Cold kisses gifted from falling snow greet Harry as he opens his eyes.
The dense forest above him makes for a beautiful kaleidoscope of light as the rays break through their towering ancient trunks, encompassing him in all directions.
Hearing the sound of crunching makes him whip his head as the noise disperses the tranquil feeling pulsating from the trees, full of such old, dense magic, magic of the gods.
The sight that greets him is that of an old man. An old man dressed in robes of black, their ends frayed as they drag along the snowy floor.
Looking up into red eyes almost makes him flinch as the afterimage of Voldemort flashes in front of his eyes, only to fade into the visage of a pale-haired, frail man with a wine stain decorating the right side of his face.
"Fool, you fool." The soft but strong voice coming out of the pasty pale lips of the strange old guy surprises Harry as the man repeats that damned bird's words, albeit less mockingly.
Pulling himself off the ground, he hastily wipes the snow off of him, even if it is a dream, habits die hard.
He is dismayed to find the man stands taller than him, though he isn't surprised, as he is only a whopping five foot seven. Hopefully, the few years he has left to grow will allow him to sprout more, but he's not hopeful.
"Birdman, let's cut the small talk and just spit it out." Harry has never been the most respectful person towards asshats with an authority complex, and that won't change.
The old geezer's lip seems to twitch. "Insolent child, you do not realize the horrors that are-" Harry cuts him off.
"Why wait till now?" he asks, genuinely curious. The old man seems caught off guard, but he continues.
"Why wait till it's basically too late? You've been harassing me this whole time, but not once felt it was dire to warn me of this threat?" The disbelief in his voice is evident as he steps closer to the old man, whose stern gaze doesn't affect him as much as he thought red eyes would.
The old man seems to take a deep breath, muttering something about "just like Sheria," before rubbing his aged hand down his face, the pale and bruised veins contrasting against the red stain on his face.
The wind howls as the delicate snowfall becomes a furious flurry as the two seem to clash in a silent battle of raw power, the raven being the first to recede.
"Such power in such a young soul. I fear that such power will corrupt you," the man says. The genuine concern in his voice is the only thing stopping Harry from lashing out.
"Trust me, I didn't ask for this. All I want is my family to be safe and happy. If you're trying to warn me, save your breath." He can't help but quip.
"Haedrian," the stern voice of his grandmother makes him straighten as he watches the approaching procession. Looking to his left, he can see the impatience on Loras's face as the man waits for his secret-not-so-secret lover, Renly Baratheon.
"Sorry, Grandmother, I've got a lot on my mind." He placates. The woman is shrewd, but loves her family. Though anyone with eyes can tell Margaery is her favorite, being the only girl. Harry finds it understandable they'd attach themselves to her.
Death knows his mother isn't the best conversationalist when it comes to the intricacies of politics, which will be a must if his grandmother's and Margaery's wish to be Queen is to become a reality.
Unfortunately, with the betrothal between the Starks and the Lannisters, as anyone with a brain could tell, the children weren't of Robert Baratheon's seed.
Renly sent a message explaining how he's seeking asylum with the king being mortally wounded; he felt he'd be safer under the roof of his dear lover's family than with the cold brother that is Stannis, whom Harry has met sparingly.
The man is beautiful, Harry can admit, with fine features framed by dark brown curls and deep blue eyes shining with a warmth his other brothers lack. The man is certainly charismatic.
Renly reminds him of a more flamboyant Cedric Diggory, with the looks and the charm.
Harry gives Loras a teasing shove as he shifts with impatience while listening in on the conversation as Renly greets his father.
"Well met, Lord Mace. I truly thank you for the hospitality you've graciously gifted to me and my men," Renly says, charming his oaf of a father, who merely smiles as he responds, "It's an honor to be trusted with your safety."
"Please, come. My men will show your men to their new sleeping chambers."
"Gods know we have too many rooms and not enough people," Mace says before looking towards the steward of the castle, commanding the man to prepare a feast in honor of Lord Renly.
Harry watches as Renly takes the opportunity to ditch his father upon seeing Mace get distracted with planning the grand feast he wants to give Renly, most likely an excuse to eat, if Harry can be so callous.
The man gives Grandmother a kiss on the hand before speaking to her in a quiet tone as he leans back from his chaste kiss. The breeze sways throughout the courtyard, drawing the floral fragrance that hangs in the air, billowing around in a typhoon of scents.
Harry watches with mirth as Margaery flushes at Renly's compliments as he graces her with the same treatment he had with Olenna.
Harry knows of the king's death, though he's not sure Renly even knows of it, with him being on the road making haste, the capital sent out ravens proclaiming the death of the King and the succession of it, with Joffrey Baratheon being the new King.
"Oh joy," Harry thinks, but keeps his thoughts off his face as the two lover boys finally reunite, though they don't fall into each other's arms like the maidens in the stories.
Harry hates the bigotry of men.
