Harry found himself standing in the godswood of Winterfell, the ancient weirwood tree looming above him. Its red leaves rustled without wind, and it's carved face wept tears of blood that dripped into the snow, staining it crimson. He feels the ground shift beneath him, a heartbeat pulsing deep within the earth, resonating through his bones.
The scene rippled, and he was no longer in Winterfell.
The sky above him was painted in flames, a furious red that burned with the intensity of a dragon's breath.
He sees a throne of swords, but it was not the Iron Throne he knew, it was different, molten, as if it had been reforged by fire. A shadowy figure sat upon it, their features obscured, but their presence was undeniable, unyielding and cold.
Whispers filled the air, voices speaking in tongues he didn't recognize, yet their meaning was clear, "BURN THEM ALL!" The words echoed in his mind, each repetition louder, more insistent, until they became a deafening roar.
Harry tried to move, to speak, but found himself frozen, rooted to the spot as the world around him shifted once more.
Now he stood at the edge of a great abyss, its depths swallowing all light.
The scent of salt and the distant sound of crashing waves filled his senses. He recognized Dragonstone's silhouette against the stormy horizon, but the island was changed, corrupted. A storm raged above it, the clouds swirling into a vortex that consumed the sky. Harry feels a pull, a magnetic force drawing him toward the abyss, but he fights against it, resisting the urge to plunge into the darkness.
A figure emerged from the storm, cloaked in shadow, with eyes that burned like embers in the night.
They reached out to him, their hand wreathed in flame, and though their face was hidden, he felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity, kinship, even.
They opened their mouth to speak, but no sound came forth, only the sound of wings, hundreds of wings beating in unison, growing louder and louder until it became unbearable.
Harry gasped for breath as the vision shattered, leaving him in a cold, empty void.
Suddenly, the void was pierced by a bright light. Harry squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes.
He was standing before the Wall, its icy expanse stretching endlessly into the horizon, but something was wrong, the Wall was cracking, fractures spreading across its surface like spiderwebs.
He watches a single drop of blood fall from the sky, landing on the ice with a hiss. The crack widened, splitting the Wall in two, and from the darkness beyond came a figure cloaked in black.
Their eyes were a deep, bottomless blue, and as they stepped forward, the world around them froze, the very air turning to ice. Harry's heart pounded in his chest, an overwhelming sense of dread washing over him.
The figure raises a hand, and the earth trembles.
From the shadows emerged countless others, all with eyes of the same piercing blue, marching forward in unison.
As they advanced, the land itself began to die, the ground turning black and brittle, the trees withering away. A chill crept into Harry's bones, numbing him to the core.
Then, as quickly as it began, the vision ended.
Harry finds himself back in the godswood, standing before the weirwood tree.
The ground was no longer white with snow but soaked in blood.
The tree's face seemed to shift, the carved eyes locking onto his. The whispers returned, louder now, more insistent, "The dragon must rise… or all will fall."
Leaning out, he takes in a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs before releasing a soft, clear whistle.
The sound cut through the night, carrying with it a command only one creature understood. He smiles when an albino hawk appears from the twilight, swooping gracefully through the fading orange sky.
The bird's pale feathers glowed softly in the dim light, as if reflecting the last remnants of the setting sun. Meraxes, Harry named her, a tribute to a long-lost dragon, her pearl-colored plumage making the name feel right.
The hawk landed on her perch with a quiet elegance, her sharp eyes meeting Harry's. There was an intelligence in those eyes, one that Harry suspected was a result of the magic that bound them. She was more than just a bird now, something more… magical, perhaps even aware.
A charm hums with protective energy, a safeguard against those who might wish them harm.
He gives one final stroke of Meraxes's feathers, Harry releases the bird into the night. He watches as she disappears into the deepening sky, her silhouette fading against the stars just beginning to emerge.
Below, the castle stirred with life, men preparing for war, his father making arrangements for a wedding. The world moved on, seemingly unaware of the struggles that plagued him.
