There was a clangor of steel clashing with steel, as sword met sword. It wasn't some great melee or battle but simple training taking place in the Red Keep's yard. It happened every day, overseen by the watchful eyes of the master-at-arms, Ser Bernal Buckwell. A barrel-chested man in his mid-thirties with brown hair that was just beginning to grey. His nose looked crooked, as though it'd been broken half a dozen times in the yard or the tilts. His watchful eyes were deep grey and followed everyone in the yard.

Though there was no one he was quite so attentive to as the young Aegon and Aemond. Viserys' sons were seven and four, respectively. And despite the difference in age, it was clear that the younger had a greater affinity for the sword than the elder. Aegon didn't seem to take much interest in any of it, though he followed through with his instructions without any great complaint.

Nearby, the brothers, Arryk and Erryk sparred to keep themselves sharp, offering advice to their young charges in between. On the other side of the yard from where Harry rested against the wall, there were a few ladies of the court that watched the men.

He watched with Barbo beside him. The one-time-pirate seemed amused by it all. So, he decided to ask, "What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing…" he had a wry smile on his lips though, so Harry doubted that was true, "By the time I was that prince's age," he pointed to Aegon, "I'd already run a boy twice my age through with a dagger and had half a dozen scars from where the same had nearly been done to me."

"There's significant difference between growing up as a prince and cutpurse. You're just getting to see it firsthand."

Barbo waved him off, "That's not my meaning. No, it's the blunted blades that I don't understand. Each knew scar was a lesson, and I learned them very well."

Since he was given a wand at the age of eleven, a weapon capable of incredible and terrible magic in equal measure, Harry could almost see his point. But there was something else to consider, "One overzealous boy with a sharpened blade, and the king has one fewer son rather than a son with a scar. Better to train them how to defend themselves first before putting them in any real danger."

He shrugged, before saying as though it were obvious, "Just gives him an excuse to make more."

Harry chuckled, but countered, "Most men don't need any excuses."

His golden tooth just catching the light as he grinned, Barbo agreed, "Too true, my friend."

"Your Grace," They were pulled from their conversation by the approach of Ser Arryk. There were some who struggled to tell the twins apart, but Harry had years of practice with Fred and George, "Would you care to join us? I admit we're rather curious to see your skill at arms." He could feel the eyes of many throughout the yard on them, waiting to see what would happen.

Barbo chuckled, looking between him and the knight, but Harry ignored him. He wore a sword on his hip for the sake of appearances rather than because he had any real need of it. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd pulled it from its sheath. The last time he used one properly, if you could call it that, was when he jammed it through the roof of the basilisk's mouth. Truthfully, there was no shame in refusing the offer, but something about the crowd's attention made the idea wholly unappealing.

"I'd be glad to," Harry pushed off from the wall and walked into the yard proper, "Though, I'm afraid you'll have me outmatched. I've rarely had need of a sword."

"No, do you have another weapon of choice, your Grace?" Arryk asked.

"I do, but if I were to use it, I think you'd be at a disadvantage, ser."

The Kingsguard took his meaning without any complaint and offered him a blunted training sword and a shield to go with it, "This seems as good a place to start as any then."

The sword felt light in his hand while the shield was rather cumbersome. Arryk stood across from him and bowed his head. He bowed back, and then the knight was on him, blunted blade slicing through the air only to be met with a shield. The weight of the strike reverberated all the way through his arm to his shoulder. He brought his own sword up in response and they were underway.

The skill gap was evident to Harry. He wasn't a weak man by any measure, especially after his years spent waging war, but he hadn't devoted his life to martial pursuits like the knight attacking him. Every strike of the sword, hit of the shield, and bit of footwork felt as though it'd been practiced thousands upon thousands of times before.

Luckily for Harry, he was athletic enough, and nimble enough, that he didn't make a complete fool of himself. Sweat formed on his brow and dripped to the ground below them as he weathered Arryk's blows. It only could last so long though.

Stepping close, Arryk battered him with his shield and sent him stumbling to his knees. As Harry tried to bring his sword up to counter, he hit it close to the hilt with enough force that he drove it from his hand. Without his weapon, there was only one wise decision, "I yield."

The knight stepped toward him and offered his hand with a smile, "You're far more skilled with that than you led me to believe. There are plenty of men you would've bested."

"Good instincts, and plenty of experience in battle, I assure you." Harry clapped the man on the shoulder, speaking so only he could hear, "But were I not a king, I'm not sure you'd think the same."

"No, I speak the truth." Arryk assured him, "Had you started as a boy, I wager you'd rival any knight in the Seven Kingdoms."