"Renly," Loras breathes before continuing in a more curt tone, "I'm sorry for your loss. I don't know what I'd do if one of my brothers…" Here he trails off, leaving Harry to rub his shoulder, knowing how much his little brother feels, reminding him of his past—all self-righteous and bullheaded.
"Lord Renly," Willas says, coming towards them after having a few words with their grandmother. "I'm sure you're tired. If Loras would be so kind as to show you to your room…" His tone is knowing, but holds no judgment.
Said couple flushes before Loras scowls at Garlan, who lets out a boisterous laugh, having heard the comment. His dainty wife, Lady Leonette Fossoway, follows like a lost puppy, clearly still intimidated by the extravagance that the Tyrells offer.
Garlan had stumbled upon her playing her harp by the river on the morrow, and since then, they've been the maidens' fable.
"Ah, just remember, brother, not to scare the maids away," Garlan shouts as their brother practically drags the potential future king, or claimant.
Speaking of, Harry turns to Willas. "What did Grandmother have to say?"
Willas gives him a queer look before answering. "She's insisting that we let Father do what he will intend to do once he figures out there is a chance to make Margaery become Queen."
At that, Harry gives a quick look towards their ambitious grandmother.
While she is a great plotter, she hasn't really been in a war, and doesn't understand the stone-coldness that he's seen in Stannis through Renly's memories, as if Harry would allow anyone to seduce his family without knowing their intentions, and found more than he had thought the pretty boy would know of when he happens to skim the man's mind.
Renly, the former Master of Laws, knows a lot.
It's how he knew for certain that the children of the Queen are of incest.
"I think it's best to just let things run their course. I don't know what will happen if we change anything, and I feel like this is important for something." Harry admits after a second, feeling in his gut that this is a needed path.
He's not any seer or anything, but his instincts have usually led him right when he actually listens.
"Injuring the Hand in front of everyone," their father scoffs as he reiterates the story of Lord Stark getting assaulted by the Kingslayer, "like he's some common criminal. I always knew that man was no good."
"That dishonorable Kingslayer." The chins on his face wobble under the beard, Harry suspects.
"I can attest to that," Renly, ever the charismatic man, indulges their father like a pro. "I'm just thankful to be out of the capital."
"Gods know it's a dangerous place, even more so for someone who doesn't know the way of the south," Renly muses as he takes a sip of his wine.
Harry can see the byplay of Loras and Renly underneath the table as they play with each other's feet, though he's not going to ruin their fun.
"Lord Renly, what are your thoughts on the future King?" their grandmother inquires, her tone not indicating anything other than curiosity. Though anyone in her family can see the calculation in her gaze.
"Joffrey, he's… He's something." Renly seems to fumble for a moment before taking a deep breath.
"He's not my nephew." His tone is grim, making the hall go quiet before Willas snaps out of it and calls for the music to resume.
Their grandmother hums, a pleased look in her gaze as Renly goes to elaborate but is stopped as Willas, who doesn't seem to want to have this conversation in front of their father, begins to spin an extravagant story about something or another, he wasn't listening as the birdman from earlier is now back, and the same old man appears behind him.
"Now isn't the time, Haedrian." Harry can hear the urgency in the man's tone, causing him to be more alert.
"There will be a time where you must show them. But for now, you must remain patient, even when it seems impossible." Harry meets the eyes of the old man once more.
"Trust no one, but your family, your true family. Be on guard, child. Be on guard, for even your enemies are watching," the man intones, looking towards the open door, where a shadow that hadn't been there before seems to make Harry's mind whirl with suspicion.
What is that?
Before he can ask, the old man is gone, and he's back at the table, laughing at the story Willas had been telling.
Though his laughter is stilted, as his mind whirls with questions.
The night was frigid and dark, the wind howling as it whipped through the trees of the Wolfswood. Sirius, now Benjen Stark, pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, the thick fur doing little to stave off the biting cold.
It wasn't the weather that troubled him, though. His thoughts were fixed on his brother Ned and the children left behind at Winterfell.
Jon had been stubborn, as always, insisting that the Wall was the only place he could find himself. Benjen had tried to dissuade him, reminding him of his place in the Stark family, but Jon's resolve had been unshakeable.
In the end, Benjen had taken him to the Wall, hoping the boy would find the answers he was seeking.
Now, as he rode alongside Robb, helping him prepare for the uncertain times ahead, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.
Had he done the right thing?
Was Jon truly meant for the Wall, or had he led the boy to a fate that would only bring him more suffering?
Robb rode in silence beside him, the young man's face set in a mask of determination. He could see the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. He wasn't just the heir to Winterfell now, he was the man who would have to lead the North in his father's absence.
"I worry for them," Sirius muttered, more to himself than to Robb, his voice low.
Robb glanced at him, frowning slightly. "For Jon?"
"For all of them," Sirius replied, his eyes distant. "Ned, the children… Even Jon. Winter is coming, Robb, and with it, dangers we cannot even begin to imagine."