Exhaustion seeps into Harry's bones as he crosses the room, the emotional weight of the day pressing down on him. He wondered, not for the first time, what the future held now that the wheels had been set in motion.
He can't ignore it anymore.
Not after tonight, not after that dream.
Every decision he made felt like another step toward a destiny he wasn't sure he wanted to face.
"You've decided then?" A voice, innocent yet unsettling, jolted Harry from his thoughts. His heart leaped into his throat as he spun around, wand aimed at the figure standing in the shadows.
Death smiled back at him, a mocking twist to their lips. "I've always wondered what that stick would do against me," they mused, their head tilting with curiosity.
Harry lowered his wand, willing his heart to slow. He should be used to this by now, but he wasn't. No one ever truly got used to Death's presence. It was always a jarring reminder of the inevitability that loomed over everyone, himself included.
"Did I scare you? It wasn't my intention." Death's voice carried a teasing note, though their smile suggested otherwise.
This time, they'd taken the form of a small beggar child, their appearance innocent, but the glow in their eyes betrayed their true nature.
"No, you didn't," Harry deadpanned, the Elder Wand cooling in his hand as he relaxed.
Death just shrugged, swinging their legs casually as they gazed out the window.
"Seems your family is having some sort of celebration. Your sister is to be queen?" Death's gaze shifted back to Harry, their eyes gleaming with an inhuman light that only Harry, or those close to death, could see.
Death had been appearing more often lately, and Harry thought they weren't supposed to interfere much in this universe.
"Why are you here?" he pressed, quickly realizing how rude that might sound. "You've been more active lately. I thought you couldn't interfere with us mortals?"
"Mortals, yes." Death allows, their voice drifting as they watch the people below, oblivious to the doom that might await them.
Harry's frustration mounted.
"What are you implying?" he asked, though he knew Death would only reveal what they wished to.
Death remains silent for a moment, staring out at the fields beyond. "You aren't the first," they finally spoke, their voice ominous, "but you'll be the greatest."
'It's about time a god roams the realms of men again,' Death thought, knowing the boy before them wasn't ready to hear just what his fate entailed.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harry exclaimed, only to realize Death had vanished. He growled in frustration, spotting a slip of paper where they had been sitting.
-You'll find a future friend in Skagos. Be wary, though, as one wrong move and you'll be on the end of a blazing inferno-
"Skagos?" Harry muttered to himself, vaguely recalling the island. The words on the note were cryptic, as usual, leaving him with more questions than answers.
A knock on the door and the sound of his name pulled him from his thoughts.
Harry could ponder this later.
If it were urgent, Death would have been more direct.
He turned just in time to see auburn hair peek through the door, accompanied by a nervous voice. "M'sorry, my Lord, Lady Margaery slipped past me," the young guard stammered.
Harry waved him off, his focus on Margaery as she gracefully settled on the spot where Death had just been.
Smiling gently, he replies, "Well, Ser Darey, she is a slippery one."
"Don't let it beat you up; just make sure you don't let anyone else get past you." He flashed a charming smile, amused by the flush that crept up the guard's ears.
Ignoring his sister's snicker, the man bowed and exites.
Once the door closes, Harry activates the silencing wards and turns to Margaery, who is now reading the note left by Death. Her legs were crossed under her silk skirt, gently swaying as she dangled the paper tauntingly.
Her playful laugh made him smile as he snatched the paper from her hands.
"Who is this friend in Skagos?" she asked, tilting her head so her hair cascaded over one shoulder as she leaned to the side, resting her head on her hand.
"The North is so far away; I didn't think you'd have any contacts there, yet."
"I don't know," Harry replied, "Skagos is just something my friend insisted I needed to see."
"Though with all this," he gestured pointedly, "and your wedding…" He knew she was trying to distract him from why she was really here.
"I want to be queen." She said after a moment, her form slumping as she peeked up at him through the veil of her hair.
