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Chapter Text

The Antlered Lion

Being reborn wasn’t as easy as the books had made it seem. From the clinical words that had been written in all several dozen of those books that he’d read, all one did was complete the self-sacrificial ritual and die in one world and merely slip into a ‘spare’ body in a different world. Not one of those books had mentioned anything about being physically reborn, of entering a brand new body of an unborn baby while still in the womb.

Thankfully Harry remembered very little of his own time in utero, or his own rebirth, and most of what he did remember was limited to how cold he’d been once he’d been born. It had chilled him all the way to his bones, a discomfort so great that he had only settled when he’d been placed in a bowl of lukewarm water, which had taken the edge from his chill, before he’d been wrapped in a warm blanket and allowed to go to sleep to recover from the ordeal.

He tried not to actively cast his mind back that far, however, as he had no wish to remember any of it, though thankfully the wet nurse who had given him suck as a babe had no longer been needed once he had been weaned, thus he didn’t have to see her around the Red Keep as a constant reminder of what he’d been through.

He was older now, two years old, but he knew things that no two year old should. He knew to be quiet, to watch and listen, and how to retain and use the information that he overheard. He knew to hide in the shadows, he understood what was being said around him, he knew things a forty year old man would know, as mentally, thanks to the ritual he had performed, he was now almost forty years old.

He knew that people found this behaviour strange, odd, he’d even heard the words queer and unnatural being thrown his way by people who believed he couldn’t understand them as a mere two year old toddler, but he had no care, they couldn’t possibly ever figure out the truth of his existence so he didn’t let it bother him.

Sometimes he was still surprised that the ritual had even worked at all, even if not in the way that he had originally interpreted it. He’d thought that he’d be going into a body like his old one, that of a thirty-six year old, or at the very least the body of an adult male. Finding out that he was in the body of a helpless newborn with his thirty-six year old mind had been rather…distressing at the time, but he had adapted quickly and he’d come to realise that this way was better. This way he could be ‘odd’ right from the beginning, instead of taking over an adult body and having his mind, memories and personality completely change who that person had been and likely getting him killed, especially in this rather medieval world he’d landed in. The change would have been called everything from witchcraft to demon possession and he’d have been executed for it, he was sure. So despite how much he really didn’t like being unable to control his own limbs and functions, becoming a newborn again was by far the better way, even with as traumatic as it had been for him.

He had watched and observed everything, and everyone, from the very moment of his birth, though he could only really remember clearly the last year, maybe a little more, but the secrets of the Red Keep, of King’s Landing as a whole, were enough to puzzle even him, a thirty-eight year old in a two year old body.

There were so many plots and intrigues floating around, some of them even to do with him. It was from these little whispers, sitting and listening, that he’d found out that his own mother, Cersei Lannister, had tried to poison him twice, the first time while he was still in the womb (which Harry believed to be the point at which the real baby had died and he had taken over) and the second time just after his birth. He had taken a fever that had spiralled out of control, he had been shaking and convulsing, he had a clear memory of his mostly absent father, Robert Baratheon, (who he now knew had been away fighting a rebellion that had won himself a throne and Seven Kingdoms) holding him to a bare chest that was thick with black hair, looking down at him as if utterly lost, helpless and afraid, but so terribly angry. Harry remembered the shouting, yelling, even a crash of furniture being kicked over, but he could not recall any words, no matter how hard he tried.

After that night of being held in huge, strong hands, Harry’s magic had overcome the poison in his body, burning it off before it affected him overly much, and his fever had broken. It had taken him almost a turn after the fever had broken to fully recover. His mother had not dared try to poison him again after the first attempt had failed, not with so many people hovering around him, watching him so closely, and with a Maester constantly on hand and checking him every other hour. Or so she had whispered furiously to her twin brother, Harry’s uncle, Jaime, while they both believed him to be a mere baby, unable to comprehend, or remember, such words spoken above his head. He still remembered Jaime’s cold reply.

‘Just throw him down the stairs. No one need know, we could blame the wet nurse.’

That only hadn’t happened because his supposed mother had believed it too risky to pull off while her father was around, watching them closely. Harry had been wary of them both ever since. He whined when his mother picked him up, however rare that was, and the only time that Jaime had been asked to hold him he’d screamed so loudly and furiously that he’d vomited milk onto that pristine, polished armour. He’d been handed quickly to an older man, with a bald head, but thick, golden sideburns. He had amazing green eyes with gold flecks in them and Harry had quietened, just staring up at those captivating eyes. He had learned that that man had been Tywin Lannister, his maternal grandfather, who thankfully seemed to bear him no ill will, unlike his son and daughter, Harry’s own mother.

But regretfully Harry didn’t stay near Tywin for very long. Harry had been born in Casterly Rock, in secret, but Tywin had been away at war, his father had been away at war, though thankfully Jaime had only come for a fleeting, surreptitious visit to make sure his sister had survived the birth and then he had gone back to the capital, where his job was to guard the insane Targaryen king.

Shortly after Tywin had finally come home to Casterly Rock, when Harry was over a year old already and when the war was assumedly finished, Harry had been moved to a new home, King’s Landing, and there he found out the sorry state of affairs that was his mother and father.

It was incredibly sad to see the joke that was the parents he had been given in this world. Before, he had had parents who had loved him so much they had been willing to die for him. In this world he was barely acknowledged and they were actually trying to kill him. His mother purposefully and his father indirectly.

Looking upon the both sets, no matter how much it hurt him, he would have rathered Lily and James, his loving yet deceased parents. This sickening existence of perpetual loneliness while he actually had living parents, and extended family, all around him was somehow much worse.

His parents’ relationship was toxic. There was no other way to describe it. They hated one another, but this world reminded Harry of the Purebloods, where all that mattered was the family name and keeping the bloodlines pure, or rather ‘noble’ in this world. Thus nearly all the marriages between the great houses were political, and arranged between the lords of said houses, and this was the result. Two people who couldn’t stand one another, couldn’t stand him, and in one way or another were trying to co-exist in the same city, in the same keep, while one of them tried to rule Seven Kingdoms and the other tried to manipulate her own will into things. All because they had been matched together for a political alliance that had come about because of a rebellion against the previous royal family, the Targaryens, who were now all but extinct. Murdered down to just two remaining members, Viserys and Daenerys, the former just a child of eight, and the latter a mere babe.

Harry was ridiculously left to his own devices. If he had been an actual toddler he could have died a dozen times over, though he believed that to actually be the point in his mother’s cold eyes. His father was always absent. If he was not drinking, he was whoring, if not that then he was hunting or off visiting other castles and keeps all over the realm. He’d only just come back to the capital from a visit to his maternal uncles and cousins, the Estermonts. He’d taken his wife, and all seven members of his Kingsguard to Estermont with him, but Harry had been left behind in the Red Keep as no one had cared to remember him. He could have been a servant boy, or a street rat for all they cared, yet being alone in the Red Keep, left alone to his own devices, it was familiar to him already and it wasn’t much different from his everyday routine as it was. Harry very rarely saw his father, and he believed that to suit Robert Baratheon just fine.

“My Prince.”

Harry blinked and looked over his shoulder to the grey robed Maester. He sighed and turned, walking over to the man, Maester Mellciter.

“Do you want a lesson, my Prince?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Maester.” He replied easily.

The Maester nodded and led the way to the royal solar, where Harry would learn his histories and great houses. It would be best if he learnt everything that he could, but that didn’t stop it from being boring. History was certainly not his favourite subject, in either world it seemed.

The Maester spread a map of the entire of Westeros, the continent that Harry now lived on, over the large table and Harry sat on a chair beside him.

Harry had actually stolen one of these large maps a little less than a year ago, when he had just turned two, as he wanted to know every inch of the land he now lived in. He kept it in his bed chambers, and at night he set to memorising the regions, the capitals, every road and river, every little town and village of this new continent. He was truly thirty-eight years old, and it was not that difficult a task for him, though surely impossible for a real two year old.

“Sunspear.” The Maester started their lesson, sitting next to him and pointing out the city on the map.

“Dorne. Seat of house Martell. The current ruling lord is Prince Doran Martell. His heir is Princess Arianne Martell, because in Dorne the oldest child, regardless of gender, rules. Which is overall, a much better way of doing things.” He opined.

“Their words?” Maester Mellciter prompted.

“Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.” Harry repeated dutifully.

“Good, my Prince. Highgarden.” He said, pointing out another city on the map. Harry didn’t tell him that he was pointing to the wrong city, in the wrong region, as he wasn’t supposed to be able to read yet.

“The Reach. Seat of house Tyrell. The current ruling lord is Mace Tyrell, though everyone knows it is his mother, Olenna, who really rules. His heir is Willas Tyrell. Their words are Growing Strong.”

Maester Mellciter just stared at him. Harry looked back patiently. The Maester swallowed at the look in those young, determined eyes. The older man broke eye contact first and looked back the map and pointed again. “Winterfell.” It was again the wrong place, though it was at least in the right region this time.

“The North. Seat of house Stark. The current ruling lord is Eddard Stark. His heir is Robb Stark. Their words are Winter is Coming.”

“Dragonstone.” The Maester said next, actually pointing to the right place this time, as Harry knew where Dragonstone was. On a clear day you could just about see it across Blackwater Bay from the Red Keep. It only took three days to reach it on a ship and the Dragonmont, the active volcano on Dragonstone, was nearly always visible on the skyline.

“The Crownlands. Seat of house Baratheon. The current ruling lord is uncle Stannis, even though he should be ruling Storm’s End, but father doesn’t like him, so he sent him away to Dragonstone instead. Ours is the Fury.” He said, saying the house words that had been drilled into him from the moment that he had been born…he was a Baratheon, and heir apparent to the Iron Throne.

The Maester just stared at him, as if they hadn’t been through this a thousand times already. The best thing about being thirty-eight in a two year old body was that no matter what he said, people just brushed it off, even learned men like Maester Mellciter. It was sometimes the worst thing, if he felt that he had something important to say, but his own parents didn’t listen to him, so who else would? That was made much worse by his parents being the king and queen too, as everyone took a leaf from their book in an effort to please them, so almost everyone ignored him and pretended that he hadn’t even spoken to them.

Harry actually couldn’t imagine himself ignoring or stomping on a two year old child just to kiss the arse of someone else, not even a king or queen. They’d all be sorry when he was the king, because he was perfectly capable of remembering their words, and actions towards him, and they wouldn’t get away with trying to suck up to him then, not after how they’d treated him as a child.

His, rather short, lesson wrapped up and Harry went to the kitchens to harass the kitchen staff into giving him something to eat. Sometimes this was the only way he got to eat, as he wasn’t given a place at the table. His mother refused to eat with him and his father was never here, or never willing to interrupt his fun to take a meal with his only legitimate child. It was only ever at feasts and celebrations that he ever sat with his parents, and he had learnt to eat quickly there, as his mother ordered him to be taken to bed early, so he barely interacted with them at all. On such rare occasions the harsh order was the only acknowledgement his mother gave him for weeks at a time. For all the notice his father took of him he could have been a footstool as he drank heavily, ate unendingly and groped the poor serving girls like a wild animal who couldn’t control his lusts.

“Are you hungry, my Prince?” The kitchen woman asked him, smiling kindly down at him as he tugged on her apron.

Harry smiled back and nodded his head, his messy jet black hair bouncing. He liked the servants and kitchen staff, between them and Maester Mellciter, it was the only human interaction he ever got around here.

He ate the simple meal and drank the cup of water given to him before he was free to do whatever he wanted. No one would tell him otherwise. The servants were polite and sometimes kind to him, but they gave him a wide berth as he was still a prince. A prince who would one day be their king. The guards noticed him, but didn’t dare leave their posts. On the rare occasions that he passed a member of the Kingsguard, depending on who it was he sometimes got a sad smile, perhaps a warning to be safe and careful, or just a disinterested glance. They had no orders to look after him, nor to stop him if they saw him, so they didn’t, not even if he was doing something dangerous that could potentially lead to his death. The only one who had ever intervened was Ser Barristan Selmy and that was very rare, as usually the Lord Commander was firmly by the side of his father.

Harry was unchallenged, unchecked and allowed to essentially run wild and do as he pleased with no guidance, no discipline, no consequences. That sort of unrestrained freedom could have had huge detrimental effects upon him, had he not been a thirty-eight year old man trapped in such a tiny body.

“Harian.”

Harry turned curiously. Only a few people called him by his name, and not ‘my prince’ after all. He saw his stern faced uncle Stannis stood staring at him, who despite being only twenty years old behaved more like a miserly, joyless old man who had too many aches.

Harry ran down the corridor to him, stopping by his legs and beaming up at him, holding his hands in front of him, to stop himself from reaching out to hug his own uncle, as apparently such body contact was frowned on in this world, but he couldn’t help bouncing on his feet in excitement as a family member actually acknowledged him.

“Uncle Stannis, you’ve come to visit from Dragonstone? Father isn’t here, he went away. I heard it mentioned that he’s hunting in the Kingswood.”

“I am here for some business with the small council. Why are you out here on your own, where is your nursemaid? Your sworn shield?”

Harry blinked innocently. “My what?” He intoned curiously, though he knew exactly what Stannis was saying. As the crown prince, and the only legitimate child of the king currently, he should have had a guard with him at all times, day and night, to keep him safe, and a nursemaid to look after all of his needs as a two year old toddler.

Stannis’ stern blue eyes narrowed. “You do have a nursemaid and a sworn shield, do you not?”

Harry shook his head. “I am always on my own, Uncle.”

“Are you taking your lessons?” Stannis demanded.

Harry nodded. “I take my lessons with Maester Mellciter.”

“Not with Grand Maester Pycelle?”

“Mother says Grand Maester Pycelle is too busy to bother with me.” He replied tonelessly.

“And where is your mother?”

Harry shrugged a tiny, narrow shoulder. “I haven’t seen her in a few days.”

Those eyes narrowed further, into furious slits. “A few days?”

“Three or four.” Harry nodded.

“Your father?”

“I haven’t seen him in longer, Uncle. A turn or more.”

Those blue eyes studied him, looking at his haphazard clothing and the rather skinny body underneath.

“Are you eating?”

Harry nodded. “I go to the kitchens when I am hungry. The kitchen servants always give me food and water, Uncle.”

“Who dressed you this morning?”

Harry looked down at himself then, taking in his dirty, twisted clothes. “I dressed myself, Uncle. If…if I wear tunics and leggings I can get them on and off by myself, but the ties on all my jerkins, breeches and doublets are too hard.”

Harry purposefully wore his tunics back to front, and one of the legs of his leggings was bunched up and twisted at the knee. He was barefooted.

“Where are your boots?”

“They’re too small for my feet, Uncle. They don’t fit anymore and it hurts to wear them.”

“So you are running around like an orphan from Flea Bottom? Is that how a prince should conduct himself?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. What had he expected, truly? Sometimes he thought that perhaps his father’s brothers, Stannis and Renly, were the only family members who even liked him. Then they said such things to him and reminded him of the truth. He had more family than he could have possibly dreamed of when he was back in his other world, but not one of them loved him, or even liked him.

“No, Uncle.” He said softly.

“I will have you fitted for new boots while I am here. I will speak to your mother about her duty of care towards you.”

It was a sad thing when caring for your own child was considered to be a duty, and not something that one did automatically.

“What have you learnt in your lessons?” Stannis demanded brusquely.

“I learnt how to write ‘Baratheon’ the other day!” He said happily. Of course he knew how to read and write just fine, but he had to play a little bit with pretending to learn all over again.

Stannis scoffed. “I would expect a two year old to be able to spell all the names of the great houses and be able to write their words. You are three.”

That disheartened Harry even more and he lapsed into silence, staring at his dirty toes on the stone floor.

“I’m not three yet.” He corrected his uncle quietly. His name day wasn’t for another two months.

The truth of the matter was Harry was sure his mother had only hired Mellciter to make a play at teaching him, to cover her own back if anyone asked, because it was expected that he had a Maester to teach him. He was learning a lot about the Seven Kingdoms, of the histories, but not really anything of substance. He believed that Mellciter was, on his mother’s orders, holding him back purposefully. Likely so he was uneducated and came across as an idiot to others. Thankfully he was very well educated, it was just hard to judge sometimes how much he should know as an almost three year old to how much he actually did know as a thirty-eight year old.

Stannis sighed impatiently and placed a hand on his head and used it to steer him. Harry thought it would have been easier if Stannis had just picked him up and carried him as he trotted beside his tall, long-legged uncle, who didn’t even try to slow down his steps to accommodate him, but of course, they were back to the no body contact situation. It was almost like everyone feared disease so much that no one was willing to touch one another.

“My Lord Stannis, you are expected in the small council chambers.” A steward told him, hurrying over to them, barely taking any notice of Harry down on the floor.

“Very well. See the prince safely to his rooms.”

Harry sighed and allowed the steward, who was too afraid to even lay one finger on him, to escort him to Maegor’s Holdfast and back to his chambers. It was boring in the room. He had no toys, no books, just a chair and a bed. He hoped his uncle Stannis came to see him after his council meeting, and saw just what he had condemned him to by sending him to his room.

Alone, of course, and out of the public eye, he sat in his large, adult sized chair that he had to climb to reach the seat, and he closed his eyes. He searched for his magic and smiled as the familiar warmth welled inside him. This was all he had to entertain himself with, and he had little control over what his magic manifested as while his body was so young, but he swore he would get better. He would regain control once he was older, and he would master his magic and his body. He knew how to do it, but while he was in the body of a two year old, there was little that he could do.

Sparks flared around him, and he focused as hard as he could on changing the colour of them, from red, to blue, to black, to gold, and all the colourful lights made him smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He was getting better at bending his magic to his will and in this place, in this world, that could only be a good thing.

Stannis did not come to his room, no one did, and Harry was left desolate and hungry as the sun set behind his window. He forced his arms to tug off his leggings and tunic, he washed himself with the bowl of icy water, before he slipped into the loose sleeping tunic. He crawled into his bed and pulled the covers over himself, tucking himself in. He fell asleep considering his desperate wishes in his past life, he’d been so very wrong back then, the greatest thing in the world was not a family after all.

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A servant woke him the next morning, bustling into his room carrying a bowl of water and forcing him up and out of bed, wiping his face for him with warm water from the bowl and then dressing him properly, in clean leggings and a doublet that showed the crowned stag of house Baratheon. The man tied the lacings up properly and Harry knew he would never get out of it on his own. He knew how to do it, but his fingers were too small and uncooperative, thus he had yet to master lacing up his own clothes or boots.

At least Stannis had actually remembered his promise, which was more than anyone else had done for him. The servant had brought brand new leather boots with him and he was dressed in those too. His hair was combed and brushed, though it was still wild and all over the place, as usual.

He was taken up to a tower in the Holdfast, to the royal solar and sat with his mother. She ignored him, even under Stannis’ stern gaze. He helped himself to food, sticking mostly with bread and honey and fruit. He tried not to let the tense atmosphere affect him. He reminded himself that he was thirty-eight years old truly.

“Sit properly.” She barked at him. “Remember your courtesies.”

Harry wondered if this was another ploy to starve him of food, as he sat properly and his nose barely reached the table. He sent a look to Stannis, before he looked at his hands in his lap.

“The boy cannot reach his food.” Stannis said sternly.

“I will not allow him to sit on his knees like some sort of savage.”

Stannis stood up, he went to the soft chairs behind the small, intimate table, and he picked up two cushions. He came back and he lifted Harry with his other arm and stacked the two cushions one on top of the other before nestling Harry back onto the chair. With the two cushions he was boosted high enough to reach the table.

“Was that such a difficult solution that you could not think of it yourself?” Stannis demanded, retaking his seat.

“How long are you staying, did you say, Stannis?” Cersei Lannister asked in a play at sweet politeness, but there was venom in her words.

She was such a hard, bitter woman for just nineteen years old. Harry was trying to figure out why, but he had so little interaction with his own mother that he had yet to figure out what was the root cause of her attitude. He knew that her mother, his grandmother, Joanna, had died in childbirth when she was only seven. He knew that she hated Robert Baratheon, her own husband, but though he could understand that, as the girls in this time had no choice in who they married, he didn’t understand why that was spreading to him. Was he not also a part of her? Was he not also her son? Why did the hate she had for her husband pass down to him also? Enough so that she was trying to murder him, her own son, her only child.

“As long as is needed.” Stannis replied to her curtly.

Harry resumed eating, but the tension only grew and it was off putting. It was tying his stomach in knots.

“When Robert comes back from his hunt…” Cersei threatened, but she was cut off sharply.

“I will tell him what I told you last night.” Stannis interrupted.

“How we raise our son…”

“You aren’t raising him at all!” Stannis thundered. “The boy is left on his own, he’s dim-witted and underfed! I found him running around the keep, on his own, barefooted and dirty. I almost mistook him for a street urchin come begging for kitchen scraps.”

Harry ducked his head and huddled up in his own shoulders. It was always the same, the moment he let himself believe that someone cared for him, that a family member loved him, they dashed his hopes and brought him crashing back down to reality with a cruel, barbed comment.

Cersei Lannister breathed out deeply and seemed to decide on simply ignoring Stannis. She ate her own meal, sipped her breakfast wine, and refused to be drawn into conversation with her good-brother. Harry remained silent.

It was the most awkward meal he’d been a part of yet, and he was almost glad to be free of both her and Stannis after he’d broken his fast. He ran off and hid from them both, as he was sure his uncle had some more plans for him, as he clearly found him so very lacking compared to his own ridiculously high standards. He already felt sorry for any children that Stannis would have in the future, and actually hoped that he never had any.

Harry entertained himself for the morning, and into the afternoon too, by playing with the new litter of little kittens that the kitchen cat had had recently. They were all so adorable and they liked to crawl all over him and lick at his face and fingers.

Harry loved animals. The people around him might have changed so drastically, but animals usually stayed the same. Cats acted like cats, dogs acted like dogs, thus Harry spent considerable amounts of time with the animals of the Red Keep. The kitchen cats, the hunting dogs in the kennels, the ravens in the Rookery, even the numerous rats running around everywhere knew that he wouldn’t hurt them, and came to him because he sometimes fed them small crumbs of bread.

He enjoyed going to the stables too, to see all the royal horses. There was a groom there who was kind to him, and would pick him up and sit him on the backs of the horses to get him used to the height, and the feel of them, as he would be expected to ride a horse by himself. It was a necessity in these times, as horses were the main mode of transport. Harry had asked to learn to ride properly, some several months ago, but the old stablemaster had overheard, and had forbidden it until it had been run past the king. It had taken him four months to even get an audience with the small council to ask for their permission to ask the king. It was to Harry’s understanding that his father had been so disinterested that he’d refused to interrupt his fun with a whore to even answer the small council’s request on the stablemaster’s behalf, and had instead left the decision up to his Hand, Lord Jon Arryn. The elderly Hand had agreed to Harry receiving instruction, but had charged the old stablemaster with Harry’s care while riding, so if anything at all happened to him, it would be the stablemaster’s fault. Thus the old man hovered over him, correcting his feet and hands, and the old, sturdiest and sure footed pony in the stable was led around a paddock in the outer yard of the Red Keep by a groom, while the stablemaster walked beside the horse and kept a tight grip around Harry’s belt, which was also buckled to the saddle.

Harry was enjoying his riding lessons, as it gave him some human interaction, while teaching him a needed skill, and he also got to cuddle and stroke the horses too. He hadn’t fallen or injured himself yet, and he found that his small, gentle hands and soft crooning meant that he could tame even the moodiest of stallions, though he knew when to give them space and quiet, which likely helped and why the horses liked his visits so much. That and he snuck them apples he’d taken from the kitchens when the grooms weren’t looking.

It was impossible to miss his father’s return to the Red Keep later that same day, as loud as he was Harry heard him bellowing from across the courtyard. Harry gave the kittens a last stroke and several last kisses and rushed to meet his father, hoping he was in a good mood after his hunting trip, but he really wished that he hadn’t bothered and had stayed hidden with the kittens instead. He should have known, he should not have let himself keep hoping for love, affection, or even praise from his family members. Not when they barely acknowledged his existence. No one here loved him, or cared what happened to him, and that was the sad truth.

“Father!” He called out, running across the stone floor to the group of people all wearing their hunting greens.

The hunting party, including his young uncle Renly, who had been picked up from Storm’s End and brought to King’s Landing for a visit, all seven members of the Kingsguard, several other men and lords who had been invited to go hunting with his father, and now apparently half of the small council too, including his uncle Stannis, turned and looked at him hurrying over on his tiny legs, beaming happily.

“There he is!” Robert bellowed, but he was talking to the other men, not to him. “See him, my fucking son?”

