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The walls of the Red Keep loomed high above Harry as he leaned against the cold stone, staring out through the narrow window slit at the bustling city below. King's Landing sprawled in every direction, a chaotic maze of rooftops, smoke, and distant voices. Despite the intrigue and the occasional thrill of courtly life, Harry felt trapped. The lessons with Arya and Syrio were fascinating, but they weren't enough to dispel the suffocating weight of stone walls and watchful guards.
Harry closed the book he'd been half-heartedly trying to read and sighed. The journey south had been grueling, but there had been a freedom to it—the open road, the wind in his hair, the ever-changing landscapes. Here, he felt like one of Maester Luwin's caged birds, peering through the bars at a world tantalizingly out of reach.
"You look restless," Arya said, entering his room with a smile on her face.
Harry glanced up and gave her a tired smile. "Restless doesn't even begin to cover it."
She grinned. "Syrio says restlessness is the enemy of focus. Are you coming to our session this morning."
"Of course," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "I just need to clear my head."
Arya's grin faded into a look of understanding. She plopped onto the nearby chair, swinging her legs idly. "I hate it here too," she admitted. "The castle is way more boring than I thought it would be, and people only seem to want to talk about stupid things that don't matter."
Harry chuckled. "You make a convincing argument."
"I think so," Arya said, with a smile on her face. "I'll see you later for the training."
By the time his lesson with Arya ended later that morning, Harry had already made up his mind. As Syrio and Arya continued their discussion about the importance of balance and footwork, Harry slipped away, unnoticed.
The thought of sneaking out of the Red Keep had been simmering in his mind for days and today he finally decided to do something about it.
Harry made his way to his chamber, allegedly to rest.
Ducking into his travel bag, he pulled out a simple cloak that the Stark's had given him for the journey south. It wasn't the finest fabric, but it was nondescript, perfect for blending into the city. Drawing the hood over his head, he set to work.
Harry's years at Hogwarts, dodging Filch and sneaking past prefects, had honed his stealth. A simple Disillusionment Charm made him almost invisible in the dim corridors, and he moved quietly, avoiding the well-lit passages and sticking to the shadows where possible.
The hardest part was the main gate. A pair of gold cloaks stood at attention, their spears gleaming in the torchlight. Harry muttered a quiet "Confundus," and their eyes glazed over. They stepped aside just enough for him to slip through unnoticed.
Once outside, Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The city spread out before him, alive with sounds and people moving to and fro. His heart raced with excitement as he descended the hill into the streets of King's Landing.
But as he ventured deeper into the city, his excitement began to wane. The streets were narrow and uneven, crowded with stalls and people. The smell of unwashed bodies, rotting food, and sewage assaulted his senses. He stumbled as he sidestepped a man dragging a cart piled high with refuse.
The deeper Harry wandered into King's Landing, the worse the smells became. When he first exited the castle, it had been bearable, a medley of fish, sweat, and the tang of unwashed bodies. But now, as he moved further from the Keep and into the narrower, grimier alleys, the stench reached a level that made his eyes water. Rotting refuse mixed with the sharp tang of chamber pots emptied directly onto the street created a haze of stench that clung to the air like a heavy blanket.
Harry's stomach churned, and he pressed his sleeve to his nose, but it did little to block the assault. He fought not to gag as he passed a particularly foul-smelling pile of garbage, buzzing with flies. His vision blurred as his throat tightened, and he had to stop and lean against a wall, swallowing hard to keep himself from being sick.
"Alright, enough of this," he muttered under his breath. Glancing around to ensure no one was paying him any attention, he ducked into the shadow of an overhanging awning, pulling his hood low over his face. His wand slipped into his hand, its familiar weight comforting in this unrelenting filth.
"Impervius Nasum," he whispered, a slight modification of the Bubble-Head Charm, this one designed to form a subtle, near-invisible barrier over his nose and mouth. The magic caused the air to shimmer faintly for a moment before settling into place.