Robb nodded, his expression hardening. "I'll protect them, Uncle. I swear it."
Sirius sighs, placing a hand on Robb's shoulder. "I know you will, just remember you don't carry the burden alone. The North is strong because of its people, its unity."
"Don't forget that."
Robb looks at him, his blue eyes filled with the fierce determination of a Stark. "I won't."
They continue their ride, and Sirius couldn't help but think back to the days when he was just Sirius Black, when his worries were different. Now, as Benjen Stark, he carried the weight of an entire family on his shoulders, a family he would protect at all costs.
The wind howls again, and Sirius tightens his grip on the reins, his resolve is as unyielding as the cold Northern winds.
Harry found himself standing in the godswood of Winterfell, the ancient weirwood tree looming above him. Its red leaves rustled without wind, and it's carved face wept tears of blood that dripped into the snow, staining it crimson. He feels the ground shift beneath him, a heartbeat pulsing deep within the earth, resonating through his bones.
The scene rippled, and he was no longer in Winterfell.
The sky above him was painted in flames, a furious red that burned with the intensity of a dragon's breath.
He sees a throne of swords, but it was not the Iron Throne he knew, it was different, molten, as if it had been reforged by fire. A shadowy figure sat upon it, their features obscured, but their presence was undeniable, unyielding and cold.
Whispers filled the air, voices speaking in tongues he didn't recognize, yet their meaning was clear, "BURN THEM ALL!" The words echoed in his mind, each repetition louder, more insistent, until they became a deafening roar.
Harry tried to move, to speak, but found himself frozen, rooted to the spot as the world around him shifted once more.
Now he stood at the edge of a great abyss, its depths swallowing all light.
The scent of salt and the distant sound of crashing waves filled his senses. He recognized Dragonstone's silhouette against the stormy horizon, but the island was changed, corrupted. A storm raged above it, the clouds swirling into a vortex that consumed the sky. Harry feels a pull, a magnetic force drawing him toward the abyss, but he fights against it, resisting the urge to plunge into the darkness.
A figure emerged from the storm, cloaked in shadow, with eyes that burned like embers in the night.
They reached out to him, their hand wreathed in flame, and though their face was hidden, he felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity, kinship, even.
They opened their mouth to speak, but no sound came forth, only the sound of wings, hundreds of wings beating in unison, growing louder and louder until it became unbearable.
Harry gasped for breath as the vision shattered, leaving him in a cold, empty void.
Suddenly, the void was pierced by a bright light. Harry squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes.
He was standing before the Wall, its icy expanse stretching endlessly into the horizon, but something was wrong, the Wall was cracking, fractures spreading across its surface like spiderwebs.
He watches a single drop of blood fall from the sky, landing on the ice with a hiss. The crack widened, splitting the Wall in two, and from the darkness beyond came a figure cloaked in black.
Their eyes were a deep, bottomless blue, and as they stepped forward, the world around them froze, the very air turning to ice. Harry's heart pounded in his chest, an overwhelming sense of dread washing over him.
The figure raises a hand, and the earth trembles.
From the shadows emerged countless others, all with eyes of the same piercing blue, marching forward in unison.
As they advanced, the land itself began to die, the ground turning black and brittle, the trees withering away. A chill crept into Harry's bones, numbing him to the core.
Then, as quickly as it began, the vision ended.
Harry finds himself back in the godswood, standing before the weirwood tree.
The ground was no longer white with snow but soaked in blood.
The tree's face seemed to shift, the carved eyes locking onto his. The whispers returned, louder now, more insistent, "The dragon must rise… or all will fall."
The flickering candlelight danced with the rhythm of the evening chill that swept through Harry's chamber, brushing against his skin like a cool, soothing whisper. The air carried a certain stillness, an almost foreboding sense of calm that belied the storm of thoughts raging within his mind. The room was dim, shadows stretching across the stone walls, while crumpled wads of parchment, littered with his frantic handwriting, lay strewn across the cold floor.
Each piece was a testament to his restless nights, filled with anxiety and an unshakable sense of duty.
The faint scent of ink and burnt wax mingled in the air, grounding Harry in the reality of the task before him. His ink-stained fingers trembled slightly, betraying the tension coiling in his gut. The letter before him felt heavier than parchment had any right to be.
Every word he'd written seemed to weigh on him, a burden he couldn't ignore. It had to be perfect. It had to say everything he couldn't say aloud. He wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs, not caring that the ink seeped into the white fabric of his sleeping wear, staining it with his frustration.
He read the letter again, then once more, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes, once weary, now gleamed with a flicker of satisfaction.
This letter might be enough. It had to be.
The ink still glistened on the parchment, wet and vulnerable, with a flick of his wrist the ink dries instantly, then he carefully folds the letter, slipping it into a small, bottomless pouch filled with various things, a few practical, one particularly sentimental.
