Disclaimer: This fanfiction is a creative work of fiction crafted by a fan of both the Harry Potter and Game of Thrones series and is not officially sanctioned by J.K. Rowling, George R.R. Martin, HBO, or any related parties. All characters, events, and settings from both universes are utilized in a transformative manner and should be interpreted as such. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or deceased, or real-world events are coincidental. The views and interpretations presented in this fanfiction are the sole responsibility of the author(s) and do not necessarily align with the established canons of either Harry Potter or Game of Thrones. Reader discretion is advised as this fanfiction may explore crossover themes, character interactions, and storylines not found in the original works.
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Cassana Baratheon had always sensed that her eldest son, Orys, was special. From the very beginning, he had exhibited signs of extraordinary development. She observed these early signs with a mixture of awe and a mother's intuition that her child was destined for something significant.
In the grand halls of Storm's End, it quickly became evident that Orys was unlike any other child. By the time his younger twin, Robert, could manage to crawl, Orys was already running through the corridors with a grace and agility that belied his age. His tiny feet moved swiftly and confidently, as if he had a deeper understanding of his surroundings than any infant should.
Cassana watched in wonder as her eldest son seemed to absorb knowledge and skills at an astonishing rate. She recalled how Orys would sit quietly, listening intently to the maester and even mimicking the gestures and words with startling accuracy. It was as if he was recalling knowledge rather than learning it for the first time.
By the time Robert uttered his first tentative words, Orys was already speaking in full sentences. His vocabulary was rich and varied, and he could articulate his thoughts with a clarity and precision that left the household staff and his family in awe. Conversations with Orys were not the simple exchanges one would expect with a toddler; they were engaging and insightful, often leaving Cassana and Steffon marveling at the depth of their son's understanding.
One evening, as Cassana sat by the hearth in the family quarters, she watched her sons play. Robert was contentedly stacking wooden blocks, his chubby hands fumbling with the pieces. Orys, however, was deeply engrossed in a conversation with one of the maesters, discussing the history of the Stormlands with a curiosity and comprehension that far surpassed his years.
"Mother," Orys said suddenly, turning to her with his bright, intelligent eyes, "why do the storms here never truly cease? Is it because of the magic in the land?"
Cassana smiled, both at the innocence of his question and the profundity it contained. "The storms are a part of our home, my son," she replied gently. "They shape us and remind us of the strength we must carry within. And perhaps there is magic in the land, a magic that you seem to understand better than most."
Orys nodded thoughtfully, his gaze turning to the window where the storm clouds gathered over the horizon. "I like the storms," he said simply. "They make me feel alive."
As she watched her eldest son, Cassana felt a deep sense of wonder and pride. She knew that Orys was special, destined for great things. His uncanny abilities, his precocious nature, and his deep empathy all hinted at a future filled with extraordinary potential. And as she held Robert close, feeling his warmth and innocence, she knew that together, her sons would shape the destiny of House Baratheon in ways she could only begin to imagine.
—
At Storm's End, the news of Lady Cassana Baratheon expecting another child filled the castle with excitement and anticipation. However, the news was met with mixed reactions from the young twins, Orys and Robert, who were just a year old.
In the nursery, Robert's cries echoed off the stone walls. His tiny fists pounded the floor, his face scrunched up in displeasure. He had just learned that soon he wouldn't be the youngest anymore, and his world was turning upside down.
Orys, already showing a maturity beyond his years, watched his twin brother's tantrum with a calm understanding. Approaching Robert, Orys knelt beside him and gently placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"Robert," Orys said soothingly, his voice soft and comforting, "it's okay. We're going to have a new brother or sister. It means our family is growing."
Robert sniffled, looking up at Orys with wide, tear-filled eyes. "But... but I don't want to not be the youngest," he whimpered, his bottom lip trembling.
Orys gave Robert a small, reassuring smile. "You'll always be my brother, and you'll always be special to me," he said, his words filled with genuine warmth. "Having a new baby in the family doesn't change that. We'll just have more people to love and to love us back."
Robert's cries began to subside, his brother's words and presence calming him. Orys wrapped an arm around Robert, pulling him into a gentle hug. "And think about all the fun we'll have teaching our new sibling things," Orys added, trying to bring a sense of excitement to the situation.
Cassana, standing in the doorway, watched the scene unfold with a mixture of pride and tenderness. Seeing Orys comfort Robert with such care reassured her that her eldest son had a remarkable capacity for empathy and understanding, even at such a young age.