Harry straightened, inhaling cautiously. The effect was immediate. The harsh stink was replaced by nothing but clean, neutral air. Relief washed over him, and he let out a sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding. For the first time in what felt like hours, he could breathe without feeling like he was going to gag.
Emerging from his hiding place, Harry resumed his path, his steps quicker now that he wasn't being constantly assaulted by the city's odors. Despite the improvement in his own situation, disbelief nagged at the back of his mind.
He couldn't stop himself from glancing at the people he passed: a fishmonger loudly advertising her wares, a pair of ragged children chasing each other through the muck, a man hauling barrels of something that looked like it reeked worse than death itself. Their faces were weary but resigned, their noses scrunched up only slightly as if they had long since learned to tolerate the stench that made Harry's stomach roil.
How do they live like this? he wondered, his chest tightening with pity. The thought that so many people had no choice but to endure this every day, no relief, no escape, made him want to shake his head.
Harry's wand was tucked safely under his cloak, but his hand strayed to it more than once as he caught sight of shadowy figures lingering in alleys. The warnings he'd heard about the city's dangers no longer felt exaggerated. Even so, there was a vibrancy to King's Landing that fascinated him. Merchants shouted their wares, children darted through the crowd laughing, and musicians played lively tunes on corners.
Harry paused at a stall selling skewers of roasted meat. His stomach growled, and he fished a few coins from his pocket. The vendor, a burly man with a greasy apron, handed him a skewer with a toothless grin.
"Not seen you around here before," the man said. "You're not one of them highborns, are you?"
Harry shook his head. "Just passing through."
"Well then enjoy," the vendor said, before glancing around. "Although careful in the city."
"Thanks," Harry said, taking a cautious bite of the meat. It was spiced and smoky, better than he'd expected.
As he wandered, Harry's attention was drawn to a commotion up ahead. A crowd had gathered around a man on a makeshift stage, his voice booming as he railed against the crown. "Gold for the lords and silver for the merchants, but what do we get? Scraps!" the man shouted, eliciting cheers from his audience.
Harry lingered at the edge of the crowd, intrigued. The man's words painted a grim picture of life in King's Landing for the common folk. The crowd's anger was palpable, and Harry felt a pang of unease. He slipped away before the tension could boil over.
Deeper into the city, Harry turned into an alley where the buildings were so close that light from the sun and noise from other streets had difficulty entering. Deciding to get out of here as quickly as possible, he turned and found himself starring at a group of rough-looking men approaching him from behind, their eyes narrowing as they made eye contact with Harry.
"Afternoon, lad," one of them said, stepping forward. He had a crooked grin and a knife at his belt. "Lost, are we?"
Harry's grip on his wand tightened under his cloak. "Just passing through," he said evenly, trying to keep his voice steady.
The man chuckled. "Passing through, eh? Well, you've got to pay the toll for using our street."
Harry's mind raced. He didn't want to draw too much attention by using magic, but he wasn't about to hand over all of his coins, as he doubted the moment he pulled out one coin they'd pull weapons and make him give everything he had. He took a step back, his free hand slipping into his pocket for a distraction.
"No need for trouble," he said, tossing a handful of coins to the ground. As the men's eyes followed the clinking coins, Harry muttered, "Stupefy!"
A flash of red light struck the leader, sending him sprawling. The others shouted in alarm, but just in case there were others that he couldn't see, Harry didn't wait around to see their reaction. He bolted down the alley, his heart pounding. The shouts faded as he darted through the labyrinth of streets, not stopping until he reached a more crowded and well-lit area.
Breathing heavily, Harry leaned against a wall, his wand clutched in his hand under his cloak. He'd known the city was dangerous, but the encounter had unnerved him.
"You're not from here, are you?" a voice said.
Harry looked up to see a woman standing nearby, her sharp eyes taking him in. She was dressed plainly, but there was an air of authority about her.
"Just … exploring," Harry said cautiously.
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Exploring can get you killed in these parts. You should watch where you are going before you find worse than a toll."
Harry nodded and took off deciding to try and work his way back towards the Red Keep.