The thought gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the bond he'd left behind, but he pushed it aside. There was no time for that now.
He had made his choice, and he would have to live with it. He moves to the open window, the breeze carrying with it the faint sounds of the castle below.
Leaning out, he takes in a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs before releasing a soft, clear whistle.
The sound cut through the night, carrying with it a command only one creature understood. He smiles when an albino hawk appears from the twilight, swooping gracefully through the fading orange sky.
The bird's pale feathers glowed softly in the dim light, as if reflecting the last remnants of the setting sun. Meraxes, Harry named her, a tribute to a long-lost dragon, her pearl-colored plumage making the name feel right.
The hawk landed on her perch with a quiet elegance, her sharp eyes meeting Harry's. There was an intelligence in those eyes, one that Harry suspected was a result of the magic that bound them. She was more than just a bird now, something more… magical, perhaps even aware.
Stroking her soft feathers, Harry tied the small pouch to her raised leg, his touch gentle but firm. The familiar weight of his wand slips into his grasp, he feels the warm tendrils of magic flare in his hand eagerly, with a practiced motion, he pressed the tip of his wand to the pouch, casting a charm that would ensure only Sirius's signature could open it.
The charm hummed with protective energy, a safeguard against those who might wish them harm.
He gives one final stroke of Meraxes's feathers, Harry releases the bird into the night. He watches as she disappears into the deepening sky, her silhouette fading against the stars just beginning to emerge.
Below, the castle stirred with life, men preparing for war, his father making arrangements for a wedding. The world moved on, seemingly unaware of the struggles that plagued him.
Exhaustion seeps into Harry's bones as he crosses the room, the emotional weight of the day pressing down on him. He wondered, not for the first time, what the future held now that the wheels had been set in motion.
He can't ignore it anymore.
Not after tonight, not after that dream.
Every decision he made felt like another step toward a destiny he wasn't sure he wanted to face.
"You've decided then?" A voice, innocent yet unsettling, jolted Harry from his thoughts. His heart leaped into his throat as he spun around, wand aimed at the figure standing in the shadows.
Death smiled back at him, a mocking twist to their lips. "I've always wondered what that stick would do against me," they mused, their head tilting with curiosity.
Harry lowered his wand, willing his heart to slow. He should be used to this by now, but he wasn't. No one ever truly got used to Death's presence. It was always a jarring reminder of the inevitability that loomed over everyone, himself included.
"Did I scare you? It wasn't my intention." Death's voice carried a teasing note, though their smile suggested otherwise.
This time, they'd taken the form of a small beggar child, their appearance innocent, but the glow in their eyes betrayed their true nature.
"No, you didn't," Harry deadpanned, the Elder Wand cooling in his hand as he relaxed.
Death just shrugged, swinging their legs casually as they gazed out the window.
"Seems your family is having some sort of celebration. Your sister is to be queen?" Death's gaze shifted back to Harry, their eyes gleaming with an inhuman light that only Harry, or those close to death, could see.
Death had been appearing more often lately, and Harry thought they weren't supposed to interfere much in this universe.
"Why are you here?" he pressed, quickly realizing how rude that might sound. "You've been more active lately. I thought you couldn't interfere with us mortals?"
"Mortals, yes." Death allows, their voice drifting as they watch the people below, oblivious to the doom that might await them.
Harry's frustration mounted.
"What are you implying?" he asked, though he knew Death would only reveal what they wished to.
Death remains silent for a moment, staring out at the fields beyond. "You aren't the first," they finally spoke, their voice ominous, "but you'll be the greatest."
'It's about time a god roams the realms of men again,' Death thought, knowing the boy before them wasn't ready to hear just what his fate entailed.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harry exclaimed, only to realize Death had vanished. He growled in frustration, spotting a slip of paper where they had been sitting.
-You'll find a future friend in Skagos. Be wary, though, as one wrong move and you'll be on the end of a blazing inferno-
"Skagos?" Harry muttered to himself, vaguely recalling the island. The words on the note were cryptic, as usual, leaving him with more questions than answers.
A knock on the door and the sound of his name pulled him from his thoughts.
Harry could ponder this later.
If it were urgent, Death would have been more direct.
He turned just in time to see auburn hair peek through the door, accompanied by a nervous voice. "M'sorry, my Lord, Lady Margaery slipped past me," the young guard stammered.
Harry waved him off, his focus on Margaery as she gracefully settled on the spot where Death had just been.
Smiling gently, he replies, "Well, Ser Darey, she is a slippery one."
"Don't let it beat you up; just make sure you don't let anyone else get past you." He flashed a charming smile, amused by the flush that crept up the guard's ears.
Ignoring his sister's snicker, the man bowed and exites.
Once the door closes, Harry activates the silencing wards and turns to Margaery, who is now reading the note left by Death. Her legs were crossed under her silk skirt, gently swaying as she dangled the paper tauntingly.
