79The sun had just finished cresting the horizon. Even the night was hot in the summer so far south. They worked from dusk until dawn and into the early hours of the day, but once the sun hung hot above them, that was when the men would take their well-earned rest.
Harry wiped a hand across his brow, and it came away wet with sweat. Even with magic, it was hard work building up a city from nothing.
Stonecutters worked diligently to get the hard rock of the new walls to the correct size, and then Harry did the work of half a dozen men to move them into place. He'd tried doing it with larger stones but found it wasn't worth the trouble. Alone, that was no small feat, but then there was the added issue, and intricacy, of fusing the stone together to create one seamless structure. The men who worked with him had grown accustomed to the casual displays of magic that came every time he was near them.
Many of them were rough men, former pirates and sell-swords in some cases who'd fought with him during his war. Others were wanderers who'd come from the poor quarters of the Free Cities or Westeros because of the promise that it presented. A select few were skilled tradesmen who saw a new opportunity. It isn't every day that a new city rises from nothing.
"At this rate, the wall will be done in another week." Merrill hailed from the Shield Islands of the Reach. He'd been apprenticed as a stonemason from the age of ten. Fifteen years later, he was accomplished at his craft. He was one of those skilled individuals who saw the opportunity that Bloodstone presented. His skills had been invaluable, and more than that, he was willing to pass down what he knew to any of the men who worked under them so long as they were curious and industrious.
"Once my business in King's Landing is settled, we should be able to make short work of it." He made his way over to a barrel of water to clean his hands of sand a sweat, "Once it's done, we can double our efforts on the water ways and wells." Despite being a small island, he intended to ensure that they didn't have to rely on outside trade alone for food.
"I'm sure you're counting down the days. What man in his right mind would want to spend his days in luxury courting the fairest maiden in the Seven Kingdoms?" Sarcasm dripped from every word. While Merrill had never been to the capital, he'd seen the princess from a distance during her tour of the Kingdoms.
"Gods know there are worse ways to spend my day," Harry had a half-smile, "But then, I can think of better ways to spend them, too."
Merrill shook his head, "Aye, I'm sure you can."
What Harry planned to say next was interrupted by a Charm telling him that someone was approaching his quarters at the Red Keep. He'd put it in place just in case he was needed.
"Seems that duty calls." Harry tilted his head as way of goodbye as he popped away and right into his quarters.
Knock!... Knock!... Knock!... Given the severity of the blows to his door, he was willing to wager it wasn't the first time that they'd tried. Still sweaty from his earlier labors, he opened the door to find one Ser Criston on the other side. Perhaps he wasn't waiting and merely taking his obvious distaste for me out on the door instead.
"Ser Criston…" Harry stretched as though he'd only just been woken, "I have to say this isn't quite the wake up I was expecting." There were a dozen different ways such an innocuous statement could be taken, but given his obviously less than favorable opinion, he was sure that Criston would think the worst.
The Kingsguard just looked at him, unmoved save for the creasing of his brow and a frown on his lips, "I'm sure." The silence that followed between them was noticeably uncomfortable.
Harry quirked an eyebrow, and asked, "Was there something you needed, ser? Or was your only purpose this morning to pull me from my bed earlier than I intended."
Criston looked him up and down, and Harry had the distinct feeling that he would happily crush his head with his morning star given the opportunity, "The king invites you to break your fast with him. I was instructed to retrieve you."
"Ah, very well then. Just give me a moment." He shut the door in Criston's face. His clothes were perfectly acceptable for toiling at Bloodstone but weren't nearly suitable for court. He changed quickly into a clean, scarlet doublet and dark pair of trousers.
When he opened the door again, he found Criston waiting for him exactly where he'd left him, "Shall we?" He found that the easiest way to get under the knight's skin was merely through a bit of joviality.
Criston's frown deepened as he turned and ordered, "Follow me"
"Your Grace." Harry added. More often than not, he preferred it when people forwent his newly acquired honorific, but he knew that Criston was doing it on purpose. And he wasn't going to allow some smarmy, self-important guard to get away with it.
"Yes, your Grace, follow me." He couldn't remember the last time he heard two words carry so much vitriol. One word, yes, but not two. After all, he could still remember the first time that Draco called Hermione a mudblood, or the utter fury any time Snape ever called him 'Potter.' Or the absolute loathing in Voldemort's voice when he said 'Dumbledore.'
He followed one step behind as they made their way through the keep. As their path took them around the courtyard, Harry decided to needle at the man, "It's quite the fine, white cloak you have. Has it ever gotten dirty?"
"Many men have tried, but it's a rare thing to see it actually happen."
