Harrold stood on the dock of Orsus, gazing at the sleek hull of the Neptune, his new catamaran. The morning sun glinted off the polished wood and metallic fixtures, revealing a vessel unlike any other in the known world—twin hulls connected by a broad deck, each line meticulously shaped to reduce drag. Nearby, Orsus shipwrights and magical researchers bustled about, finalizing last-minute adjustments before the Neptune's next trial run.
The catamaran stood as the crowning achievement of a venture begun years earlier in Braavos, built by some of the finest shipbuilders but completed in Orsus under Harrold's watchful eye. This dual-hulled design—350 feet of daring innovation—reflected Harrold's fusion of modern ingenuity and runic magic.
He inhaled deeply, the salt-tinged air a constant reminder of how far Orsus had come—once a hidden island, now a thriving hub of magical technology and exploration. The Neptune encapsulated everything he hoped to achieve: speed, stability, and a platform for new discoveries that might surpass even the bold journeys of the Sea Snake.
As Harrold stepped onto the catamaran's deck, Clone Alaric approached with a respectful nod. Alaric had overseen much of the Neptune's finishing touches.
"Everything's nearly set, my lord," Alaric reported, leading Harrold across the deck. "We've integrated the usual rune sets for weather warding and hull reinforcement, plus the multiple propeller system. All tested and functioning well."
Harrold slid a hand along the polished rail, satisfied by the faint hum of runic energy beneath his fingertips. "Good. The Neptune must withstand far rougher seas than we face here. I'm counting on her to be our gateway into new waters."
Alaric gave a quick smile. "We're pushing beyond the Sea Snake's track, after all."
They both paused at the stern, where a trio of rune-powered propellers gleamed in the sunlight. Combining ideas from Orsus's engineering with Braavosi craftsmanship, they promised incredible speed and maneuverability. Already, smaller ships had tested the concept and proven it valid; the Neptune was the grand experiment for long-haul voyages.
Harrold's attention turned to the group of magical researchers gathered around a large, flat wooden table set up on deck. Atop it lay a map—but not any ordinary chart. Its surface shimmered with faint lines of runic script that seemed to move. Here and there, tiny markings representing ships bobbed gently as if on real water.
Clone Elenna, chief among the map's creators, looked up eagerly when Harrold arrived. "We're ready to demonstrate the final version, my lord. This is the interactive map we spoke of."
Harrold recalled the inspirations they'd borrowed from his old world—a design reminiscent of the Marauder's Map, adapted for oceanic travel. "Show me," he said simply.
Elenna touched her wand to the map's corner, activating the zoom function. Instantly, the map's lines shifted and expanded, focusing in on Orsus and the surrounding seas. The detail was astonishing, from the shape of the coastline to the swirl of sea currents. A stylized icon for the Neptune blinked at the island's southwestern harbor.
"These runes," Elenna explained, running her finger along the edge of the map, "tie into the network of runestones we dropped along the seafloor. Each runestone anchors a portion of the ocean to the map, updating it as we explore. Unexplored areas remain black, but once a vessel sails there, we can gather data and fill in the darkness with new topography."
Harrold regarded the map with awe. "This is more advanced than any magical map I have seen. Truly, it's like a… well, a muggle screen from my old experiences—just magical."
Elenna beamed. "We designed it so we can zoom in, zoom out, track any portion of the seas. The runestones feed data to the map, letting us see the position of every ship that carries an anchor stone linked to it."
Alaric chimed in. "We've assigned each ship in our fleet a unique identifier. Right now, only the Neptune is active on this advanced map. But in the future, we'll produce smaller, limited versions for each vessel, so they can see only their own route. The main map in Orsus can see them all, of course."
At that, Harrold tapped a black patch on the map near the northern Shivering Sea. "Soon, we'll be venturing here with the Neptune. As we travel, the runic data will fill in these unknown waters, revealing depths, currents, and any lands that might lie beyond."
Clone Elenna nodded. "It's a continuous process. Each time we drop more runestones, the map extends. Our ultimate goal is a full charting of the known world—and beyond."
Elenna led Harrold to a smaller table to the side, where several half-finished versions of the map lay. "We're working on expansions," she explained, "like a city-level map for Orsus or London, so we can track our people wearing the bracelets. We might do the same at Moat Cailin eventually, so you can see who's within the walls at any time."