Her playful laugh made him smile as he snatched the paper from her hands.
"Who is this friend in Skagos?" she asked, tilting her head so her hair cascaded over one shoulder as she leaned to the side, resting her head on her hand.
"The North is so far away; I didn't think you'd have any contacts there, yet."
"I don't know," Harry replied, "Skagos is just something my friend insisted I needed to see."
"Though with all this," he gestured pointedly, "and your wedding…" He knew she was trying to distract him from why she was really here.
"I want to be queen." She said after a moment, her form slumping as she peeked up at him through the veil of her hair.
"You will be." Harry reassured her, puzzled by her bitterness, only to receive a scoff in return.
Her gaze turned distant as she looked out the window at the men below. "Even you can't be so naïve as to think Renly has the slightest chance to succeed, even if he wins the war."
"He's the youngest born. His claim isn't that strong unless he wants to kill his brother, but who would want to follow a kinslayer?" She paused.
Harry stayed silent, letting her vent. He had become their confidant, their therapist of sorts, and he accepted the role without complaint.
"Loras loves him," she said softly after a second. "He says it's okay, that I can do this, but no one asks if I want this."
"Grandmother is so blind to the possibility of me being queen that she doesn't care how it happens."
"Is that selfish?" She whispers.
"To want to be queen, but to only want to be *the* Queen?"
"Not selfish. You'd make a great queen, Margaery," he insists she would, she is kind and has so many wants for the small folk, she is more kind than him, that is for sure.
"I will be there to support you, if not I'll just make you your own kingdom and crown you myself."
She giggles, "you would, wouldn't you?"
Margaery then eyes him skeptically, her face showing disbelief. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"If you really want this, then I'll do everything I can to help you achieve it, just remember your life is more valuable than some crown."
Margaery's gaze softens as she observes her brother, and a realization dawns on her.
"How far would you go, for me to achieve my dream?" she asks, her voice nonjudgmental, just intrigued.
Harry didn't hesitate, "To the ends of the world."
He looks back at her, his emerald eyes reflecting the determination burning within him. "For you, Margaery, I would move mountains."
She smiled, a mix of gratitude and sadness in her expression. "And what about you?"
"Harry? What do you want?"
The question caught him off guard.
What did he want? His thoughts drifted back to the letter he had sent, to the figure of Death that haunted him, and the future that seemed so uncertain.
"I…" He hesitated, unsure of how to put his feelings into words. "I just want to protect the people I care about. I want to ensure that they're safe, that they're happy."
Margaery reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "You've done more than enough, Harry."
"It's time you started thinking about what *you* want."
Harry looked down at her, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"What I want…" He trailed off, his thoughts swirling with possibilities. "I want a future where we're all free to make our own choices, where we're not bound by duty or obligation."
Margaery squeezed his arm gently. "Then we'll make that future together."
The words hung in the air between them, a silent promise of support and unity. Harry nodded, feeling a sense of resolve settle over him. He would do whatever it took to ensure that Margaery got the future she desired, and perhaps, in the process, he could find his own path as well.
"Now, get some sleep," Margaery said, her voice taking on a gentle yet firm tone. "You've been up all night."
Harry chuckled softly. "Yes, my lady." He bowed slightly, earning a light smack on the shoulder from his sister.
"Don't be cheeky," she chided, but her smile softened the words.
Sirius lashes another strike into the tree feeling the tremor as his blade shakes from the force. His body coated with sweat despite the cold, as he throws another swing at the tree feeling the familiar hatred bleed through his veins, the same hatred he had when he found out Peter betrayed them.
Caw!
Stopping mod swing he looks up at the achingly familiar noise, with desperate hope his gaze climbs up to find a hawk, odd but not as unusual for a messenger bird, even in the wizarding the more pompous would use them. Their coloring is odd and beautiful, glistening like the snow of his land. He's never seen a white hawk.
A package attached to their foot catches his attention.
Feeling something he hasn't felt in almost thirty years, he lets out a barking laugh as he eagerly holds out his arm letting the big beast land on his arm not even caring about the cuts as he unties the package from the bird.
The pulsating magic coming off of both the bird and the package makes him want to weep on the spot, he thanks the God's that he's alone or he'll die of embarrassment.
"Thank you," he says, his throat suddenly heavy with emotions. The bird quickly takes off only to land on the lowest branch giving him an inpatient look.
With a shaky smile he gently opens the clothes bag. Immediately a folded piece of parchment paper springs up the scratchy calligraphy, the words hey Siri written on the front makes him release a whimper he couldn't hold back.
"Pup." He murmurs picking the letter, gently running his thumb over the words.
Setting the bag down he sits wincing as his but hits the cold snow, but ignores it in favor of the letter, everything else disappears.
Hey, Siri,
It's been a wild ride.
That makes him laugh, if it's a little wet only he'll know.
Pads I'm sorry.
