79Walking toward your own death was a surreal experience, but somehow, Harry managed to put each foot out in front of the other without fail. The conversation made possible by the Resurrection Stone was enough to bolster his spirits as he made his final journey to Tom.
There was no avoiding it. He'd been nothing more than a sacrificial lamb from the moment that little piece of soul latched onto him when he was a baby. There was a part of him that was unequivocally furious. He wanted to live a life, filled with its own joys and failings, but the actions of two powerful wizards guaranteed that would never happen. Fuck Tom and fuck Dumbledore, too.
But there was another part of him, the one that cared about the people that trusted and loved him, that just accepted this fate. It's worth it if they get to live their lives free of him.
So, despite the anger and resentment, he still made his way through the forest. When he came to the clearing, he noticed Hagrid tied to a tree. He was the first to see Harry and his face just fell. His noise of anguish was enough to get the attention of the dozen Death Eaters and their master. He recognized some of the faces: the Malfoys, and Bellatrix, but most meant nothing to him.
Bellatrix cackled gleefully as Tom turned to look at him. His serpentine nostrils flared and his red eyes widened. His voice sent a shiver down Harry's spine, "The Boy-Who-Lived, come to die."
The forest was quiet as they stared at each other, and then slowly, Tom rose the Elder Wand. His heart thudded in his chest as q pit formed in his stomach. But despite his fear, he'd face his death as bravely as he could. He expected to hear the words of the Killing Curse, the explosion of green, but it didn't come.
Instead, he was dragged into the center of the clearing. It was only then that an array of intricately written lines and runes glowed crimson red on the ground. Tom grinned and it sent a shiver down Harry's spine, "But you won't die today, Harry." He knew, there was no doubting it, "Severus was a skilled occlumens, even at his death. But in his final moments, when he passed his memories along to you… he brought everything to the forefront of his thoughts. And I was there to see it all, even if you didn't know it."
It was at that moment that Harry felt genuine terror. It was one thing to die at Tom's hands, but to be kept alive as nothing more than another of his soul anchors… sounded like agony.
His laugh was cold, reveling in his fear, "And I've learned my lesson, Harry. Just as you went hunting for my horcruxes, someone else can do the same… so, I'll send you somewhere no one will ever find you again. Perfectly safe for all time."
Tom started chanting in a language that Harry didn't recognize. It was a guttural, ululating dialect that made his skin crawl. The crimson glow erupted in flames that burned but gave off no heat. The world around him began to swirl, and then… there were shouts; spellfire came from the trees lighting up the clearing. He watched, unable to speak as Death Eaters died, but Tom didn't falter.
He had no fear of the magic of others as he finished his ritual. But as the last words were leaving his lips, the edge of the runic array was struck by a bright purple spell. The world around Harry exploded and he found himself losing consciousness as he fell against craggy rocks before tumbling over into soft sand.
When he awoke, it was to the feeling of something pinching hard against his left thigh. Looking down, he was treated to the sight of a large crab digging its pincer into him. It was a sharp pain, but nothing compared to his skull. It felt like it'd been split open by a sledgehammer.
Reaching for his wand, the crab went limp and the claw released its hold as a stunner splashed against its shell. Pushing to his feet, he looked around confused. It was obvious that he was far from the Highlands of Scotland. I'll just need to make my way home.
Even with the pain he was feeling, apparition shouldn't have been a problem. But as he brought Hogwarts to the fore of his mind and focused… nothing happened. His magic was there, waiting at his fingertips, the same as ever but it didn't take him there. Well, if I can't apparate, I guess I'll have to find someone to tell me where I am.
The sun hung high in the air, beating down on him as he trudged his way along the coast. There was a stiff breeze coming out of the west, and the waves hit softly against the shore as he walked. The island he found himself on was the largest of three that he could see along with a few smaller islets.
It was hours later that he found ships anchored in a small bay on the northern part of the island. There was a shanty town on the shore with a few larger buildings further inland.
Just looking at the ships, he felt his stomach sink. The largest of them had three large masts and sails of vibrant red. It wasn't the sort of thing anyone often saw in his experience. The world was a few centuries removed from large scale sailing vessels. The closest Harry ever came to one was the Durmstrang ship, and that had been three times the size, and capable of submerging as well. Where the hell am I?
Over the course of running from Death Eaters for a year, Harry had learned to trust his instincts where danger was involved. So, he took the ships in for a few minutes and then turned the other way. Something told him that whoever manned those ships wouldn't be interested in helping him.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans and his brief indecision was long enough that some of the sailors saw him along the shore. Seven of them came running up to him, all of them but one was sun-tanned and bare-chested. They had a grizzled look about them except for the man in the middle. His coat was a rich purple, his beard was intricately braided, and he wore a small fortunes worth of jewelry upon his arms and neck.
