Chapter 11: The Day After

Harry woke at dawn. This in itself wasn't unusual. Anyone with anything to do with Lord Tywin woke up before morning brightened the sky. What was unusual was the twinge he felt in his scar, something that he felt only when Voldemort was near. Yet, there was no one in the room, save a muggle squire. Harry had his own room now, ever since being declared Lord of Darry, and this very afternoon he'd see Sirius wed the Queen (Harry shuddered), and leave before the feast ended.

He had been seated right at the end with the gentry and the commons of note so as to not embarrass the High Lords with his exit. There was a lesser feast for the merchants and the like, which was to go on the entire day, with guests coming and going, and it was here that Harry would sit. This was terribly inconvenient. Harry wanted to ask Sirius what his scar burning meant, but with Sirius at the High Table, it would be impossible to talk with him, especially with a modicum of discretion. He hoped that Remus would be sitting somewhere nearby. Even though Remus too had been elevated to a Lordship, most people still seemed vary of being anywhere close to a Clegane, and Harry hoped that he'd get the chance to ask Remus at the very least.

Harry did not know how he truly felt about going to Darry. It would be a stranger place in a strange place, and a place without his friends. He had tried to find out as much as he could about his new fiefdom, much to the approval of Lord Tywin, but he wasn't very confident of being a good lord. That had pleased Lord Tywin too. "A good lord cannot be complacent," Lord Tywin had told Harry. "Attend to all that is arround you, for it changes constantly. Remember your duties and you will be a credit to your House."

Even as his heart had swelled hearing Lord Tywin's praise, Harry was also saddened about leaving his friends, though he hoped that they'd get a chance to visit him soon enough. All his things had been packed. Harry had no idea how many things he had come with until his servant, Fryd, had packed his things. He hadn't even known he had a personal servant, until he was compelled to put his household in order. Harry's party consisted of twenty armed men, and at the King's Road, they'd be joined with another eighty Frey men. Hundred, Lord Tywin had thought, would be a sufficient number to keep brigands away, and to take care of most skirmishes.

It would be Harry's duty to keep the peace in Darry. The place would be in disarray after the war, he had been warned, but a dozen trained knights were more than adequate to bring order Lord Tywin had assured him. Lancel Lannister, who had barely recovered from his injuries, would also accompany Harry, for he had to go on and establish a keep at Oldstones. Lancel had some experience with governance and war, and Harry was told that he would be on hand to help as well.

Harry washed himself at the basin in the corner and after putting on fresh clothes, went to get the last of his instructions from Lord Tywin.


It had been the second time that Hermione had heard the word prophesy being mentioned. It had been the queen, first, and Hermione had naturally dismissed it, what with her being a muggle. Then she heard Snape mention it. The door had been closed, and she hadn't really heard all that was being said, but it was obvious that Snape had regained memories linked to this world, and there was another prophesy - Rheagar's Prophesy - that held some meaning. She had tried to listen further, but Snape had sounded upset, and his voice a bit muffled, so she wasn't sure if it would be wise to put her ears against the connecting door. She was thankful she hadn't when Snape had burst in shortly after, slammed the door shut and thrown Hermione out without another word.

Hermione didn't really think that prophesies had any more relevance in this world than in her own, but if words spoken by soothsayers impacted the decisions of Kings and Princes (and Queens), well, Hermione needed to know the words to anticipate the motivations of those in power. So she found herself in what would have been her haunt at Hogwarts: the library.

It was the first time that Hermione was stepping into the Red Keep's library. Recent events and the various duties she had as one of Sansa's ladies (in employ of the Queen), had taken up all her time. Even now, it had been only past midnight when she got the opportunity to go there, and the Maester's assistant had been much upset at being asked to open up the library at the unusual hour. Hermione was a Lady, however, even if she were only a Spicer, and the man had been obliged to allow her in.

The library was vast, and theoretically overseen by the Grand Maester. In practice, there was a Maester who acted as a Librarian, who was assisted by three assistants, two manning the library during the day, and one during the night. It was Pate who was manning the library tonight, and while he did not know much about any of the books and scrolls kept there, he knew where the books and scrolls were kept, and that was sufficient for Hermione at this time.