When I first got here I was a baby, not that that excuses my actions or lack thereof, but I and you know it would have been to dangerous and stupid for me to uo and go look for you.
I hope you grew up in a loving family like I have.
That makes Sirius smile knowing James and Lily would love for Harry to experience some sort of childhood.
The Tyrells are a fun bunch, I'm sure you and my brother, and can you believe I have brothers!
Anyway you would love Garlan, he's a marauder in the making…I don't want to speak about this over a letter so I had Meley's -the hawk- carries with him a pouch full of things you'll be happy about, and some provisions though how you'll explain that is on you.
'The little shit,' Sirius thinks with a wobbly smile.
Opening the pouch more he peers in his eyes widening at all of the stuff piled in and that's just what he can see, reaching into the pouch his arm disappears as he blindly feels for what's in there too impatient to read more, his eyes widening as he feels a familiar object.
The circular objects can't be what he thinks.
Pulling his arm out he hastily examines the handheld mirror crafted with such intricacies that he can't help but admire the heart felt object. The silver rim around the reflective glass being engraved with an achingly familiar wolf chasing a prancing stag. His eyes tear up as he follows along to see his own animagus nipping at the wolf's tail the words mischief managed scratched in the same handwriting from Harry's letter. Or should he say Haedrian.
Knowing you, you've already broken the seal, so to speak.
So I'll just keep it short.
I will save your family, use what I've given you to worry about your people, Winter is coming and a long night is ahead.
Stay safe, Snuffles
-Pronglet
"I'll save your family? Pup you're my family." He mutters, feeling the shame from his actions from his old life rush back with a vengeance.
"Sorry pup, it's a little too late to draw back now." He mutters tightening his hold on the mirror, feeling the soothing magic of Harry pulsing from it.
Sirius had heard the footsteps of Robb king before the raven arrived and waited silently while thumbing the mirror achingly wishing to use it, but knows it's better to let Harry approach him first.
Turning to the auburn boy, taller than most men as he speaks up, "Uncle?" Robb inquires, Sirius can see the confused intrigue in his blue eyes, the moon light making them seem like the deep sea. "Is that from one of your friends?" The tiredness in Robb's voice makes him wince.
Waving Robb to sit next to him, he turns to give the hawk a look, idly noticing a glow in their eyes as he speaks, "you could say that." He offers with a warm smile feeling like he's looking at Harry as he stares into the avian's eyes.
298 A.C. Highgarden,
A little bird makes its way throughout the halls of highgarden, their master lord Varys has been trying to instill more eyes in the Tyrell household with little success.
They can hear the commotion outside even from a distance as the Lords and Ladies celebrate the union between house Tyrell and house Baratheon.
They have only have a little window to make word to the Spider, they must let-
"What do we have here?" The small child stills feeling the oppressive eyes of a powerful person baring into their soul. A street urchin like them has to alway be wary and aware of eyes with dark intent, sometimes they could get away.
Other times…they'd like to forget.
Slowly allowing their mind to calm they turn only to feel their eyes widen as the third son of the Tyrell's stands before them. The amusement in those eerie eyes do nothing to quell the fear that steadily rises, they've been here long enough to know that the man before them is more.
" Now, don't be scared." Lord Haedrian says probably trying to reassure them, but fails.
They know how men are, and what they know isn't good.
"Mi-milord?" They ask trying to appear smaller, knowing that if they appeal to their ego, it's easier.
Lord Haedrian doesn't say anything just staring at them, though they don't get the oily sensation that comes from the creeps who find their small frame appealing.
No, instead of that they feel like their whole story is being played.
They can see memories even they forgot, or never knew until now.
They feel tears leak down their face as the faint feeling of being cradled by their mother resurfaces with a raging roar.
They have been on their own since their fourth nameday, their mother passing from the harsh conditions of the slums, no matter where you are the slums are the same.
Poverty, crime and death. Repeat.
They feel the phantom hands of the memory, the man who reach for them, took them into a dark corner and-
They wobble with a small whimper, feeling like someone picked their mind and rearranged it. Stern hands catch their body as they topple, keeping them balanced as they regain their breath.
Looking up into the powerful gaze knowing they did something, when the Lord speaks they feel a warmth invade them, "Such a brave thing you are."
They feel a flush creep up as they try not to squirm under the ethereal gaze.
They're so confused, but instinct tells them the being dressed as a man wouldn't hurt them without instigation.
"Milord, what? I-" they try to speak, the thoughts of reporting to Varys slip their mind as they get lost in the kind gaze that is bestowed on them.
"Breathe," the gentle command does it, causing their chest to loosen as if a string has been cut, taking a deep breath they greedily accept the air in their lungs.
"I will not harm you for doing what you must to survive, little one." Lord Haedrian says the nickname with a genuinenesses that Varys lacks, not that they're under any delusion that the man truly cares for his birds.
They're just useful tools to spin the Spiders web.