Harrold gave a measured nod. "An idea inspired by the Marauder's Map, indeed. A tool for security… or for invasions, if it fell into the wrong hands. We'll need safeguards."
Alaric interjected. "We have wards so only those keyed into the map can view the details. It's not foolproof, but at least it's more secure than distributing unprotected copies."
The Orsus harbor team had formed a small semi-circle, awaiting his final verdict. "You've outdone yourselves," Harrold said, voice carrying above the gentle lapping of the sea against the hulls. "The Neptune is everything I envisioned—a vessel that can sail faster and further than any in Westeros or Essos."
He allowed a small smile. "This map, too, is a triumph of magic and engineering. Once we depart to chart the Shivering Sea, we'll fill in the black spaces on our charts. I expect we'll see wonders—perhaps new lands. Perhaps nothing. But that's the joy of exploration."
A murmur of excitement passed among the crew. Some were seasoned sailors from Essos and Westeros, others adventurous Orsus magicals keen to prove themselves. All had the same eagerness that overcame any winter's doldrum.
After concluding discussions, Harrold found a quiet moment at the Neptune's prow, gazing out at the open ocean. The successful creation of this catamaran and the new mapping system was a giant leap, but it also weighed heavily on his mind. Am I reshaping this world too fast? he wondered. Or is it time for Westeros to join the modern age of exploration?
He recalled how the North's winter ended so comfortably—a direct result of his own interventions. The changes rippled outward, with Tywin Lannister stirring trouble in the King's mind, the Tullys lamenting lost trade, and the world at large becoming aware that old ways might not suffice anymore. Progress can be as terrifying as it is exhilarating, he told himself silently.
Yet, the sea beckoned. His restless spirit refused to remain bound in one place, no matter how magnificent. The Neptune was his ticket to a horizon beyond the known maps of Westeros. Even if the Shivering Sea held only ice and mystery, such knowledge would be precious.
Harrold turned to see Elenna returning, arms laden with scrolls. "We've double-checked the anchor stone. Once we're out there, our position will display on the central map in Orsus. And we'll feed back any new chart data automatically."
He nodded approvingly. "Perfect. Let's outfit every major vessel with a simpler version, at least for the time being. The Neptune's map is our prototype, but soon I want the entire fleet connected."
Elenna gave a broad smile, as if the challenge excited her. "Yes, my lord. We've started replicating the runes. Another month or two, and we can have limited tracking on each ship. They'll at least know their own position and immediate surroundings."
Harrold cast a final glance at the Neptune's gleaming hull. "This is just the beginning, Elenna. If the next phase proves successful, the world will be more open to us than ever imagined."
She nodded in agreement, setting down her scrolls. "When do we sail?"
His gaze drifted over the harbor, a swirl of ideas forming. "Soon. But first, I want to ensure London's operations are fully stable and Moat Cailin's final defenses are tested. After that, we set forth into the unknown."
A sense of anticipation pulsed through the air as the sun began its descent, painting Orsus in gold. The Neptune, bobbing lightly at her moorings, symbolized everything Harrold had worked toward: harnessing the combination of magic and engineering, forging new paths that defied Westeros's old traditions.
In the distance, the Orsus glass factories belched faint plumes of smoke, turning out more of the prized glass sheets that financed his grand endeavors. Runic wards shimmered along the coastline, guaranteeing the island's protection. And in Harrold's heart, an unquenchable desire for discovery burned brighter than any day's light.
Tomorrow, the Neptune might test her speed in open waters, the map will flicker with new data, and entire unknown territories might gradually fade from black to charted. This world—like so many others—was about to discover that even the farthest seas could not hide their secrets forever from Harrold Gryffindor.
Sunlight danced on the teal waters off Orsus as Harrold stood on the forward deck of the Neptune, the new catamaran that embodied months of Braavosi craftsmanship and Orsus magical innovation. Twin hulls cut cleanly through the gentle waves, propelled by the hum of rune-powered propellers. The deck bustled with Harrold's trusted crew—magicals, clones, and adventurous sailors—each occupied with the final tasks before the Neptune's next great voyage.