She approached her sons, kneeling beside them and enveloping them both in her arms. "Orys is right, Robert," Cassana said softly. "Our family is growing, and there will be even more love to go around. You two are going to be wonderful big brothers."
Robert nestled into his mother's embrace, feeling the warmth and safety of her love. Orys, still holding Robert close, looked up at Cassana and nodded. "We'll take care of our new sibling," he promised, his voice filled with determination.
Cassana smiled, her heart swelling with love for her sons. "I know you will, my sweet boys," she said, kissing the tops of their heads.
In that moment, amidst the castle's ancient stones and the ever-present sound of distant storms, the bond between the Baratheon brothers grew stronger. Orys's comforting words and Cassana's loving reassurance helped Robert come to terms with the changes ahead, laying the foundation for a family united in love and strength.
—
As Lady Cassana Baratheon endured the throes of labor, the air in Storm's End was thick with anticipation and apprehension. In the midst of this pivotal moment, Orys Baratheon stood outside the birthing chamber with his father, Steffon, and twin brother Robert. The echoes of Cassana's strained cries mingled with the distant rumble of thunder, casting a solemn atmosphere over the ancient castle.
Orys, born Harry Potter in another life, reflected on the events of the past two years since his birth into this new world of Planetos. He remembered the day he and Robert had entered the world, their arrival met with both joy and wonder in the Baratheon household. From the beginning, Orys had sensed the absence of the magic he once knew. Despite his memories of spells, charms, and potions, he found himself unable to wield such powers in this realm—a realization that had puzzled and, at times, frustrated him deeply.
In this world, strength and martial prowess were revered over incantations and wand movements. Orys had adapted swiftly, showing early signs of physical agility and intellectual curiosity that set him apart even as a toddler. He learned the ways of combat and strategy, honing skills that aligned with the customs and expectations of House Baratheon.
Standing by his father's side, Orys glanced at Robert, who had grown into a spirited and energetic child. Despite their differences in temperament and abilities, Orys cherished their bond deeply. He often found himself guiding Robert, sharing knowledge and offering support, much like he had done during Robert's moments of frustration and excitement.
As Cassana's labor progressed behind the closed doors of Storm's End, the atmosphere in the castle was charged with anticipation and nervous energy. Orys, sensing the tension that hung in the air, felt a surge of emotions stirring within him—concern for his mother's well-being, excitement for the arrival of a new sibling, and a faint, lingering sense of longing for the world he had left behind as Harry Potter.
Orys, small yet perceptive beyond his years, approached his father with a solemn expression. He tugged gently at Steffon's tunic, seeking to comfort the nervous Lord of Storm's End. Steffon knelt down, meeting Orys' gaze with a mixture of surprise and gratitude.
"Father," Orys began, his voice soft yet filled with earnestness, "Mother will be okay. She's strong, like the storms."
Steffon blinked, momentarily taken aback by the wisdom and reassurance in his young son's words. He placed a hand on Orys' shoulder, marveling at the depth of understanding in those innocent eyes.
"You're right, Orys," Steffon replied, his voice steadier now. "Your mother is strong. She's given us two wonderful sons already, and soon, we'll welcome another blessing into our family."
Orys nodded solemnly, his small hand reaching up to squeeze his father's fingers in a gesture of support. "I'm excited for the baby," Orys admitted, a hint of wonder in his voice.
Steffon Baratheon knelt beside his sons, a warm smile spreading across his face as he listened to Orys's comforting words to Robert. He felt a swell of pride at the maturity and compassion displayed by his eldest son at such a tender age.
"I'm glad to hear that, Orys," Steffon replied gently, squeezing his son's hand affectionately. "Your excitement shows just how ready you are to be a big brother."
Robert, nestled against his father's side, looked up with wide eyes, his curiosity unabated. "Will it be a brother or a sister?" he asked eagerly, his anticipation palpable.
Steffon shared a knowing glance with the maester standing nearby, who merely smiled back knowingly. "We don't know yet, Robert," Steffon answered with a chuckle. "That's something we'll all find out together soon enough."
Robert pondered this, his young mind racing with possibilities. "I hope it's a brother," he declared with conviction, a determined expression on his face.
Orys nodded in agreement, his eyes shining with excitement. "A brother would be great," he chimed in, already imagining all the adventures they could have together.