They came with cutlasses drawn and cruel smiles on their lips. He supposed there were plenty of people that would feel fear in a moment like that, but Harry was only a few short hours removed from facing down death or worse, so this seemed like nothing. And swords were little help against magic.
It was only as they drew closer that their smiles faded to confusion, largely from what he was wearing. He took their momentary distraction as an opportunity. His wand cut through the air, six spells snapping across the distance to impact against the subordinates only to leave the ostentatiously dressed man standing. His eyes widened in panic, and he tried to run, but Harry brought him back with a wave of his wand.
As he was dragged back, he brought his sword up to cut at Harry, but a Disarming Charm had the sword flying harmlessly from his hand. He cowered as he fell to his knees before him, begging in a language that Harry didn't understand.
When the man finally stopped his desperate pleas, Harry spoke hoping that maybe something would get across, "Where am I?"
"Ahhh," the man smiled, a gold tooth showing in the back right, "Westerosi, then?"
Harry had no idea what a Westerosi was, but he was just pleased that the man understood him, "Sure, but you didn't answer my question."
"You're on the island of Grey Gallow's… in the Stepstones, my friend." His accent was rich with rolling 'r's.
There was a part of Harry that just wanted to scream in the wind. So yes, I'm very from Scotland… with no idea how to get back! He was meant to die, but instead he was gods only knew where.
The man returned to his feet hands out in surrender, "You're lost, that much is certain. Follow me, and perhaps we can help you find your way."
Looking the man over, he didn't have many other options. He could keep roaming the island, but eventually he'd just find himself right back where he started, but hungrier and thirstier without any fresh water in sight. There was no going home, at least not yet, and that meant he needed to figure things out. Pointing his wand at the man, "Try anything, and you'll regret."
He laughed, deep in his belly, "I've seen what you can do firsthand. I don't intend to make the same mistake again." He dropped his hands and smiled, "I am Barbo, and I think you and I are going to become firm friends."
"Harry," he offered back, "and I suppose only time will tell."
"Your Grace," Lyonel began with his usual deference, "we're hearing strange reports out of the Stepstones."
Viserys looked to his Hand, ignoring the pinching pain in his back. The treatments for his condition only did so much, but he weathered them still, "And they are?"
"Your brother's crown appears to be at risk," Lyonel said it evenly. He didn't share the same distaste for the prince as his predecessor.
The king frowned, still nonplussed by his brother's impudence in the Narrow Sea. Both Daemon and Corlys were simply foolish for playing at war because of imagined slights. Not that the Seven Kingdoms were complaining about the Triarchy's loss of power there. Their tolls to safely pass had been outrageous, and many Westerosi sailors bemoaned their ownership of them, "Has the Triarchy responded then?"
"That wouldn't be odd. No, it appears that someone has unified the pirates that remained hidden away on the islands and turned them into a fighting force." Lyonel continued, conceding, "Though it's likely that the Triarchy has had some hand in funding this campaign of theirs."
"None of this sounds strange, Lyonel." Viserys tapped the table in front of him impatiently.
"No, your Grace. What is odd, is the reports that they're led by a…" he hesitated to even say it, as he found it preposterous, but the reports came far too frequently and with ever increasing detail to ignore, "a magician."
"A magician?" Viserys repeated before bursting out into laughter. When he was done. he wiped his eye, "Ah, Lyonel, I've never taken you as one to jest, but truly that tickled me."
But the Hand wasn't smiling, "From all reports, it's no jest. They say he can produce flames, change the course of the winds, leave men petrified on the ground. And when your brother brought the dragons to bear, he raised the very sea to stop the flames. When they drew near to try and crush their ships with claw and tooth, he hurled great spikes that left the dragons struggling back to Bloodstone."
"Do we know who he is? Where he comes from? What he wants?" Viserys was no longer laughing. The mere implication that someone could withstand the dragons alone caused him no small amount of dread.
"All we know is that he's called Harry," Daemon managed to capture a few of the sailors as they made their way east out of the Stepstones, but there was little they could tell them, "They say he looks Westerosi, but knows nothing of the land. They say he's capable of… impossible things. Things that made the pirate Sarollo Saan swear fealty to him."
"The Martells have sent envoys, and Lys, Myr and Tyrosh, too. But supposedly, he turns them all away." But it was believed that he must be having clandestine meetings with at least one of the parties to fund his war.
Viserys contemplated the news for a few long moments as the rest of the small council sat on tenterhooks. When he finally spoke, he beat his hand against the table, "Send word to Daemon that should he have need of men in his campaign, he need only send the letter and the realm will answer." He frowned, "And send a messenger to this, Harry. If we can, we must find out what he's after."