"Rare things still happen though, so I suppose the answer is, yes." He saw the man's hand tighten on the hilt at his hip, "And were any of those men truly trying to kill you?"
"There were skirmishes in the Dornish Marches when I was barely a man grown and my father served as Lord Dondarrion's steward."
"That's right, I remember hearing a story about you… that you rose from humble beginnings to be one of the most renowned knights in the Seven Kingdoms. You'd think we'd be something of kindred spirits given our unlikely rise."
Criston snorted derisively, "Your rise came on the backs of sellswords, cutthroats, and all other manner of vile men that call the Stepstones home. My station is a result of my skill alone. I've bested many of the finest warriors in the realm at a dozen tourneys over the years."
His jibe about the men who served beneath him didn't bother Harry in the slightest. He knew that's what they were when he first came to them. There were a few that simply couldn't exist as anything else, and they'd been dealt with… harshly. The ones that remained, that were loyal to him, were still rough, but a far cry from the rabble he'd found when he first arrived.
Humming to himself, he focused on Criston's boast instead, "Quite impressive really, though it's rather sad that your prowess is reserved for jousts and melees."
"And have you ever carried a sword in your hand, your Grace? Have you ever felt the weight of a morning star as it crushes steel and bone beneath it." The Kingsguard snapped, stopping to turn and look at him.
"No," Harry said without a hint of regret, "I have no need of them."
"That's right, you have your magic." He nearly spit the word, "I think it all nothing more than a mummer's farce."
"And yet it contended with the might of dragons… it must be quite the impressive farce." His wand appeared in his hand, "Perhaps you need a more personal demonstration to assuage your doubts."
Perhaps it was a sense of nostalgia that made him do it, or maybe, despite being done by a disguised Death Eater, it really was funny. Regardless, Harry cast a transfiguration and Ser Criston quite suddenly disappeared, armor, weapon, and all. In his place was a black and white ferret. It barked angrily at him and tried to lunge and bite him.
"I don't think so…" The ferret levitated, twisting and spinning trying to get out of the invisible hold. He let him struggle against it as he chuckled, but only for a moment as he knew there was someone waiting on him.
Holding him level, he stared at the knight turned ferret as his voice lost all levity, "You don't like me, fine, that's your prerogative. Your opinions aren't important enough for me to care. But let this be a lesson, Ser Criston. There's only so much disrespect I'm willing to tolerate before I react. Do we understand each other?"
The ferret chittered at him, no doubt cussing him out, but after a moment it went slack and gave a single nod of its head. With another wave of his wand, Criston appeared just as he'd been before, no worse for wear. His hand went for his morning star, "Ah, ah, ah, that isn't a good idea. I'd really rather not have to explain to King Viserys why he needs to search for a new member of his guard." A light emanated from the tip of his wand, it wasn't any spell in particular but a dangerous warning he couldn't afford to ignore.
"Now, I believe I've kept the king waiting long enough. Shall we?" Criston's jaw tightened as his fingers flexed around the handle of his weapon. But then good reason won out over blind anger, and he gave a stiff nod. They made the rest of the way to Viserys' private quarters in silence.
When they arrived, Lord Commander Westerling was already waiting outside the door. As he saw them approach, he turned and opened it, "Your Grace, King Harry has arrived."
As Harry stepped through the door, he was greeted, "Good morning, my friend. Come in, please." He expected it would only be the two of them, but Rhaenyra was there as well. The table they were at was small and intimate as one would expect in the king's private quarters. The door closed behind him with both Kingsguard on the other side.
Taking in the room, it was clear that Viserys had a rather interesting hobby. The whole of Old Valyria, as described in as many histories as could be found was created in miniature right there in his quarters. As Harry passed, he found himself admiring one of the dragon replicas. It looked strikingly like Syrax, "This is impressive."
Viserys smiled, no doubt proud of the time he'd spent on its creation, "You're too kind. I'm sure you could achieve something far grander with just a small application of your magic if your demonstration at the feast was any indication."
There was some truth to that, but the faultless detail was something that even an exceptional conjuration would find difficult to replicate without a great deal of focus, "No, though I might be able to add a little bit of flare."
The dragon in his hand shook itself awake, still very much made of stone. It pushed out of his hand to soar over the miniaturized city. When Harry returned his attention to the king, Viserys was grinning from ear to ear, "You've only just arrived and already you're making improvements." He gestured to the seat to his left, "Won't you sit?"
Sitting down across from Rhaenyra, he offered her a devilish smile as they began to gather their food, "Apologies, princess, I forgot my manners, but good morning. Did you sleep well?"
He felt a great deal of satisfaction as he watched her cheeks redden ever so slightly as her tongue darted out to wet her lips, "Eventually, though I found sleep rather hard to come by after the excitement of yesterday."