Harrold took a measured breath, running his hand across the rail. This vessel is my key to the Shivering Sea, he thought. A daring step beyond even the routes of the Sea Snake. Yet before that bold journey began, he had one more stop: Portsmouth, the coastal settlement that served as the launching point for much of his trade and connections to Westeros.
First, though, he intended to ensure that Moat Cailin and London were fully prepared to manage themselves in his absence. He travelled to London a few days later, the tall buildings and glittering glass windows reflecting the midday sun. Harrold arrived to be welcomed by a throng of staff, administrators, and his clones.
Clone Cyric stepped forward with a respectful nod. "All is well, my lord. Construction continues apace here, and the wards remain steady. The new roads to White Harbor and Winterfell run smoothly. We'll keep close watch on everything while you're gone."
Harrold gave a faint smile. "See that you do. If any trouble arises—bandits, storms, or uninvited meddling from the south—alert me through the runic message stone. But I expect the wards and your oversight will suffice."
He spent the day making rounds in London: overseeing the warehouse expansions, checking trade ledgers, and offering a few final instructions to the local magicals. An evening banquet in his newly finished town hall sealed the faith of local merchants, ensuring they were ready to withstand the months (or longer) he might be at sea.
The next morning, Harrold traveled swiftly to Moat Cailin, verifying the fortress's defenses and the additional wards. Stepping through its mighty gates, he admired the completed interior: towering walls, expanded keep, luxurious halls—everything shaped to protect the Neck. Benjen, who had taken up some responsibilities there, gave him a swift update: the men-at-arms were well-trained, supplies well-stocked, and the runic wards stable. Satisfied, Harrold departed for Portsmouth, pausing only to reflect on the magnificent stronghold that now stood guarding the North's gateway.
When the Neptune arrived at Portsmouth, Harrold found the port town abuzz with activity. Cranes lifted crates of exotic materials, shipwrights hammered away at the final modifications for smaller trading vessels, and rune-etchers carefully laid out new wards on the docks.
Clone Elenna awaited him at the pier, a thick stack of parchments in hand. "Everything is proceeding on schedule, my lord. The anchor stones for the rest of the fleet are halfway done, and we've tested the map system with a few local routes. It's accurate as ever."
Harrold nodded with satisfaction, taking the parchments to skim them. "Excellent. Once we launch, the Neptune's real test is out there in the Shivering Sea—farthest from these known waters. Let's confirm the catamaran is stocked with provisions, runestones, and enough spare parts for the propellers."
Elenna quickly led him across the Neptune's twin hulls, pointing out neatly stowed cargo, multiple barrels of preserved food, and neatly stacked runestones for potential deep-sea placement. "We're set to sail within a day, whenever you give the word."
Harrold gazed at the horizon from Portsmouth's sturdy breakwater. So many months of planning, and now it all comes to this. He breathed in the salt air, feeling the tug of the unknown seas beckoning. Yes, it's time.
On a bright, clear morning, the Neptune's crew gathered at the deck for a short ceremony. Harrold spoke briefly, praising them for their diligence and confirming the mission's goals: charting the uncharted corners of the Shivering Sea, testing the advanced map's capacity, and pushing beyond the boundaries the Sea Snake once reached.
When all was ready, Harrold stood at the helm. "Raise anchor," he commanded, voice resonating with excitement. Crewmen hurried to comply, and the Neptune began to drift from the docks, twin hulls gliding with eerie smoothness. Harrold touched the runic control panel that activated the multiple propellers, and the catamaran accelerated away, leaving the bustling port behind.
As Portsmouth's buildings dwindled in the distance, Harrold cast one last backward glance, confident in the wards and leadership left behind at Moat Cailin and London. Now, the open sea awaited. With the map's topographical black spaces ready to be unveiled and the Neptune's hull forging new paths, Harrold felt a rush of anticipation. Whatever waits in the cold waters beyond the known coasts, I will find it—and the North, and indeed all Westeros, shall benefit.
The catamaran's bow sliced through gentle swells, her deck steady. The thrumming of rune-boosted propellers underfoot reminded Harrold that speed was on his side; soon, the Shivering Sea's mysteries would yield their secrets to his extraordinary vessel. And so, with the wind at their backs, Harrold Gryffindor's expedition pressed into waters yet unnamed, forging the next grand chapter in the saga of the North's unstoppable progress.