Steffon chuckled softly, his heart warmed by his sons' enthusiasm. "No matter if it's a brother or a sister," he reassured them both, "they will be a cherished addition to our family."
In that moment, amidst the uncertainty and anticipation, father and son found solace in each other's presence. Orys's innate empathy and understanding brought comfort to Steffon, reminding him of the resilience and love that bound their family together.
As they waited for news from the birthing chamber, Orys and Steffon stood together, a testament to the strength and unity of House Baratheon. And through the faint echoes of Cassana's labor, they shared a bond of hope and anticipation for the newest member of their growing family, embracing the uncertainties of the future with courage and love.
—
The heavy wooden doors connecting the birthing chamber to the antechamber creaked open, and the maester emerged, his expression one of serene satisfaction. "Lord Steffon," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of tradition and joy, "Lady Cassana has given birth to a healthy son. Stannis Baratheon has arrived."
Steffon's face broke into a wide smile, pride and relief washing over him. He knelt beside Orys and Robert, his arms wrapping around them. "You have a new brother," he said warmly, his voice filled with emotion.
Orys, his eyes bright with curiosity, squeezed his father's hand. "Can we see him?" he asked, his voice tinged with eagerness.
The maester nodded, stepping aside to allow the family to enter the birthing chamber. Inside, the room was filled with the soft glow of candlelight and the gentle hum of activity as midwives busied themselves with final preparations. Cassana lay resting on a grand bed adorned with rich fabrics, her face glowing with maternal joy as she cradled the newborn in her arms.
Steffon approached her, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, whispering words of love and admiration. Cassana smiled up at him, her eyes shining with the deep bond they shared.
Orys and Robert tiptoed to their mother's side, their faces filled with awe and wonder. The sight of the tiny bundle in Cassana's arms captivated them. Orys, his natural curiosity and protective instincts kicking in, leaned closer. "Welcome, Stannis," he whispered, his voice gentle and full of promise. He felt an inexplicable connection to his new brother, a sense of responsibility and care that transcended his young age.
Robert, still adjusting to the idea of not being the youngest, hesitated for a moment. But the sight of his mother and new brother softened his heart. He reached out a tentative hand to touch Stannis's tiny fingers, marveling at their delicate perfection. "Hi, Stannis," he said softly, a smile spreading across his face as he felt the warmth of family enveloping him.
Cassana looked at her family, her heart brimming with love and contentment. "Our family is complete," she murmured, her eyes meeting Steffon's with a shared understanding of the journey they had undertaken together. The arrival of Stannis marked a new chapter for them, a continuation of their legacy and love.
Steffon, overcome with emotion, wrapped his arms around his wife and sons, holding them close. The warmth and unity of their family filled the room, creating a sense of profound peace and joy.
In that moment, surrounded by the love and warmth of his family, Stannis Baratheon was welcomed into the world. His arrival marked the beginning of a new chapter for the Baratheon brothers, whose destinies were intertwined with the legacy of Storm's End and the history of Westeros. As the storm outside began to abate, the ancient walls of the castle seemed to hum with the promise of great things to come, echoing the strength and resilience of the Baratheon family.
—
As the castle of Storm's End settled into the quiet of the night, young Orys Baratheon lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The day's excitement had left him with a swirl of thoughts and emotions. He turned on his side, closing his eyes, hoping for sleep to come.
But instead of drifting off into dreams, Orys felt a familiar presence envelop the room. The air grew cooler, and a soft, ethereal glow filled the space. He opened his eyes to find Death standing at the foot of his bed, cloaked in shadows and exuding an aura of ancient power.
"Hello, Orys," Death's voice was calm, resonant, and oddly comforting. "I see you have many questions."
Orys sat up, his heart pounding, but not with fear. "Why can't I access my magic?" he asked, his voice a whisper in the stillness of the room. "I can feel it inside me, but it's like it's locked away."
Death regarded Orys with a steady, knowing gaze. "Your magic is indeed within you, Harry," she began, using his true name. "But this world, Planetos, operates under different laws and principles than your previous life. The magic here is ancient and woven deeply into the fabric of the land. To access your magic, you must first attune yourself to these new rules."
Orys frowned, trying to understand. "How do I do that?" he asked.
Death's expression softened, and she moved closer, her ethereal presence filling the room with a sense of calm. "You must seek out the Old Gods in the North. Their power is ancient, rooted in the very essence of this world. By communing with them, you will begin to understand the true nature of the magic that flows through Planetos."