"Rhaenyra was just telling me about your flight together." Harry doubted the king would sound nearly as pleased about that story if he knew how it ended, "There's nothing quite like riding a dragon, is there?"
"No, despite my magic, I'd never experienced anything like it."
"Very few ever get the opportunity. If I'm being honest, I'm surprised that Syrax allowed it, but then, you are something of a special case. Since the Doom, there've only been a hundred, maybe fewer… all of them Targaryen by blood." There was a hint of concern in his voice, and Harry could understand why. Their dragons give them power, and whether true or not, their command of the dragons is tied to their Valyrian ancestry. The idea that someone else could command that power must be worrying.
And that very concern went a long way to explain his presence in the capital, "Do you have a dragon of your own, Viserys?" He knew of Daemon and Caraxes, Rhaenys and Melys, Laenor Velaryon on Seasmoke, Rhaenyra on Syrax, and while he'd never seen it for himself, he'd heard of Vhagar, the largest living dragon, whose rider was Laena Velaryon. But as far as he knew, Viserys had no dragon.
"I did once, the mightiest of dragons. Belarion the Black Dread who carried Aegon during the Conquest and was the last living thing to remember Valyria before the Doom. Though by the time I claimed him, he'd grown old and slow. He died within the year, and I've never claimed another dragon since." It was just a statement of fact, and he didn't sound particularly disappointed by that fact.
They fell into a companionable silence as they took a few moments to eat. Harry was biting down on a sausage when he first felt it. A bare, dainty foot slowly traveled up along the inside of his calf. As he kept eating, trying to maintain his composure, it climbed up his calf to his thigh and then further inward.
Of course, it was just his luck that Viserys chose that moment to broach the topic that was truly on his mind, "Harry… I think it's only fair that I be honest with you."
"That sounds like quite a troubling sentiment. Have you been lying to me?" His eyes darted over to Rhaenyra as her foot continued to dig into his thigh, tantalizingly close to something just a little further up. The princess didn't give even the slightest hint that she was silently toying with him beneath the table, and her father was none the wiser.
"No, I wouldn't disrespect you like that. Your exploits alone demand more than that. But while I haven't lied to you, I've invited you here without telling you the full scope of my purposes." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, "I have little doubt that you've guessed them, if reports are to be believed you've been inundated with proposals from across Essos and Westeros."
Harry had to hold back a groan as he felt Rhaenyra's big toe wiggle against the tip of his now hardening cock, "I'm not sure what you mean…"
Viserys chuckled, "Come now, while I don't expect you to trust me yet, you must understand that there are those around me that have eyes and ears everywhere. Is it not true the Lysandro Rogare has offered his sister as your bride?"
That was the moment that Rhaneyra chose to curl her exploring toes, almost as though she were trying to pinch his shaft. Harry put down his cutlery far more harshly than he meant to and took a deep breath before responding, "No, it's true."
"And then there's Qoren Martell as well, and Lord Tyrell, and Lord Manderly, the Tyroshi Magistrate, the Sealord in Braavos and even the Old Blood of Volantis?" With every new name, Rhaenyra made a point of stroking along his shaft. He could feel the wet spot on his trousers forming as he leaked precum onto the soft fabric.
Glancing in her direction, she had a demure smile on her lips as she listened to her father talk. He gave her a warning look that had no effect as her dexterous toes continued their maddening work, "There's also been an invitation from Lady Jeyne Arryn…"
Thankfully, if Viserys noticed the exchange, he put it down to something other than the possibility that his daughter was mercilessly teasing him. Instead, he merely chuckled, "Lady Jeyne is a prudent woman. I would expect nothing less from my Aemma's family." His voice had a deep fondness for his first wife before he shook himself, "I won't patronize you by implying you don't know your own worth. These propositions you've received have their advantages, I'm sure you know."
Harry breathed heavily through his nose as Rhaenyra paid special attention to his crown. Her little toe slipped along the ridge of it while her bigger toe flexed around it. If it weren't for his dedication toward mastering Occlumency since arriving in this new world, for reasons of his own, he was certain he would've failed at maintaining a steady voice, "Dorne offers the greatest advantage of those you've mentioned. They're nearest to the Stepstones, with the exception of the Three Sisters, but unlike the Three Sisters, they offer stability."
"And Manderly, Tyrell, and Arryn are my vassals who I'm sure only hoped to improve their taxes as their ships passed through the Stepstones." It was a rather generous interpretation of their intentions, and one that Harry wasn't certain was true or not. Though, in all fairness, a considerable portion of the blood in his body was focused somewhere other than his brain.