The Neptune glided through the slate-gray seas like a silent phantom, its twin hulls cleaving the water with unnerving smoothness. A frigid wind scoured the decks, carrying with it an otherworldly scent that was neither purely brine nor entirely of this mortal realm. This far east in the Shivering Sea, there were few references in any chart Harrold possessed. Even the Sea Snake—that legendary Velaryon mariner—had ventured no further than these waters before turning back.
Yet Harrold pressed onward, guided by curiosity and the faint hum of the ship's runic map, which displayed the archipelago ahead as a cluster of black silhouettes. The name "Thousand Islands" was scrawled across that portion of the chart, though from all Harrold understood, the name exaggerated its count. Approaching them now, he confirmed with a wry note that there were, at best, three to four hundred islands in total—still a formidable maze of bleak rocks rising from the cold sea.
From the Neptune's deck, Harrold surveyed the horizon. At first, the islands appeared only as scattered lumps of gray and black, crowned with thin wiry grasses bent under the relentless wind. Closer in, the details emerged: sea-girt scatter of bleak and windswept rocks jutting out from the waves, their surfaces scarred by countless storms. The entire region exuded an oppressive aura that reminded Harrold vaguely of ancient curses or half-forgotten gods.
Small wonder men rarely landed here. Even from the Neptune's vantage, the waters churned with an unsettling hue. Fish occasionally broke the surface—pallid, misshapen creatures with elongated fins or twisted jaws. Harrold's sailors, leaning over the rails, uttered murmurs of disgust at the fish's downright wrong shapes. Rumors said these fish tasted bitter and foul, unfit for men's bellies, and one sniff of the brine reek convinced Harrold the stories might be true.
He scanned the coastline through a spyglass, noticing slender statues—some half-submerged, others lying fully exposed at low tide. They appeared to be carvings of fish-headed gods, reminiscent of some primeval pantheon. Their presence bolstered the theory that an ancient civilization once occupied these stones, now drowned beneath rising seas. The shapes were unsettling, for their proportions defied typical human forms, hinting at something far more amphibian or monstrous in nature.
Harrold closed his eyes for a moment, drawing on his magical senses. A ripple of unnatural power flowed through these waters, reminiscent of dark rituals performed in ages past. It was a lingering presence he had not felt in many places—almost like the backlash of some catastrophic spell. The wards on the Neptune's hull trembled subtly, as if aware of a deep, pervasive magic around them.
He turned to Clone Elenna, who stood near the runic control panel. "Do you feel it too?"
She nodded, pressing a hand to one of the engraved runes. "Yes, my lord. It's faint but inescapable, like echoes of a ritual that twisted the essence of these isles. I suspect this is the source of the fish's deformities—and maybe the vile nature of these people we've heard about."
Harrold let out a quiet sigh, recalling the tales gleaned from old texts: an archipelago rumored to harbor a reclusive folk with green-tinged skin and fearsome customs, so xenophobic they refused to set foot in the sea or abide strangers on their land. "No wonder the Sea Snake turned back," he muttered. "This place is steeped in the kind of magic that resonates with curses and centuries of dread. One ill step, and a man might vanish forever."
Despite the catamaran's silent approach, Harrold's advanced runes alerted him to watchful eyes along a craggy beach. From the Neptune, the crew spotted human-like figures peeking behind jagged rocks. They seemed hairless, their skin tinged an unnatural green. Even at a distance, the watchers' hostility and fear were palpable.
One of the Orsus sailors, shading his gaze, remarked, "They look ready to flee—or fight." Another Orsus magical nodded in agreement.
Harrold studied them through his spyglass. The islanders' stance was defensive, some wielding spears topped with chipped obsidian. Their eyes glinted with a primal suspicion, and the sight made his stomach knot—stories mentioned these folk sacrifice sailors to fish-headed gods. From their vantage, perhaps Harrold and his men were fresh offerings.
Curiosity tugged at Harrold. For a moment, he entertained the idea of landing to gather knowledge. Yet he remembered the xenophobic nature of these islanders. They were rumored not only to fear the sea so intensely they'd rather die than enter it, but to slice the foreskins of their men, and sharpen their women's teeth into fanged points. Such savage customs might reflect the leftover imprint of dark magic on their ancestors, who presumably once lived on a vast, now-submerged kingdom.