Harry did his best to navigate the chaos without drawing too much attention to himself. His cloak was pulled tightly around his shoulders, hood drawn low. However, it was in one of these crowded streets that it happened.
Harry felt a faint tug at his side, followed by a light brush against his thigh. At first, he thought it was just the jostling of the crowd. But when his wand shifted unnaturally, almost slipping free of his pocket, alarm shot through him. His heart leaped, realizing someone was trying to steal it. As he spun around, his hand shot down to grab the offending limb.
He caught a wrist—small, delicate, and trembling. His eyes followed the arm up to the face of a child, her cheeks smudged with dirt and her wide, panicked eyes fixed on his. She couldn't have been older than eight, with thin, stringy hair and clothes that hung off her frail frame like a scarecrow's rags.
"Let me go!" she cried, her voice a mixture of defiance and fear. She yanked at her arm, trying to free herself. "I didn't mean nothin' by it! I had to!"
Harry's grip remained firm, though he loosened it slightly to avoid hurting her. "You were trying to steal from me," he said, his voice low but steady. He glanced at the pocket where his wand had been moments away from disappearing. "Why?"
Tears brimmed in her eyes, though she blinked them away quickly, her expression hardening. "I didn't have a choice," she snapped. "I gotta help my mum! She can't feed all of us by herself, not with the way things are!"
The desperation in her voice made Harry's anger evaporate, replaced by a deep pang of sympathy. He released her arm, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly.
The girl hesitated, her arm still halfway raised, looking between him and his hand suspiciously. When Harry made no move to stop her, she bolted, her bare feet slapping against the cobblestones.
"Wait!" Harry called, and to his surprise, she paused a few feet away, glancing over her shoulder warily.
Harry reached into his other pocket, pulling out a small handful of coins—nothing extravagant, but depending on the size of her family likely enough to buy them meals for a week or two. He extended his hand toward her, the coins glinting faintly in the afternoon light. "Here. Take these."
Her eyes widened, darting between his face and the coins as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Tentatively, she stepped closer, her movements cautious and her gaze sharp, as though she expected a trick. When she reached him, she snatched the coins from his hand with such speed that Harry barely registered the motion. She tucked them into the folds of her threadbare tunic, the coins vanishing so quickly that had he not have pulled them out of his own pocket he would have doubted that she had taken them.
"Thank you," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. Then, her gaze flicked to his wand, which was now firmly gripped in his hand. She tilted her head, her expression curious and slightly wary. "You should be careful. Not everyone's as nice as you." And with that, she darted off, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as she had appeared.
Harry stood there for a moment, processing what had just happened. He tucked his wand securely back into his pocket, this time keeping his hand firmly wrapped around it. He wasn't going to take any chances.
As he continued his walk through the city, he couldn't stop thinking about the girl. Her sunken cheeks, her thin frame, the hollow look in her eyes—all spoke of a life spent scraping by, surviving on scraps. And she wasn't alone. Everywhere he looked, he saw the signs of poverty: children begging for coin, mothers clutching sickly infants, men with hollow gazes sitting idly in the dirt.
Harry certainly hadn't grown up wealthy or loved, but even at his worst, the Dursleys had always ensured he had food, however grudgingly given. This was different. This was a kind of desperation he couldn't fully comprehend.
He passed a group of men arguing loudly near a tavern, their voices slurred with drink. Nearby, two boys tussled over a piece of bread, their fists flying until a woman—presumably their mother—pulled them apart, shouting at them in frustration.
A fight broke out in another corner, two men grappling over what looked like a handful of copper coins. Harry's grip on his wand tightened as he watched the brawl, ready to defend himself if it spilled over in his direction.
The girl's warning echoed in his mind. She was right—King's Landing was a dangerous place, and not just because of the cutthroats and thieves. It was a city built on the backs of the poor, where survival meant doing whatever it took to get through another day.