Harry’s smile slipped from his face as the men all laughed mockingly, obviously sharing some secret jape at his expense. It seemed they had been talking about him before he’d arrived. Maybe he’d been the main topic of conversation, the main source of scorn and belittlement, while they were off hunting too. Harry wondered how that was, when his father spent so little time with him that they were virtual strangers to one another. Harry was sure that if he weren’t the only little boy running around the Red Keep that his father wouldn’t even be able to recognise him as his own child. Robert Baratheon knew nothing about him, so how did he know enough to make jokes or belittle him? Perhaps it didn’t matter to the king, and all he cared about was getting cheap laughs at his own son’s expense, whether they were true or not.

“Weak, small, stupid, and more a girl than half the maidens of the realm.” His father said, sneering down at a tiny Harry.

The men all laughed loudly, derisively, even his young uncle Renly. The only ones not laughing were Stannis and one of the Kingsguard, the Lord Commander, Ser Barristan Selmy.

Harry was picked up in huge, rough hands, feeling more like a doll as he was cradled like a baby against a huge chest. He stayed still out of fear, he could smell the sour wine on his father and he could see the wine stains on his doublet. A drunken Robert Baratheon was unpredictable and dangerous, and Harry knew all too well that he was vulnerable in this tiny, two year old body.

“And now Stannis tells me he’s half feral too. Is that the right of it, boy?” His father boomed directly into his face, holding him out from his body so that he could see him properly.

“I’m not feral.” He said, but it made everyone laugh, as if he had told the greatest joke any of them had ever heard.

“See, Stannis? He’s not feral.” Robert told his brother loudly.

“He will be king one day, Robert. He needs to be taught and groomed to the position.” Stannis insisted.

“Oh, he’s fine! I was never groomed to the position” Robert waved off. “Here.”

The next Harry knew he was airborne. He couldn’t believe his father had thrown him at his uncle. Only his father was still strong, as drunk as he was, and Harry sailed straight past Stannis, who had at least made an attempt to catch him, the shock clear on his face, but he missed, and Harry hit the stone floor with a sharp, loud crack that reverberated through the now silent hall. He’d used his arm to keep his head from smashing into the stone, an arm that snapped like a brittle twig under the force of his body landing on it.

The pain threatened tears, but Harry held them in with all his stubborn will as he tried to catch his breath from his winded lungs. For several moments he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t suck in air, and no one helped him. No one even moved towards him. He finally managed to suck in a great, gasping breath in the deathly silent hall. He wondered if those men all thought that he had died from the impact before that moment.

He caught his breath over several desperate, ragged gasps and pushed himself to sit up with the arm that wasn’t spreading hot fire through his body. The men around him all looked shocked and pale as he stared back at them, but not one of them had come to him. No one said a word about what his drunken father had done. No one would, he realised. Not a single one of those men had come to help him, to check that he was even still alive, not even his own uncles, and that more than anything frightened him. His father could kill him so easily, and no one would say a word about it. No one would hold him accountable for his actions because he was the king. They might whisper that he was a child killer behind his back, call him names, perhaps even laugh that he’d stupidly killed his only child and future successor in a drunken accident, but if he chose to murder Harry, or even killed him by accident as he almost had in that hall, there would be no accountability, no punishment, and no justice for a murdered two year old boy, the king’s own son.

Harry forced himself to get up to his feet and without a word he ran off, trying to hold the arm he suspected was broken as still as he could, as the pain of it moving made him feel sick. He ran to the quiet godswood as no one ever came here, which made it an ideal hiding place. He found a large bush near the heart tree and he crawled under it to hide, and under his bush, away from people, he finally allowed himself to cry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Stannis stared at the door his nephew had run through in shock. A shock which was so profound that he found himself unable to move his tongue, or his limbs, as he was frozen to the spot, unmoving and silent, a cold horror spreading through him like ice, which had numbed his senses and his thoughts.

He slowly turned towards Robert and he caught sight of the shocked, disgusted faces of those Robert had taken hunting with him, all of them frozen and silent as he had been after witnessing such a horrific, abhorrent act. So horrifying had it been that none of them knew how to react, or what to do now in the aftermath. Even the Kingsguard were numbed and rendered inactive with shock. This could never happen again.

“What have you done?” He asked of his brother, finally finding his tongue.

“Shouldn’t have done it.” Robert mumbled. “It wasn’t kingly.”

“Kingly?” Little eight year old Renly demanded, his face for once not soft and smiling, but hard and shocked. “It wasn’t kingly or fatherly! Seven hells, Robert, Harian’s only two. He’s a baby, and you could have killed him!”

“He got up.” Robert blustered. “He’s fine.”

“That arm is broken.” Stannis said, cold fury on his face. “If he hadn’t had the wits to break his fall with that arm, it would have been his head. He needs tending to.”

“Send a servant to get him. Pycelle, see to him when he arrives.” Robert ordered before calling for more wine.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Renly demanded.

“Don’t start with me, boy!” Robert raged.

His older brother’s hand on his arm stopped Renly from replying and he blew out a harsh breath. The distraction came in the form of the queen, that Lannister bitch, walking into the great hall.

She was dressed impeccably, in a gown of green and gold, her hair done up in elegant knots on the top of her head. There was an emerald tiara lodged in all of that styled hair.

“Why are you bellowing, my love?” She asked calmly, coldly.

“Where is the boy?”

“Harian?” She queried.

“Do we have another son running about the place?” Robert roared at her.

“I don’t know where he is.” She replied.

“Seven hells.” Robert cursed, sitting heavily in a chair and gulping his wine.

“The prince was…injured.” Ser Barristan told the queen carefully.

“Injured? Injured how?” She asked.

No one answered, they all just looked at one another. How could you accuse the king of breaking the arm of his only son?

“Injured how?” Cersei demanded sternly.

“His Grace threw the boy.” Jaime Lannister, the queen’s brother, told her.

“Threw him?” The queen blinked. “Did you throw our son, Robert?”

“I forgot how far I could throw him. I threw him too damn hard and he hit the floor.” Robert said without even looking at them, taking another deep drink of wine.

“Where is he now?”

“He ran off.”

“So he is still alive.”

Renly didn’t know if he heard disappointment in her voice or not. He felt sorry for his nephew, so sorry for the boy. He couldn’t have been born of two worse people.

“He is still alive, though I suspect his arm is broken.” Jaime said to his sister, when no one else spoke up.

“I’m pregnant.” Cersei announced to them all, but staring at the back of Robert’s head.

If she had expected anything from His Grace, she was a fool. Robert just called for more wine and drank even more deeply.

“Your Grace, we cannot find Prince Harian.” A servant hurried into the room to say. He had to duck His Grace’s wine cup.

“Are you all fools?!” Robert roared. “He is a two year old boy! Go and check his room, he is likely in his bed.”

“We have checked, Your Grace.” The man cowered. “He is not in his room.”

“Damn you all to the seven hells. Selmy! Take your brothers and find him.”

“He will come back when he is hungry.” Cersei announced. “There is no need for the Kingsguard to be wasted on such a task.”

The Kingsguard listened only to the king, however, and they hurried out of the great hall to find the missing two year old prince.

An hour they searched, with no luck, and a castle wide search was called, and all of the servants and guards and gold cloaks joined the search with the Kingsguard. The Red Keep had been shut up after the king had arrived, they knew that he was somewhere within the Red Keep, but it was a big keep to search and Harian was a very small boy, and the night was coming.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry had bandaged up his arm as best as he could with torn strips of his own doublet as he hid under his bush. The pain of tying the strips of cloth around his broken arm had almost made him scream, but he remembered, distantly, the pain of the Cruciatus curse, and he found the strength to carry on his task. He refused to cry out as he used his strong hand and his teeth to tie the cloth tightly. His hand throbbed on the end of the broken bone.

He had heard far off shouts and calls for him, but he was not feeling in a very sociable mood, so he never answered. He had curled up, his broken arm protectively on his chest, and he’d gone to sleep in the silent godswood. It had been cold, and the grass despite being soft, had nothing on a feather mattress, but still he refused to come out.

The early morning sun had woken him when a shaft of light had fallen right into his eyes through the leaves of his bush. He could still hear people tromping around in armour, likely still looking for him. He was hungry though, and thirsty, and in pain. So when a closer voice called out suddenly, surprising him from his drowsy awakening, he thought it best to reveal himself

He crawled from under the bush, ignoring that he was now damp from the morning dew, and he stood up as well as he could while he felt so wobbly and unstable. His legs were asleep from spending the cold night in the godswood and he was shaking in pain, and it was likely that shock had set in by now. It was Ser Barristan who had come to find him, and Harry was thankful. Some of the Kingsguard scared him, Mandon Moore and Meryn Trant in particular.

Ser Barristan must have heard him make a noise, as he spun around, his hand automatically going for his sword. He touched the pommel, but he never drew the blade, seeing Harry stood pitifully before him, small and skinny, now in damp, dirty clothes and a ripped doublet, the strips of which were tied haphazardly around his injured arm, pale and shaking.

“My Prince.” The knight said in palpable relief. “We have been looking for you all night.”

Harry said nothing. He had nothing to say to these people anymore. Ser Barristan stooped as if to pick him up, but Harry shied away from him. No more. No one else would ever lift him again after what had happened.

Ser Barristan paused, and tried again to pick him up, but after he shied away again, he stood fully and held out his hand. Harry blinked huge eyes up at him, but turned away and walked on his own. He wouldn’t hold hands anymore either…not that anyone had ever held his hand before in this life.

The knight fell into step beside him. On a day before this event it might have amused him to see how small Ser Barristan had to make his steps to keep up with him, but he was in too much pain to find amusement in anything right now.

He didn’t realise how weak he had become, however, and while trying to navigate his small, trembling legs over the serpentine steps, he lost his balance and he fell. He was only saved by Ser Barristan, who had been alert and waiting for such a thing to happen, and the knight caught him quickly and swept him up into his strong arms and refused to let him down again, even when Harry cringed away from him with a scared whimper.

“Hush, my little Prince. Everything will be well.”

“It won’t. Nothing is fine.” He said angrily, staring up at the old knight with sad eyes.

Harry was carried past the great hall, and from there to the small council chambers, which was bustling with people.

“Your Grace.” Ser Barristan called out.

“Thank the gods! Where was he?” Harry heard his father ask.

“In the godswood.” Barristan answered and Harry was laid oh so gently on his back, on the council table.

Old, withered hands touched him and Harry knew it would be Pycelle.

“He is very cold.” Pycelle announced.

“He was in the godswood all night, of course he’s cold!” Came the sharp rebuke from his uncle Stannis.

“He has tried to bind his own arm.” Barristan pointed out.

Pycelle touched the arm and Harry’s eyes snapped open and he forced himself upright, moving away from the Grand Maester.

“Easy, boy.”

Harry flinched and cowered as his father reached for him, throwing his good arm over his head to protect it. An automatic gesture that Harry had learnt from the Dursleys, which had now been reawakened in his new life. His father hesitated only briefly, before soldiering on and holding Harry in his arms, though he didn’t lift him from the table. For once he seemed sober, which meant he wasn’t a threat to him at the moment, so Harry slowly put his arm down and stopped his cowering, he remained alert however, for any sudden movement which had him flinching and shying away.

When Pycelle approached Harry turned to put his face in his father’s chest, holding onto him. Robert Baratheon didn’t seem to know what to do, but some sort of instinct told him to hold the boy closer, so he did. One hand rose to cup the back of the delicate, fragile head, only to realise that his hand was bigger and could pillow that head perfectly. A head that he had almost smashed in on the stone floor yesterday. Robert swallowed uneasily and held the boy close and perhaps seeing his son for the first time since the terrible scare just after his birth, when he had taken a horrific fever that couldn’t be calmed. He had distanced himself after that, afraid of the rage he had felt within himself as he cradled his newly born son, so tiny in his hands, as he sat, useless and unable to help as a cherry-cheeked babe wailed and grew weak from sickness before his very eyes.

He had never wanted to feel like that again, so he had tried to keep away from his own son. No more, he swore, as he felt one tiny hand clench in his doublet, as the Grand Maester poked and probed the other. The arm that he had broken when he’d drunkenly thrown his small son to the stone floor.

“Is he well?” Jon Arryn inquired. He had been furious when he’d heard the tale of him throwing his only child in a drunken fit. His disappointment and ire had stung, as a father’s would, but then Robert had always seen Jon Arryn as a second father.

“The arm is broken and will need setting and proper binding.” Pycelle announced. “Hold him still, it will be painful.”

It wasn’t needed. Harry didn’t so much as wail as the broken bone was set and then bound up properly with clean strips of white linen. In other circumstances he might have allowed screams or tears, but under the gazes of so many men, who had all laughed and sneered at him just the day before, he refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

“Well done, you brave little boy.” Uncle Renly praised him, patting his hair.

“He is mine.” Robert boasted.

Harry hated them all. They fed him this little bit of hope, forced him to get his hopes up, and then they cruelly brought him back down again. By tomorrow this would all be forgotten and the barbed comments would come once more. But he still couldn’t help absorbing their words like a sponge. He was so affection starved that despite knowing it was all a lie, he still allowed their words to swell his heart.

Yesterday he had been weak and stupid and girlish. Today he was brave and like his father.

“Milk of the poppy, for the pain.” Pycelle told him, holding out the little bottle as if he expected a two year old to measure the proper dose and take the medicine himself.

Harry backhanded it from the Maester’s hand. He didn’t want to be poisoned again. Once had been enough and he knew well enough that poppy milk was an opiate. Any more than a quarter spoon of that stuff would surely kill him while he was this small, and he wouldn’t risk taking any of it.

The little glass bottle smashed on the floor and Harry turned back to snuggle into his father’s chest.

“Perhaps some food and water, and he can go to bed.” Stannis suggested.

Robert agreed and he sat in the nearest chair and pulled Harry onto his lap. Harry ate from there, boosted high enough to reach the table. He naturally favoured his right hand, not his bound up left.

His father helped him cut his meat, but Harry mostly picked at the plate, drained his cup of water and then rested back on his father’s body. If today was to be the only day he got to have this sort of contact, he would make the most of it.

Shortly after that he was carried to his bed chambers by his father and settled in his bed.

“I am sorry I did this to you.” Robert told him, likely believing Harry to be asleep. “Too much wine. It’s always too much wine.”

“You shouldn’t drink it.” Harry said, cracking open his big eyes to stare up at his father.

Robert looked at him and sighed. “Mayhaps I should give it up.”

“You could play with me instead of drinking.” Harry said. “I’d like someone to play with. I get bored on my own.”

His father looked around his room then. He seemed to realise how bare it was, how odd for a small child.

“Where are all your toys?”

“I don’t have any.” Harry replied simply.

“I must have given you some on your name days.”

Harry looked at his bedspread and shook his head. “No one gives me toys, or books. I don’t have anything to play with. That’s why uncle Stannis found me walking around the keep, I like playing with the cats.”

“He said you don’t have a sworn shield. Surely I must have given you one?”

Harry shook his head again. “I’m always alone.”

Robert inhaled deeply, swelling his already huge chest. He looked shaken.

“Get some rest now.” He said, standing and laying a hand on Harry’s head.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to do just that. Foolishly, he allowed his heart to rise, allowed hope to sink in. Perhaps things really would change from now on. He really should have known better.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

It lasted for less than a week. His father showered him in attention and praise, sat in on his lessons with Maester Mellciter, lessons which Harry noticed seemed to increase in difficulty, and accuracy, when his father was there observing. He filled his room with toys and books and assigned him a sworn shield too, an upcoming knight of the Stormlands (his father’s ancestral seat of power) named Balon Swann.

Harry didn’t know what to make of the almost teenaged Balon. He was not even twelve years old, exceptionally young to be a knight, as he was not yet of age and he’d only been a squire for a bare year before his knighthood, but apparently he had distinguished himself in some civil dispute and fought well beside the lord he had been squiring for, so he had been knighted so very young. But still, he was not really suited to being a sworn shield, because he was only eleven, and newly knighted too, but Harry supposed that as he never left the Red Keep, he would be well protected by Balon, as he was less a sworn shield at the moment and more of a glorified babysitter slash nursemaid. That would likely change as he grew, but being nine years older than him, Balon was in a good position to protect him when he was older. The forethought was odd for his Robert, and rather out of character. It made him wonder if his father had actually chosen Balon or if Stannis had maybe had an input in it.

But of course it didn’t last. At some feast for something or other his father went back to his old ways, he started drinking early, promising to have just a few cups, but soon he had forgotten all about that, and his promise to his son, and just a bare week after he’d made the promise, he forgot about it, and Harry hardened his heart against the pain of the betrayal.

He had lost his father once more to his wine and whores, but at least he was not as alone as he’d been before. Balon came to his rooms early every morning, helped him to clean up and dress and then proceeded to spend the day following him around wherever he went. It didn’t matter what Harry wanted to do, even if it was playing with the rapidly growing kittens, Ser Balon accompanied him and stood guard over him. Harry grew to like Balon and his stories of being a squire, of his life in Stonehelm, and the small ‘battle’ he’d been a part of that had led to him being knighted, which Harry had heard being spoken about around the keep, and that many people believed Balon’s knighthood to be premature, exaggerated, and undeserved too.

Harry became aware of his mother’s pregnancy some weeks after his night in the godswood, he hadn’t heard anything about it, which was odd considering the servants of the Red Keep liked to gossip about everything, but he saw her stroking her stomach, smiling at it, and he put two and two together and realised that she was pregnant. It was as if she loved the unborn baby already…in a way that she had never loved him. He didn’t understand why.

He kept closer to Balon, who told him that he hoped to be raised to the Kingsguard one day.

“I will be king one day.” Harry said with a smile, tipping his head back to look up at Balon. “I’d like you as a member of my Kingsguard.”

Balon grinned down at him, even though he was already on his knees behind him, he was still taller. He was teaching Harry how to use a wooden sword, and he was holding Harry’s hands over the smooth hilt and helping him to swing his hands.

“Do you think I’ll ever grow big enough for a greatsword?”

Balon hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. A lot of men favour longswords over greatswords. The length and grip of a greatsword is too unwieldy, useful for executions, but not really in battle. They make a man’s swing slower, and as they are two-handed swords, you cannot have a shield, which brings its own dangers in a battle.”

“Most Valyrian swords are greatswords.” Harry lamented.

“Some of them are longswords, or even bastard swords.” Balon replied with a kind smile and a pat to the top of his head.

Harry grinned up at Balon and went back to his training. He was a little young to be training at swords, but truly, what else was he supposed to do with his time, especially when he had a newly knighted, young preteen for a guard?

“I want a Valyrian steel sword.” Harry said to Balon.

“Then you had best keep practising, my little Prince. If you want to be good enough to wield Valyrian steel.”

Harry giggled and went back to swinging the wooden sword with Balon’s help. He remembered Gryffindor’s sword, he remembered the untrained, wild swings and thrusts he’d used to kill the basilisk in the chamber of secrets. He remembered Neville killing Nagini with a desperate hacking motion, and then throwing the sword to him, so he could slash at the neck of a Death Eater. It was easy to kill a man who was good at magic, but had no experience blocking a blade, but against armoured knights in battle who had trained their entire lives to wield such weapons? He needed to do better than desperate hacking, frenzied slashes and wild thrusts. Much, much better.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Time passed slowly in Harry’s opinion, and now that his arm was healing most of his time was spent trying to find entertainment, with Balon as his new shadow. Harry introduced his new sworn shield to all his favourite things, mostly the silent godswood where Harry went to touch something green and wild in the Red Keep, all the animals that he liked, such as the hunting dogs, the cats and kittens, and the horses too. Balon had repaid him by teaching Harry swordsmanship and he’d started teaching him archery too. They had become fast friends over the two months they’d been together and Harry had finally found his first friend in this new life, even if Balon was much older than he was.

Harry’s third name day was mostly ignored. Balon had remembered, some others around the Red Keep wished him a good name day, but his mother didn’t acknowledge it or him. His father was still abed with several whores. His uncle Stannis had sent a raven to him from Dragonstone, that Grand Maester Pycelle had handed to him without reading it aloud, a cruelty in the man’s eyes as he didn’t realise that Harry could actually read, and uncle Renly (who had only arrived two days before from Storm’s End) patted him on the head and congratulated him on reaching his third name day before hurrying past him to go to his own lessons.

He put on a brave face for Balon, as they went to visit his kittens by the kitchen. He played with them for a bit, let them snuggle him as he kissed and petted them, before he went walking through the Red Keep, looking for entertainment, Balon a silent shadow behind him.

“…would you want to take him anywhere?” He heard his mother demand from behind a closed door and he stopped to listen.

“He is my grandson, Cersei. He has yet to leave the Red Keep, or so I am told. He will be coming to Casterly Rock with me. Stannis has informed me that…”

“Stannis has informed you? Stannis?! He isn’t fit to…”

“Stannis has informed me that you are doing a disservice to the boy’s education.” The stern voice of Tywin Lannister cut across his mother’s shriek. “If I find this to be true I want to know why, Cersei. That boy will be king one day.”

“That wretched little weakling will never be a king.” Cersei said and Harry took a step back from the venom in her words. Balon placed a comforting hand over his shoulder and laid it against his chest, pulling him back tight to the front of his own body.

“He is weak because you do not care for him as you should. Even now he is still begging the kitchen servants for his meals, instead of having them provided for him. He is not being cared for adequately and I want to know why, Cersei. He is young to be a page, only just three years old, but if that is the excuse I need to sell to remove him from King’s Landing, it is the one I will use.”

Tywin’s voice was like ice, hard and cold. Harry gave a look to Balon, who patted his hair gently.

“I am your sworn shield, by appointment of the king, I will be going with you.” Balon bent to whisper into his ear.

That reassured Harry somewhat, and he hurried past the door and went further into the Red Keep. Only when he believed himself to be far enough away did he speak.

“Everyone says that Tywin Lannister is hard and cruel.”

“He is hard, but I would not describe him as cruel. To him, his family is everything. He has a son the same age as me, Tyrion, your uncle.”

“I have another uncle?” Harry asked. “No one told me.”

“He’s a dwarf, my Prince.” Balon told him. “Any other man would have left the deformed babe out to die, but not Tywin Lannister. He doesn’t speak of Tyrion unless he’s asked about him, but he won’t abide men laughing at his son either. No one knows why Tywin kept Tyrion, but he did, when perhaps any other man would have exposed the babe, or even orchestrated an illness, or perhaps an accident, to kill the babe off. He won’t harm you.”

Harry bit his lip and carried on to the yard, where Balon set up an archery target for him. If he stood on a tall box, he could use a bow, with help. He was a very, very good shot. Balon was also very good at archery, so it made him happy that the prince he had been assigned to as a sworn shield was also good at archery. It gave them something in common.

It was here that Lord Tywin Lannister found them. He stood back and he watched silently as his grandson pulled back the bow with help from the eleven year old boy he’d been told was his grandson’s sworn shield.

“Are you aiming?”

“Yes.” The newly turned three year old answered. “The wind is blowing just slightly to the west, so I’m accommodating my aim.”

“I believe that you’re accommodating too much, but loose your arrow and we will see.”

Prince Harian took those words into consideration and took another moment to check his aim, brought his bow in just slightly, and then loosed the notched arrow. Tywin was surprised to see the arrow fly true and strike the target. Most boys didn’t get so good until they were seven or eight. He was proud to see that the arrow had struck close to the centre.

“Seven hells!” The young prince cursed, kicking his foot to scuff it over the box he was stood on.

“Do not lose heart, and watch your language.” His sworn shield chastised him.

“Father says it all the time.”

“That doesn’t mean that you should. Now, try again. You’re doing really well for your age. You can aim like no other I’ve ever met.”

Tiny Prince Harian selected another arrow and notched it over his finger guard, he drew back over his vambraces, with help from the other boy.

“Picture the centre of the target.” The older boy told him. “Feel the wind.”

The prince shifted the bow, aiming, he held for another paused moment, before he loosed the arrow. It did not hit dead centre, but it caught the centre marker this time.

“Much better.”

“When will I be big enough to try firing from the floor, Balon?”

“When you are actually taller than the bow, my Prince.” Balon answered with a smile. “Give it some more time.”

“Do you think I could try from horse back?”

“How are you doing with your pony?”

“I think I have the hang of it, but I’m left alone with the horses now, so I have no one to tell me how to do it, so I might be doing it wrong.”

Tywin inhaled angrily at hearing that dangerous little titbit and he stepped forward to make himself known. The boy, Balon, saw the movement from the corner of his eye and immediately went for his sword and had it half drawn before he’d turned. The boy had good reflexes at least.

“My Lord Lannister.” The boy sheathed the half drawn sword and bowed his head.

The prince had turned to look at him, and the blue eyes Tywin remembered from the babe he had once held in his arms were gone, and in their place was Lannister emerald. They looked wonderfully well matched with the Baratheon black hair.

“You’re my Lord Grandfather.” The Prince said, hopping down from the box he’d been stood on.