The largest section of the library consisted of History. There was also a large section on the fauna and flora of the Seven Kingdoms. There were scrolls on Medicine, Healing and Potions, and in a tiny corner, with merely a dozen or so books, were books on what was vaguely classified as The Higher Mysteries. Hermione lit the lamp at the desk nearest the corner, and had Pate bring her the most promising titles.

The Magicks of Old Valyria spoke of magic in the past tense and was so full of mysticism and fancy that Hermione was almost certain that it was written by a muggle. It spoke of wondrous feats, and miraculous abilities, but not a word was written on how any of it may be achieved. Then there was another book, but it was written in a script that Hermione couldn't understand. The third book was a slim volume, Of Fire and Blood, and the singed and brown stained pages seemed to indicate that it may have been used as a practical manual. If the book indeed had anything to do with magic, it would likely be of the Dark kind, and Hermione knew that Dark Magic was almost always dangerous, and often evil. The book itself did not seem malicious though, like those in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, and so with a shaking hand, Hermione opened the book.

The Power of Great Magicks can be harnessed only by Sacrifice, and the source of great Sacrifice lies in Blood. Blood can bind, Blood can sever; Blood can kill, and Blood can give life. Blood shapes Magick, and when offered to Fire, unleashes it.

The book went on, on which blood should be used for what kind of magic, the quantity of blood needed and so on. Almost no spells were described, but was heavily annotated.

A man need not be fed to the fire, said one particularly cramped note. A sacrifice may be made of any object of equal value. A pet dog, for example may have value greater than that of a dozen peasants sacrificed, and a destrier may have value equal to a hundred. While the value of sacrifice cannot be truly measured, it can be safely said that it depends on the force of magick that needs wielding, and so it was that Azhor Ahai was only able to temper Lightbringer with Nissa Nissa's blood. I have thus been able to bring forth Dragons, not with the sacrifice of men, but with the sacrifice of a dozen beasts.

The rest of the book seemed to be dedicated to dragons: how to unfreeze the dormant eggs, create objects to control them, and so on. For example, it said that Dragon Horns could be created by the sacrifice of a dozen full-grown dragons, and unmade by sacrificing the wielder of a Dragon Horn. Most of the methods described were probably outlawed by ICW, and all of them were Dark Magic. On the very last page was an illustration of a man piercing the breast of a woman with a sword, an expression of shock and agony on her face, and grim determination on his. Below the illustration were the words, Azor Ahai tempering his sword.

The other books were not particularly useful or informative. They spoke mainly of legends, of endless winters, sea monsters and the like. They were tales, mostly, not texts, and while Hermione recognised that legend had basis in fact, these books seemed strangely sanitised. Even so, the tales were interesting, and Hermione found herself reading with fascination about Wargs and Skinchangers of the North, Dragons of Valyria, and the fierce beasts of the Rhoynar. It was nearly dawn when she came across a mention of prophesies. It was oddly enough, in a book called the Blood of the Targaryens. Hermione had come it it last, for she had assumed that it would be a long-winded geneology of the former rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. While she was correct, it was a geneology, and rather long, it was also eminently readable. It dated from before the Doom of Valyria, and described the conquest of the Seven Kingdoms. As Hermione skimmed the book, she saw, towards the end a folded letter, slightly yellow with age.

My Dear Nephew, (she read)

I was pleased to get your raven last moon. I have since been looking through the library at Castle Black for any mention of the Prince that was Promised. The legends of Valyria and Asshai are not common so far in the North, and most legends speak of the Long Night. The prophesy that you wrote of has many similarities to that of Azhor Ahai, as I am sure you are aware. The Song of Ice and Fire, does seem to imply, as you think that the legends of Long Night are connected with the prophesy of the promised prince.

Unfortunately, for you to get any meaningful information from the usual sources will be difficult. The Grand Maester disdains of the Higher Arts, as does the Faith. Much is thus lost, and I fear that going to Oldtown directly may cause you to alarm the Keepers of the Septs and the Maesters.

What the rest of the letter said, Hermione couldn't find out, for the door slammed open, the noise shattering the silence in the library. She instantly folded the letter and slipped it up her sleeve. King Joffrey had just barged into the library, Ser Meryn in tow. Hermione rose from her corner, and curtseyed before the King.

