298 A.C. Highgarden,
A little bird makes its way throughout the halls of highgarden, their master lord Varys has been trying to instill more eyes in the Tyrell household with little success.
They can hear the commotion outside even from a distance as the Lords and Ladies celebrate the union between house Tyrell and house Baratheon.
They have only have a little window to make word to the Spider, they must let-
"What do we have here?" The small child stills feeling the oppressive eyes of a powerful person baring into their soul. A street urchin like them has to alway be wary and aware of eyes with dark intent, sometimes they could get away.
Other times…they'd like to forget.
Slowly allowing their mind to calm they turn only to feel their eyes widen as the third son of the Tyrell's stands before them. The amusement in those eerie eyes do nothing to quell the fear that steadily rises, they've been here long enough to know that the man before them is more.
"Now, don't be scared." Lord Haedrian says probably trying to reassure them, but fails.
They know how men are, and what they know isn't good.
"Mi-milord?" They ask trying to appear smaller, knowing that if they appeal to their ego, it's easier.
Lord Haedrian doesn't say anything just staring at them, though they don't get the oily sensation that comes from the creeps who find their small frame appealing.
No, instead of that they feel like their whole story is being played.
They can see memories even they forgot, or never knew until now.
They feel tears leak down their face as the faint feeling of being cradled by their mother resurfaces with a raging roar.
They have been on their own since their fourth nameday, their mother passing from the harsh conditions of the slums, no matter where you are the slums are the same.
Poverty, crime and death. Repeat.
They feel the phantom hands of the memory, the man who reach for them, took them into a dark corner and-
They wobble with a small whimper, feeling like someone picked their mind and rearranged it. Stern hands catch their body as they topple, keeping them balanced as they regain their breath.
Looking up into the powerful gaze knowing they did something, when the Lord speaks they feel a warmth invade them, "Such a brave thing you are."
They feel a flush creep up as they try not to squirm under the ethereal gaze.
They're so confused, but instinct tells them the being dressed as a man wouldn't hurt them without instigation.
"Milord, what? I-" they try to speak, the thoughts of reporting to Varys slip their mind as they get lost in the kind gaze that is bestowed on them.
"Breathe," the gentle command does it, causing their chest to loosen as if a string has been cut, taking a deep breath they greedily accept the air in their lungs.
"I will not harm you for doing what you must to survive, little one." Lord Haedrian says the nickname with a genuinenesses that Varys lacks, not that they're under any delusion that the man truly cares for his birds.
They're just useful tools to spin the Spiders web.
Taking another deep breath they feel their spinning mind slow down hearing the man intone sofly, keeping them steady but not crowding him, "There we go," if it's all a ploy then they can commend the lord for his acting.
The softness of the fabric tickling their nose makes a startled giggle escape their lips as the man stands up, they swallow as the demeanor of him becomes stern.
"Now, I have but one question for you," the statement catches them off guard.
"If you could have anything, what would it be?" The man's smile seems to widen at their dubious expression.
——
299 A.C. Harry's chambers.
"Master," Death speaks his tone showing no urgency despite the situation they became aware of.
Watching with amusement as Harry yelps spinning from his position he had been in on his bed, barely dressed in anything other than the silk pants tied to his slim waist. Having been fiddling the silly mirror their master is too much of a coward to use.
"Holy fucking, fuck." The deity merely stands as the former mortal scrambles off of the floor having been startled off upon their entrance, absolutely not their intention at all.
"I'm sorry, but there's an urgent matter you need to be aware of if you wish to save your dogfather's brother." The deity may not be able to interact with the ways of the universe, but their unique little deity in the making has the burden and privilege to transcend the rules beings like them are supposed to follow.
Almost like the Great Other, but, if they're biased can anyone blame them, more powerful than anyone has seen in the ages of mankind, especially in this world.
Having an assassin guild dedicated to them is amusing, if a little inaccurate, Death doesn't need to give anyone the gift, for they are inevitable.
When they die isn't of concern to Death.
How one dies isn't a concern to Death.
Nothing truly concerns Death, for all they need to do is wait.
But they find themselves adoring the fiery human before them.
And with affection comes nepotism.
Leaning on his bed Harry wills his heart to slow, despite the connection he has with Death he is still startled every time the deity shows, a feeling he feels won't fade. Giving Death a withering look feeling faint amusement coming from the deity.