Tywin was dismayed to see how small he was at three. Stannis had not been inflating the issue, as his daughter had insisted. Then Tywin had known that all along, Stannis was not a man to exaggerate anything, it was why he had ridden immediately for King’s Landing upon receiving the raven, and its dire message, from Dragonstone.

“I am, my Prince.”

Prince Harian frowned at him. “I’m not a prince to you.” The little boy rebuked sharply.

“Are you not a prince to everyone?” Tywin asked him.

“Not to family.” The little boy insisted. “To family I’m Harry.”

“Harry?” Tywin queried.

The boy nodded. “I am Prince Harian. But to those I like I’m just Harry.”

“As you insist, Harry. Now, do you know why I am here?”

“To visit mother? She is going to have another baby soon, the servants say so.”

“It is your third name day.” Tywin prompted.

“No one ever visits me on my name days.” The prince told him matter-of-factly, wholly unconcerned that it was his own name day, usually a mark for celebration, or at the very least a feast. As the only prince of the realm he should have been showered with gifts from all over the Seven Kingdoms.

“Have you not been wished well?”

Harry smiled then and looked at his sworn shield.

“Balon wished me well, and the servants. Uncle Stannis sent a raven and uncle Renly wished me well as he walked past on his way to his morning lessons.”

“Your father?”

“He’s still abed, Grandfather.”

“Your mother?”

“I haven’t seen her in two days, Grandfather.”

“Why not?”

The prince bit his lip and held his silence. Stannis had been correct about that too then. Cersei was not caring for the boy.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know why. She doesn’t like me being near her. She never has. I usually only see her in passing. She doesn’t like me.”

“Have you seen your uncle Jaime? Has he wished you well?”

“No. He doesn’t like me either. I haven’t seen him in about three turns.”

“Well, I have a gift for you, if you’d like it.”

“Really?” The boy’s face lit up and he hurried to him in excitement. “Only Balon gave me a gift.”

“Your sworn shield was the only one to give you a gift on your name day?”

Harian nodded as if it were normal and Tywin took a steadying breath. Things were much worse here in the capital than even Stannis had told him. It also meant that someone had kept back the gifts he had been sending to his own grandson, as the little boy clearly hadn’t received any of them. He would get to the bottom of that too, though after what he’d been told by Stannis and what he’d seen himself, he suspected that Cersei was behind it.

“Come with me.” He held his hand out, but he saw the boy flinch back quickly from it.

Crouching down in front of his tiny grandson, Tywin placed both hands on his shoulders.

“Has anyone ever struck you? Anyone?” He demanded. “As a prince you can have them punished for it.”

“A prince can’t punish the king.” Harian said with a sad smile at him.

“Your father hits you?”

“He didn’t hit me, he threw me across the room and I broke my arm. I haven’t liked people touching me since.”

“When was this?” Tywin demanded. He hadn’t heard anything at all about this instance. Stannis had not even mentioned it in the raven he had sent, and Tywin considered a broken arm on a two year old to be a very notable occurrence worthy of repeating.

“Two turns ago, Grandfather. Midway through the fifth moon. Grand Maester Pycelle said that the bone is healing well.”

The three year old pulled back his sleeve to show the tightly bound left arm to him.

“Take my hand, Harian. I will not hurt you.”

Harry did as asked, but he was more reassured when Balon followed him. Tywin, like Balon did, and Barristan Selmy had, took smaller steps to keep up with his pace, instead of forcing him to trot at their pace.

“I heard you mention that you were not being taught to ride.” Tywin said.

“I’m not really being taught anything, Grandfather. The grooms used to teach me, but they stopped and won’t tell me why, but neither do they stop me from taking a pony to practice on like they used to, so I’m now teaching myself to ride. Balon taught me archery, he corrects any mistakes I make, but no one else really cares what I do.”

“Your uncle Stannis informed me that you have free reign to do as you please.”

Harry nodded. “It’s better now that I have Balon, I’m not so bored.”

The three of them walked into Maegor’s Holdfast, where the royal family slept, and Harry was led to his room.

“Is my present in my room?” He asked curiously.

Tywin squeezed his hand gently.

“You are coming to Casterly Rock with me.”

“Really?” He asked. “I’ve never been outside of the Red Keep before. Not that I remember.” He added, knowing as he did that he had been born at Casterly Rock.

“I know. Now that you are three, you are coming to visit me. You need to pack some things.”

Harry nodded and when the door to his room was opened and he hurried inside the servants were already packing a large trunk with his clothing.

“Are there any toys that you particularly favour?” Tywin asked, looking at how many he had.

“Not really, they’re all new.”

“All of them?”

Harry nodded. “Father gave them to me when he broke my arm because he felt bad about it. I didn’t have any toys before that.”

He did run over to a shelf and take down three large books that he really wanted to read. He handed these to a servant to pack for him and he made sure his wooden sword and shield were packed, so he could practice with Balon.

“Is that all you wanted to take with you?” Tywin asked.

Harry nodded. “I will miss the kittens in the kitchen, but they’re already growing up and there will be more soon.”

“Come along then, let us say goodbye to your mother.”

“Must we?” Harry asked anxiously, fidgeting with his hands in front of his belly.

“It is only courteous.”

Harry nodded before turning to his sworn shield. “Balon, stay with me.”

“I will always be right behind you, my Prince.”

“Your mother won’t harm you.” Tywin insisted.

Harry looked at his grandfather, but looked down again quickly and said nothing. Those gold flecked green eyes narrowed slightly in calculation, but Tywin said nothing either, as he took Harry’s hand and followed to Harry’s steps easily.

They found the king and the queen at the large banquet table that was set for a feast. Harry wondered if his father had actually remembered his name day, but very soon he would learn to stop hoping, to stop opening himself up to such pain.

“We have laid a feast in your honour, Father. Won’t you stay a while?” Cersei asked.

“A feast for my honour? Just for coming to collect my grandson for a visit to Casterly Rock?”

“You are Lord Lannister.” She said proudly. “Any occasion you visit should be celebrated.”

“When it is your own son’s third name day?” Tywin asked.

“Seven hells!” Robert cursed. “Is that today?”

He lumbered to his feet and hurried away. Harry stared at the floor, finding the pattern in the stone to be very fascinating. He was tugged forward by Tywin and picked up and settled easily onto a chair with the customary two plump cushions that his uncle Stannis had implemented, so that he could see the table. Balon took up his position behind him, as he’d promised.

His grandfather chose to sit beside him, not his own daughter, and he helped Harry to cut his meat and watched him eat. Or rather he watched how much he ate.

“Father, I had not heard word that you were coming.” Ser Jaime said as he sauntered into the hall and took a place next to his sister.

“I did not believe I had to send word that I was visiting my own family.” Tywin answered curtly. He hadn’t wanted any preparations to be made that might mask the situation the prince was in after he’d received Stannis’ raven.

“He’s taking the boy to Casterly Rock.” Cersei told Jaime.

“That ‘boy’ is your own son.” Tywin cut in harshly. “You should not need a reminder that you are his mother.”

Cersei said nothing to the chastisement, and she fell silent. Harry’s appetite dwindled and he picked at his remaining food.

“Eat some more.” Tywin encouraged him. “You do not eat enough.”

Harry ate a bit more, but his stomach was tense and knotted, and he had to push his plate away. Tywin sighed, but at least he knew why Harian’s appetite was not as it should be. Tension and fear, and a desire to be away from his own family as quickly as possible. The boy needed to eat more if ever he was to grow.

“When do you leave?” Jaime asked.

“At dawn.” Tywin answered.

“That is far too soon.” Cersei announced. “At least stay and rest a while. It is three hundred leagues to Casterly Rock, and you have only just arrived.”

“It is two hundred and forty leagues, it will take us two weeks of travel, no more.” Tywin refuted. “The sooner Harian is away from you, and from the capital, the better.”

“Is he not safer here?” Jaime asked.

“No.” Tywin said shortly. “He will be better looked after in Casterly Rock, with me, where I can teach him all he needs to know to become king.”

There was silence at the top table, Harry wanted to sink through the floor. His father eventually came back, carrying what looked like a bundle of armour.

“Here, I had this commissioned just for you.” He said happily.

Harry slipped down from his chair and ducked under the table to reach his father quicker. He stood still as the armour, which did actually fit him, was placed on him. He grinned to see the black stag of house Baratheon on the breast plate.

“Today, you are three name days old.” His father announced. “I got my first armour at your age, of course you won’t be going into any battles, but it’ll help you gain strength when you are training at arms.”

“Thank you, Father. I love it.” Harry said.

“It is a proud moment in a father’s life to present his son with his first set of armour.” Robert Baratheon said, looking at him. “To see that sigil on your chest.”

“I always was fond of stags and lions.” Harry grinned with a secret smile.

Robert Baratheon cupped both of Harry’s cheeks before patting gently.

“Off with you now. I’ve heard you’re going to Casterly Rock, try not to come back with an attitude like your mother.”

“Like that would ever happen.” Harry scorned.

Robert Baratheon laughed loudly, but Harry could almost feel the daggers being thrown at him by his mother.

“Now, my love, mind your courtesies.” His mother said to him, in a mockery of care, but the venom in her voice negated her words.

“Shove your courtesies where you keep your manners.” Harry told her.

“Do not speak to your mother in such a way.” Jaime told him furiously. Harry was surprised, as that was the first thing Jaime had ever said to him directly. His uncle usually acted like Harry was invisible and didn’t exist.

“Shut up, Kingslayer.” Robert waved off. “My boy is feisty, is all. He gets that from me.”

“You should not encourage his attitude.” Cersei said.

“Oh, is that not kingly either? Shut up, woman.”

“I see I have interrupted yet another civil family dinner.” Renly announced as he came to the table. “Harian, I’m sorry to have had no time to speak with you earlier. Here, your name day gift.”

Harry took the box given to him by his youngest uncle, who was only five years older than he was, and he opened it. He drew out a magnificent cloak that was heavy gold velvet with the jet black stag of Baratheon on the back of it.

“I cheated.” Renly told him, ruffling his hair. “I knew your father was getting you armour, and every set of armour needs a good cloak to go with it.”

Renly took the cloak from him and attached it to the breast plate, sweeping it out behind him.

“There. Perfect length. You look like a proper little Baratheon now.”

Harry grinned and absorbed the positive attention.

“You might as well dress him in motley.” Cersei commented.

Robert seized Harry and hefted him up, new armour and all, making Harry squeak in surprise at the sudden movement. He had a feeling of déjà vu, as this had been how his arm had been broken, and he stilled in fear.

“Your poisonous influence is why he’s so small. Stannis asked to foster him on Dragonstone, then your own Lord Father asked to foster him at Casterly Rock. I don’t care which one, as long as he is away from you.”

Robert sat Harry on the table, and bent so they were more on a level.

“You learn all you can from your grandfather, you hear me? You prove this poisonous woman wrong.”

Harry nodded. “I will.”

“Good boy. Tywin, see him well treated and well educated, as it has proven impossible to do so from the Red Keep.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Tywin answered, having watched everything and listened to everything.

“I will come to visit you soon.” Robert told Harry.

“Your child will be born soon.” Cersei interrupted.

“I already have a child.” Robert snapped. “Try not to kill the other before I get back.”

“His fever was not my fault!”

Harry named the woman a liar in his head. He knew she had caused his fever with poison. A poison that had been meant to kill him, but hadn’t.

“If you had taken better care of him, as you’re meant to…”

“It was not my fault! You never cared for him either! Where were you when I laboured with him? Where were you when he took his fever? Where were you?!”

“I was at war! I was fighting for our freedom from that mad shit, Aerys!”

“You didn’t do it for freedom. You did it for your precious Lyanna!” His mother raged.

Harry saw his father’s face bleach of all colour, saw him swelling with terrible rage, and then Renly was there in front of him, he tugged him carefully from the table and started hurrying them both from the hall when it looked like Robert would leap over the table and throttle Cersei.

“Come, Harian. This isn’t for your eyes or ears, or mine.”

Renly escorted him from the room to the shouts and yelling of his parents, and Harry laced his fingers through his uncle’s, smiling sadly as Balon followed behind them.

He was being taken to his room, and once there Renly helped him take off the armour and the new cloak, getting him into a clean sleeping tunic and into bed.

“Do they really hate me so much?” Harry asked Renly softly.

Renly sighed and sat back down to look into the tiny face, with those huge green eyes. He considered what to say, how to say it. He was only eight himself, how could he tell a boy that his mother was a scheming bitch and his father a selfish sot?

“It’s not that they hate you, they hate each other.” He settled on saying.

“Political marriages are stupid.” Harry sneered.

“They strengthen allegiances between families.”

“How? If it only ends in fighting and cruelty, how can it strengthen or create an allegiance? It just creates a deeper trench of misery and loathing and both houses end up hating one another more, not less.”

Renly smiled. “The servants are right, you are like a little old Maester in that head of yours. You’ll do well with Tywin Lannister.” Renly said, before he sighed heavily. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear, Harian. Your mother does hate you, I don’t know why, but she never was a normal woman. Your father…he doesn’t hate you, he loves you, you’re his first and only son, but Robert should never have had children. He doesn’t know how to treat you. Your relationship with him should strengthen when you are older, when he knows how to treat you and what to say to you. Men he can deal with, children not so much.”

Harry nodded. “I figured that out for myself. I knew I couldn’t stay here though. I’ll be happier with grandfather. He will teach me everything I need to know and I’ll come back happier. Maybe I’ll even go to see uncle Stannis after I come back from Casterly Rock too. I just don’t want to be here.”

“On that point I really don’t blame you. If you need another port to call at, I will take you for a visit to Storm’s End too. I am always happier there.”

“I want to hunt with father too, in the Kingswood, when I am old enough.”

“He’d like that. He loves his hunting and sharing that with him will make him very proud. Now get some sleep. I will see that the servants pack your new armour to take with you.”

Harry watched his uncle Renly pick up the armour and leave his bedroom with Balon, who slept in the room next door to his, as was his right as Harry’s sworn shield.

Harry stayed on his back and thought about this new turn in his life. It was good, if it was real, but truly Tywin Lannister was his mother’s father, his uncle Jaime’s father, could he truly be trusted? He was the father of the two people who had spoken so coldly, so cruelly of his murder when he was a newborn. His mother had poisoned him by her own admission, with her own hands. His uncle had wanted to throw him down some stairs and blame his wet nurse. Could the father of both of them be trusted, or was he going to Casterly Rock just to have some unfortunate accident away from the eyes of his father and the court?

He would need to be on high alert, he would need to keep Balon with him at all times, and he would need to practice more at his battle training. That would include horse riding, archery, as well as with a sword and a shield. There was no way he could train with a spear while so young and short, not even with a box to help him like he used with his archery, but he needed to be able to protect himself in this world and that meant hard physical training with heavy weapons and armour.

It was just a damn shame he was too young to control his magic adequately. He would need to find a way to practice with it while at Casterly Rock. He needed to get better at so much, but he was just too young and too little. This was the worst part of being a thirty-eight year old in a child’s body…the long, horrendous wait for himself to age and grow. It was the one thing that couldn’t be sped up or rushed. He had to grow all over again and while he did, he was vulnerable and at constant risk.

“It could have been worse.” He whispered to himself. At least he still had his mind and his magic, if both had been denied to him when he’d done that ritual to be reborn…well, it would have been a very short second life for him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Chapter Text

Casterly Rock was immense. It was a massive rock, very near a mountain, that had been carved over millennia, by hundreds of thousands of hands and tools, and by nature too.

His grandfather led him through the Lion’s Mouth, the main entryway into Casterly Rock that must have been two hundred feet high and wide enough for twenty riders abreast, but only after they had been heralded in the streets of Lannisport by the common people, as their lord rode home with the crown prince beside him.

It was one of the only times Harry had actually sat his own horse, for most of the journey he had been sat in front of his grandfather, those strong arms keeping him from falling, as Harry got a full history lesson on everything they had passed along the Goldroad and through the Westerland mountains. They had stopped at Deep Den, which controlled the passage to Lannisport through the mountains via the Goldroad. There they had met Lord Lewys Lydden, who hosted them as if they were kings themselves, and on the morning of their departure had tried to keep them there for longer than the single night that Tywin had planned. That had not really worked to Lord Lydden’s favour as Lord Tywin had refused immediately, and firmly, with a rather withering stare, before he took Harry’s hand and set them back on the road to Casterly Rock.

Harry still remembered what he’d said to his grandfather as they had left Deep Den.

‘Grandfather, access to Casterly Rock is guarded by just a few roads through the mountains. What happens if the loyalty of their lords fail?’

‘Then they will be treated as traitors.’ Tywin had told him. ‘Their entire lines would be ended to make an example of them and they know this. But it is impossible to attack or besiege Casterly Rock, they would never overcome us, and that is why they are always loyal.’

Harry hadn’t understood at the time and his grandfather hadn’t elaborated further, but now he understood, as he sat his little pony, his grandfather’s horse attached to his pony by a lead line, Balon Swann riding to his other side, always watchful, despite how young he was himself.

“I understand now.” Harry said, as he was helped from his pony and led up by the hand into Casterly Rock proper.

“What do you understand now, Harry?” Lord Tywin asked him.

“Why the mountain passes are only a threat to those trying to attack Casterly Rock, and why they wouldn’t be able to cut Casterly Rock off from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms by controlling the mountain passes.” Harry answered. “The entire Seven Kingdoms and beyond would have to turn on the Westerlands before it fell. We’re right on the edge of the Sunset Sea, provisions could be gotten from elsewhere using ships and Casterly Rock itself could be sealed against a few attackers from the mountains. They remain loyal because to do otherwise is foolish.”

He got to witness a rare ‘almost’ smile from Tywin Lannister, as his lips twitched just barely.

“I’ve come to find that you are a very clever, perceptive little boy.” Tywin praised him, squeezing his hand just barely. “Lannisters are never fools.”

“The Ironborn could probably raid along the coast line, they could attack Lannisport, but they’d never take the Rock. Then the Greyjoys are all raiders and reavers in the end, they could never hold any land, their power is at sea.”

“I will take you out onto the sea when you are a little older.” Tywin told him. “You will learn to captain a ship, as well as to ride a horse.”

Harry nodded and tried not to gawp as he was led further into Casterly Rock. Balon was trying to do the same beside him.

“I have called a feast in honour of your first visit.” Tywin told him. “I want you to bathe and I have servants on hand to help you dress in the new clothes I have had made for you.”

Harry nodded his head, trying to remember the way, as he was led up carved stone stairs, down corridors, up more stone stairs, and he was finally led to a lavish hall where huge doors stood open.

“This is where the Lannisters have their rooms. This one is now yours.” Tywin told him, tugging him into one of the huge rooms.

It was like stepping into sunlight. Everything was gold, all the fabrics were deep red, etched with the golden lion of the Lannisters. Harry grinned. It was like being back in the Gryffindor common room again and it swelled something within him, some huge comfort that almost choked him.

“I love it.” He said, looking around.

He saw a bookcase filled with books and he ran to it, ignoring the toys and other things, as he stroked his finger along the spines.

“I will have Maester Creylen attend to your basic lessons. I will also be giving you lessons personally. Ser Benedict Broom will be your master-at-arms while you are here, along with your own Ser Balon Swann.”

Harry nodded. “Will Maester Creylen teach me more than just the great houses and their words? I’m bored of repeating the same information over and over, Grandfather.”

“He will teach you everything that you need to know and more.” Tywin told him. “There is a privy just at the end of this hall, the bathing chambers are right beside it. A servant will come and dress you for the evening meal. Do not be late.”

Harry nodded, taking the warning to heart, even as he pulled out a book and hurried to the red and gold chair, clambering into it with the book.

“Can you read, Harry?” Tywin asked him in surprise.

“Yes, Grandfather. I taught myself to read.”

“You…you taught yourself.” The man said, hesitating only slightly in his shock.

Harry nodded. “Maester Mellciter got me to read maps, but he would correct me when I was right, not when I was wrong. Balon can read, he says I’m good at it and Maester Mellciter was sabotaging my learning. All he ever taught me was the great houses, their position, their ruling lords and their words. It was always the same lesson over and over.”

“Bring that book with you when you come down to the hall. I will hear you read it to me.”

“Yes, Grandfather.” Harry said.

He and Balon were left alone and Balon let out a huge breath. Harry looked at him and grinned.

“He’s intimidating!” Balon said with a smile back at him.

Harry laughed. “Come here and see if there are any words I don’t know. I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of my grandfather.” Harry encouraged, even though he knew exactly what he was reading and what it meant. He still had to pretend.

Very soon after his grandfather had left, too soon for Harry’s liking, a servant came to tell him that his bath was ready and Harry pulled Balon along with him, saying they could bathe together. Balon, while incredibly uncomfortable with this, didn’t say no as he undressed himself and slipped into the hot water.

Harry was very happy in the huge, wooden tub, which was deep and full enough for him to swim in. Balon watched him closely, as he paddled in the water, just in case he slipped under. Harry really liked Balon.

“My Prince, please, allow me to wash your hair.” The servant said.

Harry giggled and paddled to the edge of the wooden tub and let the servant put a handful of cleanser on his hair from a glass jar. There was oil in it, Harry could smell it. It smelt of oranges.

The servant was very gentle and attentive, washing his hair and watching closely as Harry washed the dust of the road from his body with a horsehair brush.

Balon got out well before Harry did, but Harry wasn’t bothered by Balon’s nakedness, or his body that was just filling out and growing in hair. He remembered his own body at that age, and at thirty-six, when he had performed that ritual to be reborn. Balon’s body didn’t bother him.

Harry was plucked out of the water and wrapped in a clean sheet of linen. The servant rubbed him dry while Harry giggled as it tickled.

He was dressed in clean smallclothes, new leggings that were bright red and stitched with tiny little golden lions and black stags and a doublet of red silk, embroidered with gold. The black, crowned stag of Baratheon covered his chest on the front of it. The outfit was almost a perfect blend of house Baratheon and Lannister…even if perhaps it had a bit more of a lean towards the latter, but as he was here, in the seat of Lannister power, he wasn’t going to bitch about it.

Balon was dressed in his house colours too, in his finest clothes. A doublet of black and white halves, with a white swan on the black half and a black swan on the white half facing one another. His leggings were white.

“You look good in white.” Harry told him, taking his hand. “I think you’d look better in all white though.” Harry grinned.

Balon smiled at him. “If you say so, my Prince.”

Harry frowned unhappily, but he understood why Balon wouldn’t use his name. He was in the company of servants.

“Have you got your book?” Balon asked him.

Harry picked it up from the side and settled it in the one arm while he held Balon’s hand with his other hand. The servants led them down to the main hall which was full of people. People who called out to him, bowed and called him ‘my Prince’. Harry smiled and greeted them back, speaking gently with certain people if they looked kindly, but he held Balon’s hand tight as he made his way to the top table, where his grandfather sat with several other men, women and boys. They all looked like Lannisters.

“My Prince, allow me to introduce my brothers.” His grandfather said. “This is Kevan, Tygett, and Gerion. This is Kevan’s son, Lancel, who is your own age and these two are Martyn and Willem, also Kevan’s sons.” Tywin introduced.

Harry looked at Lancel, who seemed weak and shy, to the twin babies in their mother’s arms. They were only several turns old.

“These lovely ladies are Dorna, Kevan’s wife, and Darlessa, Tygett’s wife.” Tywin continued.

Harry smiled and nodded. “It is a pleasure to meet you all.” He greeted softly.

“Who is this boy you are with?” Tygett Lannister asked him.

“This is Ser Balon Swann. He is my sworn shield.” Harry said proudly.

“A little young for a sworn shield.” Tygett pointed out as Harry took his seat, sitting Balon next to him.

“He was chosen young so that he might grow with me. I have little to fear while so young, as before this journey I had never been outside of the Red Keep, Ser. By the time I am older and exploring more, Balon will be older too and we are already forging a friendship.”

“A little foolish to believe you are safe in the Red Keep.” The youngest Lannister, Gerion, told him.

“No.” Harry said, shaking his head. “It’s not foolish, just truth. If the Red Keep stands, I am as safe as I can be. If it is infiltrated or stormed, then what does it matter if my sworn shield is older or not? We’d both still end up just as dead. The same if someone is working from inside the Red Keep to kill me. If someone wishes me dead, I will likely end up as dead and an older sworn shield will not help. I will not shy away from every servant or stable boy, just in case they slip a dagger into my ribs, how can any sworn shield help with that?”

Harry witnessed Tywin ‘almost’ smiling from beside him. He’d come to associate that little almost smile with his grandfather’s pride in him, so he sat straighter. If he’d made Tywin Lannister proud of him then he must have said something right.

“You were right, Tywin, he’s a very bright boy.” Kevan said.

“Like most boys though his concept of death is a little off.” Tygett pointed out.