Before Joffrey could acknowledge her (if he even condescended to do so), Maester Derryk rushed in, his clothes hastily put on. He sketched a clumsy bow, and Hermione could hear his joints pop. "Your Grace!"

"I need books on sorcery, Maester. Blood Magic in particular. Bring them to me"

"Certainly your Grace! We have all the books on sorcery kept here..." the Maester stated, walking towards where Hermione stood. To Hermione's surprise, the Maester walked past the shelf that she had referred to, and extracted some volumes from a nook that Hermione hadn't noticed. She saw that the librarian had retrieved volumes titled On the Control of Dragons, The Wonders of Alchemy, Fire Magicks said The Sorcery of the East. "We do not have any books on Blood Magic here. Its study is frowned upon by the Grand Maester and the High Septon alike. Your Royal Father had many removed and several destroyed, much like the Dragon skulls that were displayed in the Throne Room by the Targaryens of old. Dragonstone, the former seat of the Targaryens would have had the best collection, but it is likely that Lord Stannis may have destroyed them, much like your Kingly father. Some books may be found in Oldtown, perhaps preserved for academic purposes in the Citadel. Others may be in Dorne, perhaps in Winterfell...the more developed regions do not find place for old wives' tales and superstition."

Ser Meryn stepped forward to receive the books, and show them one by one to the King.

On the Control of Dragons was discarded without being opened, as was the Wonders of Alchemy. It was Fire Magicks that Joffrey opened, and Hermione, for some reason felt her goosebumps rise.

"You may leave Maester Derryk. You shall be called should I have any need for you."

The old Maester bowed his assent, and backed out of the library, now full of early morning light.

"You," Joffrey addressed Hermione, "who are you and who gave you leave to come here?"

"I am Hermione of House Spicer, Your Grace. To have been in the Red Keep and never visited the library, I thought a sin. As I am companion to Princess Sansa, by order of the Queen, it is only after nightfall that I could see the wonders of the library, Your Grace."

Joffrey looked at Hermione assessingly. His sight lingered at her breast and below her waist, and Hermione wanted to box him. "It is indeed a wondrous library. Much better than the one at Winterfell, though Mother says that the one in Casterly Rock is bigger. I would bid you stay here and help me, but these are matters of State, and not for the gentle eyes of ladies. You must attend me after the Wedding Feast. Bring Sansa with you. I would reminisce of old times."


It had been over a decade since Severus had felt a pulse of magic as foul. It had been powerful, and his left forearm felt aflame, as if his Dark Mark had burned black. Yet, in the flickering torchlight, the skin was smooth, and not even its faint outline was visible. There was Dark Magic here. Dark Magic of the worst kind - ritualistic - the kind that Gryffindors associated with the Dark Arts.

He let out a shuddering breath. Severus knew that going back to sleep was pointless, and he wasn't one to lay in bed. So, in spite of his exhaustion, he threw off the covers, and draped a burnt orange robe of fine silk over his white nightshirt tightly, such that only a glimpse of it was visible beneath his collar, and knotted the belt at his waist firmly.

It was going to be a long day. Black was going to get married to the Queen, and Oberyn would marry Black's sister...

Even now it was hard to reconcile Severus Martell's memories. Gaining them had been traumatic, and he had shut himself away in the adjoining room after that. Severus had thrown out Granger without a word, and had sat alone, processing his memories, while Oberyn had sat with Sansa, discussing heaven knows what, but Severus hadn't cared. It had been nightfall when Sansa had knocked, asking him to join her for dinner. Perhaps it was courtesy; perhaps she wanted her room back. Thankfully, Severus had calmed down by then, and all he had done was smile tightly and moved to the table on which supper was laid. Oberyn had left, but Severus hadn't cared about that, either. He felt better now, much better. Occluding before going to bed had helped too.

Until a burning sensation had woken him up.