Taking another deep breath they feel their spinning mind slow down hearing the man intone sofly, keeping them steady but not crowding him, "There we go," if it's all a ploy then they can commend the lord for his acting.
The softness of the fabric tickling their nose makes a startled giggle escape their lips as the man stands up, they swallow as the demeanor of him becomes stern.
"Now, I have but one question for you," the statement catches them off guard.
"If you could have anything, what would it be?" The man's smile seems to widen at their dubious expression.
——
299 A.C. Harry's chambers.
"Master," Death speaks his tone showing no urgency despite the situation they became aware of.
Watching with amusement as Harry yelps spinning from his position he had been in on his bed, barely dressed in anything other than the silk pants tied to his slim waist. Having been fiddling the silly mirror their master is too much of a coward to use.
"Holy fucking, fuck." The deity merely stands as the former mortal scrambles off of the floor having been startled off upon their entrance, absolutely not their intention at all.
"I'm sorry, but there's an urgent matter you need to be aware of if you wish to save your dogfather's brother." The deity may not be able to interact with the ways of the universe, but their unique little deity in the making has the burden and privilege to transcend the rules beings like them are supposed to follow.
Almost like the Great Other , but, if they're biased can anyone blame them, more powerful than anyone has seen in the ages of mankind, especially in this world.
Having an assassin guild dedicated to them is amusing, if a little inaccurate, Death doesn't need to give anyone the gift , for they are inevitable.
When they die isn't of concern to Death.
How one dies isn't a concern to Death.
Nothing truly concerns Death, for all they need to do is wait.
But they find themselves adoring the fiery human before them.
And with affection comes nepotism.
Leaning on his bed Harry wills his heart to slow, despite the connection he has with Death he is still startled every time the deity shows, a feeling he feels won't fade. Giving Death a withering look feeling faint amusement coming from the deity.
Who appears in the form of a frail old common woman, skin tan and scared showing the hard life the woman led before meeting her end. His curiosity gets the better of him,"who are you wearing now?" He asks their kind eyes not to fool Harry for one moment, knowing the eldritch entity behind the facade.
The old crone's face seems to stretch as a sinister smile crawls upon the deity's face,"no one of importance, a common woman who lived in the slums of Kings landing, commendable for her to have evaded me for so long given her circumstances." The way the deity can speak about the suffering of someone like the weather should make Harry afraid, but he finds that he can't condemn the deity for human restrictions.
It would be an insult to such a being, a finality.
"What is it you came here for?" He speaks, pulling himself from his curiosity, knowing the deity will indulge him until the end of time.
Death tilts their head, their aged hair stiff as they speak "Ah, my apologies master. Your dogfather's brother is about to be executed in a day's time." This causes Harry to straighten,"what do you mean?" He asks in confusion, his hand going towards the mirror his instinct to call Sirius.
They had spoken, albeit a little awkwardly after Meraxes had come back.
After getting past the awkward stage they eventually got to speaking.
he'll always be Sirius's pup.
Those words spoken to him had brought tears to his eyes, the blasted hawk gave him a knowing look snickering if he could as the two men wobbled and cried into the tiny mirrors.
They eventually spoke of their respective families, the way Sirius speaks of his nephew Jon makes Harry smile despite the small slip of envy. It's clear how Sirius loves the shy wolf as his godfather has coined the boy.
They, Jon and him seem to have some common traits in Sirius's words. The shit mentioned they both have a brooding problem.
"The hand of the king will be trialed in front of the realm by the next evening. Eddard's children that went with him are separated after his younger daughter Arya escaped with the littledove Sansa is left hostage and play-thing for the boy-king." Death recites with no emotion.
"Alright, shit." He slumps onto his bed putting his head in his hands,"I thought we had more time." He bemoans into his palms, standing up after his mini fit.
He ignores the cold stone that touches his feet as he walks off the thick rug stationed under his bed, ignoring the deity as he makes his way to his closest, the size still makes him marvel silently being big enough that a dornish horse could turn around without difficulty.
The clothes and fabrics that adorn his wardrobe could fund an army if he so chose to sell them. Articles of clothing, silks of Naath and even robes from Yi Ti being gifted to their family through various foreign merchants
Most he met personally during his stay at Hightower.
Ignoring the blasted clothing from pompous brown nosers he goes to the back where his personal clothing and 'armor' is stashed.
Muttering in Parseltongue he watches as the chest opens revealing the contents all of which he keeps hidden, some even from his siblings. Picking up the dark material that seems to shimmer, grasping the fabric he looks back to Death, "Do you think you could change this into something more practical?" He asks, holding said cloth in front of him.
Looking up in question he only is met with a bemused look on the aged face, their croaking voice almost mocking if not for the fondness hidden in their tone,"Silly master, the hollows are yours all you must do is will it and it shall be done." The deity intones trying to make their master aware of his might, but must follow certain laws and can't interfere with his ascending.
Or the test given to him.