“Death isn’t a concept.” Harry said hotly. “It’s an inevitability. Everyone and everything dies. Trees, animals, people, what does it matter what ends that life or when? Death is nothing to be afraid of, there are always worse things than death and there are always people who live and carry on after you. It’s the way things work, people die, babies are born, and life carries on. That cycle isn’t going to stop just because I am killed.”

“There’s nothing worse than dying!” The boy who’d been introduced as his own age snapped at him.

“Yes there is!” Harry denied. “There are always worse things than dying!”

“Like what?” Little Lancel Lannister challenged him, looking angry at what he’d said, his pale cheeks flushing pink.

“A life without knowing love. A life without true friendship or family. A life of anonymity where you live and die without anyone ever knowing your name.” Harry answered, before he shrugged a little shoulder. “I imagine torture too. I’d rather a nice, quick, clean death to being slowly ripped to pieces. What’s a quick thrust of a dagger to that?”

Lancel started crying and Harry looked at him with a frown.

“Why are you crying?” He asked with a frown.

“I believe it was your candid attitude to death.” Tygett replied, though even he looked impressed.

Harry frowned harder and tilted his head to look at Lancel, who was supposedly the same age as him. Should he be acting more like this actual three year old? Had he accentuated the wrong things and dumbed down the things he should have been doing? Is that why people saw him as weird and odd?

“I didn’t mean to upset him and make him cry.” Harry said truthfully. “It’s just…death shouldn’t be feared. Death is quick and easy, it’s living that’s harder. My life isn’t worth anything more than anyone else’s, everyone is equal when they die. Without life in us, all we are is a corpse, and all dead bodies are the same in the end.”

“Wouldn’t you say that your life, as a prince, is worth more than everyone else’s?” Gerion asked him.

“No. What made me a prince? A circumstance of my birth to the right people, nothing more. I could have been born the heir to the Lord of Storm’s End, I could have been born to a farmer, or just been a bastard from Flea Bottom. I’m still just a body, and I’ll die as easily as the next body if a blade or a bolt hits home. Father says all men die the same. They all die crying or screaming, blood in their mouths and shit between their legs. If all men do die the same, despite who they were born to, or where they were born, then the only thing that makes all men equal is death.” 

Tygett Lannister was the first to laugh. “I love this boy.” He declared. “How long is he staying, Tywin?”

“He will be here for some time.” Tywin said, that almost smile on his lips. “Now, no more talk of death and battle at the table, read to me, Harry, and eat something.”

Harry placed the book open against a large jug of wine, as both he and Tywin were drinking water. He ate a little bit, then swallowed and read the page aloud to his grandfather. He purposefully mispronounced a few of the larger words, and allowed his grandfather to patiently correct him.

Harry was the first to finish eating, and when Tywin had finished, he laid the book down flat and sat Harry in his lap, allowing him to read the book more comfortably with a secure arm around his waist.

“Enough now, it is getting late, you need to get your rest after so long a time on the road.” Tywin said as Harry reached the end of the page.

Harry nodded and took the book and held his hand out to Balon.

“Goodnight, Grandfather.” He said.

“Sleep well. Tomorrow your education begins.”

Harry nodded and followed the servant with Balon holding his hand and the large book under his arm. Tywin watched him go and he re-evaluated his little grandson, especially compared to his nephew, Lancel, who was almost exactly the same age as their tiny prince. Lancel might have been taller, but Harian was by far the more intelligent. He could speak almost like an adult, not a mere three year old boy, and he understood things that still vexed some adults, let alone children.

“A boy who understands death, yet does not fear it.” Tygett mused, also watching the prince leave.

“He knows that there is nothing to fear.” Tywin mused. “A very rare child, indeed.”

“Was Stannis’ raven true?” Kevan asked now that all the children were away from the table. “Was Cersei mistreating him?”

“It seems that it was in fact true.” Tywin said. “He had not seen her in three days before I arrived in King’s Landing. His Grace, the king, presented Harian with his first set of armour for his name day, and Cersei told him that Harian should be in motley instead.”

“Do you know why?” Gerion asked.

Tywin shook his head. “I was not in the capital long enough to discover a reason why.”

“Could it have been the fever he took?” Kevan asked. “A woman usually goes mad when her child’s life is threatened.”

“What about when she’s the one threatening it?” Tygett demanded. “Harian survived his fever, against all odds it broke and he seems perfectly normal.”

“Normal is not a word I would use for that boy.” Kevan said before taking a sip of wine.

“Nor would I.” Tywin agreed. “Harian is exceptional already, he will grow to be even more so. We must teach him.”

“All of us?” Gerion asked curiously.

“All of us.” Tywin answered seriously. “He needs to know everything that we can teach him. We will make him the greatest king that has ever been.”

“A very large aspiration, considering the boy isn’t very big.” Tygett pointed out.

“He will grow.” Tywin insisted. “He is away from the capital, away from my daughter and that sot I married her to. He will thrive here in Casterly Rock, I will ensure it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry’s first meeting with his twelve year old uncle Tyrion was rather curious. He was smaller than his dwarf uncle still, but they had both brought books to the family dining table.

“Harian, this is my youngest son, Tyrion.” Tywin was forced to introduce as he saw them looking at one another.

“A pleasure to meet you, Uncle.” Harry said, staring at those mismatched eyes. One was Lannister green, the other was jet black. His hair was the same, Lannister blonde, but with odd tufts of jet black mixed through.

“The pleasure is mine, my prince nephew.”

Harry tilted his head sideways.

“I assure you, I do not look any less ugly from that angle.” Tyrion told him.

Harry smiled. “I like you. Call me Harry.”

“Then you must call me Tyrion.”

Harry detected the sarcasm and he smiled wider.

“Why does it amuse you?” He asked. “That I prefer to be called Harry?”

“Why, because every farmer’s boy and inn keep’s bastard from the Wall to Dorne is called Harry. It’s a very common name, you see.” Tyrion told him.

“They can’t all be called Harry.” He said with a grin.

That elicited an answering grin from his newfound uncle.

“Pray tell, nephew, why did you choose Harry as a name?”

“It’s simple, common, and as you’ve pointed out, overused, but most of all, I like it.”

“I fear I do not follow your logic.” Tyrion told him.

“It is close to his own name, Tyrion.” Gerion pointed out. “Most young boys shorten their name in some form or other.”

Harry shook his head. “No, that wasn’t why.”

“No? Then enlighten us, nephew.” Tyrion encouraged.

“It’s easy to be remembered for an unusual name.” He said. “It’s much more challenging to stand out when you have the same name as a hundred others. A man shouldn’t be remembered for his name, he should be remembered for his actions. So I will be another common Harry, until my deeds set me apart from all the rest.”

“A very big ambition, for one so very small.”

Harry fully smiled then. “Even the smallest man can do the biggest of deeds and be remembered for them. It does not take height to become great, it doesn’t take a great name. It takes determination, strength, the courage to do what is needed to be done.”

“I’m sure Maegor the Cruel and Aerys the Mad would agree with you.” Tyrion told him.

“It’s easy to be vicious and cruel, much harder to stand up for justice and honour and to do what is right when the world is full of wrongs.” Harry said. “I will not be remembered for burning innocent people because I enjoy watching them dancing in the flames. That is not what I want to be remembered for.”

“What do you want to be remembered for?” Tygett asked him.

Harry shrugged and grinned. “Who knows what will be written about me once I am dead.” He laughed. “It’s not up to me what is written about me, all I can do is not give them any cause to call me cruel or mad.”

“You are entirely too interested in debate and prose so early in the morning. Sit and break your fast.” Tywin told him.

Harry clambered onto the chair next to his grandfather, the one with two cushions on it for him, and he grabbed some bread and a small pot of honey, a handful of grapes and an apple. It was a small, meagre meal compared to what the others were eating and they all noticed.

He did not call the cupbearer over to pour his drink for him, but he reached for the gold jug himself and he checked that it was water, not wine, before he poured his own cup with a lot more dexterity than a normal three year old. He was watched as he did this, as he drank and ate, but he didn’t care. He’d been used to people staring at him since he was a child, in this world and the last. Some things didn’t change.

“You’re a very unusual boy.” Tyrion told him a while later.

“You can’t call anyone unusual.” Harry replied, before dipping his last bit of bread in some honey and tearing it off with his teeth.

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Tyrion told him. “But I am unusual on the outside, whereas you are unusual in your thinking.”

“I’d say there was nothing usual about you, inside or out, Uncle.” Harry pointed out, pushing his empty plate away from himself to make more room for his book.

“He has you there.” Gerion told Tyrion with a grin. “There’s nothing usual about your mind either, Tyrion.”

“So it would seem.” Tyrion replied, before drinking from his own goblet.

“You will take a morning lesson with Maester Creylen.” Tywin told him. “Your afternoon lesson will be with Ser Benedict. I would like to see you for an hour or two in the evenings as well.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Grandfather.” He said obediently.

“You are to be attentive, punctual, and you are to listen to all that you are being taught. You will complete your lessons, or you will be punished, a prince or not. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Grandfather.” Harry said.

“Good.”

Harry ate a few grapes that were handed to him, bit into his apple, before he swiped some more honey onto a piece of bread.

“You should eat some more. You’ll never grow if you don’t eat.”

“I am eating.” Harry complained.

“Eat more.” Tygett encouraged him, handing him over more grapes. “I am going to be coming to your lesson with Ser Benedict, I will help you, and your sworn shield.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“Oh, am I your uncle too?”

“You’re my mother’s uncle, that makes you my great-uncle, does it not? I’d prefer to call you just uncle, but I will call you whatever you want me too.” He said, smiling sweetly.

Gerion laughed. “Look at that innocent grin, as if he hasn’t played you for a fool, Tyg.”

“That mind of his is certainly sharp.” Tygett smiled.

“It will be sharper yet, when we are done honing it, and teaching him.” Tywin said. “You, boy, take him to Maester Creylen’s rooms.”

The servant hurried over and Harry slipped carefully from the chair, picked up his book and took Balon’s hand. The both of them followed the servant through the maze of splendour that was Casterly Rock, to a room filled with maps and books and little curious trinkets. It reminded Harry of Dumbledore’s office. The man they found there did not, however, remind him of Dumbledore in the slightest. Straight backed, but with dark eyes and hair, with a choker collar of metal links around his neck, Maester Creylen looked at him as if he might have been a curious experiment. Harry’s hand flexed in Balon’s, and Balon squeezed back reassuringly.

“That will be all.” The Maester said and the servant scampered off quickly. The Maester turned those eyes onto Balon and frowned in disapproval. “I said that that would be all.”

“I am Prince Harian’s sworn shield. Where he goes, I go. Where he stays, I stay.” Balon said firmly.

“Are you expecting him to be attacked in Casterly Rock?” The Maester demanded.

“That remains to be seen.” Balon answered and without being invited to do so, he sat in the only chair and pulled Harry up onto his lap, placing an arm loosely around his hips.

“He is not a babe to be coddled so much.”

“I will coddle him as much as I like.”

“Maester, if you will please start my lesson, I have a lot to learn.” Harry said from Balon’s lap. “Balon will not be leaving. He is mine, and his place is with me always.”

“Oh, so does he bathe with you? Sleep with you?”

“Yes.” Harry said simply. “Why would he not?”

That threw the Maester, who looked shocked at the easy agreement, but there was nothing in him and Balon sharing baths and beds. He was a three year old babe, regardless that his mind was thirty-nine, and Balon was not quite twelve.

“My lesson, Maester?” Harry queried. “Or must I tell my lord grandfather that he has sent me here to learn from a man who will not teach me?”

That made up the Maester’s mind, so great was his apparent fear of Tywin Lannister, and as Harry placed his book on the table, the Maester handed him paper, quill and ink.

“Have you been taught to write?”

“I know how to write.” Harry said, dipping the quill and meticulously, and quickly, writing his name in the corner of the page. He thanked the wizarding world for using a quill and ink, because even if he had known how to write, he would never have been able to use a quill. It had taken him months to master back when he’d been a little firstie at Hogwarts and he’d spent a lot of that first year with ink stained hands. Now he could write without smudging his words and without getting ink on his hands…the Maester looked stunned at his skill while so very young.

“Write all of the great houses and their words.” The Maester ordered him, once he’d gathered himself.

Harry’s frustration grew…his grandfather had assured him that he would not be learning about the great houses. He bit his tongue, dropped his eyes from the Maester, who he was sure was riling him up on purpose to earn him a punishment, and he dipped his quill and he wrote the great houses and their words, naturally starting with his father’s house, Baratheon of Storm’s End, Dragonstone and King’s Landing.

He was quick, neat, and he knew how to avoid smudging the ink without the use of sand. The Maester took the paper and looked it through, as if expecting mistakes, but Harry hadn’t made any.

“Add their lords, all of their families and their sigil.” The Maester told him, handing the parchment back.

Harry didn’t want to point out that this was about the only thing that he had been taught by Maester Mellciter. His grandfather had told him to listen and obey, so he would. This was likely another test, perhaps of his obedience, maybe of his patience, so he held his tongue and his temper.

It took him a while to add the new information. The lords and the house sigil was easy, it was the other family members he was a little less sure on. He knew the ladies of the houses, unless someone had died or remarried, but some of them had a lot of children.

“My information may not be up to date, Maester. Some of the houses might have had further children I have not been informed about.” He said as he finished and handed the paper to the Maester.

“We shall see and I will inform you of additional family members as needed.”

Harry rested back on Balon and tipped his head to grin at the older boy, who smiled back and raised a hand to play with his hair.

It was a terrible lesson overall, as Harry endured two hours of tutelage on the great houses. Information that he already knew. He was glad to be dismissed and he hurried away before he was called back for any reason.

“That had to be the worst, most boring lesson I’ve ever sat through.” Ser Balon told him.

Harry huffed. “I told grandfather all I ever learnt with Maester Mellciter was the great houses and their locations, their lords and ladies, their words. It was all I was ever taught, so why make me sit through it again if it wasn’t some sort of test?”

Balon sighed. “I hate the politics of everything.”

“Me too.” Harry sighed. “Come to my room with me and play? Or do you want some time to yourself?”

“I don’t mind playing with you, but remember that you have an arms lesson after the midday meal.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll read for a bit then, I don’t mind if you want some time to do whatever it is older boys do.”

Balon laughed and ruffled his hair. “Boys my age usually train from dawn till dusk to try and become a good enough knight to gain recognition and glory. I would be tilting rings if I were not here with you, but truly, what more recognition can I hope to receive so young other than being the sworn shield of the crown prince? I am going to be known by now as your sworn shield, other boys my age are most likely still squires and they will be cursing me from the moment they wake until they fall to sleep, they all want to be in my position, but they’re not.”

“I’m glad it’s you.” Harry said with a smile.

“Come on, let’s get you to your room and you can read to me for practice.”

“I’m sure my room was around here.” Harry said. “We passed the family solar, so it should be this room.”

Harry pushed open the large, heavy golden door and he grinned at Balon when his room was behind it.

“I’m glad you knew where we were going.” Balon laughed. “I would have been completely lost.”

“I’m very observant.” He said. What he didn’t say was that he’d needed to be during the war. A war Balon didn’t know about, from a different world, a different time. He still knew how to fight, he still had all his memories from it, but while his body was so little he didn’t have the strength, or the height, to fight. He had to grow again, and it was painfully slow.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Life at Casterly Rock was nice, simple, though never dull. Harry was kept incredibly busy over the five turns before the New Year. They’d had a huge feast to celebrate the turning of the year to 286AC and Harry had been allowed to stay up an hour later than he was usually allowed so that he could celebrate and enjoy the singers and musicians brought to the Rock for the occasion, as it had been his first time experiencing such a thing.

Balon was likewise kept busy with his arms training to become a proper sworn shield, now that he had turned twelve, and Harry’s lessons were increasing in difficulty as he proved himself capable. Tywin Lannister continued to be impressed with him and all that he could do. Harry grew closer to all of his uncles here, even if several of them were great-uncles. Gerion was his favourite, always making him laugh and giggle, a welcome lightness in his heavy schedule of expectation as he helped to teach Harry to tumble and do cartwheels and backflips. Harry now enjoyed doing backflips from tables, much to the distress of anyone who saw him, especially his grandfather.

Harry’s uncle Tyrion was always willing to sit and talk with him, read with him, or debate with him. Harry liked debating with others, but the best was when he sat and debated with Tyrion or Tywin, or even the both of them together, though that was rarer.

Tygett and Ser Benedict Broom were teaching him swordsmanship, which was always a painful lesson, but as he trained in his new armour, he gained strength, and as he got used to the weight of it, he got faster. Balon also joined in these lessons and whichever man taught Harry, the other would teach Balon, and then they would swap. It was a huge privilege for Balon to train beside a prince, even a much younger one, or so he told Harry. Balon hoped that when they went back to King’s Landing that the Kingsguard would take up Harry’s training, and as a result his own training too.

They had received a raven from the capital in the second moon of the year 286AC, his mother had given birth and was recovering well. The new baby, a boy, had been named Joffrey. The message had announced that His Grace, the king, would be riding for Casterly Rock the moment he got back from hunting in the Kingswood.

“Do you know what this means now?” Tywin had asked him as he read the letter aloud at the midday meal.

“It depends on what mother thinks of the new baby.” Harry had answered back.

“What do you mean, nephew?” Tyrion asked.

“If she loves the baby, like she never has me, then it means that I’m now expendable as there is a prince to replace me.” He said solemnly.

“You would accuse your mother of trying to kill you?” Gerion asked in shock.

“She’s done it before.” Harry confided softly. “I heard her speaking to uncle Jaime.”

“What did they say?” Tywin asked him softly, in a dangerous tone.

Harry said nothing, he just ducked his head and looked at his hands. He had come to love it here, he had come to love these people, but they were his mother’s family. His uncle Jaime’s family. How could he accuse them of anything and get away with it? Perhaps now that he had a baby brother, the raven had instructed his grandfather to do away with him.

“Harian.” Tywin said sternly. “What did they say? Tell us.”

Harry swallowed and looked up. Whatever they saw in his eyes unsettled them, as Gerion looked at all three of his older brothers uncertainly.

“You will not be harmed here. You are still my grandson.” Tywin said harshly. “Now what did you overhear?”

“She tried to abort me in the womb.” He said softly. “When that failed she poisoned me just after my birth, that’s how I got my fever. When that failed too I…I heard uncle Jaime telling her that she should have listened to him while I was still small and helpless, that they should have thrown me down the stairs and blamed my wet nurse for it. I don’t know why they hate me, or what I did, but if…if mother loves the new baby, she might try again.”

Tywin’s face hardened, turning to stone. He looked more furious than Harry had ever seen him.

“What if she doesn’t love your new brother?” Tyrion asked curiously.

“Then I expect he will be getting his own fever soon.” Harry said quietly. “Or perhaps they won’t try poison after it failed with me and some poor wet nurse will be beheaded for dropping the new royal prince down some stairs.”

“I will keep you here for as long as your father allows it.” Tywin told him, his voice cold and hard. “After that I will accompany you back to King’s Landing. If need be I will convince your father to foster you to your uncle Stannis on Dragonstone.”

“Why would they want me dead?” Harry asked softly. “She tried to kill me in her womb, she didn’t know if I was a boy or a girl, what I looked like, but she still tried to kill me before I was born, why?”

“I don’t know, but I will find out.” Tywin said. “You have nothing to fear here, whatever…grievance, they have against you, it stops with them.”

Harry stared at those gold flecked, green eyes and what he saw there reassured him and he leapt up from his seat with its two cushions and clambered onto his grandfather and hugged him around the neck, putting his face to skin.

“After the six turns that you have been here already, have you been fretting the whole time that perhaps you might be killed in your bed?” Tywin asked him.

Harry nodded his head silently.

“Is that perhaps why your sworn shield is constantly beside you and gives you no privacy?”

Harry nodded again.

Tywin sighed and hugged him tightly, standing up and settling Harry on his hip.

“Your father needs to be told.”

“He won’t stand for it. He’ll kill them both.” Harry said.

“Do you not want them killed for what they’ve done?” Tygett asked.

“They’re still family.” Harry said. “They might want me dead, but I do not want to pay them in kind. I’m better than that.”

“A Lannister always pays his debts.” Tywin said coldly.

“I will pay them back by living.” Harry said. “They want me dead, but I will live, I am the crown prince, and I will be king. That will be my revenge, I will not be so petty as to repay them in kind and take their lives in exchange for their wish to take mine, that would make me no better than them. I will serve them a different sort of revenge, one where I deny their wishes at every turn. To me, that would more than pay the debt owed.”

“Are you three years old?” Tygett demanded. “Are we sure he’s three?”

“He’s three. He’s just very smart.” Tywin said, rubbing his back.

Harry was considering that perhaps it was just King’s Landing that was so stuffy about body contact. His grandfather was proving that he had no problem holding and hugging him now that Harry wasn’t holding himself so stiff and aloof. He was reassured that these people wouldn’t try to hurt or kill him, so he buried his face in Tywin Lannister’s neck and tried not to cry with the sudden surge of emotions that almost overwhelmed him and his stubborn control.

Perhaps it had been his wary, frightened body language that had kept people at bay, had kept his father and uncles at bay, all because he had been witness to his own murder attempts by his mother and her twin brother.

“We will keep this from your father for now, but if it later threatens your life, if they try again, I will tell him, and allow him to do with them as he sees fit, do you understand me?”

“But nothing is more important than family.” Harry whispered.

“You are my family.” Tywin told him. “You are my own grandson, the crown prince, and my future king.”

Harry pulled back and looked into those eyes. “Would you take Jaime back?”

“What is your meaning?”

“He’s a member of the Kingsguard and he’s trying to kill me. When I become king, how can I have a member of the Kingsguard I know is trying to kill me?”

“A very difficult dilemma.” Gerion mused. “The Kingsguard serve for life, but what do you do when a member of the Kingsguard is trying to kill his king?”

“I’d strip him of his cloak and send him back here, but how can I do that without insulting the honour of my own house?” Harry frowned.

“A dilemma for another day, you are but three years old, Harian.” Tywin told him. “Do not fret about such things yet, you are already old before your time, do not let this put yet more years on you.”

Harry nodded and did as he’d been told, casting the problem aside for now. His grandfather was right, he was not king yet, though if Cersei and Jaime had their way, he never would be. He would have to make absolutely sure that he remained aware and alert at all times, he would have to be one step ahead of them at all times. It should be easy enough, because truly his mother and her twin brother were not as cunning or intelligent as they believed they were, and him, being a thirty-nine year old in a three year old body, he was already older than them, twenty years older than them…or at least his mind was, it should not be too difficult to keep ahead of their crude attempts to murder him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry launched himself at his father when they were safely in Casterly Rock, away from the eyes of the smallfolk, and then he was flying again, only upwards, not across the floor, and he giggled happily as he was caught safely in huge hands and strong arms.

“There’s my boy.” Robert Baratheon all but bellowed, bringing him to his chest and ruffling his wild black hair. “How are you? Are you surviving the lions’ den?”

“You forget, Father, I’m half lion myself.” He grinned. “I missed you though!”

“Ah, that keep just isn’t the same without you scampering around it.”

“Your Grace.” His grandfather spoke up, taking the attention. “We have fashioned a room for you and laid on a feast.”

“Tywin, how are you?” His father asked jovially.

Harry was switched to just the one huge, muscled arm and Robert and Tywin shook hands. Harry looked at the Kingsguard behind his father…six of them. Uncle Jaime thankfully wasn’t here.

“Uncle Renly!” He called out, reaching for his very handsome, young uncle.

“Your father is right, that keep hasn’t been the same without you. Much quieter though, until recently.”

“What happened?” Harry asked interestedly, as he was settled in Renly’s arms.

“Your brother was born. He hasn’t stopped screaming since. Part of the reason I wanted to come to visit you.” Renly told him.

“How is he? My brother?” Harry asked. “Is he healthy?”

“Very healthy, especially those lungs of his.” Renly grimaced. “The boy doesn’t stop squalling and screaming. In comparison to you, who barely made any noise at all, he’s very…unwelcome.”

“He hasn’t taken any fevers?” He asked worriedly.

“Ah, your own fever.” Renly said, understanding at last. “That was a coincidence, Harian, your brother is unlikely to get a fever himself.”

Harry looked to his grandfather and uncles, frowning. He knew, he just knew, that if Cersei and Jaime were going to attempt anything, it would be now, while the king and his Kingsguard (minus the one), his uncle Renly, and several dozen other guards and attendants were here, halfway across the realm.

If his brother was to die, as had been intended for him, it would be now and he shared that fearful look with Tywin, Kevan, Tygett and Gerion.

“The boy is fit and healthy.” Robert told him, taking him back from Renly and settling him comfortably back in his own considerable arms. “A large, pink and blonde blob with a red face and constantly screaming. You can’t escape the noise, you can hear it all over the Red Keep.”

“Is…is mother happy with him?” He asked.