A voice cut in from behind them, "Ser Arryk, I'm curious to see how the king would fare against a different sort of opponent. If I have your leave?" Ser Criston stood behind them, morning star in hand. Unlike the sword that he'd been given, every point looked sharp and dangerous. And here I was thinking that our last little tete-a-tete taught him a lesson. It seems the man just doesn't know when to leave well enough alone.

He hadn't seen the princess, along with her ladies, join the rest of the onlookers. But they had clearly parted for her as she stood right at the front watching the goings on with a frown on her lips. It appeared that she'd been speaking with her uncle, as he stood beside her.

Arryk looked between the two of them before looking to Harry for his agreement. Stone-faced, he nodded. The other twin approached him then, sharpened steel in hand, "You'll be needing something more than that dull blade, your Grace."

"Thank you, Ser Erryk." Pulling up his shield, he invited Ser Criston, "Shall we, then?"

Criston didn't need to be asked twice. His morning star swung in a wide arc and crashed into Harry's shield with enough force that it could've sent him tumbling backwards. It rattled every bone in his left side down to his toes. He held firm though, waiting and watching the more experienced fighter.

To his understanding, Ser Criston was the greatest of Viserys' knights, save perhaps Ser Harrold Westerling. Deadly as he still was, the Lord-Commander was past his prime though, and there was no way of telling the full truth of it.

The truth that Harry found abundantly clear was that Ser Criston was nearly as strong as an ox and hit at least as hard. Every blow felt as though the knight were taking out some great frustration on him. And given his acerbic mood toward me, there's probably some truth to that.

Waiting, patiently guarding, Harry hoped that his anger would provide an opportunity. Though with every new blow, he wondered if it was worth waiting for it. But it did eventually come.

The morning star crashed against his shield once more and there was an audible rending of steel as one of the spikes drove through the surface of the shield and out the back. As Criston attempted to pull it back for another blow, Harry turned his hand down and forced him into an awkward position. Lashing out with the sword in his hand for the first time, cold steel found the back of the knight's thigh and bit deep.

To his credit, he didn't cry out. He was a knight, after all. Instead, it only unleashed his barely concealed rage. Yanking with all his considerable might, he lifted Harry off his feet and threw him a good few meters across the yard. Feeling rather lucky that his arm wasn't broken, Harry jumped back to his feet just in time to see Criston toss his shield away.

He charged him then, morning star held aloft. Harry deflected the first blow and then the next, backing up with each fresh assault until he felt stone touch his back. Adrenaline took over, there was no thinking on his part. His wand came to his left hand with nothing more than a thought. He wasn't ambidextrous, but his command of magic had grown enough over the years that movements weren't always necessary, certainly not for the simpler spells.

As Criston raised his morning star again, a flash of a red sent it hurtling out of his grasp. Stunned, the knight didn't get a chance to react before he crumpled to the ground from sa darker red hit him in the chest. The stunned crowd watched as he stepped over the knight. He noticed that Ser Arryk and Erryk both had their swords in hand seemingly ready to intervene on his behalf, but they were a few steps behind Daemon. Dark Sister, black and dangerous glinted in the light as he loomed like a serpent ready to strike.

Luckily, there was no need. Wearing a roguish smile, he addressed the crowd, "Ser Criston wished to see how I would fare against a different sort of opponent, I only thought it fair that he should do the same." That sent them laughing, as Harry returned to the unconscious knight.

Dropping his sword, he cast a silent, "Reenervate." Criston startled awake and started to stand, but Harry's hand on his shoulder stopped him, "A rather fine display, ser. Be glad I ended it more amicably than you seemed willing to. Do you believe Viserys would've been pleased if that final blow landed?"

That seemed to deflate him, the anger giving way to something else, "I wouldn't have killed you, your Grace. I swear it."

"I find that rather difficult to believe. The eyes tell truths that words don't sometimes." And there was nothing but rage in Criston's before he shut them. Harry stood, wand going to the wound on the back of the knight's leg. The cut neatly knit itself up, "But I'll take you at your word if you take me at mine. This is your last warning, cross me again and you won't like the consequences."

Ser Criston held his stare for a moment, and whatever he found there was enough to cow him, at least for the time being, "Understood, your Grace." With that, Harry let him rise and the knight hurried away, grabbing his morning star as he went. Well, it seems that I was able to dirty that fine, white cloak of his.

Taking up his sword, he returned it to Ser Erryk, "A fine first introduction to the yard, don't you think?"

The knight shook his head ruefully, but didn't get a chance to respond as they were interrupted, "Your Grace," It was Lyonel, "apologies but King Viserys requests your presence at your earliest convenience."

If he weren't a king, Harry doubted Viserys would send his Hand as an errand boy, "No time like the present, Lord Hand. Please, take me to him."

Dusting himself off, he followed as Lyonel led him back up into the keep. As they climbed the steps toward Viserys' private quarters, Harry asked, "Any idea what this is about?"