He glimpsed one of the female figures among the watchers, her mouth parted in a hiss that revealed jagged, filed teeth. Another figure, presumably male, wore tattered cloth around his waist, displaying greenish flesh. Harrold could only guess at their language—some unknown tongue no traveler had successfully deciphered.
"Hostile," Elenna whispered by his side. "They'd likely attack us if we made landfall."
Harrold nodded, tucking away the spyglass. "I won't force a conflict. We're not here to subjugate them. Let's keep a safe distance and continue charting. Our map must reflect the reality of these islands."
As the Neptune skirted along the chain of isles, Harrold activated the advanced runic map. The black patches representing unexplored waters lit up with faint lines, revealing hidden coves and labyrinthine passages among the three to four hundred islets. The anchor stones dropped by the Neptune's crew earlier fed back data, filling in details on the map's surface, shifting from black to a more detailed coast outline.
Each new cove or lagoon they discovered held a sense of foreboding. More than once, they spotted low tide revealing the submerged idols of fish-headed deities. Strange barnacle-crusted shapes jutted from the water, slick with algae, testifying to some drowned civilization. In the swirling eddies near those idols, the Neptune's runic wards flared momentarily, warning of potent residue of an ancient magic.
Harrold's mind wandered to the Children of the Forest or other old races, pondering if they had a role in sinking this lost kingdom. Or was it self-inflicted—a doomed empire dabbling in unholy arts, eventually swallowed by an angry sea?
Even the boldest among Harrold's crew grew uneasy under the watch of green-skinned islanders. At night, they heard distant chanting echo across the waves, accompanied by the flicker of torches on the shores. The watchers remained at vantage points, never fully engaging or fleeing, but always present—reminders that the Neptune was trespassing in a realm that wanted no visitors.
"Lord Gryffindor," spoke one of the Orsus officers, shifting uncomfortably, "the men say they feel eyes upon them at all hours. Some claim to have nightmares about fish-eyed gods dragging them under the waves."
Harrold gave the man a reassuring clasp on the shoulder. "Fear not, the wards hold. But we won't linger beyond what's necessary. The Sea Snake turned back here for good reason."
At midday, they found a larger island with a stony ridge overhead. Sizable idols of fish-headed gods loomed near the shore—partly exposed, partly drowned in high tide. The catamaran maintained a safe distance, continuing to document the isles' shapes and hazards. Each time the anchor dropped another runic stone, the map's progress advanced, the black void receding.
As evening approached on the third day of exploration, Harrold stood on the catamaran's prow, letting the cold wind whip his cloak. A subtle thrum of dark magic pressed on his senses—a reminder that not all corners of the world were touched by warmth and reason. This entire area stinks of a dreadful ritual, the residual of something cataclysmic, he concluded. No wonder the climate, the people, and the sea life are warped.
He recalled the rumored cause behind the islands: a drowned kingdom whose worship of fish-headed gods might have triggered rising waters or cosmic retribution. Perhaps these hateful islanders were the last remnants of that empire, twisted physically and psychologically by centuries of arcane storms.
Clone Alan, walking up behind him, spoke quietly: "That sense of black magic grows stronger the deeper we go among these islands. Shall we continue, or chart a path around them?"
Harrold lowered his gaze to the swirling waters, pondering. "We've gleaned enough about them for the map, I think. Let's pass through the outer edges and resume our route further east. We cannot force these people to parlay, and I'd rather not risk our men's lives."
On the final morning before leaving the archipelago, Harrold's cartographers completed a preliminary outline of the "Thousand Islands." The real number sat closer to four hundred, and the Neptune's map system now displayed them in intricate detail—a multi-lobed cluster of bleak, rocky outcrops, ringed by reefs. Bright icons for the runestones dotted the sea floor, ensuring the region's waters would remain accurately tracked. The black void on the runic map had shrunk, replaced by precise lines of coast and shallow sea paths.
In the Neptune's chartroom, Harrold and Elenna conferred over the final results.
"Even if other mariners see this map, they might choose to avoid these isles," Elenna mused. "Nothing here is worth the risk—especially with those hostile inhabitants."