“She can’t leave him alone.” Robert said. “She’s hovering over him in a way she never did you. I don’t understand it.”

Harry ducked his head. So it was him that was the problem. It wasn’t having children, it wasn’t having a son, it was just him.

“So there is something wrong with me.” He said sadly.

“There is nothing wrong with you.” Robert bellowed.

“His Grace, your father, is correct.” Tywin said calmly. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

“How have his lessons gone, Tywin? Is he learning?” Robert asked.

“Very, very rapidly.” Tywin insisted. “You have one of the cleverest little boy’s I’ve ever met, Your Grace.”

“I’m not.” Harry mumbled.

“Modest too.” Tywin added. “He attends all of his lessons dutifully and I rarely see him without a book in his arms.”

“His training at arms?” Robert asked, because of course that’s all he would be interested in. He didn’t understand book learning or reading…neither did Renly, who, without parents and with barely interested brothers, was not being taught to his full potential.

“I have been assisting in his arms training, Your Grace.” Tygett said. “As my lord brother has said, he is a very quick learner, in all manner of things. He is getting very good with a sword, but his biggest skill currently is in archery.”

“Archery, at his age?” Renly asked curiously, as he hadn’t started archery himself and he was five years older.

“I stand on a box, because the bows are all bigger than I am, Uncle.” Harry said proudly. “Balon helps me draw the bow, but I aim and release myself.”

“Well done!” Robert boomed out, throwing him in the air again.

Harry giggled again as he was caught securely. “Up!” He demanded, pointing into the air.

His father laughed at him and threw him into the air again, before catching him safely.

“I will come to your next arms lesson and see how you are doing, I might have a go at you myself.”

“Not with your hammer though.” Harry said quickly.

Robert laughed until he was red faced. “Of course not, you are no Targaryen!” Robert insisted.

Harry smiled and wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and held on as he was carried. The Kingsguard followed behind them, and Harry grinned to see a rather intimidated Balon in line with them. He looked good with them. He would be one of them soon enough, even if it was before Harry became the king, because Harry would wheedle his father to give any spare cloak to his sworn shield. Though with a selfish heart he wished he would be the one to present the white cloak to Balon.

The feast was lavish, Harry was sat on his father’s lap, and he ate a little more than he usually did, because the feast lasted for hours, over several courses, and because he was getting more used to bigger portions slowly here at Casterly Rock.

His father did not drink much wine, and it made Harry so happy as he engaged his father in conversation to keep him from drinking.

“…and then I ducked under his blade and whacked his foot.” Harry finished with a grin, and his father threw his head back and laughed.

“I was hobbling for three days after that.” Tygett chuckled as Harry recounted their mock battle. “Three of my toes were swollen and black. I learnt my lesson though, the little sneak aims low, very low.”

“Of course I do, Uncle, what else can I aim for while so little?” He giggled. “You had blocked your knee from a strike already, I had a choice, your shin or your foot, and you could have easily blocked a blow to your shin from your knee. So I hit your foot.”

“He’s a terror with a weapon, Your Grace.” Tygett insisted.

“He’s very smart.” Tywin said. “To make a split second decision to go for the foot, because he knew a blow to the shin might be blocked. It is those sorts of instincts that will see you become a great knight, my Prince.”

“I can’t wait to grow!” He said excitedly.

The men around him all laughed, even the Kingsguard and Balon.

“Every boy says the same.” Tywin told him. “They all want to grow up as quickly as possible, to become knights and compete in battles and tourneys. Let yourself grow and learn first, the time will come soon enough.”

Harry nodded. “I’m doing better at riding too, Father!” He said. “My pony actually goes where I tell it now, not where the tasty grass is.”

That got him more laughter and Harry grinned.

“Soon I will get you a proper horse.” Robert told him.

Harry laughed. “As long as I get a man with it, to help me into the saddle.” He jested. “I fear a horse might be impossible for me to get onto without one.”

The men all laughed again and Harry smiled happily.

“I will not see you harmed.” Robert swore to him. “You will learn to ride your pony, properly, then you can be helped on and off of a horse once you are a more confident rider.”

“I want a chestnut one.” Harry declared. “More red than brown, with a black mane and tail.”

“Then you shall have it!” Robert said immediately. “A big, stallion destrier.”

Harry laughed and hugged his father, who hugged him back tightly.

“I think that it might be time for you to retire to bed, my Prince.” Tywin told him. “It is much later than you usually stay up and you will be back in your lessons tomorrow morning. You need your rest.”

Harry nodded easily and he hugged his father again, tighter. He kissed him without thinking and didn’t notice his father’s shock at the action as he slipped down to the floor and hugged his grandfather and uncles’ goodnight, including Renly, before hurrying to Balon and taking his hand. His sworn shield took him back to his rooms.
After six turns at Casterly Rock they knew where everything was, and they had gone exploring everything around the place, including spotting untapped gold veins running through the walls in the bowels of the Rock. It was probably the only dungeon in the Seven Kingdoms that kept their captives in a ‘golden’ cell.

“Are you alright, my Prince?” Balon asked him, holding his hand, but not looking at him. His eyes were on everything else. He even periodically looked over his shoulder to be aware of anyone behind them. He had turned into a proper sworn shield since they’d come to Casterly Rock, under the tutelage of Ser Benedict and Tygett.

Harry nodded. “Today was one of the best days of my life. But grandfather was right to send me to bed when he did. It is late, and I am very tired.”

“We’ll get you cleaned up now, into your sleeping tunic and into bed. You can bathe in the morning.”

Harry nodded and smothered a yawn.

“I hope the servants warmed the sheets.” He frowned.

“I made sure the servants were reminded of your wishes an hour ago.” Balon told him.

“Thank you, Balon.” Harry said with a sweet smile.

Balon helped him to wash his face and hands, helped him to swill his mouth out with salt water, helped him to unlace his doublet and boots and Harry slipped from his clothes and got into his sleeping tunic as Balon removed the pan of hot coals that was warming his sheets for him.

Harry slipped in and snuggled happily into warmth.

“Will you join me tonight, Balon?” Harry asked.

“What are you afraid of?”

“A lot of people came to Casterly Rock today, court attendants and such. I don’t know or recognise half of them.” He said worriedly.

Balon understood immediately and he stripped off himself and got into his own sleeping tunic, several of which he kept here in the prince’s room for this purpose. He knew that his prince was in danger, that the queen and her brother were trying to kill him and any one of the attendants could have been paid to injure or even kill the prince while they were here. Balon had been warned not to say a word to anyone about the queen or her brother, but to keep very close to his prince, to do his duty as a sworn shield and to protect his charge with his life.

So he did as he was told and he slipped into the bed and blew out the candles. He kept his dagger under his pillow and his sword within his reach. He slept in front of his prince, closer to the door, though truthfully as the room was so large, all anyone had to do was walk around to the other side of the bed, but he hoped that he would wake up first. Or that an attacker wouldn’t expect him to be in the bed and would come for him, and not his prince.

He was glad that he had chosen to sleep with the three year old that night, that Harry had asked him to do so, when Harry poked him repeatedly into wakefulness and he opened his eyes to see a shadow move in the pitch dark room that was lighted by a single torch flickering outside the open door, in the hallway beyond. His brain caught up, and he realised that if he could see the torch in the corridor then the door had been opened.

The shadow lunged at the bed, but Balon had already reacted and had grabbed his dagger from under his pillow and had sat up to protect his prince with his own body, slamming his forearm into a solid chest to keep the silhouette of a dagger from reaching his little ward.

Harry screamed to alert anyone and everyone within hearing distance of his distress and need, which as the scream was loud, shrill and piercing, would be quite a few people. Harry did not stop screaming, it was continuous, and Balon was worried that Harian had been hurt somehow as he fought the shadow. The shadow made a desperate lunge for the bed again, and the prince stopped screaming to grunt, indicating that he had at the least been shoved, and Balon was furious. He ducked, dodged, and then lunged himself and flashed out his knife to hit any body part that he could. He managed to stab a thigh, before he kicked out a knee with as much force as he could to disable the vile attacker.

There were people there then, flooding into the room with torches and candles and it was all confusion and terror. Balon went to the prince, to protect him until the people who were now in the room were identified.

“What is going on here?” The voice of Tywin Lannister cut through everything else.

“My Lord.” Balon stepped forward. “Prince Harian was attacked as he slept.”

“Where is he? Where is my grandson?” Tywin demanded.

“I’m here, Grandfather.” The little voice of the three year old prince came from the gloom.

“Light these torches.” Tywin ordered. “Where is the fool who attacked my grandson?”

“He’s here, my Lord.” Balon said, kicking the attacker who was clutching his wounded thigh, the knee that Balon had kicked out looked broken, the lower leg was crumpled the wrong way.

“Ser Barristan, I trust your brotherhood can handle this?”

“Of course, Lord Tywin.” The gruff voice of Barristan Selmy sounded. “Mandon, Arys, take him to a more suitable room. Meryn, rouse the king and inform Preston and Boros of what has happened.”

“The king will want to interrogate him personally, I imagine.” Tygett said.

“I imagine he will.” Tywin answered in a very deadly voice as servants lit the torches in Harry’s room and the man was finally fully revealed.

He was dressed very well, like any other court attendant, but under the fancy clothes he was obviously a cutthroat. His teeth were rotted, his hair unkempt despite the attempt to comb it and he was covered in scars.

“Harry, were you injured?” Tywin asked him.

Harry was very pale, but otherwise stood upright and seemingly unharmed, hiding behind the back of his sworn shield. He shook his head.

“Balon protected me. If he hadn’t been here, though…” Harry trailed off.

He looked at Balon’s dagger in the man’s thigh. He took a breath and made to move around the cutthroat to his grandfather in a ploy to seek comfort from a relative, like a normal three year old would have done in this situation. It was a very stupid move on his part, he should have thought it through a little more, and truly it all happened too quickly. They were complacent, they believed the threat to be neutralised with a dagger in his thigh and a broken knee, but the cutthroat lunged at him as he walked past and swiped with the dagger that was still in his hand, which had been concealed by his sleeve, and even as everyone watched, even as Harry jerked backwards out of reach, the dagger caught Harry’s forearm and sliced straight through his pale skin.

Ser Barristan went ballistic and lashed out with a heavy armoured boot while Balon snatched his prince into his arms and stepped back out of the way.

“Call for Maester Creylen.” Tywin ordered a servant harshly. “Get this scum to the gaoler’s room. He can be interrogated there.”

“It’s too late.” The cutthroat laughed and held up the dagger. It was slightly bloody, but it didn’t mask the slightly yellow, wet sheen to the blade. Barristan gripped the wrist and twisted it harshly until the bones snapped, and the blade fell from boneless fingers with a piteous cry of pain.

“Poison.” Tygett spat.

Tywin’s lips went pale as he clenched his jaw. “Get Maester Creylen here, immediately. Get my grandson on his bed, tie off his arm, quickly. Ser Barristan, get this filth out of our prince’s room.”

Balon ripped off the ties to the front of his own sleeping tunic and he used them to tie off Harry’s arm near the shoulder, as tightly as he could. It was painful, uncomfortable, but Harry endured it. He frowned up at everyone who surrounded the bed and were looking at him.

“How are you feeling?” Tywin asked, laying a hand on his head, checking for a fever.

“Grouchy.” Harry complained. “I never did like being woken up from sleep.”

“Any burning or loss of feeling?”

“Not until Balon tied off my arm and stopped the blood.” Harry said calmly.

“What has happened?” They heard Robert Baratheon shouting and raving from outside.

Harry was pale and scared looking when Robert caught sight of him. He saw the blood on his son’s arm, and the tie higher up, near the shoulder.

“Who did this to you?!” Robert raged.

“The fool has been taken to a different room so that the prince might rest, Your Grace.” Tywin said.

“It was a poisoned blade?” The king demanded.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Why is no one seeing to my son?!” He shouted loud enough to rattle the windows.

“Maester Creylen has been called, he will be here soon, Your Grace.”

“You boy, you’re his sworn shield!” Robert shouted at Balon, who visibly shrunk back from the furious king who was all but bellowing in his face.

“Father.” Harry said quietly. His father fell silent to hear him. “I would have died if Balon hadn’t been here. That man would have slit my throat in my bed if Balon hadn’t heard him and woken up. Balon stopped him from reaching me, putting his own body in the way, and he stabbed the man in the thigh, and buckled his knee too. Balon saved my life, as he was meant to. If you want a target for your anger, the cutthroat is down in grandfather’s dungeon, waiting for you.”

“I can’t leave you now.” Robert said angrily, looking at him worriedly.

“I am well protected and looked after. Go to the man and find out why he tried to kill me in my bed before he finds a way to take his own life, and takes his answers to the grave.”

That got Robert moving and he came to Harry and cupped both of Harry’s cheeks. He got a kiss to the forehead, which was new, and Harry made himself smile to encourage the affection. He needed Robert on his side for the future and if he could encourage the man to love him then that would work very much in his favour, and for his plans for the future.

“Tywin, stay here and make sure that nothing further happens to him.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Tywin said. “You boy, take His Grace down to the gaolers.” He barked at a frightened servant.

Maester Creylen arrived as the king was leaving and Harry watched as Robert seized the man by his linked collar of different metals with one massive fist, dragging their faces closer together so that they were almost nose to nose.

“If he dies, you will beg for death before I am finished with you.”

“I…of…of course, Your Grace!” Maester Creylen stammered.

The king left Harry’s bedchamber and Maester Creylen hurried over to the bed. He immediately got a jar of live leeches from the bag he had been carrying and attached them to Harry’s poisoned arm.

Harry didn’t know if leeches even sucked out poison. If anything it seemed worse to add blood loss as well, as it seemed like it would cause more problems. He said nothing and tried to will his magic to take the poison away.

He was given vile things to drink and eat. He didn’t even know what half of it was, but it made him feel sick. He felt more like he’d been poisoned from the Maester than the cutthroat with the blade.

One of the concoctions made him sleepy, and he fell unconscious as several people looked on worriedly.

The fever took Harian near dawn. He started shivering and convulsing, vomiting in his sleep as the servant that Tywin had ordered to keep his face and neck free of sweat dabbed and wiped continuously, as the three year old prince soaked his sheets.

The king was beside himself, and just like the first time that Harian had fallen ill and taken a fever, he didn’t know what to do. He was useless, powerless to help his ailing son, and this time he didn’t have a war to run back to in order to distract himself from what was happening. To make matters worse, the cutthroat had been hired by someone else in King’s Landing on the conspirator’s orders. He gave up the name of the one who had hired him in King’s Landing easily enough, after some painful incentives, but he claimed that he never knew who had given the original order for the young prince’s murder.

Tywin knew who was responsible, however. Cersei. Or perhaps Jaime, though most likely the both of them. A new prince had been born, and Harian’s fears had come true. Cersei loved the new baby prince, and had resumed the attempt to kill her older son, and if it hadn’t been for Harian’s young sworn shield, a boy himself of just twelve years, who had slept in Harian’s bed that night, the crown prince might have died tonight, here in Casterly Rock, while he was under his protection.

His hand clenched hard. They had tried to kill his grandson, in his house, the seat of his power. It needed to stop. He had to get to the bottom of this.

It took five long, torturous days for the fever to break. Everything within Casterly Rock was hushed, as servants carried out their duties as silent as mice and the tension grew as taut as a pulled bowstring while their prince got paler and weaker, thinner and skeletal, his face turning gaunt as they watched and could do nothing. Tywin witnessed the rage and fear of Robert Baratheon, as he almost broke both of his hands as he beat them bloody against the stone wall outside of Harian’s bedchamber in his frustration of being unable to do anything to help his three year old son.

Harian was very perceptive, he had been right all along and despite the broken arm incident, Robert Baratheon loved his son, but didn’t know how to treat him while he was such a small, vulnerable child. Cersei truly was trying to kill him.

The cutthroat, now of no use to them after having had all relevant information extracted from him, was hanging from a rope over the walls of Casterly Rock. He had died screaming and begging, between the Kingsguard, Tywin’s own gaolers, and the king himself.

A week after he had been attacked, those dark, emerald eyes opened for the first time and blinked, squinting in the bright light. Tywin stood immediately and went to cup those hollow cheeks, looking into the eyes that were shadowed and bruised purple from the poison and a lack of proper rest.

“Harian.” He said quietly. “How do you feel?”

Harry blinked again, but gave his attention to his father, who had leapt up and clutched his hand upon seeing him actually awake.

“Tired.” The little prince told them, his voice hoarse with disuse. “I feel…” He shook his head just slightly. “I want to sleep.”

“Take some water first.” Tywin told him, grabbing a water jug and pouring a goblet before helping Harian to drink, holding his boneless body upright enough for him to drink deep. They had been wetting his lips with damp cloths and dribbling water into his mouth, but it was not enough, he needed to drink, and eat.

Harry drank deeply, allowing his grandfather to hold the goblet and his body. He was so weak he felt that he couldn’t even lift his arms, or support his own head. He finished the goblet and he was allowed to lay back down.

“I hate poison.” Harry declared.

Robert couldn’t take it and he slid into the bed and pulled Harry onto his chest. Harry rested happily, belly to belly with his father and feeling his breathing, that huge muscled chest moving him up and down gently, hearing the fast heartbeat under his ear.

He was lulled very quickly into sleep, safely knowing that his father, and grandfather, was there to protect him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry was watched closely as he recovered from the murder attempt, not just by Balon either, as he had seemingly also picked up a Kingsguard shadow as well. One of the sworn brothers was never far from wherever he was, whether it was taking a small walk to regain his strength, or sitting in a chair, a huge book hiding his legs as he read. He was currently doing the latter.

“Are you well?” His grandfather asked him, taking a seat beside him.

Harry smiled tiredly. “Yes, Grandfather. I’m slowly regaining my strength.”

“You lost much fighting that poison. Not many boys your age could have done such a thing. Most men couldn’t have done what you did.”

Harry sighed and looked at Balon and Ser Meryn, who were stood at the only door into the room. Balon had taken to emulating the Kingsguard, so that he could learn from them what he was supposed to do to protect his royal family. Harry lowered his voice so that no one else could hear him.

“That’s twice now, Grandfather, and twice I’ve survived. Was there something wrong with the poison? Was it off?”

“I don’t know.” Tywin told him. “But this is the second murder attempt and…”

“Third, if you count the attempt while I was still in the womb.” Harry pointed out.

Tywin sighed. “This is the third attempt on your life and I will not allow it to continue.”

“It has always been here too, Grandfather. I was here when I was born, wasn’t I? Because father was fighting the Mad King. I took my fever here too, didn’t I?”

Tywin looked down at the floor. “Yes, you are correct. They must think me terribly stupid to put up with such an attempt in my own home. They must be afraid to try at King’s Landing.”

“Too many spiders about, I think.” Harry said perceptively, alluding to the royal spymaster, Varys, who knew pretty much everything that happened in the capital city due to his little spies.

“I think you are right.” Tywin said, looking at him in that strange way of his that conveyed pride with his almost smile.

“Nothing anyone does in King’s Landing is kept hidden, Grandfather.” Harry said softly. “I…I don’t think they’ve ever tried there, but then…my brother has only just been born. Maybe now they will, despite how many eyes are watching and ears are listening at the Red Keep.”

“Remember that I will be coming with you to carry on your lessons.”

“I like your lessons.” Harry grinned tiredly.

“Once you are stronger then we will continue.” Tywin promised.

“The Kingsguard are training with Ser Balon too.” Harry informed his grandfather. “My father ordered it himself, because I don’t want to give him up as my sworn shield. I think he’s enjoying himself, if not the bruises.”

“Every bruise is a lesson.” Tywin told him.

“And every lesson is something learned.” Harry agreed.

“Exactly. I will leave you to rest. Try not to exert yourself too much.”

Harry nodded his understanding. “I went for a walk earlier, but I think I will read, ready for our next lesson, Grandfather.”

“Thinking ahead is a needed quality for any great leader.”

“It also makes the lessons more enjoyable, I’ve found.” Harry smiled.

“Yes, well, I am at least glad that you aren’t running around the place like your terror of an uncle.”

Harry giggled. Renly was only five years older than he was, and he already knew his youngest uncle was terrorising everyone in Casterly Rock. His own babysitter, some knight of Storm’s End, was at his wits end following after the young boy, who mostly spent all his time at Storm’s End and was glad to be out and about in another castle.

“Renly suffered much when my grandmother and grandfather drowned.” Harry said sadly. “He was only a year old when they died, and he was stuck being raised by servants and attendants. I think he might have turned out differently if he had been raised by his parents, and not pushed off onto servants.”

“He had his older brothers.” Tywin pointed out.

Harry shook his head. “Neither of them should ever have children. I don’t think they know what to do with Renly. Father allows him to do what he wants. Stannis tries to control him and make him as rigid as he is. Renly is a free spirit, he likes games and playing. He will never be a serious man and he should not be Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.”

“You would have given that honour to Stannis?” Tywin asked him curiously.

“He is the older brother, and a man grown.” Harry nodded. “Renly will never be serious enough for the task of being the Lord of Storm’s End, and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. That makes the Stormlands weak. It puts the Crownlands at risk from the south.”

“What would you do?”

“I would give Stannis Storm’s End, now, while Renly is too young to truly understand. It cannot be done when Renly is a man grown as it would be a huge insult to our family, and to Renly himself, but father will never do it, because he doesn’t like Stannis. He would rather the Stormlands be weak under Renly, rather than have them be under Stannis’ capable control, just because they don’t like one another. That isn’t what being a king, or a lord, means.”

“What does it mean?” Tywin asked him, but he was doing that almost smile again.

“It means working with people that maybe you’d rather kill. It means listening to people when you’d rather not. Being a lord, or a king, is a duty, and like most duties, it is hard work and sometimes unpleasant, but that is the price that needs to be paid in order to rule, even if it is just a household, or indeed Seven Kingdoms.”

Tywin just sat and stared at this tiny three year old boy. He was full of surprises, full of little wisdoms, and even now, he could strike him speechless. He was saying things that even grown men couldn’t understand, but he, a three year old, understood, truly understood these things, and it was shocking.

“I think that out of all of my family members, including my own children, you are the best of them all.” Tywin said. “You are going to be the legacy of the Lannisters. You, and no one else.”

Harry looked up at him and blinked those large, Lannister green eyes. “Do you think so, Grandfather?”

“At this point, I know it.” Tywin answered firmly, pushing himself up to his feet.

Harry beamed at him, once more the sweet, innocent child, as if he hadn’t just spoken wisdoms like an ancient Maester. Harian Baratheon was most certainly a puzzle, one that he’d believed he could solve easily, once he had some extended contact with the boy, after all he was only three years old. The truth of the matter was that Harian was unlike anyone else that Tywin had ever met and for once he was proud of someone holding the Lannister blood, if not the name given that his grandson was a Baratheon.

He left Harian to his almost obscenely large book that he was apparently having no trouble reading, following and understanding, and he went to his own brothers, to Kevan, Tygett, and Gerion. Kevan had one of his year old twins sleeping on his shoulder.

“How is our little prince?” Tygett asked him.

“Surprisingly calm and pulled together, having narrowly survived another assassination attempt by his own mother.” Tywin said as he sat and poured himself some wine.

“Have you thought more on why Cersei might want her oldest son dead?” Gerion asked.

Tywin shook his head and drank. “With her it could be any sort of imagined slight.” He sighed. “I will not allow her to kill that boy.”

“None of us will.” Tygett insisted. “How she cannot bring herself to care for him, only the gods know. He’s only been here a short time and I’m already wrapped around his fingers.”

“We all are.” Gerion pointed out. “But this is two assassination attempts on him in Casterly Rock. Is Cersei trying to get us all blamed for his murder?”

“Or perhaps just me.” Tywin said, thinking on the matter. “As Lord of Casterly Rock, if the prince dies here, in my home and under my protection, the blame will fall onto me. Perhaps my children grow weary of my counsel and hope to silence me.”

“Then they are even bigger fools than first thought.” Kevan insisted.

“We need to put a stop to it!” Tygett said heatedly. “We cannot allow those two to kill Harian.”

“The thing that bothers me the most is how that cutthroat got into the wing where he was sleeping.” Tywin mused. “The Kingsguard were here, they were patrolling, and I had guards posted to all the stairs leading to the wing.”

“You think Cersei has one of the Kingsguard in her pocket? Or the household guards?” Gerion asked, the thought as unbelievable as it sounded.

“She is the queen.” Tywin pointed out. “It is not unheard of for members of the Kingsguard to choose the queen over their king, or a claimant to the throne over the king they are sworn to serve.”

“Which one of the brotherhood would be most likely?”

“I think the only one who can be safely ruled out is Barristan Selmy.” Tygett said seriously. “Jaime is certainly on his sister’s side, as for the others, who knows where their loyalty truly lies.”

“So Harry isn’t even safe with the Kingsguard.” Gerion sighed.