"Yes, your Grace, but better for him to tell you himself." Lyonel was a dutiful man, Harry had no doubt about that.

"I saw your son, Harwin, in the yard earlier today." It was all Harry could think to make small talk, "A truly massive man. I can imagine it was rather easy for him to earn the name 'Breakbones'.

Lyonel chuckled at that, "He was larger than me by the age of two and ten, and the strongest man in all the kingdoms by six and ten, I tell you. The poor pages and squires that served with him when he squired for Lord Gunnar Darklyn are the ones who gave him that moniker. The lot of them refused to spar with him after the first week as far as he tells it. It fell to the knights of the house to do it otherwise they would've been left without anyone to attend them."

His effusive praise of his eldest son continued until they were outside of Viserys' door. The Lord Commander saw their approach and opened the door on their arrival. Leading him in, Lyonel addressed the king, "King Harry, your Grace."

"Thank you, Lyonel, you may leave us." Harry wasn't expecting his chief advisor to be dismissed but it didn't leave them alone either. Grand Maester Mellos sat in a chair just off to the side while the King stood before the unlit hearth. He turned to greet him, "Thank you for coming so quickly." He looked him over, noticing the dust and mud on his trousers, "Were you spending some time in the yard?"

"Yes. A first, if I'm being honest."

"It never suited me much: swordplay, the joust, even hunting. That was always Daemon's domain. But even if I wanted to, I would be hard pressed to manage it these days." It was said with a sort of resignation that Harry found entirely out of character compared to his usually pleasant self.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Reaching for the glove on his left hand, he pulled it off to reveal two missing fingers. The flesh that remained appeared fetid and blackened. It was oddly reminiscent of Dumbledore's hand after Tom's curse, "You have a sickness then?" Harry saw no point in dancing around the matter.

"Oh yes, for many years now," Viserys smiled, a rueful thing, "A wasting sickness, sometimes worse than others. This…" he raised his hand, "is the worst of it but there are sores that blacken and eat away at my body little by little.

"I believe it's a sickness of the blood," Mellos interjected, gesturing to a bowl of writhing leeches on the table, "They alone are the way to excise it."

"I admit, it helps." Viserys sounded tired, "But as I said, it comes and goes. No matter what is done, no matter how many leeches, nothing ever abates it fully."

"And you're hoping that my magic might provide a solution where there hasn't been one before." Harry didn't bother posing it as a question. His purposes were obvious.

"Yes," Viserys admitted without hesitation. He appreciated his candidness.

"Simple cuts and bruises are an easy enough thing," Harry moved toward Viserys and grabbed his decrepit hand to look more closely, "Missing fingers are more complicated, especially when there's sickness involved." There were potions from his own world that could potentially help, but he had no sure way of recreating them. The magical creatures necessary for most of them simply didn't exist or were entirely different in their nature as well. The unicorns I've been told of on Skagos are a far cry from the herd in the Forbidden Forest.

"But is it possible?"

"Your Grace," Mellos cut in, yet again, "I really must insist that this isn't necessary. The leeches will remove the sickness from your blood with enough time."

"How much time?" Viserys barked back, his frustrations with his own ailment and the lack of results coming to the fore, "A year? A decade? The very day before the Stranger takes me? When Grand Maester?" The learned man had no answers to the king's questions and only could sit there impotently opening and closing his mouth in the face of Viserys' anger.

"I can make no promises," Harry broke the silence that followed, "but I will try."

"I'm most appreciative." His relief was palpable, "Shall we now or…?"

Harry's wand was in his hand, "I can give you nothing permanent for it, at least not yet, but this may sooth some of the pain." A light emanated, clear white and healing. It grew so bright that Viserys had to turn his eyes away as he cried out. When it finally dimmed, the rotted flesh was wholly excised and what remained was clean and healthy.

Tom never focused on the healing arts, violence and death were much more his area of expertise. But given his fear of death, he made sure to have an understanding of healing spells lest he ever find himself in need of one when no one else could provide them. I'll have to ask if he has any ideas what would be useful in healing a blood infection.

Staring at it in wonderment, Viserys flexed the stumps that still extended out from the first knuckle and grinned as he did it without any pain, "Incredible… in mere seconds you've given me more relief than hours of procedures."

Viserys didn't catch the glare Mellos sent toward Harry as he spoke up, "Surely, it would be best to use the two in tandem, your Grace… in the hopes that together they will delay the sickness for longer."

"Yes… yes, I think that would be wise, Grand Maester." Viserys said absently as he returned his attention to Harry, "There are others, if you wouldn't mind?"

"No, better to know the extent of the problem before I try to find a solution." It was moments like these where he wished that Hermione was along with him on this journey. She'd know how to start going about this far better than I do. I suppose Tom will have to serve as substitute.

