese, and some of the stew. As Harry finished his meal, the people at his table had been becoming progressively more drunk.

A couple of the drunks, two seats away from Harry were shouting, calling for a bedding, "never mind the groom." Their cry was taken up by more of the men at Harry's table, though a few of the ladies at the other end looked disgusted.

As the cry rose, Harry saw Joffrey smirking, his hands under the table, saying something to the bride. The girl had stiffened and then started sobbing. Harry was just about to do something, anything, when Joffrey suddenly became stiff as a board. Seeing Joffrey seemingly freeze, a beautiful blonde woman at the High Table stood up and started shouting hysterically, while the pretty bride looked as if she would collapse.

Harry could swear that Joffrey looked as if he had been hit by a petrification hex, and when Harry looked around the room, a surge of relief filled him as he spotted Hermione Granger sitting at another table, looking grim. Seated next to her was Ron.

There was a scuffle at the High Table and the blonde woman at the High Table seemed as if she were making some accusations. An old woman who seemed to remind Harry of Neville's gran, seemed to be saying something that was only egging her on. Just as it seemed that violence would break out, Hermione's hand twitched, and Joffrey seemed animated once again. Shaken and confused, Joffrey left the feast with the hysterical woman following behind him protectively, escorted by about a dozen guards. The girl was still at the table, her sobs reduced to sniffles.

As the guests seemed to relax with Joffrey's exit, Harry rushed towards his best friends.

"What is this place?" Harry asked as he joined Ron and Hermione.

"It's called King's Landing. It is the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, and that's where we are currently."

Hermione explained how she and Ron had appeared at the wedding and been swept away with the crowd into the Small Hall. They had been doing nothing but moving across the room, listening in and gathering information since finding themselves in this strange place.

"I am Hermione Spicer, by the way, descendant of merchants. That's mudblood to almost everyone here. Ron is Ser Ronnel Tarly, the much celebrated youngest Knight in the Seven Kingdoms. I don't know what the Seven Kingdoms are yet, but they are supposed to be united under one King, Joffrey Baratheon, there. He is to wed to Lady Margaery Tyrell, in a few weeks, that's the girl in the dress with embroidered roses." Hermione pointed to an elegant girl with regal bearing who had engaged the pretty bride in conversation.

"And who is the bride? Strange wedding, this, with tempers running high..."

"That is Sansa Stark. And what a story it is!" supplied Ron, who had been silent so far. "Lady Sansa Stark is daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, who was the ruler of Winterfell. That's a large chunk of the kingdom in the north. He was best friends with Joffrey's dad, the King before this, and later became his Hand. That's sort of like Prime Minister. Joffrey and Lady Sansa were engaged - "

"Betrothed, Ronald!"

"Yes, well, whatever. They say Stark had the King killed, tried to engineer a coup against Joffrey but got caught. So Joffrey had Stark's head chopped off for treason and broke off the betrothal with Lady Sansa. Stark's son didn't like that and declared war. Sansa's been a hostage since. Apparently it is the King's right to arrange the marriage of his subjects if he so wishes, and all the High Lords need his permission to wed. Lady Sana has just been wed on the King's orders."

"Yeah, but what's the point of the wedding?"

"Well we don't know really," Hermione said, "It's something to do with her claim to Winterfell obviously, but why now and in such haste? Apparently neither bride nor groom were aware that today was to be their wedding day. Some Kettle fellow" - Hermione pointed to a tall good looking man in white - "was very tickled about it. I wonder where the groom is, though. Strange to have a wedding feast without the groom. It's supposed to be some prince from House Martell and he is a hostage too. I really don't know why. There isn't much gossip about the Martells on other than the Tyrells hate them. All the Tyrells seem to feel quite sorry for Lady Sansa. They say Martell is a coward hated by his own family. Of course none of this really helps us in anyway in getting home."

"It's Snape," said Harry, "that Martell prince. He was knocked out at the altar at their Church - ("Sept" corrected Hermione) - some fellow they called the maester came to see him. I think he was knocked out on Joffrey's orders. Apparently Joffrey is my cousin, and you are all looking at some chap called Harold Frey..."

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks, as if confirming some theory. "So we all have some sort of identities here. It isn't as if Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter or Severus Snape have suddenly appeared in a new place. We seem to be an actual part of this world, with identities associated with it. I've never heard of anything like it. I wonder how we came here, and I hope we can get back. I don't think I like this place so far..."

"Yeah, I don't really understand it. If the wedding was commanded by order of the King, why did he attack the groom?"

"I really can't say, Harry." Hermione added, "I only know what I could pick up from the gossip. There is quite a lot of gossip actually...I'd have expected some more discretion. I think we should at least be a bit more circumspect about what we say and where...I heard that there is an inn not too far from here, not frequented by many people. May be we can meet there tomorrow morning."

"Can't," said Harry. "Have to go to some practice session by order of Joffrey. Will tell you about it later."

Then as if Ron could no longer contain himself, he burst out, "That poor girl is married to Snape? Greasy, haired, nasty, bat-like Snape? Shite! What kind of a hell hole are we in? Who else do you reckon is here? Think Dumbledore's here somewhere, too? He could get us back, I bet."