“They cannot act in the open.” Tywin pointed out. “It was not a member of the Kingsguard who attacked him with a poisoned blade. They cannot be seen to be the ones doing the dirty work. Letting in cutthroats, paving the way to the prince, yes, but they cannot attack him personally.”

“I don’t know what is worse, pretending to protect him while escorting cutthroats to his bed, or the fact that it was his own mother who ordered it.” Kevan said angrily.

“Oh, make no mistake, if that cutthroat had attacked Harry in the hall, the one in Cersei’s pocket would have skewered him just as quickly as his sworn brothers. He will only be able to move in the shadows, where he believes he cannot be seen.”

“Then we need to be in the shadows also, to root out which sword is the weed among the flowers.” Tygett insisted.

“We may have less time than needed.” Tywin said. “As soon as the prince is healthy, I believe the king will ride immediately back to King’s Landing with him.”

“Right into the lioness’s clutches.”

“I will travel with him if he is taken back, but I hope to wrangle some more time for him here. When the king leaves, the attendants and followers will leave with him, and so too will the Kingsguard.”

“He will be safe again. Here with us.” Gerion nodded.

“Have you written to Cersei or Jaime concerning the attempt on Harian’s life?”

“No.” Tywin answered curtly. “I have stopped Creylen from sending any ravens also, though no one has approached him yet to send one to the queen.”

“It would be too risky for a member of the Kingsguard to reveal his loyalties in such a way.” Tygett insisted. “They would expect you, or the king, to send the raven instead.”

“His Grace is much too worried about Harian’s health to bother writing the queen he did not want about recent events.”

“Why have you not sent the raven?” Kevan asked.

Tywin looked at his brother in disdain, before sighing.

“Because I want to know if she is behind it.” He said. “Her, and not Jaime, not anyone else. It would prove to me that she had knowledge of the plot. She has not sent a single raven asking after her son in the seven turns that he has been here. We will not inform her that her son has been attacked and poisoned, she will be desperate to hear if her attempt has succeeded, thus…”

“So she will send a raven asking after him when she starts getting impatient to hear if the plot has succeeded.” Gerion answered.

“Cersei is a very impatient woman too.” Tygett pointed out. “It should not take long for her to demand information.”

“Then we will see what she has to say.” Tywin told his three brothers. “Then we will see who is the real teeth behind these plots and schemes to see Harian dead.”

Tywin took another swallow of wine and contemplated again the reason for these assassination attempts in the first place. His mind couldn’t help but wander to the words of Robert Baratheon when he had arrived. ‘A large, pink and blonde blob with a red face and constantly screaming.’ Those had been Robert’s exact words, but the one word that had stuck out the most to him was blonde. The babe had blonde hair, where Harian had come from the womb with a veritable mane of his father’s jet black hair. The jet black of all the Baratheons.

He thought back to his twin children’s activities in their youth and the wine quickly soured in his stomach. He had ordered them to never speak of it again, he had ordered them to never do such things with one another again. Their bedchambers had been moved to opposite sides of Casterly Rock that same night, his late wife had posted a guard outside of Cersei’s room and she had had the servant who had found them together sent away…Tywin had sent a man after the servant to kill her on the road, to keep the abhorrent secret that his seven year old children had been found in their bed, rutting naked against one another in a parody of sex.

He had kept the two of them separated all through their early teenaged years, since he had found out about their perversions, and he had believed that this had been enough. Perhaps foolishly he had believed that such thoughts would have vanished from their minds as they aged, but had they started such disgusting practices up once more, now that they were both adults and living in King’s Landing with one another? Was this new prince, Joffrey, even Robert Baratheon’s son at all? Was that the reason why Cersei was attempting to kill her oldest son? Because he happened to be Robert’s trueborn son, and not Jaime’s?

The very thought made him feel ill, that one of his grandchildren had been born a bastard between his twin son and daughter. He could think of no other reason for Cersei to hate Harian. He had been trying to puzzle it out since Harian had told him about it. Nothing else fit, but this did, and Tywin wished that he was still in the dark and that he had not given thought to such vile things, but all the pieces fit, including why Cersei had attempted to kill the babe in her womb before he was even born…because she had known that the babe was Robert’s child from their wedding night.

All of the pieces of information fit together, and they formed a distasteful picture, one that made him want to vomit. He would need to keep very close to Harian’s side, and if he did travel to King’s Landing with the young prince, he could only hope that his presence stopped his twin children’s vile activities with one another, and their attempts on Harian’s life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry recovered well from his ordeal and he regained his strength slowly, but surely. He was back in his lessons, though they were reduced a little, so that he wouldn’t be overtaxed, and to give him a bit of free time to play with his father, or at least to play in his father’s company.

“I had this made for you.” His father told him, holding a wooden box out for him to inspect.

Harry looked at the pieces of what seemed like a precision cut wooden puzzle. There were hundreds of pieces, maybe even thousands, each the size of his hand, and Harry grinned at the challenge he had just been given. He put his book to the side and slipped from the chair, down to the floor.

His father tipped out the pieces for him and Harry squatted on the floor, spreading the pieces out. It looked like a broken up map of Westeros. He flipped the meticulously painted pieces over and set to work, immediately starting on his favourite location. Casterly Rock.

He was watched by his father, his grandfather, his uncles and the six members of the Kingsguard. He noticed that Ser Barristan was smiling at him as he moved around the floor, sorting out his pieces and collecting the cities that he knew. He tuned out their conversation, as they weren’t talking about anything important or useful, but he felt their eyes on him, watching him as he fitted the pieces in together. It was probably supposed to be a little out of his league as a three year old, especially with no picture to follow and no edge pieces to make a border, but he had never done a puzzle before, having not been allowed to as a child back in his other life, and he was enjoying himself.

After an hour, his puzzle was coming together and he had joined the Westerlands to the Crownlands via the bottom of the Riverlands, and he was working on the Stormlands when Maester Creylen disturbed them. He frowned at the Maester automatically, feeling almost like he could cry or throw a fit like the child he was supposed to be, he didn’t want to leave his puzzle and go for a lesson.

“Prince Harian isn’t having his lessons today.” Tywin insisted and Harry turned to beam happily at him.

“Pardon, Lord Lannister, but a raven has come from the capital, from Her Grace, the queen.”

“Give it here then.” Robert Baratheon demanded, holding out his hand impatiently. “Even half the realm away from her and she still manages to ruin any small measure of peace I find.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace, the message is for Lord Tywin.”

Tywin held out his hand and Maester Creylen hurried forward to hand him the message. He broke the seal on the small scroll and unfurled the little message. He read the words and he almost smiled. It was exactly what he had said would happen, Cersei was asking after her son for the first time since he had arrived. Harry had been here for almost a year now, yet she was only asking after him because no one had informed her of his ‘death’ due to the cutthroat that she had hired.

“What does she want now? Recompense for some small slight?” Robert asked, scoffing.

“She is asking after Harian, Your Grace.” Tywin said mildly, purposefully not looking at his brothers, nor young Harian.

Robert Baratheon grunted. “That’s a first. Go back to your puzzle, Harry.”

Harry blinked and then did as he’d been told, fitting another piece into place, but he was listening closely.

“I will compose a reply, if it please you, my Lord.” Maester Creylen said.

“No, I will do it myself.” Tywin insisted, standing. “Harian, I want to see that you’ve completed the Riverlands before I come back.”

Harry giggled. “Yes, Grandfather.” He said. “I’ve found Riverrun and I have it safe.” He pointed out the painted piece that declared the regional capital of the Riverlands, in the pile he’d made of all the capital cities. “Seat of the Lord Paramount of the Trident, currently Lord Hoster Tully.” He added quietly, almost to himself, but he’d done it purposefully for the others to hear.

Tywin patted his head gently as he passed. Harry went back to his puzzle and he worked out the pieces he needed to join the Crownlands with the Stormlands, and once he’d finished the Kingswood section he moved it into place to join it all together.

“After King’s Landing, travelling up the Kingsroad, the biggest castle is…” Harry frowned as he tried to think, looking at the pile of castles he’d compiled next to the pile for cities. “Harrenhal, on the God’s Eye.” He said, picking up the piece and putting it near where he wanted it. “Then up to Darry, and on the River Road, to Riverrun, over to Casterly Rock.” He said, then giggled as he fit Riverrun into the map puzzle.

“How do you remember this?” Gerion asked him, astounded by the three year old.

“I can see it.” Harry said with a smile. “In my head. I can picture all the roads and rivers and cities. The little towns are harder, especially further from a regional capital, then I just see which piece fits.”

“So you’ll know that the Roseroad connects Highgarden to, where?” Kevan asked him.

“North to King’s Landing and south to Oldtown. Highgarden is in the middle.” Harry said, as he found the pieces that fit around Riverrun to connect it to the Westerlands.

“The river that runs through Highgarden?” Tygett asked him.

“The Mander.” Harry said with a nod. “It’s wide enough that it’s always at risk from the Ironborn.”

“So you know where the Ocean Road starts and ends?”

“Highgarden to Lannisport.” Harry said with a grin.

“Where is the Greenblood, and what is it?” Gerion asked him.

“It’s a river, Uncle. In Dorne.” Harry answered.

“You truly are magnificent.” Tygett told him. Harry giggled at that and fitted in more pieces.

“The island off of Storm’s End.” His father questioned him.

Harry frowned and thought.

“Oh, you have him, Your Grace.” Gerion laughed.

Harry frowned harder and tried to picture the island his father mentioned. He’d memorised the entire map of Westeros, he should know it.

“Storm’s End, into Shipbreaker Bay.” He whispered aloud. “Into the Narrow Sea.”

He frowned so hard that he started unintentionally pouting.

“Come on, boy. It is our ancestral seat, you should know all cities and lands around it.”

“I’ve never been to Storm’s End, Father.” Harry pointed out.

“I will take you there.” Robert Baratheon declared. “But only if you can tell me the name of the island.”

“The Kingswood is above, the Rainwood below.” Harry frowned again. “Estermont?”

“Too far down, sweet nephew.” Tyrion told him, his nose still in his own book.

“A good, educated guess nonetheless.” Kevan pointed out, unwilling to allow Harry’s confidence to be knocked when Estermont was an island off of the Stormlands.

“Higher than Estermont.” Harry told himself, trying to picture what he wanted. “Shipbreaker Bay, into the Narrow Sea.”

Harry bit his lip and chewed on it.

“If I were to hint at gemstones?” His father winked.

“Gemstones?” Harry questioned, mulling that over. “Oh! Tarth.” He said with a grin. “Storm’s End, into Shipbreaker Bay, into the Straits of Tarth, into the Narrow Sea. Tarth, the Sapphire Isle. I’d like to see Tarth one day.”

His father laughed happily, bent forward and ruffled his hair all over his head. Harry went back to his puzzle, finishing the Riverlands and the Stormlands, and he was puzzling out the North and the Reach when his grandfather came back into the room.

The first thing Tywin Lannister did was check the Riverlands, and he handed Harry a small, hard sweet that was made from boiled honey when he saw that the Riverlands were indeed connected together between the Westerlands and the Crownlands. Harry happily popped the sweet straight into his mouth and sucked on it.

“You seem to be missing a Kingdom.” Tywin pointed out.

“The Vale.” Harry nodded, speaking around the sweet in his mouth. “I wanted to do the North first. I think it’ll be the hardest section.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s so big, Grandfather. The North is almost the same size as every other Kingdom put together and there is a lot of land between cities.” He said. “I know Winterfell, though. Uncle Eddard lives there.”

“Uncle Eddard?” Tygett questioned. “You do like claiming family, don’t you, tiny Prince.”

“Is he not my uncle? Father, you keep telling me that Eddard Stark is your brother!” Harry accused. “The brother of my father is my uncle.”

Robert Baratheon threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, wait until I tell Ned! I can imagine his gloomy face now.”

“Is he my uncle or not?” Harry frowned.

“Of a sort.” Robert told him, grinning widely. “We were fostered together, at the Eyrie. We were raised as brothers, but we don’t share blood.”

“Oh.” Harry scowled. “So he’s not my uncle?”

“You can call him uncle if you wish, as I call him brother.” Robert said. 

“Speaking of uncles. Where is Renly?” He asked curiously.

“Skipping down in the gardens no doubt, singing to himself.” Robert told him. “He’ll come back pristine and with flowers in his hair, but he’ll be fine, finish your puzzle.”

Harry nodded and went back to his puzzle.

“Does Renly still run about with flowers in his hair, Your Grace?” Tywin asked.

“Yes, what of it?” Robert asked. “I don’t understand it, or him. Truthfully I have never understood either brother, but he’s a third son, and now I have two sons and Stannis is getting married this year, he can do as he pleases. I have no care for it.”

“Is uncle Stannis getting married?” Harry asked, peeking up. “I’ve never seen a wedding. Will he have it on Dragonstone?”

“He will have it on Dragonstone, yes. He’s got a Florent as a bride, some stiff, severe woman named Selyse. She’s as uptight and as joyless as Stannis, they’re a perfect match.” Robert laughed.

“The children of my uncle are my cousins.” Harry said. “I’d like a cousin.”

“I wouldn’t hold out any hope for a cousin, you won’t get any from Stannis or Renly.” His father told him.

“Why?” Harry asked, looking up.

“Your uncle Renly wants to play the part of the maiden and Stannis is unlikely to see enough of his wife’s bed to get her with child.”

Harry considered that. His father was hinting that Renly was gay and Stannis asexual. Renly was a third son, and the Baratheon line was secured through Harry and now Joffrey too, so everyone would turn a blind eye to Renly having sex with other men, likely as long as he was discreet about it. But Stannis, as a second son, and having been Robert’s heir until Harry had been born, was expected to marry and father children, just in case, seeing as both Harry and Joffrey were still just vulnerable children, and that was exactly what he was going to do, even if he didn’t want to.

“Forget I said anything.” His father chuckled, seeing his confused frown. “You are too young yet to understand.”

“I think I understand.” Harry said slowly, flicking his gaze around at the men looking back at him. “Uncle Renly wants to lie with other men, not a woman, which won’t result in any children, and uncle Stannis just doesn’t like anyone, man or woman?”

Harry was almost jolted out of his skin by the loudness of the laughter that came from his father, and from his uncles.

“Am I right?” He asked as the laugher calmed a little. “Or have I misunderstood?”

“No. No, that’s about the right of it.” Robert laughed and bent forward to pull Harry from the floor, sitting him on his lap. “You, Harry, are a very perceptive little shit, aren’t you?”

Harry shrugged a narrow, bony shoulder.

“How do you know Renly wants to be with other men? He’s only just turned nine.” Harry asked.

“Boys who tend to act more like maidens in their youth usually grow up having the same…tastes.” Tygett told him carefully, aware that he might offend the king, or confuse Harry.

Harry narrowed his eyes and frowned. He could…sort of see where they were coming from, but in his former life he had been gay, and he had not acted as Renly had, and he wasn’t acting like that now, even though his body was as yet too young to understand such thoughts and he had neither the capability, nor the hormones, to react, he still considered himself as gay. He might have been in a new body, but his mind was exactly the same. He would have to be careful with that, it seemed.

“What are you thinking?” Tywin asked him, breaking his thoughts.

“That Renly needs to be protected.” Harry said. “People are cruel and Renly is family. If he wants to be with other men, let him carry on if it makes him happy, but I won’t let anyone use it against him.” He added fiercely.

Robert laughed and pulled him into a hug.

“You won’t let anyone use it against him?” Robert asked him.

“My uncle is only five years older than me, Father. He’s not going to be sleeping with boys yet, he’s too young. But when he does, I’ll be older too, and I can help look after him.”

“Going to knock the teeth out of anyone who picks on your maiden uncle, are you?” Robert asked him.

“It’s a start.” Harry said firmly. “Anyone who still says anything to him after that will lose more than their teeth.”

Robert laughed and hugged him again. “Go on, finish your puzzle. You’ll have to train hard at your arms if you’re going to protect your uncle from others.”

Harry nodded and slipped back to the floor, going back to the wooden puzzle. He would protect Renly, and himself too. The both of them were gay, it seemed, and they would both need to protect themselves, and one another if they were going to be with a man they loved.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Cersei Lannister clenched her fist tightly around the message from her father, Lord Tywin.

“What does father have to say?” Jaime asked her, their son in his arms in the safety of the closed room. “Is the boy dead?”

“He survived.” She said through clenched teeth. “He survived!”

“How? We gave that man enough gold to sink a ship!” Jaime frowned. “How could the boy survive a slit throat with a poisoned blade?”

“He didn’t slit the boy’s throat, he caught his arm. The poison took hold, and he grew fevered, but he overcame it and is recovering his strength by the day.” 

“Why did he cut the boy’s arm and not his throat?” Jaime demanded.

“The boy’s sworn shield was in bed with him.” Cersei said, her anger making her words waver.

“Robert allowed that?” Jaime asked curiously.

“Oh, he’s going to insist upon it from now on, if I know him at all.” Cersei hissed.

“So the sworn shield survived too? What did we pay for?”

“Father didn’t mention the sworn shield much, he just said that he was in bed with the boy and saved his life. From how it is written I assume that he is still alive too.”

Cersei silently seethed, walking from one end of the room to the other, thinking, contemplating her position…and her next move.

“How can he survive such poisons?” She demanded of Jaime. “How? Demon’s Dance is supposed to be very strong, more than enough to kill a grown man, and he’s just a boy, little more than a babe. A cut, no matter how small, with that blade should have killed him. He should be dead and gone.”

“I told you not to use poison again, after he survived the first attempt. If it failed then, when he was a babe on the breast, it was never going to work now that he’s older.” Jaime pointed out. “You should have let me throw him down the stairs.”

“We were in Casterly Rock!” She snapped, spinning to look at her brother-lover, angry that he couldn’t see the dangers of his own plans. “If father had even suspected…” She fretted, bringing her hand to her mouth nervously, just barely touching the back of her index finger to her lips.

“What reason would he have had to suspect you?” Jaime pointed out. “Now it would be difficult, as he knows you don’t care for the boy, but back then, we could have easily blamed it on a wet nurse. You could have pretended to mourn and we would have been rid of him. Now…now it seems we’re stuck with him and he will one day be our king.”

“He will never be king!” Cersei snapped. “Our Joff, our perfect boy, he will be king.” She said gentler, lowering her voice, as she looked at the growing blonde boy. Her perfect son.

“You have to get rid of the other one first.” Jaime said, passing the babe back to his mother. “And as he seems immune to poisons, and we have lost our chance to throw him down some stairs, we will have to get someone to actually open his throat, from ear to ear, as the cutthroat was supposed to do.”

“We have to get that sworn shield away from him, and put someone of our choosing in his place, or at least someone more incompetent.”

“How are you going to manage that? The boy loves him and now Robert will be singing his praises for saving his son from certain death.” Jaime pointed out.

“I’ll have to think of something, but first we need them all back here, in King’s Landing.”

“You said it was too dangerous to try here. There are too many eyes, too many ears.”

“We can’t try again in Casterly Rock.” Cersei said. “Father will suspect. He’s already suspicious, that’s why he took the boy there in the first place. We will have to find a way to do it here.”

“How to kill a boy who won’t die.” Jaime mused, a smile on his face. “And to kill him in a way that won’t point to us.”

“This is no time for japes.” Cersei chastised him. “Joffrey must be the king. We have to get rid of the other one, quickly. Every year he grows and gets closer to manhood.”

“There will be a small window of opportunity, when he is too old to have his sworn shield in bed with him, but not yet a man, we’ll have to strike then.”

“That’s not soon enough!” Cersei told him angrily.

“We have lost the chance, sweet sister.” Jaime insisted. “Three times you have tried to kill him, and three times it has failed. If poison won’t work, for whatever queer reason, we need to stop using it. A blade will have to do the job, or a hunting accident, a fall from a window or balcony, but we should not use poison again. Every failed attempt puts everyone on guard. We need to endure him for now, for a few years we do nothing, to lull everyone into thinking the assailants have given up, or have perhaps died, and then we can strike again and we will strike hard and true. He will not survive the next attempt, Cersei, but we need to wait. We need the perfect opportunity to strike him down dead.”

Cersei put the baby Joffrey into his cradle and went to her brother, sliding a hand into his beautiful golden hair. They kissed and Jaime held her tighter.

“Promise me he will die.” Cersei whispered against her brother’s lips.

“He will die.” Jaime promised her. “One way or another, the deed will be done.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Chapter Text

Harry was treated with kid gloves in the aftermath of the poisoning, even after he started feeling normal again, and started to get more active and boisterous, there was always someone hovering over him, shushing him, telling him to sit and relax. It was almost as if they expected him to drop dead if he started running around, but the danger had passed now, and he was fine, he had survived the poisoning, and another attempt on his life by his own mother.

His father had refused to leave him, insisting that they would travel together for Stannis’ wedding and then see what he felt like after that, but Harry was sure that his grandfather had already convinced him to let Harry stay at Casterly Rock, especially after Tywin had pointed out that the cutthroat had been hired in King’s Landing, and not in Lannisport.

But Robert Baratheon had become…not quite overprotective, but there was something more to him now, as he held Harry close, sat him on his knee more often, ruffled his hair and hugged him tightly, and carried him around. Robert just didn’t want to leave Harry alone and now that he was just two months from turning four it seemed that finally his father had decided that Harry was old enough for him to interact with, especially since he’d spent some extended time with him while sober and realised that Harry could actually think for himself, and hold a conversation with him. He wasn’t just a stupid baby. Not that Harry ever had been ‘just’ a stupid baby, of course, but he had to keep up some appearances lest people start to get overly suspicious of him. He couldn’t have come from the womb already talking after all.

Harry was even more frustrated as the weeks passed, and his father refused to go back to King’s Landing, and his entire family refused to allow him to do anything, from running and playing, or just simply walking through the gardens, there was always someone fussing over him, following him, or worse, trying to pick him up and carry him back to a chair. He didn’t like it. He felt better, his magic had taken care of the poison until not a trace was left in his body, and he just wanted to start his learning and training again, but he wasn’t allowed. The baby treatment was incredibly vexing to him, as he really wasn’t used to it, from this life or his last, and truly he was a grown man in his tiny body so the babying was very much not welcome.

When it arrived, his fourth name day was a quiet affair, strictly family only, and though Harry was showered with gifts, he was kept quiet and sat still. He’d been given two more puzzles by his father, but neither were on the scale of the Westeros map puzzle that he had been given before, as they were not even half the size, and Harry finished one of them in two hours, and then a few days later he started and finished the other in just a bare hour. He had also been given a lot of books by his uncles and grandfather, obviously in another attempt to keep him sat down and quiet. At least the books were interesting and kept his mind engaged, which was the only upside he took from his situation.

A month after his name day everything was being prepared and readied to go to Dragonstone for Stannis’ wedding. The horses were being readied, provisions packed up, and Harry was bouncing around in anticipation, because it meant that he didn’t have to stay still and quiet anymore, even if he did have to sit a horse for two weeks.

The actual travel to Dragonstone had been very exciting to Harry, because it was the first time he’d been allowed to do much of anything since he’d been attacked five turns before. He was not allowed to ride his own horse, which had dampened his enthusiasm a little, instead he was sat on the horse with his father, who, like his grandfather on the way to Casterly Rock what seemed a lifetime ago now, told him where they were, what was off in the distance, who ruled in what town or city and other such tidbits of real history, which Harry found he liked more than ancient history about this king, or that king, fighting rebellions and wars.

They had gone to Maidenpool, not to King’s Landing, as it was closer so that they could sail to Dragonstone for the wedding without going near his mother, or his uncle, and without his father being distracted with stewards or attendants who would demand his attention. His father had sent a raven ahead from Casterly Rock, to warn the town to have a ship ready for him and his retinue, which was rather large considering he had the entire Kingsguard with him (minus the usual missing Jaime Lannister), little Renly, Ser Balon, all the attendants and knights who had ridden with him to Casterly Rock, and Harry too, so they did make a very large group.

The ship had been ready and waiting for them, flying the flag of the royal house of Baratheon, with two other smaller ships readied to give them an escort to Dragonstone. Before they had embarked the ships they had eaten a lunch of freshly caught fish baked in a salt crust, served with vegetables and warm bread with butter and cheese, being hosted by Lord William Mooton before they had left Maidenpool. Robert Baratheon, however, was rather impatient and soon after they had finished eating they were on the biggest ship and Harry had sailed for the first time, running up and down the deck as the Kingsguard, noticeably out of their white armour while on the ship, took turns chasing him to try and keep him safe. He remembered sticking his head out over the side and a frantic Ser Barristan grappling him back over into the ship and chastising him to be safe.

Having gotten bored easily, and with Renly being bored too, they had started a game of rats and cats, which was very similar to the children’s game ‘tag’ back in his old world. It was more fun with more people, but Harry and Renly made do and in the end, they were both ‘rats’ and the Kingsguard, who were chasing them all over the ship, were the cats, even if they weren’t actually playing and were just trying to keep him and Renly safe.