Harrold offered a grim nod. "Agreed. Unless there's some unknown treasure deeper in. But so far, only curses and malformed fish. Let's spare them any unneeded conflict."
The Neptune weighed anchor for the last time at the edge of the archipelago, her twin hulls slicing through the gray water with serene purpose. Harrold looked back at the receding silhouette of islands—towers of black rock jutting from the waves, the faint sense of watchful eyes following them as they departed. He didn't allow regrets to linger; after all, this was but one stop in a broader mission to chart the Shivering Sea.
Below deck, the crew murmured with relief at leaving that ominous realm behind. Even the catamaran's wards seemed to hum with renewed ease, as though unburdened by whatever ancient gloom haunted the Thousand Islands. Harrold found himself pondering the nature of the magical backlash. If it resonates from a drowned civilization, what monstrous gods still rest beneath those waves? Could they stir again if provoked?
Yet the Shivering Sea extended far beyond these haunted isles, beckoning the Neptune on. Harrold exhaled the tension from his chest, focusing on the horizon once more. We have the map updates, the runic stones placed, the data gleaned. That is enough. The thousand-isle archipelago would remain a place of fearful legends, out of time and steeped in curses. Perhaps centuries from now, another expedition braver—or more foolhardy—would attempt further contact. For now, Harrold had gleaned all he needed.
The wind shifted, carrying the Neptune eastward, leaving behind the grim watch of green-skinned xenophobes and fish-headed statues. Harrold set his shoulders, consulting the runic map that now displayed a newly charted swath of the Shivering Sea. With the black areas diminished, he saw the broad emptiness of open water beyond, dotted by meager hints of rumored lands Mossovy. So many wonders lay ahead, some rumored to be even more bizarre or magnificent than the so-called Thousand Islands.
A slight grin curved Harrold's lips. Fear had no place in his heart when knowledge and progress were at stake. He had faced the Neck's winter, the stench of necromancy, and the forging of new alliances. If I can unify the North and push boundaries at home, I can explore these unknown seas. Let the Shivering Sea show me its secrets, for the Neptune is ready to meet them.
"All hands," he called out, voice echoing across the deck, "prepare to set full speed. We leave the Thousand Islands behind us. Our course lies beyond these cursed rocks, into deeper waters."
A surge of excitement rippled through the crew. Runes flared to life, propellers whirred, and the Neptune gracefully turned to the east. The oppressive gloom of the archipelago receded into the distance, replaced by the open horizon. Harrold gave a final, lingering glance at the scattered bleak isles behind them, thinking of the misbegotten folk who dwelt there—fearful of the sea that had once devoured their civilization.
They have their gods, I have my wards, he thought, and for now, that is how it must be.
And so, leaving the Thousand Islands in his wake, Harrold Gryffindor pressed onward, confident that each new league of unexplored water carried him closer to the heart of the unknown, forging a future for himself and the North that dwarfed any legend the world had yet told.
AN – one of the readers said that Harrold is becoming another version of Albus Dumbledore. Well, Harrold Gryffindor is not Harry Potter. Harry in the books is molded to his personality and character based on his 17 years of life. Harrold Gryffindor lived centuries. All his friends and family are gone. It is not fair to expect him to be exactly how he was at 17. Whatever he thought of doing when he originally arrived, changed when he found the magicals. Then in addition to carving out his place in this world and leaving a legacy, providing a safe home for the magicals also became a goal for him. Harrold is not a white character. He is grey like most of us.
I am surprised the reviews and messages received saying they no longer want to read because Harrold is gay. Seriously people, Dumbledor was said to be gay, Loras, Renly, Oberyn was gay/bi and most of the Dornish might just sleep with anything with two legs. Not sure where the hate is coming from. As I said before I am not planning to write anything about their sexual life. Not because I need to cater to the homophobia of some people, I am simply not sure how to write them. Not sure if AI can help but I am not even going to try.
AN – If you recognize anything, they don't belong to me. Please note that I am using AI to help me write the story. If the words, dialogue feel little off, that's the reason. I simply do not have the time, energy or the talent to write without AI. If I did, I would publish my own book. I am writing because it makes me happy and hope you will find it interesting. If not, there are plenty of other talented writers and many amazing stories to read.