Lyonel bowed his head as the king stood, "It will be done, your Grace."
The pale light of the moon was the only light in the room as the small council made their way into the chamber in a hurry. Viserys was there with them, wrapped in nothing but a robe as the Grandmaester went about lighting the candles in the room, "What news was so important that I was pulled from my bed at this hour?" He wasn't angry, merely curious as he looked at his advisors.
"Corlys and Daemon have conceded defeat in the Stepstones, your Grace." His Hand wore a grim visage, "The Triarchy and Qoren Martell have recognized this… Harry as King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea."
None of their letters had ever been given answer. He merely ignored them and went about his business of conquest. Which made his victory discomforting news indeed, but Viserys felt as though there was more, "What else?"
"There are rumors that Qoren has offered his youngest sister as wife to the new king." Larys continued for the Hand, "And that Lysandro Rogare has offered the hand of his oldest sister. There's talk that the Old Blood of Volantis, the Magisters in Myr, and the Archon in Tyrosh intend to make inroads of a similar nature."
"Save Qoren, I would think they'd hate the man," Viserys posed, "he has a rather clear hatred for slavery." It was true. The sailors under his command never took a man or woman to sale. Some were taken prisoner for ransom, but not even one had found their way to the markets of Volantis or Slaver's Bay. And when they found slave ships, they set the men and women held in cargo free.
"He's also capable of magics that rival those of the Rhoynish and even those of Old Valyria." The Grandmaester Mellos pointed out, "A reprieve from slavery surely seems like a small price to pay for such an advantage, especially should he pass that gift on to any of his progeny."
"If rumors are to be believed, they've already tried to rid themselves of him. But the Faceless Men made a single failed attempt and will do nothing more." The correspondences from Daemon seemed particularly unhappy about that point.
"There are sailors in the harbor this very moment who would tell you the Volantenes contracted a shadowbinder from Asshai for the task." Larys wore a small smile as he explained, "And that this new king used her own shadow to slit her throat."
Mellos coughed at the suggestion, "I'm sure some of these stories are only that, your Grace. Such magic is unheard of."
"And stories of that kind pile up every moon where Harry is concerned, Grandmaester." There was a deafening silence Larys' statement.
Finally, Viserys asked his small council, "Then what would you suggest I do?"
"Your Grace," Lyonel began cautiously, "the Princess Rhaenyra is of an age to wed. She is your heir and as such, if you were to offer her in marriage, she presents a far greater prize than any other could equal. A kingdom that will pass down to his sons… and dragons." There was no guarantee in Lys, Myr, Tyrosh or even Volantis that any child of the new king would have any real power. The same couldn't be said for the Seven Kingdoms.
"Allow him to slip away, into the clutches of the Martells or some Essosi, and how long until you or your daughter find yourselves with a new rival." Larys spoke into life there very thing that caused the greatest fear in Viserys. For the longest time, the only thing that presented any real threat to the Targaryen Dynasty was discord from within, but now… Now one man could see it toppled.
"Rhaenyra has traveled the kingdoms to decide on a suitor and seems no closer now than she was when she left." With a sigh, Viserys rubbed at his eyes, "I'll broach the subject with her, but the Seven know she can be a willful woman."
That same morning, only many hours later, Viserys waited in the small council chamber for the arrival of his daughter when someone entirely unexpected opened the door instead. He'd heard the beating of wings low in the courtyard of the Red Keep but thought it was Syrax, not Caraxes, "Daemon?!"
For over two years, his brother had been in exile. Unlike the last time he arrived in the capital, he wore no crown, only the look of a man defeated, "You received my letter?"
"Of the new king, yes." There was some of that old anger that festered in his chest looking at his younger brother, but there was another part of Viserys that was just happy to see him. Even if he'd nearly caused a terrible scandal the last time he'd been in the city, "What are you doing here?"
"I've seen this man's capabilities firsthand, brother." Daemon stepped over to the table and placed his hands upon it, "I thought I'd offer my counsel."
"Father?" Rhaenyra stood in the doorway looking resplendent. Her silver-gold hair was in a neat braid, and she wore a dress of black and red that left her shoulders bare. She blossomed into a beautiful woman over the years. The realm's delight. "You wished to see me?"
It was only then that she noticed her uncle, "Uncle Daemon," there was none of the childish enthusiasm she used to show him, but her smile was radiant at his presence, "it's so good to see you." He went to hug his niece as Viserys frowned. Their closeness had caused him no small amount of frustration but wasn't going to deny them a hug.
"If everyone has said hello, can we please get down to business." Viserys took his seat at the head of the table and gestured for his daughter to sit at his side. Daemon paced across from her.
"What's going on?" Rhaenyra asked.