Tired from their games, Harry and his uncle were tucked up in the captain’s cabin together, in the same bed, snuggled around one another, and Harry had never felt closer to his youngest uncle. Maybe Renly did actually like him after all, maybe it was just because they were always apart from one another, in different keeps, in different kingdoms even, and they had never really been given the chance to get to know one another properly, this was the longest they had actually spent together and they were both enjoying it.

It took a week of sailing, but they were soon on the dreary, gloomy island of Dragonstone, and Harry looked at it with wide eyes that could barely see through the dense fog of the island. It stank here too, and Harry recognised one of the smells right away as sulphur, but the other one he had never smelt before, in either life, but it was as equally unpleasant.

Harry could see the massive volcano that was called the Dragonmont…he could see that it was active as it was continuously spewing out smoke, which was what was making the island so foggy, and it made him worry for his uncle, and all the people who lived on this island. If that volcano erupted, which could realistically happen at any moment, absolutely everyone on this little rock would die.

The castle, also called Dragonstone, was much more impressive to him as the stone used to make the castle had been shaped to look like actual dragons, and they truly were lifelike too. Every single tower was shaped into a different dragon, each doing different things, and it was awe-inspiring to see what the ancient Valyrians had been able to create using their version of magic. To shape stone in such a way, to make it almost liquid before making it solid again. It was breath-taking.

Stannis and a welcoming committee were waiting for them at the entrance to the castle.

“Welcome to Dragonstone, Your Grace. My Prince.”

“You’re my uncle, why are you being so formal?” Harry demanded of Stannis.

“The boy is right, you’re getting married, Stannis, you’re not on trial.” Robert told him.

“Why didn’t you greet me too? I’m your brother!” Renly said sulkily.

Stannis looked like he wanted to throw all three of them back on the ship they had just disembarked and wave goodbye to them forever. Out of all the Baratheons, Stannis was by far the weirdest one, Harry believed. He’d even heard some of the crew of the ship complaining that Stannis had outlawed prostitution on Dragonstone because he disliked it so much, thus crippling the economy of the, already rather poor, island.

“Welcome to Dragonstone, Robert, Renly and Harian.” Stannis managed to say, but Harry could see him grinding his teeth. If he kept that up then in ten years he’d have to have wooden ones to eat his food. “I have had rooms made up for all of you in the Stone Drum.”

“Where’s your wife?” Renly asked.

“He hasn’t got one, he’s not married yet.” Harry pointed out.

“Oh. Where is your would-be wife?” Renly amended.

Stannis looked at them both as if they were particularly badly behaved dogs that he wanted to kick to heel, but he looked back to the retinue by the doors and he held out a hand. Harry and Renly just stared as a rather unattractive woman came to stand beside Stannis.

The first thing Harry noticed were her ears, which were very large and prominent and stuck out from her head. The second thing he noticed was that she was the same height as Stannis was, which was saying something as Stannis was over six foot tall.

“Why does she have a moustache?” Renly asked curiously.

Robert couldn’t control himself and he burst out laughing, clapping Renly on the back. Harry watched the woman’s mouth as it compressed into a severe line that reminded him of McGonagall at her most angry. She did indeed have a good amount of fine, downy upper lip hair that would put an adolescent boy to shame. There was more on her chin.

“It’s nice to meet you, my Lady.” Harry said politely, giving her his most innocent smile. “I’m happy that you are going to marry my Lord Uncle.”

He was overall glad that he was as yet too young to marry anyone, because if he had had to marry this woman himself, he would have found the bed of another quicker than he’d said his marriage vows.

The woman looked at him as if he were a rather large, squirmy grub that she didn’t even want to step on, but only to save her shoes from the resulting gore, and his uncle looked at him the exact same way. It was no wonder they had been matched to one another, they were perfect together, like two peas in a pod. He could already see that they were unhappy with one another, despite their similar outlook and attitudes to everything. His uncle was a very impatient man, and it seemed his wife was going to be the same. Harry wondered if Stannis might have been happier with a more attractive wife…then he remembered that Stannis was suspected to be asexual and thought perhaps not, she could have been the most attractive woman in the world and Stannis still wouldn’t have wanted to have sex with her.

Selyse Florent, however, probably had been wanting a more attractive husband, as though Stannis was tall, broad and sinewy, with beautiful dark blue eyes, he was almost bald with just the shadow of black hair around the sides of his head and his face was tight and rather gaunt. His jaw was always clenched as he grinded his teeth and his lips were thin and pale…likely from how often he pressed them together in disapproval. He was only twenty-one, yet he looked almost twice his age.

Not to mention that no one would ever want to live on Dragonstone for the rest of their life, he thought as he looked around the island once more, how damp and dark it was, covered in smoke from the volcano and stinking of sulphur and other unpleasant things. He’d only been here for several minutes and he already couldn’t wait to leave again.

“Thank you for your courtesies, my Prince.” The whip-like voice cut through his thoughts.

Shocked, Harry looked back to the woman, wondering if that voice had truly been hers. He really hoped that his uncle and this woman didn’t have children, as his father had predicted, as they’d be the most miserable children who had ever lived. She was frightening him and he was only here for a wedding, and he was forty years old truly. He really didn’t want to hear her speak again and her pale eyes were still glaring at him, her mouth still a severe, stern moue. She was setting off the instinctive part of his brain that was still immature, that was still all child despite his consciousness being that of a forty year old man. Those instincts were making fear override his logic. This was another part of growing up again that he didn’t like. The sometimes strong, childish emotions that took over and had him behaving like the child he was supposed to be.

“May I show you your rooms?” She asked him.

Harry shook his head quickly and hurried right to his father, lifting his arms, supplicating Robert to pick him up. Thankfully his father bent down and plucked him up, sitting him on his hip and holding him securely with his one, strong arm. Harry gave one last look to Selyse Florent, saw the outraged look she aimed at him, and he turned back and buried his face in his father’s thick neck, trying to calm himself down, trying to reclaim control of himself and his emotions. He tried to remind himself that he couldn’t afford to make enemies. That he needed to make allies and keep them even now, while he was so young. He was doing it to his Lannister family, he was doing it to Robert. He needed his Baratheon family on his side as well, and Stannis was marrying Selyse, she would be his good-aunt, his family via marriage.

He didn’t feel quite so bad for his reaction though when Renly took several steps closer to Robert too. Neither of them liked this woman, and neither of them wanted to be alone with her, or even near her with other people, she was too harsh, too severe and too stuck up for their liking.

“I can’t even believe you outlawed all the brothels on the island, what am I supposed to do on this dreary rock for several days while you chain yourself down?” Robert demanded of Stannis, barely noticing the discomfort of his son and youngest brother.

“You could try being faithful to your wife.” Stannis recommended.

“Careful now, Stannis.” Robert warned, his tone darkening as his voice deepened.

“What’s a brothel?” Harry interrupted, trying to diffuse the situation.

“A very fun place for men to go to when they’re old enough.” His father told him.

“A foul, disgusting place of degenerates and disease.” Stannis countered sternly.

Brother glared at brother and Harry was stuck in the middle. He didn’t like it, but he kept silent, trying to make himself invisible as the fear within him grew. Nothing good ever came of Robert’s anger, and once again Harry would be under threat because Robert was holding him. He wished now that he had gone to Balon and had asked him to lift him up. Balon would always protect him.

These two, despite being brothers close in age, were never going to get on, they were just too different from one another and they didn’t understand each other, they didn’t want to understand the other. Truthfully speaking Robert Baratheon didn’t understand, or even like, either of his brothers. Stannis was too extreme and Renly was too young and uninterested in weapons and warfare.

“I’m hungry.” Renly complained and Harry could have kissed him for breaking the tension, and the glaring match between Robert and Stannis, no matter how unintentionally.

“We have laid a meal on for your arrival, Your Grace.” Selyse announced and Harry shivered in horror at that harsh lash of a voice. It was still affecting that immature part of his brain and triggering his fear responses.

Harry was carried into the castle by his father and Renly walked beside them. They were led to the great hall of Dragonstone, and Harry was amazed that it was in the shape of a huge dragon lying on its belly. The doors into the great hall were set in the dragon’s mouth, so it was like they were being swallowed whole by the huge stone dragon. It made Harry giggle.

“You find my castle amusing, Harian?” Stannis asked him, almost glaring at him.

Harry really hated his uncle, there was only one other uncle that he hated more than Stannis, and that was only because Jaime Lannister was trying to kill him.

“Must you take the joy out of everything, Uncle?” Harry snapped. “Your castle is made of a hundred dragons, yes I find it amusing that we had to walk through a dragon’s mouth to go to the great hall. We are going to be eating after walking through a dragon’s mouth and we will feast in its belly as if it has eaten us. That’s amusing to me.”

“The dragon is made of stone.” Stannis told him, his mouth a thin line of disapproval. Harry was reminded forcibly of Vernon Dursley and his steadfast intolerance of imagination.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not funny.” Renly said and Harry felt a kinship with Renly that he’d never felt before.

The more time he spent with his youngest uncle, the more Harry found a friend…he no longer blamed his father for shipping Stannis off to Dragonstone to keep him out of sight, while giving Storm’s End to Renly, even if that wasn’t his father’s intentions considering that Dragonstone had long since been used as the seat for the crown prince, or the next in line to the Iron Throne. Harry had long suspected that his father had given Stannis Dragonstone to name him as his heir to the throne, as Harry might have been born when the rebellion was won, but he’d been a year old babe, and had already been struck down by one fever, proving himself as ‘sickly’ and perhaps not a good heir to the throne at that time.

The Stormlands were weakened for it, of course, Renly wasn’t up to the task of being the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, nor the Lord of Storm’s End, yet it was the ancestral seat of the Baratheon’s power, and they would answer to Robert if he called upon them, almost certainly. So really who the hell cared that an entire region of the realm was weakened when the alternative for making them strong was putting up with Stannis on the mainland? He was better off on this dreary rock, as his personality matched it and it kept him out of sight and out of mind.

“Children have imaginations, Stannis.” Robert told his brother. “You never have, but don’t rip them down because they want to be normal boys.”

“Renly is nine and Harian will be king…”

“Renly is a boy and Harry is barely more than a babe, he is not king yet.” Robert thundered. “While I still draw breath, they are boys and they will be free to act like it.”

The meal was small, in terms of feasts, but that didn’t make it any less uncomfortable, as Stannis and Robert were forced to sit beside one another. Stannis had refused to allow Harry up at the top table, instead he was sat on the table in front, on a tier lower than his father and uncle, and all the other adults, as was ‘proper’, but at least he was sat next to Renly. The two of them were giggling and playing together with their rather bland food, Harry hoped that the wedding feast was better, at least.

There were a lot of people here for the wedding, and most of them were Florents, who were the only ones who actually seemed happy to be marrying into the royal family, of a sort, seeing as Stannis was the king’s brother. He would never be king, not unless something happened to Robert, Harry, and now Joffrey too, but Stannis was still fourth in line to the Iron Throne with the potential for any of his sons, Selyse’s sons, to follow after him if he did take the throne. That very slight, miniscule hope was all the Florents needed to see Stannis as a rather lucrative match for their family.

Among those who were here for the wedding was Alester Florent, who was the current lord of Brightwater Keep, his lady wife, Melara and his three children, Melessa, Alekyne and Rhea. The two women had brought their husbands, Lord Randyll Tarly and Lord Leyton Hightower respectively. Melessa and her husband, Lord Tarly, had brought their three children, who were all sat at the same ‘children’s table’ as him and Renly. The two girls who were near the same age were constantly giggling and staring at Harry like he was an interesting show even though they couldn’t have been more than two, and one son, Samwell, who was silent as the grave and cowered if anyone went near him.

Lord Alester’s three brothers, Axell, Ryam and Colin were in attendance too, with their own wives and children, and his only sister and her husband were here too. The only other ‘child’ at Harry’s table was Ser Colin’s son, Merrell, and he kept trying to bully Harry because he was bigger and older and likely because it made him feel powerful to poke fun at a four year old prince.

“Stop it, now!” Renly demanded when he’d finally had enough of Merrell. “If you touch my nephew again I’ll flatten your nose.”

“Renly, stop causing trouble.” Stannis barked from the table above them.

“He’s…!”

“I didn’t ask for excuses.” Stannis said firmly.

“I hate him.” Renly whispered to Harry.

Harry nodded back. “He’s so miserable. He deserves to live in a miserable place with a miserable wife.”

Renly giggled and Harry sniggered into his cup.

“I still can’t believe she has a moustache.” Renly said.

“I can’t believe she has ears that look like wings. I wonder if she can fly with them.”

Renly almost choked. He inhaled his drink and coughed and spluttered, and then when his airway was clear, he laughed loudly.

“Renly, if you don’t behave you’ll be going to bed.” Stannis threatened.

“It was my fault, Uncle.” Harry said sweetly, giving his uncle big eyes and his most innocent look. “We were just wondering if your wife-to-be could fly with her ears.”

Everything was silent for a moment, as everyone absorbed what he’d said. Selyse Florent was pale with either fury or humiliation, and Stannis’ lips almost disappeared with disapproval, but Robert Baratheon threw his head back and laughed so loudly his voice echoed in the stone room.

Merrell Florent flew at Harry, but Renly was ready to deliver on his promise and he picked up his silver plate and swung it at Merrell’s face, knocking the other boy clean off his feet.

“They really can fly with those ears, with a bit of help.” Renly laughed.

“Bed, the both of you. Now.” Stannis demanded.

“Don’t order my son about, Stannis.” Robert said right back. “Gods, you always were a miserable child, you’ve only grown more miserable as you age.”

“It’s alright, Father.” Harry said. “I’m done eating and I’d rather not remain at this joyless meal. I will happily excuse myself with my uncle.”

Robert looked at him and nodded. “Off you go then, don’t get hurt or lost. Preston, go with them.”

Ser Preston, back in his white enamelled armour now that he wasn’t on a ship, immediately stepped forward.

Harry grabbed Renly’s hand and the two of them hurried off before Stannis killed the both of them. Balon Swann didn’t need to be told to follow, he did it automatically now and he fell into line with Ser Preston Greenfield, following Harry and Renly.

“You’re spoiling them both.” Stannis told his brother sternly, disapprovingly.

“My son is the crown prince and he was poisoned only half a year ago in his bed. I thought he was going to die, Stannis.” Robert growled. “I held my boy in my arms once more, fevered and cherry-cheeked, and I watched as every single breath he took was laboured, as every breath struggled to fill his tiny lungs. I sat and I watched in terror, thinking that every breath could be his last as he trembled and convulsed, fighting that damned poison. I wiped his mouth when he vomited, held him still as he thrashed, listened to his moans and gasps as he fought for his life. If I want to spoil him after he actually survived that horror who are you to tell me otherwise?”

“Did you find who had poisoned him?” Stannis asked then, changing topics.

“The man named as the one who had hired the cutthroat wasn’t in King’s Landing when I sent orders back to the capital to look for him.” Robert said sourly, grasping for the goblet of wine. “He has gone to ground, in another city no doubt. If I ever found the whoreson….”

“How did a cutthroat get into Harian’s room in the first place? Was he not being guarded?”

“The Kingsguard were patrolling the hallways and the Lannister household guards were in every corridor and main entryway.”

“So how did the cutthroat even make it to his room, Robert?”

Robert Baratheon blinked as he was forced to puzzle that bit of information over in his mind.

“Selmy!” He bellowed out, cutting over the rather muted merriment of the feast and drawing all attention to him.

“Your Grace.” The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard immediately reacted, stepping forward several steps to stand behind his king.

“Who was guarding the corridor to Harian’s room in Casterly Rock when he was attacked? Which of your brothers had that duty?”

“I believe that was Ser Meryn, Your Grace.” Barristan said quietly, realising quickly the direction the conversation was going in.

“Trant, come here!” Robert yelled out, getting rather red in the face now that his terrible anger had been stoked.

The wedding guests in attendance were watching, staring, and rather enjoying the impromptu entertainment they were being provided with at such a miserable excuse for a feast.

“Not here, Robert.” Stannis insisted. “Come to a solar. There’s no need for this to be done out in the open.”

Robert actually listened to him for once and he stood immediately. Meryn Trant looked concerned and confused, as Barristan followed at the rear, making sure that Meryn Trant didn’t try to run, if indeed he was guilty of what the king was accusing him of.

Stannis led them to a solar, and when the six members of the Kingsguard made it inside, Barristan shut the door and he bolted it, before moving to stand by his king, and the king’s brother, but if there was trouble he would protect his king as his priority.

“You were on duty when my son was attacked at Casterly Rock.”

“Yes, Your Grace, but I saw nothing. I had four corridors to patrol, the cutthroat must have waited until I was furthest away.” Trant answered.

“How could he have done that?”

“I was thinking that perhaps he had help from the household guard, Your Grace. I was talking to a few of them that night, but any one of them could have helped that cutthroat into the prince’s room when I was in a different corridor.”

“Why would they have done that?” Stannis asked.

“I don’t know, my Lord, you’d have to ask them.”

“So whoever planned to assassinate my son also bought the Lannister household guards.”

“It would be too risky to ask them all, Your Grace. There would be too much of an opportunity to be caught out if the cutthroat asked the wrong guard. He only needed the one guard to help him.” Barristan pointed out shrewdly.

“It would have had to have been a lot of gold.” Stannis added. “Only a few people would have had that amount of coin to pay for a prince’s life.”

“Which means that the cutthroat was paid well to begin with.” Robert realised. “If I ever find the disease-ridden whore who ordered this done to my son…”

“You need to keep a closer eye on him.” Stannis insisted. “Keep him somewhere safe.”

“The cutthroat was hired in King’s Landing and then sent on to Lannisport. It’s not safe for him in the capital. Tywin insists that he is safest at Casterly Rock, and Harian likes it there. I’m going to keep a Kingsguard member on him at all times.”

“I would be honoured to make up for my past mistakes, Your Grace.” Meryn Trant offered.

“No. Not you. Harian likes Arys the most, I’ll leave him.” Robert immediately shot down. “Stannis, show me where Harian will be sleeping, am I close to him?”

“After what happened to him at Casterly Rock I had the thought that you’d rather be closer to him, so I put your rooms opposite one another.”

Robert nodded approvingly. “And Renly? I don’t want him too far either.”

“With all of Selyse’s family here, the Stone Drum is running short of suitable rooms. I had thought to put Harian and Renly together, it gets cold here at night.” Stannis said.

“They get on well and they shared a bed on the ship here. I’m sure the both of them will agree, the little terrors that they are. Preston is likely already tearing out his hair with them both in his care.”

“Can they be trusted not to ruin my own wedding?”

“Probably not.” Robert chuckled. “But Renly is Renly and Harian is only just recently turned four. They’re going to get bored and whine and complain. They need to be accommodated to keep them both comfortable. That means keeping them well fed and putting chairs near them for them to sit on when their legs inevitably get tired during the torturously long wedding ceremony. Gods, I still remember my own wedding, I wish you could have been there, then you might have some idea of what you’re letting yourself in for.”

“I was besieged at Storm’s End with Renly.”

Robert nodded. “I well remember. I had to marry Cersei fucking Lannister in an almost secret ceremony, and I didn’t even have my own two brothers there to witness it, only Jon and Ned. The gods know I never wanted to marry her. I still held out hope that Lyanna would be…well, she wasn’t, not after Rhaegar Targaryen was through with her, but being wounded in Ashford, I needed the alliance and the only good thing that has come out of it thus far is Harian.”

“Your other son?” Stannis questioned.

Robert waved a huge hand dismissively. “A squalling babe, nothing more. He favours the Lannisters, with his blonde hair and unending cries. Harian was different, he was always different.”

“You broke his arm.”

“A mistake that will never be repeated.” Robert said fiercely. “That boy means everything to me.”

Stannis nodded approvingly. “Let us go and find them then, before they find a way to level Dragonstone to the ground.”

Robert hefted himself to his feet and the two of them, and the Kingsguard, followed the stream of annoyed servants until they found the two boys, and their two babysitters. Harry and Renly were sat astride a stone dragon statue each and from what he could tell, they were pretending that they were real and were duelling to the death.

“Renly, Harian. It is time for you to go to bed.” Stannis told them.

“A little while longer?” Renly pleaded.

“No, it is getting on to be full dark, you need your rest.”

Harian blew out a breath, but held his arms out to his sworn shield, Balon, who stood forward and plucked the four year old from the statue. He came running to Robert, and the king had never felt more love than when he crouched and accepted those skinny arms around his neck. He stood back up, Harian in his arms, a little face squashed into his neck and his son yawned, cuddling in closer.

He followed after Stannis, who was holding Renly’s hand, for all of his talk and complaints that Renly was getting to be too old for such things.

“So I get to stay with Harian?” Renly asked, after being told that they were staying in the same bedchamber.

“Yes, you will be sharing a bed.”

Renly giggled and looked back at his nephew, who grinned tiredly.

“You are not to play any more games tonight. You can play in the morning, but you are tired, I can see it.”

Renly sighed. “It was hard to sleep on the ship.”

“Catch up on your sleep now.” Stannis insisted. “You’ll both feel much more refreshed on the morrow.”

“Is that my room?” Robert asked, pointing to the door opposite the one Stannis had just opened.

“Yes.” Stannis replied curtly.

“I am going to be right across from you.” He told Harian. “There will be a Kingsguard knight stood outside both doors all night. No one will hurt you.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you, Father.”

“Are you having trouble sleeping, Harian?” Stannis asked then, as if it had only just occurred to him that perhaps being attacked in his bed while just three years old had affected his sleep.

“Not if I have someone near me, Uncle.” Harry said. “I have my father across from me and Renly and Balon in bed with me.”

“You…you wish for your sworn shield to go to bed with you?” Stannis asked in shock.

“Balon usually sleeps with me and a servant said that Dragonstone is pressed for space because of the wedding. I don’t want Balon to be in another tower, he saved my life. I want him with me.”

“You heard your prince, boy.” Robert told Balon, who stepped forward immediately at being addressed. “Will the bed fit the three of them, Stannis?”

“I’m not very big.” Harian pointed out.

“It’ll fit the three of them.” Stannis said, still looking at Ser Balon, the boy he had found and appointed to his nephew just over a year ago, after hearing the horrifying news that the crown prince, the only prince at the time, didn’t have a sworn shield to protect him, or even so much as a nursemaid to look after him.

“Renly, go.” Robert said, pushing the nine year old into the room, then the twelve year old Balon, before carrying in Harry.

Robert shut the door on everyone else and placed Harian on the large bed, turning to the large trunks and opening them one by one to find a sleeping tunic for all three boys.

Stannis had ordered Renly and Harian’s things in together, but Balon didn’t have anything.

“By the gods.” Robert cursed when he realised.

“Uncle Stannis knows he’s staying here, Father. He’s likely already sent a servant to get Balon’s things from wherever he was supposed to be before.” Harry said softly.

Of course there was a knock on the door and a servant carried in Balon’s trunk and set it down with the others, murmuring and bowing to his father all the while before making a very hasty retreat.

“You’re too clever for your own good.” Robert told him.

Harry grinned and giggled and allowed his father to ‘help’ him undress and then slip into his sleeping tunic. Harry hugged him, kissed him and then crawled to the top of the bed and wiggled himself under the sheet.

Renly came charging over and burrowed in right next to him, throwing an arm over him and cuddling in.

Balon was more reserved and he slipped in on Harry’s other side and he made sure that the king saw him placing a dagger under his pillow, before pushing his hand up underneath to clutch at the hilt, ready and willing to use it if anyone came into the room.

“Good lad.” Robert praised him, patting Balon’s shoulder. “You keep that up and you’ll be a Kingsguard knight before you know it.”

Robert didn’t draw out any farewells, as there was drinking to be had, and perhaps a servant to find to warm his bed, and the three of them were left alone rather quickly, and as soon as the door was closed, Renly was sat up and giggling.

“You’re going to be a Kingsguard member.” He said excitedly to Balon.

“I hope to be.” Balon smiled.

“I told you that you would be.” Harry said, though he stayed lying down, the sheet covering him. His four year old body was tired, very tired, but his forty year old brain was still processing information.

“It…it is no guarantee.” Balon tried.

“It is.” Harry insisted. “Even if my father doesn’t give you a white cloak, I’ll make sure that you’ll be a member of my Kingsguard. Now be quiet and go to sleep, it really was hard to sleep on that ship. It was my first time on the sea and it took too long for me to get used to it.”

“But I’m excited.” Renly told him.

“I know, but come sleep.” Harry urged. “My back is cold.”