"The North?" Orys repeated, his curiosity piqued. "But how will I find them?"
"Follow the weirwood trees," Death instructed. "Their white bark and red leaves are the marks of the Old Gods. They are the conduits through which you can communicate with them. When the time is right, travel to the heart of the North, to Winterfell . There, you will find the answers you seek and the path to unlock your magic."
Orys nodded, feeling a mixture of apprehension and determination. The journey seemed daunting, but the promise of unlocking his magic and understanding his place in this new world fueled his resolve. "I'll do it," he said, his voice steady. "I'll go North and find the Old Gods."
Death smiled, a rare and fleeting expression. "You are destined for great things, Orys. Remember, your journey is not just about power, but about understanding who you are and the connections you share with others. Trust in yourself and the path you must walk."
With those final words, Death began to fade, the room returning to its normal state. Orys felt a renewed sense of purpose and calm wash over him. He lay back down, the weight of the day's events slowly lifting from his young shoulders.
As he drifted off to sleep, Orys held onto Death's promise, ready to embrace the journey ahead with patience and determination, knowing that his magic and his destiny would unfold in due time. The path to the North and the Old Gods awaited him, and with it, the key to his true potential.
—
The following morning, Orys Baratheon awoke with a sense of determination and purpose. Though he was only two years old, the wisdom and memories of his past life as Harry Potter gave him a unique perspective and maturity beyond his years. He knew the path to unlocking his magic lay in the North, with the Old Gods, and he needed to devise a plan to get there.
Orys was well aware that noble children were often fostered in other great houses around the age of eight to ten to strengthen alliances. He had overheard talk of an alliance between Houses Stark, Tully, Arryn, and Baratheon, which could involve fostering and marriage arrangements. This presented him with the perfect opportunity to set his plan in motion.
As he sat in the nursery, playing with his brother Robert, Orys's mind raced with possibilities. He needed to find a way to convince his parents to send him to the North. He knew that if he framed his request around the idea of fostering alliances and getting to know his potential future wife, his parents would be more likely to agree.
Later that day, when Steffon Baratheon came to check on his sons, Orys seized the moment. "Father," he began, his voice steady and filled with an unusual gravity for a child his age, "I was thinking about what you and mother were discussing about the alliances with the other great houses."
Steffon raised an eyebrow, surprised by Orys's insight. "And what were you thinking, my son?"
Orys took a deep breath, ready to present his carefully thought-out plan. "I know that fostering helps build strong alliances. Since there's talk of a marriage alliance with House Stark, wouldn't it be wise for me to be fostered there? That way, I can get to know my future wife and learn the ways of the North. Robert could go to the Vale and be fostered by Lord Arryn. It would strengthen our ties with both houses."
Steffon looked at his son, impressed by his thoughtfulness and maturity. "You make a compelling argument, Orys," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But why the North? It is a harsh place, and their ways are different from ours."
Orys nodded, understanding his father's concerns. "That is precisely why, Father. If we are to build a strong alliance, we must understand and respect their ways. I can learn much from Lord Rickard Stark, and it would honor our house to have a strong bond with the Starks."
Steffon was silent for a moment, considering his son's words. "You are very wise for your age, Orys. I will discuss this with your mother and see what we can arrange. But remember, the final decision lies with the heads of the other houses as well."
Orys smiled, relief and anticipation washing over him. "Thank you, Father. I promise I will make you proud."
As Steffon left the room, Orys felt a sense of accomplishment. The first step of his plan was in motion. If he could convince his parents and gain the favor of House Stark, he would be one step closer to the North and the answers he sought about his magic.
Over the next few days, Orys continued to subtly reinforce his desire to be fostered in the North, using every opportunity to highlight the benefits of such an arrangement. He knew it would take time and careful maneuvering, but he was determined to see his plan through.
With each passing day, the path to the North and the Old Gods grew clearer in Orys's mind. He was ready to embrace whatever challenges lay ahead, confident that his destiny would unfold as it was meant to, guided by the wisdom of Death and his unwavering determination.
—
Over the course of the next couple of years, the Stark, Tully, Arryn, and Baratheon alliance exchanged ravens, meticulously planning the future of their houses. The letters carried discussions of fostering and marriage alliances, strengthening the bonds between the great houses of Westeros. Meanwhile, at Storm's End, Orys and Robert continued to grow, their bond as twins deepening with each passing day. Their younger brother, Stannis, now two years younger, was showing signs of a serious and contemplative nature.