There was magic in his blood, Severus had realised. Even in this world. The Targaryens were dragon-riders. Lesser warlocks, perhaps, but warlocks, nevertheless. How much magic was there in this world, Severus wondered. How many practitioners of magic were there? Was there any way to find out? Did the crown conduct a census? Severus Martell had apparently been unconcerned about these questions. Either as a Prince, he had been above all of this, or had no magic, or the magic users were disorganised in this world. Severus Martell hadn't been aware of parallel magical underground as such, but he was aware of a little sorcery.

Potions and prophesy...

Well Severus Snape knew rather a lot about both. The first he enjoyed, the second...he inhaled deeply...he loathed prophesies.

The Prince that was Promised, indeed. Three heads of a Dragon.

It was Severus's fate to be surrounded by clever idiots. Arrogance and credulity did not make a good combination, especially by those in power. And so Rheagar died, and his wife and children with him. So Lily died, as did the Dark Lord, with her...or at least he was defeated...

Hell, if the regular events of Hogwarts were any indication, and his rotten luck held out (it seemed worse here, Severus hadn't thought it possible), the Three Heads of the Dragon would turn out to be Potter, Granger and Weasley. Rheagar could never ever have guessed that. For all that Severus knew, The Three heads could be the literal dragon skulls kept somewhere in the Red Keep. Poor Elia. Poor Rhaenys. Poor Aegon...

Dawn was breaking now. The sky was a bloody red, staining the sea beneath as well.

A door opened softly, and Severus turned to see Sansa, standing before him in a bedgown of Martell colours, a gift indubitably, from Oberyn. He waited for her to speak.

"You are awake, My Prince..."

"As you see"

She was staring at him hesitantly.

He sighed. He hated this place and what it did to people. "Well ask your question. It's obvious there's something bothering you. It is safe to talk. No eavesdroppers will hear you in this room..."

She spoke up hesitantly, "I hadn't known you had Targaryen blood, My Prince. Is it true that the Targaryens were your kin?"

Severus sighed. "I suppose Oberyn put you up to it..."

He sat at the table, crossing his arms and digging into the memories of his other self. "Yes, I suppose I do have Targaryen blood. My father, Daeron, was Aerys's uncle, King Aegon V's younger son."

Sansa scrunched up her face as if she were calculating, then exclaimed, "So closely related?! But then you should be King by law!" There was excited righteousness shining in her eyes. "You had the next claim! You still do! That's what Prince Oberyn says, too..."

"Then why aren't I King?" Severus asked testily.

Sansa had nothing to say. It was as if, even in the Red Keep, surrounded by the hounds, she believed in the sanctity of law. She needed to understand.

"My claim was never stronger than that of Robert Baratheon. He had an army, I did not. If birth makes my claim better, or if I were to speak of it, my head would adorn a spike, the kind good King Joff is so fond of." Severus exhaled. "It is called Robert's Rebellion. He rebelled against the anointed King. He won. The Targaryens lost."

"If winning is all that takes, then why claim to be next in the Targaryen line? Why base a claim on Targaryen descent at all? Father said that King Robert ascended the throne because his grandmother was Targaryen, and the Maesters declared him next in line, as King Aerys's line had been tainted by madness. You do not belong to King Aerys's line. If you did not abdicate, you had the better claim and by law, the throne was usurped. Prince Oberyn said that there was no Great Council called..."

"The rebellion was won, but resentment was still simmering. The Targaryens were popular among the commons. It was felt expedient that people wouldn't call Robert usurper. As for me, had Dorne followed the laws of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, I would be Targaryen in name as well. Happily, I look more Dornish than Valyrian. Black eyes, black hair, sallow skin, and my name by Dornish law is Martell. I was overlooked in theory, based on Dornish rules of inheritance. It is what saved me. What do you know of the Rebellion and its aftermath?"

"Prince Rheagar kidnapped my Aunt Lyanna, and took her away. My Uncle Brandon, went to the King to demand justice, but the King imprisoned him instead. My Lord Grandfather went to reason with the King, only to be arrested as well. A trial by combat was demanded, and the Ma...King Aerys declared that his champion was fire.

"My Uncle and Grandfather were killed. Lord Robert, seeing that his love would not be returned to him, and that justice would not be theirs, called his banners, as did my Lord Father and Lord Arryn. King Robert killed Rheagar at the Trident, and returned triumphant, to be King; but he lost whom he truly loved, my Aunt Lyanna, who died of a fever in Dorne."