- HP - WW - HP - WW - HP - WW - HP - WW - HP -
Harry's boots scuffed against the uneven cobblestones as he trudged up a hill, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. The narrow streets had given way to broader pathways, and he had a nagging feeling he might be getting closer to the Red Keep. The distant spires of the Red Keep loomed far ahead, but
Finally, Harry broke out of the narrow streets and entered a large square, his steps slowed. As he realized he had climbed the wrong hill, the sight before him was enough to knock the wind from his lungs.
However, it wasn't the impressive domed structure in front of him that truly caught his attention. The Sept of Baelor stood as a massive testament to faith and power, its gleaming white marble walls contrasting starkly with it's surroundings.
But rather, it was the people that caught his attention. The square was teeming with people, but not in the lively, bustling way Harry had seen elsewhere in King's Landing. These were not merchants hawking wares or children playing in the streets. These were the forgotten—men, women, and children alike, huddled together in rags, their faces hollow with hunger and pain.
Harry swallowed hard, his stomach twisting at the sight. A gaunt woman cradled an skeletal infant, rocking back and forth as she whispered a prayer. Nearby, a man leaned against a wall, his leg swollen and red, with an open wound that oozed pus. A little boy sat on the ground, scratching furiously at his arms, which were covered in raw, angry rashes.
Everywhere Harry looked, there was suffering. People with sunken cheeks and glassy eyes. Others with twisted limbs or untreated injuries, their bodies contorted from pain. The smell of unwashed bodies, sickness, and despair hung thick in the air, making Harry's stomach churn. He saw faces that barely seemed alive, expressions so vacant that they might as well have been corpses sitting upright.
He sank onto a low stone ledge, unable to move for a moment as the enormity of it all pressed down on him. He had seen hardship before—but this was different. This was a level of suffering so pervasive, so all-encompassing, that it threatened to swallow him whole. And yet despite the suffering there were men who appeared to be members of the faith walking right by them surrounded by a handful of guards, ignoring their pleas for help.
Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying himself. He couldn't fix all of this—he wasn't naïve enough to believe that. But he could do something. He had to do something.
Rising to his feet, Harry slipped into the shadows of a nearby alcove, where he was partially hidden from view. He reached into his cloak, pulling out his wand.
From his concealed spot, Harry began to cast. He worked quietly, focusing on the most visible injuries. A man's swollen ankle deflated before his eyes, the broken bone beneath realigning with a faint crackle. A young girl with a gash across her arm gasped as the wound knit itself together, leaving only a faint scar. A boy with a crooked nose blinked in confusion as it straightened, the swelling vanishing.
Harry worked methodically, moving from one person to the next. He kept his spells small, subtle, and precise—just enough to heal what he could without drawing too much attention. Each time he cast, he felt the familiar drain of magic tugging at his core, but he pressed on, determined to help as many as possible.
But there was so much he couldn't do. A woman with sunken cheeks and jaundiced skin looked no different when he turned away. The boy scratching at his rashes kept scratching, and Harry knew there was nothing in his limited repertoire of spells that could cure whatever ailed him. He passed over people whose ailments were beyond his understanding or ability to treat, feeling a sharp pang of guilt each time he moved on.
If only I knew more, he thought bitterly. He remembered Madam Pomfrey's steady hands and encyclopedic knowledge of healing spells and potions. He thought of the books he'd skimmed in the Hogwarts library, filled with advanced techniques he'd never bothered to learn. He thought of small cauldron of Essence of Dittany brewing in his room, wishing he had barrels of it instead of the small amount he was currently able to make.
By the time Harry reached his limits, his hands were trembling, and his vision swam with exhaustion. His magical reserves were nearly depleted, and his legs felt like lead. He leaned against the stone wall of the alcove, catching his breath.
Despite his fatigue, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the last of his coins. He hadn't started with much, but he hadn't spent much either, and the handful of silver and copper coins felt heavier now than it had before. Moving slowly through the square, he passed the coins to those who seemed to need them most. The woman with the baby. The boy with the rashes. The man with the infected leg.
Each time, he placed the coin in their hands discreetly, avoiding their eyes. He didn't want thanks—he wasn't sure he could bear it. He just wanted to help, even if it was only for a moment.