In the year 266 AC, a significant piece of news reached Storm's End: House Stark had welcomed a daughter named Lyanna, who was to be Orys's prospective betrothed. The announcement brought a mixture of excitement and anticipation to the Baratheon household. It was clear that the wheels of fate were turning, setting the stage for the future of these intertwined houses.
Shortly after, an invitation arrived from Riverrun. Lord Hoster Tully was hosting a grand tourney, a ruse for the four families to finalize the terms of their alliance. The Baratheons, eager to solidify their connections with the other great houses, prepared for the journey to Riverrun.
The day of their departure was bright and clear. The Baratheon family assembled in the courtyard of Storm's End, their retinue bustling with activity. Orys, Robert, and Stannis were dressed in their finest attire, excitement and curiosity etched on their young faces.
Steffon Baratheon, standing tall and proud, looked at his sons with a mixture of pride and determination. "This is an important journey for our family," he said, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility. "Remember to honor our house and show the strength and integrity of the Baratheons."
Cassana Baratheon, standing beside her husband, placed a gentle hand on Orys's shoulder. "We are proud of you, Orys," she said softly. "This is your chance to meet the Starks and begin forging the bonds that will shape your future."
Orys nodded, feeling the gravity of the moment. "I will make you proud, Mother," he replied, his voice steady with determination.
As they mounted their horses and set off on the journey to Riverrun, Orys's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and plans. He knew this tourney was more than just a spectacle of jousting and feasting. It was a critical moment for him to secure his path to the North and the Old Gods.
Upon arriving at Riverrun, the Baratheons were greeted with the grandeur and hospitality befitting their station. The castle was alive with the sounds of merriment and preparation for the tourney. Lords and ladies from the great houses mingled, each one aware of the significance of the gathering.
Orys, standing beside his father, watched as the lords of House Stark, Tully, and Arryn arrived. His eyes searched the crowd, eager to catch a glimpse of the people who would play such vital roles in his future. When Lord Rickard Stark and his family approached, Orys's heart quickened. He saw the young Eddard Stark, who would one day be his brother-in-law, and Lady Catelyn Tully, who was already engaged to Eddard's older brother Brandon.
The evening banquet was a grand affair. The great hall of Riverrun was adorned with banners and filled with the sounds of laughter and music. As the families dined together, the lords and ladies engaged in conversations that would shape the future of the realm.
It was during this feast that Steffon Baratheon, with Orys at his side, approached Lord Rickard Stark. "Lord Rickard," Steffon began, "we have discussed the potential fostering of our sons, and my Orys has expressed a great interest in learning the ways of the North."
Rickard Stark, a man of stern demeanor but whose eyes twinkled with mischief, clapped Steffon on the back heartily. "Your son is wise beyond his years," he said, a broad grin on his face. "It would honor House Stark to foster Orys at Winterfell."
Orys felt a surge of relief and excitement. His plan was unfolding perfectly. "Thank you, Lord Stark," he said respectfully. "I look forward to learning from you and your house."
Rickard leaned in close, his grin turning sly. "We'll teach you all sorts of things, Orys. Even things you thought you'd forgotten." His wink was unmistakable.
Beside Rickard stood Lady Lyarra Stark, her eyes twinkling with a familiar warmth. "I suspect you will find Winterfell to be quite enchanting, young Orys," she said, her tone carrying a subtle hint of recognition. "Almost like a home you never knew you had."
Brandon Stark, with his ever-earnest demeanor, leaned in and whispered, "There is much to learn and discover in the North, Orys. You may find that it feels like coming home." His gaze held a depth of understanding, as if he knew more than he was letting on.
As the evening progressed, the terms of the alliance were solidified. The Baratheons would send Orys to the North to be fostered by the Starks, while Robert would be fostered by Lord Jon Arryn in the Vale. The bonds between the houses were sealed with promises and mutual respect.
Orys lay in bed that night in Riverrun, his mind racing with thoughts of the future. He had secured his path to the North, and with it, the opportunity to unlock his magic and fulfill the destiny that Death had foretold. The hints dropped by Lord Rickard, Lady Lyarra, and Brandon were anything but subtle, and Orys saw through them immediately. He felt a sense of reassurance that he was not alone in his journey. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt a sense of calm and purpose, ready to face the challenges and adventures that awaited him in the ancient halls of Winterfell.
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