"Lyanna Stark kidnapped? So that's the story they tell you, do they?"

"Of course. Everyone knows that Aunt Lyanna was kidnapped by the Dragon Prince."

"Tell me truly, My Lady, what did you think of Robert Baratheon? Should he have offered you his hand, would you have wanted to wed him? They say an apple does not fall far from the tree. If Joffrey is any indication, would you wish to wed the King?"

"I would do my duty" Sansa whispered.

"Yes," he hissed bitterly, standing once more and pacing the room. "I can see that. Perhaps you are the wiser. Well your aunt, at least, didn't. She didn't care for Robert much, and I can't say I blame her. She recognised Robert for the boor he was and felt that the only way to get out of it was if she were to run away, perhaps with another man. She knew Rheagar was besotted. Everyone did, when he crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty, and a besotted man isn't known for clear thinking. They probably thought it was all very romantic. Rheagar was like that. His head full of songs...he probably thought he would rescue the pretty maiden and live happily ever after...

"Why Brandon thought it wise to threaten the King and the Crown Prince in the Red Keep, I do not know. Perhaps he didn't believe his sister would want to run from a womanising sot, so he went, and he threatened, and the King decided to demonstrate his insanity to one and all...

"The die was cast then. A runaway girl was of no consequence, a scandal at best. A murdered Lord and his heir? It shook the Lords of the Realm" Severus shook his head. "Had Rheagar been anywhere in the Crownlands, the matter could still have been taken care of, and the King deposed with little blood being shed, but there he was, frolicking in Dorne, while his wife and children and I were forced to come to the Red Keep from Dragonstone, ostensibly for our safety, but truly to ensure Dornish support. Did you know Rheagar and Lyanna wrote to my sister justifying this madness? I have the letter, still. There were times when I was tempted to show it to Robert, who whored and drank through the loss of his love. The Song of Ice and Fire, Rheagar called it, for Stark and Targaryen. He claimed it was prophesied! My Uncle Lewyn died in this madness, as did my sister, my niece and my nephew. When Robert saw their bodies, he cheered. Dragonspawn, he said. He nearly killed me as well. He would have, if Lord Stark had not intervened. So that, my dear Princess," he spat "is why I am not King."

Sansa was looking at him wide eyed, Severus noted. "Prince Rheagar loved Lady Lyanna?" she asked softly, almost dreamily, as if she were composing a tragedy in her mind.

"That's what you take away from this!" He exclaimed incredulously.

"No, if what you say is true...I mean, that changes things! Prince Rheagar has been unfairly painted the villain!"

"Why? Because he did it for love?" Severus asked mockingly, only to come to the sudden realisation that all of Severus Snape's choices were made for that very reason. It was an ugly realisation, one that he didn't care to examine at the moment. Severus had joined a cause he did not particularly believed in to impress his love. He had left it when his love was threatened, and he had enslaved himself so that he could avenge her.

He sat down clumsily. What a waste his life was. Lily was right. She had always been right. Severus was a selfish idiot, and it took a naive, idealistic romantic girl for him see it. God, he was pathetic. He hated this place. He hated this world. He hated that he had to re-evaluate all that he thought was important. Yet, he couldn't let go, and found that he couldn't empathise. Not with the man whose idiocy had Elia and her children killed.

"What do you want?" He asked hoarsely. "Did Oberyn ask you to persuade me to put in a bid for the crown?"

"Prince Oberyn did say that you would make a better King than any Lannister or Baratheon, but that is not why I asked. I wanted to know how you...when they killed your family...you know, live with yourself..." she said softly.

He looked up at her shocked and angry, how dare she, till he realised, there were tears in her eyes, and that she was asking for herself. Her family had been slaughtered too, after all, and by the same people.

What should he tell her? That you don't. That you just count the days till you get vengeance? That you wait for an opportunity and take it?

He sat with her instead till morning shone bright, and then it was time to prepare for the festivities.


Author's Notes: Whenever I re-read the chapter (once it is published), all I can spot are mistakes. I somehow never seem to notice them before I publish. Anyone who can Beta read the chapters before I put them up will be providing a great help. Please PM me if you are interested...