Hermione looked solemn. "Well we don't know how we got here, but when I think hard I feel some faint recollections at the back of my mind, too wispy and unsubstantial, but sort of hinting to what I am supposed to be here. Do you feel it too?" Both Harry and Ron scrunched up their faces in concentrated, and after some time, nodded.

"Either way, we need to research, and we will need access to knowledge. Harry, Ron, you both seem to be well connected in this world. See if you can dig up something. I suppose we should ask Professor Snape as well. He obviously knows more magic than us and is in the same boat. It figures that we found each other, though. We were all at the Shrieking Shack together, after all...I wonder why Sirius and Remus haven't come through too, and Wormtail as well I suppose. Maybe they are somewhere close...If it has something to do with who all were at the Shack, I don't think Dumbledore will be here."

Ron looked pensive. "Well we sort of came in the same state as we were outside the shack. I mean, Snape came knocked out, we came armed...maybe Professor Lupin is somewhere in werewolf form with Sirus, and Pettigrew's made a rub for it?"

The feast was winding down now, and it was obvious that the trio needed to leave. It was also obvious that they were associated with different groups. Apparently Ron was a part of the Tyrell party, and while Harry and Hermione were both associated with the Lannisters, both were a part of different groups. Harry, as a part of the King's family, was expected to be with the Lannister cousins, while Hermione as a lesser vassal house, had to go with similarly ranked guests.

"Then how 'bout meeting at the Sept-thing in the afternoon tomorrow and exchange notes, I think we may be able to get a bit of privacy there..." suggested Hermione as they were going their ways.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, and someone will need to keep an eye on Snape. I think you will be the one who can most easily do that Harry?"

With Harry's nod of agreement, the friends planning to meet the next day, reluctantly parted. At least there was one silver lining in this fiasco, Harry thought. They were all in this together and magic worked.

The wedding had been Lord Tywin's idea. The formidable lord had intercepted a plan, which if allowed to come to fruition, would have resulted in their most valuable hostage being lost to the Tyrells through a match with Lord Willas. Ordinarily this could be easily fixed: before the Tyrells could put forth an offer, Lady Sansa would have been wed to an eligible Lannister like Jaime, perhaps even Tyrion.

Unfortunately for Lord Tywin, in a strange twist of irony, Lord Tyrion (whom Lord Tywin often wished dead) lay in bed, still unable to wake up, due to the extensive wounds he received in the Battle of Blackwater.

Lord Tywin Lannister had not expected the siege of King's Landing to end the way it did. While he could attribute some degree of low cunning to his malformed offspring, Tyrion, and perhaps a trace of ability to his hot headed daughter Cersei, he had fully expected to have needed to come to the rescue of King's Landing. Instead the lifting of the siege had brought in the support from the Tyrells, to be sealed with the marriage of his grandson, King Joffrey with the Rose of Highgarden, Margaery.

Lord Tywin thus found himself needing to check the Tyrells machinations in gaining control over the north, narrowing down possible appropriate matches for a high born girl from one of the oldest families in Westeros, and who would be completely under Lannister control. The only match he could shortlist was not ideal, but given the paucity of time, there was little he could do.

Prince Severus Martell had been a hostage of the Baratheons since the sack of King's Landing. Visiting his half-sister, Princess Elia, Prince Severus had found himself unable to extricate himself from the Red Keep after the onset of war, and found himself a hostage of the mad King Aerys. After the end of the war, the prince continued to be a hostage, now of the man who became King after the murder of his niece and nephew. His half-brothers, Princes Oberyn and Doran, had never forgiven him for surviving when Elia and her children died, and as such he was friendless in the Lannister stronghold. He was high born enough that there would be no objections to the match, and friendless enough that no one would help him should he ask it. A hostage at King's Landing, the effective control of the north would remain with the Lannisters. If any offspring were to be produced, they would be betrothed to someone from his own line and would be taught loyalty to the Lannisters, with a Lannister regent at the helm. And if there was no child...well Martell could die in an accident, and a Lannister could always be Lady Sansa's second husband. That would have to wait, though, and executed with some subtlety.

And now, with Prince Severus knocked out, Lord Tywin hoped that a second husband would not be needed post haste. Oberyn Martell would take a Martell death as a slight, irrespective of whether he had any love lost.

Well at least he had a Lannister on hand now, even if he would have preferred one of his own sons. Harold Frey would do in a pinch. Lord Tywin was impressed by the way the Frey boy had handled the disgraceful scene at the wedding. By disarming Trant, he had prevented a humiliation which would have costed the Lannisters dearly (though how he did it he wasn't sure). He had then very gracefully handled Joffrey's temper. By baldly stating that no King could order such a travesty was a bold move, and one that allowed Joffrey to retain a modicum of honour. It was truly fortunate that Harold Frey arrived when he did. The boy had surprised him. Who would have thought that anyone with Frey blood, especially a descendant of any of Emmon's get could have any ability. The Lord of Lannister had thought of squiring the boy with Lancel when Genna had asked him to take him in, but after seeing how he carried himself, Lord Tywin decided he would mentor young Frey. Harold Frey was Genna's grandson after all, and blood was blood. It would even be nice to have someone in the family who was not a disappointment.