Who appears in the form of a frail old common woman, skin tan and scared showing the hard life the woman led before meeting her end. His curiosity gets the better of him,"who are you wearing now?" He asks their kind eyes not to fool Harry for one moment, knowing the eldritch entity behind the facade.
The old crone's face seems to stretch as a sinister smile crawls upon the deity's face,"no one of importance, a common woman who lived in the slums of Kings landing, commendable for her to have evaded me for so long given her circumstances." The way the deity can speak about the suffering of someone like the weather should make Harry afraid, but he finds that he can't condemn the deity for human restrictions.
It would be an insult to such a being, a finality.
"What is it you came here for?" He speaks, pulling himself from his curiosity, knowing the deity will indulge him until the end of time.
Death tilts their head, their aged hair stiff as they speak "Ah, my apologies master. Your dogfather's brother is about to be executed in a day's time." This causes Harry to straighten,"what do you mean?" He asks in confusion, his hand going towards the mirror his instinct to call Sirius.
They had spoken, albeit a little awkwardly after Meraxes had come back.
After getting past the awkward stage they eventually got to speaking.
he'll always be Sirius's pup.
Those words spoken to him had brought tears to his eyes, the blasted hawk gave him a knowing look snickering if he could as the two men wobbled and cried into the tiny mirrors.
They eventually spoke of their respective families, the way Sirius speaks of his nephew Jon makes Harry smile despite the small slip of envy. It's clear how Sirius loves the shy wolf as his godfather has coined the boy.
They, Jon and him seem to have some common traits in Sirius's words. The shit mentioned they both have a brooding problem.
"The hand of the king will be trialed in front of the realm by the next evening. Eddard's children that went with him are separated after his younger daughter Arya escaped with the little dove Sansa is left hostage and play-thing for the boy-king." Death recites with no emotion.
"Alright, shit." He slumps onto his bed putting his head in his hands,"I thought we had more time." He bemoans into his palms, standing up after his mini fit.
He ignores the cold stone that touches his feet as he walks off the thick rug stationed under his bed, ignoring the deity as he makes his way to his closest, the size still makes him marvel silently being big enough that a dornish horse could turn around without difficulty.
The clothes and fabrics that adorn his wardrobe could fund an army if he so chose to sell them. Articles of clothing, silks of Naath and even robes from Yi Ti being gifted to their family through various foreign merchants
Most he met personally during his stay at Hightower.
Ignoring the blasted clothing from pompous brown nosers he goes to the back where his personal clothing and 'armor' is stashed.
Muttering in Parseltongue he watches as the chest opens revealing the contents all of which he keeps hidden, some even from his siblings. Picking up the dark material that seems to shimmer, grasping the fabric he looks back to Death, "Do you think you could change this into something more practical?" He asks, holding said cloth in front of him.
Looking up in question he only is met with a bemused look on the aged face, their croaking voice almost mocking if not for the fondness hidden in their tone,"Silly master, the hollows are yours all you must do is will it and it shall be done." The deity intones trying to make their master aware of his might, but must follow certain laws and can't interfere with his ascending.
Or the test given to him.
Harry, not aware of the deity's thoughts, looks down at the hollow, running his thumb across the fabric he can feel the impression of joy as they are being held in his hand, making him feel guilty for locking them up, with that in mind he absently slips on the fabric as if compelled. His eyes widened startled as a feeling of something latched into his being.
Looking up to Death he is reassured to see the calm gaze grounding him as the longest hollow he's held seems to mold into his shirtless body forming in to only to startle as instead of the invisibility cloak in to a simple dark grey shirt with a knee length trench coat with faintly exhibiting floral patterns that are ethereally etched into the fabric. The patterns seem to glow ever so softly before dimming contently.
"Wha-" he asks but can't form the words.
Death decides to humor their master, "The hallows seem to have taken offense to your abandonment, the cloth adorning you seems inclined to never leave your person and as such has taken a more convenient look." Their face soothes out as they let their scared lips rest.
"I see," they can see that he doesn't, but it's not of importance.