As Harry turned to leave the square, a murmur rose behind him. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
"It's healed!" a man shouted, holding up his newly mended arm. "My arm—it's fixed!"
Another voice chimed in, a woman marveling at the disappearance of her son's limp. The square buzzed with whispers and exclamations, the injured and ill examining themselves in disbelief. For the first time since he'd arrived, Harry heard something other than despair in their voices. There was confusion, yes, but also hope.
A small smile tugged at Harry's lips as he turned away, pulling his hood lower over his face. He slipped through the alleyways, heading back toward the Red Keep. His body ached, his magic was drained, and his heart was heavy with the knowledge of how much suffering still remained. But for the first time in hours, he felt like he'd made a difference and was more determined than ever to find a way to make the Essence of Dittany as soon as he could.
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Story Note 1 – Looks like his walk through the city was not exactly what Harry expected, although I'd imagine if almost anyone from modern times was transported back to medieval times we'd be in for a shock. Spent a lot of time researching this that he might experience and overall I think I did a decent job capturing it. Although looking forward to the feedback.
Story Note 2 – Lucky for Harry that his wand did not disappear although I can't imagine the weird stick was what she was looking for when she decided to try to pickpocket him.
Story Note 3 – Certainly a slightly different chapter than most of the ones I have written, although no less important. As this chapter and the next one will be setting up important things that are coming up. So congrats to anyone who manages to pick up what they are before they become obvious!
A large thanks to those of you out there who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you all are enjoying them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or have reached out to me directly.
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Ms. Anbu-Chan, BioHazard82, Ep, - I really appreciate you taking the time to leave feedback and hope you continue to enjoy the story as it progresses.
EternalPonderer - That is a good comment and I might go back and add a stroy note but yes off page Jon did tell Robb about the Wildlings. This will come up later but felt it didn't add anything to that chapter. And ya Harry's desire to keep stuff close to the vest is a not entirely endearing trait but certainly in canon. But a large part of that is also being in a new place.
Mrsgberg - Thought it was a fun chapter although quickly they are apart!
Cleon16 - Really glad you are enjoying the story and ya ... there was an editting mistake in the chapter but will go back and make sure everything got sorted!
Fenrir070 - Sometimes (especially in a world as large as Westeros) it is important to know what is going on in other places. Something which I did actually enjoy in the books. Haha :) it made me smile as well! And ya I thought that was an important bit of development for their relationship. I do fall into the crowd where I understand Catelyn's feelings on the matter towards Ned having a 'bastard' but do not support the way she takes it out on Jon who was innocent in the entire thing. Especially since the North for the most part doesn't seem to be as strict about such things so it seems silly that even though she came from Riverrun she is just allowed to keep going at Jon. Haha I specifically enjoyed writing Joffrey's fate and well Petyr ... poor guy. Haha.
Williams1996 - Obviously there are certain things that get played up in a story but not sure if it was once a week. Although maybe in a castle it was more.
Blaze1992 - Oh I imagine that would be quite a dramatic meeting although this Jon would still be at a significant disadvantage.
Cold Dreams Craftsman - Yup there was definitely a big editting mistake in the chapter that should have since been fixed!
Monkey D. Conan - Things are certainly changing! Glad you are enjoying the twists and turns in the story!
EternallyIll, Lordlexx, RomeoDreamWriter, munabuni, whiteabyss89 - Thanks so much for catching the editting mistake! Most chapters took between 2 to 4 days to write and then several more to edit and as such have several different versions saved on the computer which unfortunately I uploaded an in-work version! A mistake which I felt like a good about and will try to avoid going forward!
SuperSaiyanSlime - That is a fair feeling but this Harry is from his fifth year so still a child by and large so doesn't have a wealth of experience to draw from especially as he can't practice magic in the summers and largely relies on natural abilities. Although I do really appreciate the feedback and will certainly try to keep it in mind.
tsougrhs.559 - Unsure how that comes across but I'll look over the dialogue.