"Your uncle has lost his kingdom," Viserys didn't mean it as a slight, but he couldn't help but find some amusement in the way his brother winced, "to a new king in the Narrow Seas."
"Harry." She said as a statement, not a question, before regarding her uncle, "Condolences for your loss."
"They're no great loss," Daemon tried to play it off.
"But the new king is of a great concern," Viserys cut in, "What can you tell me?"
Daemon thought for a few seconds before he spoke, "The man is dangerous… and having him as an enemy was far from pleasant. Three times I attacked the ship he captained in open combat, and three times Caraxes and I came out worse for it. The last time, my dragon was almost blinded and was only inches from losing his wing. We stopped sending Seasmoke into battle after he was nearly killed and then just two days later, nearly captured."
"All of this done by one man?" Rhaenyra was the one to ask the question. It was a relief to hear that she sounded intrigued more than anything.
"Yes, though that isn't all of it." Daemon sounded as though he respected his recent rival, "His ships, they cut through the water like Valyrian Steel, faster than the swan ships of the Summer Isles. And I've watched them disappear only to reappear behind us. And then there are the Stepstones themselves."
"What of them?"
"A city is forming on Bloodstone as we speak. Buildings of giant stone were built in days, hours even, but strong enough to weather any storm. And any fire, Caraxes singed them, blackened them but still they stood." His younger brother finally sat at the table with them, kicking his feet up, "Each time I faced them, I was treated to a new marvel… and yet, I can't help but wonder if it's only scratching the surface."
"And is there any truth to the rumors about the Martells, or the Rogares?" Daemon was a boastful man, and Viserys wouldn't put it past him to exaggerate the strengths and virtues of someone who bested him. But there was some genuine awe in his voice as he spoke about his adversary, and he didn't think that could be faked. It only made the news more worrying.
"Oh, yes." Daemon smiled, "Even before our little war ended, they were already sending emissaries offering aid and far more. I think Qoren would offer up every Martell from every distant tree of his family if it meant getting Harry to his side." The Dornish always proved a thorn in the side of the Targaryens. But they could become so much worse with a man like this. How long before they make open warfare if he forms a bond with them?
Rhaenyra stared at him intently, her amethyst eyes boring into him. When she spoke, her voice was almost frighteningly calm, "I take it this is why you've summoned me then? Do you mean to sell me to some self-styled king?"
Viserys raised his hand to stall her, "I merely wished to discuss the possibility with you. You're an intelligent young woman, Rhaenyra. You don't need me to tell you the ramifications of an alliance between the Dornish and the King in the Narrow Sea. Though, any potential partnership might have its issue. Should he ally with Tyrosh, or Lys, or Myr, and one finally gains the advantage in the Disputed Lands, there's every possibility they might turn their attentions west."
"He stood against Caraxes and Seasmoke, father. There's nothing to say he could withstand the full might of House Targaryen." Rhaenyra countered, "You're worries seem premature."
"True, there's no knowing how he might fare against Vhagar or Vermithor, should he find a new rider, not today anyway, but even to stand against Caraxes is no small feat." Daemon spoke up for his brother, "But what happens thirty years from now, if he sires a dozen children, each with this same power as he possesses?"
Rhaenyra frowned, quietly contemplating her uncle's words. Her father took the opportunity to council her, "Not all decisions can be made for love or desire, particularly when you mean to rule. Sometimes, unpleasant decisions must be made for the good of the realm. When you are queen, you'll understand that far better." He felt suddenly tired, down in his bones but that came and with with the days, "Though, as ever, I leave the final decision to you."
"For what it's worth, he's young and handsome enough." Daemon had seen him close enough to know, "And given the company he keeps, I'd reckon he's a fair bit more interesting than most of the lordlings you suffered during your tour."
The princess wore a little smile at that, before she turned to her father, "I'd like to meet him first. I refuse to marry someone that I've never met."
Viserys had to stop himself from breathing a sigh of relief. He was expecting more of a fight from his ever-willful daughter, but her own curiosity was enough to smooth the issue over, "If that is your desire than I will have a messenger sent to Bloodstone with an invitation by the end of the day."
"Very well," She looked between the two men, "is that all?"
"Yes, thank you, dear." She stood and placed a kiss on her father's cheek that left him smiling. He loved his daughter dearly, even in the moments when she made him want to pull his hair out.
"Have Mellos write the letter, brother." Daemon told him when Rhaenyra had gone, "I'll deliver it myself once it's done."
"And why is that? You've only just returned?"
"For two years I've been fighting in the Narrow Sea with the Velaryons by my side, and two years I've been bested at nearly every turn." He chuckled, "It would be good to see the man who bested me face to face. I would get the measure of him, as more than an adversary."
"He'll need to be quite the man to contend with my Rhaenyra."
Daemon grinned, "On that, we can agree."
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