"You will be." Harry reassured her, puzzled by her bitterness, only to receive a scoff in return.
Her gaze turned distant as she looked out the window at the men below. "Even you can't be so naïve as to think Renly has the slightest chance to succeed, even if he wins the war."
"He's the youngest born. His claim isn't that strong unless he wants to kill his brother, but who would want to follow a kinslayer?" She paused.
Harry stayed silent, letting her vent. He had become their confidant, their therapist of sorts, and he accepted the role without complaint.
"Loras loves him," she said softly after a second. "He says it's okay, that I can do this, but no one asks if I want this."
"Grandmother is so blind to the possibility of me being queen that she doesn't care how it happens."
"Is that selfish?" She whispers.
"To want to be queen, but to only want to be *the* Queen?"
"Not selfish. You'd make a great queen, Margaery," he insists she would, she is kind and has so many wants for the small folk, she is more kind than him, that is for sure.
"I will be there to support you, if not I'll just make you your own kingdom and crown you myself."
She giggles, "you would, wouldn't you?"
Margaery then eyes him skeptically, her face showing disbelief. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"If you really want this, then I'll do everything I can to help you achieve it, just remember your life is more valuable than some crown."
Margaery's gaze softens as she observes her brother, and a realization dawns on her.
"How far would you go, for me to achieve my dream?" she asks, her voice nonjudgmental, just intrigued.
Harry didn't hesitate, "To the ends of the world."
He looks back at her, his emerald eyes reflecting the determination burning within him. "For you, Margaery, I would move mountains."
She smiled, a mix of gratitude and sadness in her expression. "And what about you?"
"Harry? What do you want?"
The question caught him off guard.
What did he want? His thoughts drifted back to the letter he had sent, to the figure of Death that haunted him, and the future that seemed so uncertain.
"I…" He hesitated, unsure of how to put his feelings into words. "I just want to protect the people I care about. I want to ensure that they're safe, that they're happy."
Margaery reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "You've done more than enough, Harry."
"It's time you started thinking about what *you* want."
Harry looked down at her, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"What I want…" He trailed off, his thoughts swirling with possibilities. "I want a future where we're all free to make our own choices, where we're not bound by duty or obligation."
Margaery squeezed his arm gently. "Then we'll make that future together."
The words hung in the air between them, a silent promise of support and unity. Harry nodded, feeling a sense of resolve settle over him. He would do whatever it took to ensure that Margaery got the future she desired, and perhaps, in the process, he could find his own path as well.
"Now, get some sleep," Margaery said, her voice taking on a gentle yet firm tone. "You've been up all night."
Harry chuckled softly. "Yes, my lady." He bowed slightly, earning a light smack on the shoulder from his sister.
"Don't be cheeky," she chided, but her smile softened the words.
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 only have a small window to relay their message to the Spider, but they must let-
"What do we have here?" The small child stills, feeling the oppressive eyes of a powerful person bearing into their soul. A street urchin like them has to always be wary of such 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 Tyrells stands before them. The amusement in those eerie eyes does 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.
The child tries to speak but is reminded of their cruel fate. They open their mouth, but nothing more than a whisper of breath escapes, their tongue taken by Varys long ago.
The silence is all they have to offer, and they lower their gaze, hoping it will be enough.
Lord Haedrian doesn't say anything, just staring at them. Yet, 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 reached for them, took them into a dark corner and…
They wobble with a small whimper, feeling like someone picked their mind and rearranged it, gentle but 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 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.
They want to speak, to explain, to warn, but all they can do is gesture helplessly, the memory of Varys's knife and the silent scream that followed haunting their mind.
"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 genuineness 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 Spider's web.
Taking another deep breath, they feel their spinning mind slow down, hearing the man intone softly, keeping them steady but not crowding them, "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.
A\n:
What has Harry decided?
What's on Skagos?
Who do you want to see for pairings? Both Het and Slash/femslash