"So, what is your proposal then?" He knew where things were going, and from the way that Rhaenyra massaged the length of his shaft with the ball of her foot, he was willing to bet she did too.
"I propose that we unify our two kingdoms through marriage." He smiled at his daughter, who offered a demure smile in return even as she continued to do such terribly illicit things beneath the table, "It is what every other caller that comes to your door proposes, but they can't offer the whole of the Seven Kingdoms to your descendants."
Leaning back in his chair, Harry looked between Viserys and Rhaenyra. Subtly, one hand drifted below the table to grab her incessant foot. Pleasurable as her ministrations were, he'd rather not peak at the table when he was trying to have a serious conversation.
He massaged the soft skin with his thumb as he considered his next words carefully, "It's an intriguing proposal, your Grace, and certainly, one that offers a great deal to us both." He knew that what interested these parties most was his magic, though even he didn't know if it would be passed down through his bloodline. There's no telling if things will be the same here as they were in my own world.
Viserys waved his hand, "Of course, I understand. Decisions like this should never be made hastily, especially when one is in our position."
Still holding Rhaenyra's foot, Harry sent a wave of magic right up through her leg that tingled right up to her sex. She breathed heavily through her nose as he watched her pupils dilate. With a wry smile on his lip, he addressed her father, "I appreciate your understanding, Viserys. But rest assured, I'll have an answer for you soon."
"And regardless of your answer, the hospitality of my home remains yours." Viserys was a pleasant man, almost to a fault, and it made it difficult to dislike him, "Now, there are other matters I hoped for your opinion on, but they can wait for another time." He seemed tired, and it was obvious that Rhaenyra recognized it too.
"Come, your Grace. I would escort you back to your rooms."
"Enjoy your day, Harry." Viserys offered a kind smile, "We'll speak again soon."
"Thank you for the morning meal, Viserys. It was… enlightening." With that, Harry stood as Rhaenyra followed him out. As they exited the room, the Kingsguard remained behind.
It was only after they turned the corner that Rhaenyra spoke up, "You seemed… ambivalent about my father's proposal." He wasn't sure if it was anger or insecurity that tinged her words.
"Far from it, princess. But given my position, I would be remiss if I didn't consider other possibilities."
"Other women, you mean?" She snapped.
"No, but your father isn't the only man with an interesting proposal." When he saw the frown on her face, he offered her some small piece of solace, "I've yet to meet any of the other brides that've been offered to me."
"Will you?"
"Maybe…" He knew that he was playing with fire, and he was rather enjoying it. Though I've always had a knack for getting myself into dangerous situations.
It was at that moment he found out that Rhaenyra was quicker than she looked as she pushed him against the wall. He was sure she hoped to look intimidating staring up at him with her piercing purple eyes, "You won't." While it missed the mark of intimidation, he did find it undeniably attractive.
He gave her a roguish smile, "Oh… in time, I'm sure I'll meet most, if not all of them. If I wed you, many of them would be at our wedding, I'm sure."
Rhaenyra's lips parted with a retort, but she couldn't seem to find the words. They parted again and he took the opportunity to lean down and steal a kiss. It was only then that speech returned to her, "You're incorrigible."
"I've spent these last years around pirates and rogues, it seems the least you could expect." Between them and Sirius in his younger years, he'd picked up a fair bit. He took her momentary distraction as an opportunity, spinning them around so that she was the one pressed against the wall, "Tell me, princess, did you do as I told you last night?"
"I…" She licked her bottom lip, and he watched as her neck bobbed, "Yes… I… three times I almost… but I remembered what you said and listened."
"Good," he leaned in close and let his warm breath graze against the soft skin of her neck. His words were hot in her ear, "If it weren't for your antics back there… I'd even make good on what I promised."
She whimpered low in her throat but managed to find the command and strength in her voice, "That's not fair."
"Plenty in life isn't," He kissed against her neck, "I suppose it just means you'll have to make do for another night…"
Her eyes were dark and desperate, and then he saw a light in them as she came up with a plan of her own, "Then so will you…"
If she thought that was going to work, she was sorely mistaken, "Rhaenyra," he kissed her on the cheek, "I promise you… the next time I cum, it will be on you, or in you, and when that time comes is entirely up to you." He finally pulled back so that he was looking her in the eye. Her chest heaved with every breath as she stared up at him as though he were something from a story, "Do you understand?"
Biting her bottom lip, she nodded up at him. As he heard the approached steps of a servant, he pulled away and offered her another roguish smile, "Excellent, princess, I'm sure I can make it the rest of the way myself. Perhaps we'll meet again later, there's more of the city I wish to explore."
As he left behind a breathless princess, he couldn't help but feel like his morning had gone brilliantly.
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