"Your Graces, I will leave you to your work." It was obvious to Harry that Mellos liked him only a little better than Ser Criston, though he thought the Grand Maester had better reason for it. He just feels threatened that magic might limit his usefulness.

Viserys stripped off his shirt and his trousers, leaving him in just his smallclothes. There were black lesions dotted on his body where the wasting sickness had eaten away at his flesh. Divots of decay that looked like someone had scooped from him with a spoon and left behind death. There were at least twenty in total. One on his back looked particularly unpleasant.

Harry worked in relative silence. The only thing that broke it was Viserys' wincing as the healing occurred. By the time all was said and done, there was no more blackened flesh, and the divots had refilled to some extent, but whatever infection sickened his blood couldn't be gotten rid entirely as they refused to fully heal. I wonder if there's a magical quality of any sort to this sickness.

As Viserys put back on his clothes, he asked, "So tell me, have you come to a decision about my proposal?"

"Not yet. As I told you, I don't think such decisions should be made in haste." The words didn't feel entirely honest on his tongue, but he still meant them.

With a chuckle, Viserys pulled back on his gloves to hide his missing fingers again, "You may not have made your decision, but I believe my daughter has. I wasn't with her on her tour of the kingdoms, but I've heard enough stories to know that no one interested her. It's been our one point of contention in recent months." He roused himself and smiled at Harry, "But the way she looks at you. It reminds me of the way I used to look at my Aemma."

"Your daughter is captivating, intelligent and… difficult." Though in all fairness to Harry, he seemed to have found a way to keep her well in hand. It's probably best if her father doesn't know the truth of that.

This time Viserys laughed heartily from his belly, it seemed to Harry that it was the first time in quite a while that he'd done it, "On that, we're in full agreement. There are times where she's as dangerous and stubborn as the oldest of dragons, but I wouldn't want her any other way."

"Nor I." Harry smiled fondly.

"Now I hope you don't take this as any offense, but I'm curious. How much longer do you intend to remain here in King's Landing?"

Harry didn't take any offense to it in the slightest. If it weren't for his daily excursions back to Bloodstone, he was sure that the trip would've ended already, "Can the crown not afford the stress of two kings in one castle?"

"The treasury can manage it, but the larder cannot." Viserys watched as the animated recreation of Syrax took off from the top of one of the topless towers of his Valyrian model, "At this rate, we may have to dip into the winter stores. Especially if we're to expect a wedding. The only saving grace is that you only brought two of your men with you. Any of my bannermen would've brought half their household."

"I'm a man that's become accustomed to the hardships of battle and traveling." Even before reaching this new land, he spent a year on the run with food scarce, "While the extravagance was always appreciated it was never necessary."

"Ah, but it was," Viserys corrected him, "Like it or not, you are a king now, and you must be treated like one. Allow others to treat you as less than your station and they'll make a habit of it." He paused and thought to himself for a moment, "Though in your case, it may be less true than most." His magic, much like their dragons, demanded respect once someone understood its capabilities, "But you didn't answer my question."

"Three more days." He was expecting visitors to Bloodstone then anyway and intended to tell the king that very day.

"Very good… I'll have Alicent inform the cooks. You deserve a proper send-off. Today alone has earned you that much."

Harry saw no point in arguing with him, "I look forward to it." It felt like a natural end to their conversation, "I'll leave you to your work."

"Yes, thank you." He stopped him with a hand on his elbow, "I feel as though I can get more done today than I have in the last month thanks to you. I won't forget it."

As Harry exited Viserys' quarters, he was immediately met by a frowning Rhaenyra, "Princess…"

"Only three more days?" She questioned before he got the chance to say more, "Did you intend to tell me this?" Her ladies stood at the end of the corridor, watching and whispering amongst themselves.

Harry turned back to look at Ser Harrold. The old knight couldn't quite meet his eye. It was clear that he'd let the princess eavesdrop on their conversation. It shouldn't surprise me. It seems she has more than one man wrapped around her finger.

Returning his attention to the irate princess, he soothed her, "Of course, I did. Were it not for your father's request, I would've done it when I was done in the yard."

She studied his face for a few breathless seconds before she accepted his answer, "Very well, then I have a request of you."

"And what would that be?"

"You will spend tomorrow with me, as well as the day after," It sounded more like a command than a request, but he'd come to expect that from her, "I wish to show you the Kingswood before you depart, and it'll take more than a day to appreciate it."

He considered reminding her that he could return to the city in the blink of an eye but thought better of it. Instead, he settled on, "I can manage that, princess."

"Good, tomorrow then." With that, she spun on her heal and returned to her ladies who all started speaking to her quietly.

Quietly, mostly to himself, he replied, "Tomorrow. Brilliant."