Harry decided to do what he does best and ignore the things that don't make sense. Leaning down he slips off his pants, letting them pool as he reaches for his clothing he had in place of the invisibility cloak, but seeing as the stubborn fabric doesn't want to let up he pushes them aside in favor of his beloved pair of Dragon hide boots, gifted to him by Death on his eighteenth nameday, which had been two years ago, feeling they would cause too much attention he achingly put them away.
But now he's done hiding, well as much as he's willing, despite the relationship he has with his grandfather, he doesn't trust the Citadel as far as he could throw them.
He read the records of how they plotted to kill the dragons, the Targaryens he could care less for, but the dragons shouldn't have been punished for the deeds of men.
After securing his boots on he starts to stand up, but stalls, his eyes settled on the gleaming stone, the infamous Resurrection stone. The inky black jewel sounding eerily similar to the black stone of Sothoryos.
A coincidence he doesn't think so.
Sloping the damned thing on he winces as the metal seems to bite his middle finger drawing blood before reforming to fit his finger, the snugness suggesting he's gonna be getting used to it on his person.
Actually standing he gently shuts the chest ignoring the warmth radiating from the scaled stone within the chest, a gift from his mad aunt before his departure back home, something that had startled him.
He casted a warming charm on them before shoved them in the farthest part of the chest he could, hoping the further they are the less he'll think of them.
He turns only to see the deity inches away from him, their visage faded as the indescribable being stands before them, their presence shifting with power as they bore into him, instead of the passiveness they once had the oppressing aura that he theorizes only he could stand without going insane. Looking down feeling the poke of something pushing into his chest he goes to ask what the deity is intending to do with the elder wand, but before he can speak the words Death pushes the wand into his chest.
He's grateful for the silencing wards or the whole castle would have heard his screams as the final piece of the puzzle sears into his person forever changing him and the universe as a whole.
Death feels the weight and burden of being the entity of balance lessen as another takes his place coexisting for the ends of time, one left to observe and one left to experience.
"What. The. Fuck. Was. That?" Death can feel the power resonating in each word and feel the breath of life leave Harry's lips in every exhale. Physical the ascension is complete, mentally the godling needs more time.
"I'm sorry master, it was a must. I thought best if I kept you unaware rather than worry you with the anticipation, I apologize if I overstepped my bounds," they reply dutifully, but they both know Death doesn't need permission.
With a wince Harry picks himself off his closet floor waving off the deity only saying "A warning next time."
"I'm not fond of surprises, especially ones that end in pain." Harry can't help but snark as he rubs his sore chest, feeling the essence of the wand in his core.
"Not that I'm com- okay, why did you do that?" He can't help but feel confused.
"You don't need to use the wand, and if it fell in the wrong hands even in this world it could cause havoc, albeit on a smaller scale than it would have in the hands of a born Wizard." Death replies, seeming to shrug its face back to the aged hag.
"Was now really the best time?" Harry can help but ask as he returns to his room gathering a satchel he prepared in case of an emergency.
"Master time isn't on the realm of man's side, now that you're putting an active role in this I have my own duty." The being doest elaborate but Harry could care less.
Opening his door he absently nods to the guards as he passes, noting that death has taken the form of a black cat and is trailing him as he makes towards Willas wishing for his opinion.
Upon reaching the man's quarters he knocks softly, the guards being used to the siblings weaving between rooms throughout the years. The quiet come in makes him smile as he here's the distracted tone in Willas's voice. He must be reading up on one of the scrolls Malora had sent moons ago, battle strategies of old.
"Will, I need council on an urgent matter. " Harry says, cutting the small talk as he sits down next to his eldest brother.
Willas is a well read man and most certainly the smartest in his biased opinion, Harry waits until Willas closes the scroll and gives him his full attention. "The hand of the king is in danger." He says in the simplest way he can think of.
Leaning on his forearms Willas looks into his eyes various scenarios flickering throughout his gaze, his head tilted not unlike Death, after a second he allows "The Starks are a prestigious house,"
A/n:
I thought I'd post another since I took a little break, and the inspiration came like a hound dog.
I thought it would be cute to show how Harry has turned the little birds away from Varys without making it obvious, and I thought I'd give you a snippet of how it happens.
I hope it's not to cheap( sorry I am annoyingly insecure with my writing)
So, I know the climatic reunion between Harry and Sirius is, well anticlimactic. I have the scene in my head, this chapter just pushed itself in front.