Harry, not aware of the deity's thoughts, looks down at the hollow, running his thumb across the fabric he can feel the impression of joy as they are being held in his hand, making him feel guilty for locking them up, with that in mind he absently slips on the fabric as if compelled. His eyes widened startled as a feeling of something latched into his being.
Looking up to Death he is reassured to see the calm gaze grounding him as the longest hollow he's held seems to mold into his shirtless body forming in to only to startle as instead of the invisibility cloak in to a simple dark grey shirt with a knee length trench coat with faintly exhibiting floral patterns that are ethereally etched into the fabric. The patterns seem to glow ever so softly before dimming contently.
"Wha-" he asks but can't form the words.
Death decides to humor their master, "The hallows seem to have taken offense to your abandonment, the cloth adorning you seems inclined to never leave your person and as such has taken a more convenient look. " Their face soothes out as they let their scared lips rest.
"I see," they can see that he doesn't, but it's not of importance.
Harry decided to do what he does best and ignore the things that don't make sense. Leaning down he slips off his pants, letting them pool as he reaches for his clothing he had in place of the invisibility cloak, but seeing as the stubborn fabric doesn't want to let up he pushes them aside in favor of his beloved pair of Dragon hide boots, gifted to him by Death on his eighteenth nameday, which had been two years ago, feeling they would cause too much attention he achingly put them away.
But now he's done hiding, well as much as he's willing, despite the relationship he has with his grandfather, he doesn't trust the Citadel as far as he could throw them.
He read the records of how they plotted to kill the dragons, the Targaryens he could care less for, but the dragons shouldn't have been punished for the deeds of men.
After securing his boots on he starts to stand up, but stalls, his eyes settled on the gleaming stone, the infamous Resurrection stone. The inky black jewel sounding eerily similar to the black stone of Sothoryos.
A coincidence he doesn't think so.
Sloping the damned thing on he winces as the metal seems to bite his middle finger drawing blood before reforming to fit his finger, the snugness suggesting he's gonna be getting used to it on his person.
Actually standing he gently shuts the chest ignoring the warmth radiating from the scaled stone within the chest, a gift from his mad aunt before his departure back home, something that had startled him.
He casted a warming charm on them before shoved them in the farthest part of the chest he could, hoping the further they are the less he'll think of them.
He turns only to see the deity inches away from him, their visage faded as the indescribable being stands before them, their presence shifting with power as they bore into him, instead of the passiveness they once had the oppressing aura that he theorizes only he could stand without going insane. Looking down feeling the poke of something pushing into his chest he goes to ask what the deity is intending to do with the elder wand, but before he can speak the words Death pushes the wand into his chest.
He's grateful for the silencing wards or the whole castle would have heard his screams as the final piece of the puzzle sears into his person forever changing him and the universe as a whole.
Death feels the weight and burden of being the entity of balance lessen as another takes his place coexisting for the ends of time, one left to observe and one left to experience.
"What. The. Fuck. Was. That?" Death can feel the power resonating in each word and feel the breath of life leave Harry's lips in every exhale. Physical the ascension is complete, mentally the godling needs more time.
"I'm sorry master, it was a must. I thought best if I kept you unaware rather than worry you with the anticipation, I apologize if I overstepped my bounds," they reply dutifully, but they both know Death doesn't need permission.
With a wince Harry picks himself off his closet floor waving off the deity only saying "A warning next time."
"I'm not fond of surprises, especially ones that end in pain." Harry can't help but snark as he rubs his sore chest, feeling the essence of the wand in his core.
"Not that I'm com- okay, why did you do that?" He can't help but feel confused.
"You don't need to use the wand, and if it fell in the wrong hands even in this world it could cause havoc, albeit on a smaller scale than it would have in the hands of a born Wizard." Death replies, seeming to shrug its face back to the aged hag.
"Was now really the best time?" Harry can help but ask as he returns to his room gathering a satchel he prepared in case of an emergency.
"Master time isn't on the realm of man's side, now that you're putting an active role in this I have my own duty." The being doest elaborate but Harry could care less.
Opening his door he absently nods to the guards as he passes, noting that death has taken the form of a black cat and is trailing him as he makes towards Willas wishing for his opinion.
Upon reaching the man's quarters he knocks softly, the guards being used to the siblings weaving between rooms throughout the years. The quiet come in makes him smile as he here's the distracted tone in Willas's voice. He must be reading up on one of the scrolls Malora had sent moons ago, battle strategies of old.
"Will, I need council on an urgent matter. " Harry says, cutting the small talk as he sits down next to his eldest brother.
Willas is a well read man and most certainly the smartest in his biased opinion, Harry waits until Willas closes the scroll and gives him his full attention. "The hand of the king is in danger." He says in the simplest way he can think of.
Leaning on his forearms Willas looks into his eyes various scenarios flickering throughout his gaze, his head tilted not unlike Death, after a second he allows "The Starks are a prestigious house,"