Renly laid back down and snuggled up to his back as he had done on the ship and Harry snuggled into Balon’s back. He felt very well protected sandwiched between his sworn shield and his uncle and with how tired he was, he easily, and very quickly, slipped off to sleep, despite how very cold it was here on Dragonstone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

The morning of the wedding and Harry was dragged out of his bed at dawn and pretty much dumped into a bath. He was still quite groggy and tired, and he didn’t understand why he had to be woken up so soon when he was only four. It wasn’t as if he was the groom, he wasn’t the one getting married and wasn’t involved in any of the preparations, so he was rather grumpy that he was being pulled about like this for no good reason.

As he broke his fast he was encouraged to eat as much as he could, as they wouldn’t be taking the noon meal in preparation for the wedding feast later that day.

“Don’t cause any trouble.” Stannis warned him the moment he had finished eating and had stood up from the table.

Harry went to Balon and took his hand, trying not to glare at Stannis as he did so. Anyone would think he was a horrid, spoiled little princeling. That wasn’t him, and it never had been. He didn’t need any chastisement and he resented that Stannis had chosen to do so in public.

“Where to, my Prince?” Balon asked, using the title to gain his attention, and lift his blackened mood.

“Let us go and explore a little.”

Harry managed a smile as they left the great hall, exiting through the dragon’s mouth. It truly was a masterpiece of craftsmanship.

“Now, where do you want to go that you did not want to mention in the hall?” Balon asked with a grin.

Harry laughed because Balon knew him so well. “I want to see Aegon’s painted table.” He confessed, even as his feet took them back to the Stone Drum.

He had been curious of the table since he had heard of it, during one of his visits to the Red Keep library. Aegon the Conqueror had planned his invasion of Westeros from that very table, and Harry really wanted to see it, but he suspected that Stannis would stop him if he asked for permission…so he was going to do it and then, if he got caught, or got into trouble for it, he’d ask for forgiveness after the fact. He had lived his previous life by the motto that it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and he was going to do exactly the same in this life.

They made it to the top floor of the Stone Drum without meeting any servants who could potentially tell Stannis about what they were doing, they were all very busy with the wedding and also distracted, and they were alone as Balon opened the door for him.

Harry gasped in absolute wonder at the enormous wooden table that came into immediate view within the round room. It was more than fifty feet in length, and it varied in width based on the natural landscape of Westeros. It was completely, utterly awe-inspiring and Harry felt choked to view it.

He held his arms up to Balon, who knew what he wanted and picked him up so that Harry could see the painted top of the table. Balon walked him around the table slowly, so that Harry could view it from every side.

“It’s so big! I didn’t think it would be this big.” Harry commented, peeling his gaze away to give Balon a stunned look, before turning back to the table.

There were four massive windows at the top of the tower, floor to ceiling and wider than usual, letting in sunlight, one on each wall so that light spilled over the table from north, south, east and west. It lit up the entire table, so that a clear view of it could be seen.

It was exquisitely detailed; rivers and mountains, forests and lakes, every settlement, city and castle marked out precisely, as it had been three hundred years before. It was beautiful. He noticed immediately the peculiar detail that the book he’d read had mentioned too. The map was not sectioned into regions. There were no borders between the different kingdoms that had made up Westeros. Aegon’s vision brought to life, of Westeros as a whole, as one kingdom, with one king. A vision that he had accomplished and had made reality, all started from this very table.

“Sit me on the chair, Balon.” Harry said excitedly.

Balon chuckled, but did as asked, going to the point where Dragonstone would have been on the map, and sitting Harry in the elevated chair.

Harry surveyed the entire of Westeros, trying to imagine what Aegon might have thought, what he might have been thinking, as he sat in this same chair, looking at the lands he wished to conquer and rule over as the sole king.

It was impossible for the thought not to go through his own mind, that he would be king of all of this one day, when he was older.

He looked over everything, trying to memorise it. He wanted to remember this moment forever. He smiled and swept his gaze across the fifty foot length of the painted table. It was more than even he had been able to imagine, which was saying something as his life contained actual magic.

They stayed for a while, at least an hour, mostly in silence as Harry stared at the table, in awe of the precise craftsmanship.

After seeing the table Harry didn’t want to be distracted by other people, especially not people talking of something so dull as a wedding, so he asked Balon to take him to Aegon’s Garden, which was near enough on the opposite side of the castle and was guaranteed to be completely empty on such a busy day.

He enjoyed the walk, and he allowed a small, childish giggle as the staircase they had to go down to reach the garden was shaped like a dragon’s tail. Balon heard him and looked down at him, and the two of them shared a smile.

Gardens, and really any time in nature, always calmed Harry down. He didn’t know why. Perhaps it stemmed from the small bit of peace he always got in his previous life when sent outside to do the gardening. A small reprieve from the Dursleys and their judgemental stares, sharp words and even sharper abuses.

Harry inhaled deeply, and the smile was automatic as he relaxed and settled, able to deeply reflect on his thoughts in such a quiet, beautiful place and after seeing the painted table, this was truly the only place he wanted to be to take in the enormity of his thoughts upon seeing something so wondrous.

Aegon’s Garden was full of tall, dark trees, thorny hedges that towered over both he and Balon, and it smelt of pine, which was a welcome relief from the foul stench of Dragonstone as a whole. There were wild roses, herbs, and even cranberries growing. Harry plucked a handful of cranberries and nibbled on them happily as he walked through the garden. They were ripe, but rather acerbic tasting, though Harry still enjoyed them. Balon did not, and he quickly spat out the tart, rather bitter berry quickly.

“How can you eat those?” He demanded. “They are almost assuredly poison!” He said as he turned fretful at the very thought.

Harry laughed. “They’re cranberries, Balon.” He told his friend. “They are very bitter though.”

“I have never had cranberries like that before!”

“No, most are made into sauces or juice.” Harry agreed. “I don’t mind them like this, though.”

“You are a very weird little boy.” Balon teased, easing away from his worry.

Harry just gave him a grin. If only Balon knew just how weird he truly was. Harry sighed at that thought and looked off back to the trees and wild flowers around him. Balon could never know. No one could ever know his secret. It was a lonely thought, but he’d known that before he’d even come here. He quickly shoved those thoughts aside before his mood turned more sour than the cranberries he was eating.

He took Balon’s hand for comfort and they walked through the garden until a harried servant found them, chiding him that he would be late for the wedding if he didn’t follow her immediately to start getting ready.

His peace broken, Harry forced a smile and put himself into the care of the servant who hurried him back up the dragon’s tail staircase, around the outer wall and then down to the outer bailey, then into the middle bailey, huffing all the while about how far out he had gone on such an important day, speaking as if he couldn’t hear, nor understand her, which aggravated him. After a brisk walk, in which the servant really didn’t like slowing down to match his step, they made it to the inner bailey and could finally enter the Stone Drum.

“Hurry up, princeling.” She all but snapped at him, as she turned and once again saw him lagging behind, and that was as much as Balon could stand.

“He is a four year old boy!” He snapped back. “Your prince besides! I don’t think His Grace, Prince Harian’s father, would be overly happy to hear how you have been treating him, or speaking to him!”

“And how is that?” Ser Mandon Moore asked as he rounded the corner and immediately came to stand at Harry’s side, his arm extended out slightly, to shield Harry from the servant.

The woman had gone as pale as a sheet, looking uncomfortable and scared at the sudden appearance of a grown man, a member of the Kingsguard at that. Of course she had felt much better about snapping at two boys with no witnesses, but here was someone she couldn’t, wouldn’t, try to boss around.

“She is speaking to Prince Harian as if he is a common pig herder.” Balon insisted to the knight. “Or a pot boy from the kitchens. And a much older one than his four summers.”

“Well?” Mandon demanded of the servant. “What say you to these accusations, woman?”

“Lord Stannis is to marry.” She tried to defend. “Prince Harian will be late and spoil the proceedings if he does not hurry.”

“He is the crown prince.” Mandon said emotionlessly, but with a hard tone. “The proceedings will wait on him, not the other way around.”

“Lord Stannis said that…”

“His Grace has bid Prince Harian to do as he pleases.” Ser Mandon waved off. “So Prince Harian will do as he pleases, when he pleases.”

“But…but the wedding, Ser!”

“The wedding will wait until Prince Harian is ready to attend it.”

“I will attend when it is due to start, on time.” Harry piped up. “I just couldn’t walk as fast as she wanted. She was shouting at me to walk faster, but I can’t.”

“We will walk to your pace, my Prince.” Ser Mandon insisted. “We still have some hours before the wedding is due to begin.”

It was much slower with Harry setting the pace, but he was no longer red-cheeked and puffing for breath, forcing his little legs to keep to an adult stride.

Ser Mandon walked beside him, encouraging him to stay at his own pace, and Balon did the same from the other side, the both of them insisting that he didn’t rush himself and walked at his usual pace. The frightened servant was still leading the way, but her head was ducked and she was taking half steps as she led them back to Harry’s chamber, where the outfit he was to wear was laid out.

She excused herself and hurried off, leaving behind two other servants looking bewildered and sharing glances. She was obviously supposed to stay and help, but after how she had treated him he didn’t mind her leaving and after the tongue-lashing she had gotten from Balon and Ser Mandon, he didn’t blame her for leaving as soon as she found a convenient excuse to do so. Instead he turned his smile on to the two remaining servants and bid them to help him dress in his wedding finery. He was going to be too hot and feel very restricted in under an hour and it was going to be an exceptionally long day for him. He wasn’t looking forward to this at all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

The actual wedding was very, very long winded. It took place at midday, missing out the noon meal in preparation for the wedding feast afterwards, and Harry stood beside his father, holding the bottom of his doublet with a small hand.

Selyse Florent looked no less ugly for wearing a white gown made of warm wool, with a maiden’s cloak of ermine over her shoulders depicting the red fox head circled with blue flowers of house Florent. She was being escorted down the aisle in the Sept by her father, Ser Ryam. At least his uncle Stannis looked more handsome than usual, standing tall and strong in front of a septon, wearing a very fine black and gold doublet, black breeches with gold stitching and upon his back was a cloak of heavy yellow wool, the crowned black stag of Baratheon prancing proudly. It was the best dressed Harry had ever seen Stannis, who usually favoured rather plain clothing made for practicality instead of being showy or ostentatious like most other nobles.

Harry wasn’t that interested in the marriage ceremony, though he felt worse for the people at the back of the Sept, who probably couldn’t hear or see a damn thing. He stayed still, calmed himself, distracted himself with his thoughts, even though his young body wanted to move, then he wanted to curl up and sleep, then he started getting achy and fidgety and grouchy, but he took a deep breath and stilled himself again, distracting himself with thoughts of the painted table he had seen that morning. He would not show up himself or his family, despite how very young he was.

Renly had given in and he was sat on a chair that had been brought in for him, playing with a little wooden figure that Ser Boros had been holding, ready to distract the two youngsters. But Harry was different. It was fine if Renly wanted to sit and play, but he, as the crown prince, was held to a higher standard than anyone else, despite the fact that he was only four. He felt people staring at him, watching him, as he gripped a tighter hold on the hem of his father’s doublet to try and keep himself alert, even though his tiny body wanted to sway and curl up. He wanted a rest, he wanted a nap, he was hungry and wanted something to eat, but he couldn’t have any of that until after this stupid ceremony was ended. He was never going to get married, he was never going to put himself through this torture.

At long last it was over, and as everyone clapped and cheered the newly married couple, Harry tugged on his father’s doublet and lifted his arms, silently asking to be picked up before he collapsed and fell asleep on the floor. He was starting to feel teary as all the negative feelings built up.

“That was a dull affair.” Robert said disparagingly as he bent and picked Harry up, sitting him on his arm and letting Harry snuggle into his neck. “I’m surprised you aren’t asleep like your uncle.”

Harry looked at Renly, who was being picked up by Ser Arys. He was deeply asleep, his wooden knight still clutched in one limp hand.

“I wanted to sleep, but people were watching me.”

“The Seven damn those who were watching you.” Robert cursed, right there in the Sept, which made Harry giggle. “You’re a babe, Harian. You sleep when you need to.”

“If I sleep now, will uncle Stannis be mad?”

“No, and if he is I’ll knock out his teeth. You were stood up and awake all through this boring ceremony and that was more than he could have asked of you. Get some sleep.”

Harry nodded and curled up slightly in his father’s arms. It took a while for him to manage it, but he did eventually fall asleep, his child’s body was just so tired. He was placed on a soft chair behind his father at the high table of the feast, covered with his father’s Baratheon cloak, and left to sleep, guarded by Ser Balon and Ser Boros.

He woke up with a squirm just over an hour later and the feast was still in full swing. It would last for hours more, he knew.

“My Prince.”

Harry blinked gluey eyes open and he smiled to see Balon crouched beside him.

“You keep me safe.” He said groggily.

“Yes, I have been stood right by here, watching over you, as always.” Balon promised him. “Do you want to sit up?”

Harry nodded and brought a small hand out of the heavy cloak laid over him to rub at his eyes. Balon gave him some time to get used to being awake, before helping him to sit up.

“Are you hungry?” Balon asked him softly, under the shouting, laughing revelry that was his uncle’s wedding feast. If Harry hadn’t have been so very tired the noise would have woken him up much sooner.

Harry nodded as his hollow feeling belly grumbled loudly. That had probably been why he’d woken up when he was still tired, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, as the handful of cranberries plucked from Aegon’s Garden certainly didn’t count, and his belly was so small. It had been much too long for his four year old body to wait for another meal.

Harry slipped from the chair he’d been sleeping on and he went to his uncle. His father wasn’t anywhere in sight.

“Uncle.” He said, holding up his arms.

Stannis gave him that look, which reminded him that his oldest uncle hated body contact and held him in utter contempt. He was at least picked up, but he was sat immediately on a chair next to his uncle and his severe, scary wife, who was no more happy today than she’d been the other day, when he’d first met her.

“Do you need assistance with your food?” Stannis asked, making it sound as if he was only asking because he was supposed to, not because he wanted to actually help him.

“Only with my meat, Uncle.” Harry said quietly.

Stannis nodded and while Harry put various vegetables onto his plate, his uncle cut him a few slices of meat, which looked like pork to Harry, and cut it up with his own dagger into bitesize pieces for him.

“Thank you.” Harry said sweetly as he got up onto his knees and looked in the jugs before him, frowning as he only saw wine and more wine.

“What are you looking for?” Stannis asked him.

“Water, Uncle. Or berry juice. I can’t have wine.”

“It is a wedding, one cup will be allowed, surely, especially by His Grace, your father.” Selyse told him, making a play at politeness, but Harry was used to sugary words hiding the venom underneath them from his own mother.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want wine, good-aunt.” He told her, using her new title for the first time.

“I dislike wine as well, I made sure that there was water to hand.” His uncle told him, reaching for a jug that was right by his left hand and he poured Harry a goblet.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

Harry took a deep drink and then started eating. He reminded himself that he was on display, as he happened to look up and see people looking at him, likely talking about him, but he didn’t care. Not yet. He would ‘mingle’ with the people after he’d eaten and had put a stop to the gnawing in his belly. He needed to get these people on his side, he needed to get them to like him. He hated politics, but if he was to be king one day, then he would need to be the best at it, so he wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else. He would continue to observe and listen to everyone, seeing where their loyalties truly lied and then when he was in power, he would act accordingly. He would not be a weak king, he would not be a mad king, and he would not be a disinterested king like his father. He swore that he would not be a bad king, but in order to achieve this want, he needed to know the people he ruled, from the other lords, ladies and nobles, right down to the smallfolk and the so called scum of Flea Bottom. Everyone, everywhere.

“Do you want some fruit, Harian?” Stannis asked him once he’d finished eating.

Harry nodded. “Yes please, Uncle.”

Stannis sighed, as if hard done by, and Harry once again prayed that these people did not have their own children, as Stannis pulled a bowl towards him and used his dagger to cut and slice melon from a platter, adding a handful of berries before passing the filled bowl to him.

“Thank you.” Harry said, before reaching out for the smaller jug of thick cream. He drizzled over a small amount, having a greater stability and coordination than any four year old should have. “Where is uncle Renly?” He asked.

“He woke up on his way to the feast, he ate and was tired afterwards. He is in your room, sleeping. Would you like to join him?”

Harry shook his head. “No, Uncle. I’m no longer tired.” He lied, even though he knew, he just knew, that Stannis would have preferred him to say yes, just so he could be put in a room and kept out of the way.

He was tired still, his small body ached with it, but he needed to use this opportunity to speak to other highborn people. He had been cloistered away in the Red Keep, and then at Casterly Rock, for his entire life. He hadn’t had much cause to interact with other people outside of his own family, and this was the perfect opportunity to show himself off a little. One which wouldn’t come around all that often while he was so young.

Harry ate his fruit and cream, got Balon to make sure that his face was clean, and then he hopped off the dais the top table was on and he went mingling. Ser Boros came puffing up behind him, the fat fucker barely able to keep up with him as he greeted people and played to his courtesies, kissing ladies hands with gentle, dry lips and bowing to them, despite the fact that they were all a good few feet taller than him. He was barely three foot at the moment, as a four year old, and even the shortest of women were near the five foot mark at least, and the Florents, like the Lannisters, all seemed to run into the tall end of the spectrum, so many of them towered over him.

“My Prince, how are you feeling?” One woman asked him. Harry recognised her, by her ears, as a born Florent.

“Very well, my Lady.” He said with a sweet smile. “Yourself?”

“It is kind of you to ask, I am wonderful. I am very happy to see my cousin married well.”

Harry looked up at the top table, at the frowning newly-weds, and he wondered if everyone was actually happy with the union except the bride and groom.

He mingled and spoke easily to everyone, making a good impression of himself, with Balon and Ser Boros at his back…now that the fat knight had actually caught up to him, and caught his breath back too. When Harry became the king Ser Boros would be the second man of the Kingsguard to go, right after his uncle Jaime.

When the bedding hour finally approached, Harry decided that he had done enough mingling, had made a good enough impression of himself, and he took Balon’s hand and hurried away.

“A little eager to get to sleep, are you not?” Balon asked him with a kind smile.

“I cannot stomach my uncle and my new good-aunt while they are clothed, Balon. I have no wish to see them naked and bare.”

Balon laughed loudly and pulled him along a little quicker as the ribald, bawdy suggestions started in earnest. Harry wondered why his uncle had allowed such a custom, being as uptight and humourless as he was, but then Harry reasoned that Stannis was always a stickler for tradition and duty. He would endure this tradition, even though he didn’t like it, as he would see it as his duty. His uncle was rather dense in some ways, despite being intelligent in others, and his sense of duty and tradition was one of the former, because Stannis would force himself to do things purely because he thought he should. It was of course a good thing to have such a sense of duty and honour, because it made you stick to the right path, but if you only did things to satisfy the whims of others, when you yourself didn’t believe in them, then that was stupid, in Harry’s opinion anyway. If ever he was forced to marry, there was no way he would be having a bedding ceremony.

“Where did my father go, Balon?” Harry asked as they made it to his room and he saw that his father’s door was wide open, with no one inside it and no Kingsguard members either.

“I don’t know, Harry.” Balon said, now more comfortable using his name as they were away from other people…Ser Boros didn’t count. “He does have five members of the Kingsguard with him, though. He is well protected wherever he is.”

Harry nodded and opened the door to the rooms he had been given to see a sleeping Renly. He tugged Balon inside and then closed the door on Ser Boros, with a curt ‘You stay out here, Ser.’ He let Balon help him from his wedding finery, which had been made special for him for the occasion and had lots of ties and buckles.

He would never have been able to get it on or off without the help of other people. He hated wearing things that he couldn’t put on or remove by himself as it made him feel vulnerable to be put at the mercy of others. He had had enough of feeling like that in his previous life with the Dursleys. He couldn’t wait until he was older. Much older. He would have more independence, more mobility and flexibility, he couldn’t even put his arm over his own head yet.

“It is rather early.” Balon told him, breaking him from his thoughts.

Harry nodded. “It has been a long, drawn out day though. I do not mind if you want to go and do your own thing, Balon. Ser Boros is at the door. I want to read for a time, before I go to sleep. That small nap earlier wasn’t enough for me.”

“I will stay, as we are in an unfamiliar place, but I will practice my form. I will be quiet for you and Renly, I swear it.”

Harry smiled as he popped his head from inside his sleeping tunic and found the book he wanted to read. He got onto the bed, taking care not to disturb Renly, and he slipped under the sheet.

Harry watched Balon for a time, as he went through moves with his sword, thrusting and pretending to parry invisible blows from opponents, before he opened his book and started reading. A normal four year old wouldn’t be able to read this book, they wouldn’t have the patience to stick with it, and they wouldn’t be able to retain any of the information, if they could read it at all, but thankfully his mind was forty, and he could read it perfectly, he had the discipline to keep reading it and he would be able to remember what it was he was reading. There were perks to his situation after all. He might not have the mastery of his own body yet, but he certainly had the mastery of his own mind.

He was truly thankful yet again that he had kept his mind and his magic after the self-sacrificing ritual that had brought him here to Westeros.

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Harry was aware of the tension the next morning, as his uncle looked to be even more sour than usual, and Selyse Florent, or rather Baratheon now, was positively poisonous in her mood and tone. It all seemed to be aimed at his father, but he and Renly also got caught up in the crossfire, despite the fact that they were mere children and hadn’t been involved in whatever had happened and were innocent of all knowledge of it.

“Your father deflowered one of the Florent girls last night.” Balon whispered to him when Harry questioned him. “He hadn’t wanted to disturb Renly, who was sleeping in the room opposite his room so he…he took her on the wedding bed.”

Harry could have face palmed at his father’s idiocy. He must have been drinking heavily last night, there could be no other explanation for his ‘logic’ in the decision to take the Florent girl in Stannis’ wedding bed.

“He was caught in bed with her and of course, her father is furious as she was a maiden.”

“What will be done now?” Harry asked. “Father is already married.”

“He cannot marry her.” Balon said calmly. “But the girl, Delena, can no longer hope for a good match for herself. She will end up married to a lesser noble, or even a mere household knight, you heed my words.”

Harry nodded and tried to ignore the tension and the bad atmosphere around him. No one was happy today and Harry was really fed up of this island, and his uncle Stannis too. He wanted to go back to Casterly Rock with his grandfather…he wished that Tywin Lannister had come to the wedding, but he hadn’t been invited. His mother had been invited, likely for courtesy’s sake rather than a real want to have her there, but she had refused to come, using the new baby, who was already seven months old, as an excuse to not leave the Red Keep.

He needed these little visits though to drag him from his comfort zone, to help assimilate him to the people of this world, and there were more than a few characters and rotten apples lurking about, even within his own family. Thankfully, with them being within his family, he could use them to practice his skills and charms without facing a backlash. He was already sharpening his skills with the help of Tywin and Tyrion, he needed more time to watch and learn and emulate. Despite the time he had to practice here, he was losing valuable time learning and he just really missed his grandfather, who had really been the first person to take care of him here in this world. He’d been the very first person to take control and see to his needs and actually show that he loved him and would care for him. Harry rewarded that with unending loyalty and he would continue to do so until given a reason not to, though at this point it would have to be a very big reason why after all that Tywin Lannister had done for him in the last year and a half.

Harry was grateful when just an hour later, after they had broken their fast, his father announced that they were leaving. Harry delayed things slightly, when he begged not to go back to the capital with his father, not even temporarily. He wanted to go back to Casterly Rock, he insisted, to continue learning. His father had agreed in the end, not wanting to upset him, and wanting to get off of Dragonstone and away from his brother as soon as possible. It also helped that his mother had sent another raven, demanding that her husband bring Harry back to the capital so that she could see if he was alright after the attack in Casterly Rock. His father hated anyone telling him what to do, and was more likely to do the opposite because he was a stubborn bull of a man, or rather he was a stubborn stag. So he had only been too happy to allow Harry to sail to Casterly Rock after that, without taking him to the capital first.

Harry had hugged him goodbye, gave him a kiss, then did the same to his uncle Renly, who he was liking a lot more after this trip than he had before.

Harry got on a ship that was going to take him straight to Lannisport, a raven having already been sent ahead to make his grandfather aware of his arrival. The journey was the longest that Harry could imagine, sailing down the east coast of Westeros, around Dorne, and then back up the west coast to Lannisport. It took almost three weeks and they had to stop off every few days to replenish fresh water and food. Balon had his thirteenth name day while they were on the water, and Harry had gifted him with a small pendant shaped like a bow and arrow. Balon had sworn that he loved it, and he had yet to take it off, which made Harry very happy.

By the time the ship docked in Lannisport, Harry wanted a bath and a nice, soft bed and he wanted to sleep on something that wasn’t constantly in motion.

He staggered and swayed when he disembarked and he held on tightly to Balon, trying to lose his sea legs and walk on solid ground again…it felt very strange, to stand on something that wasn’t moving and it felt like he was spinning in a circle, even when he was standing still.

“My Prince.”

Harry recognised the voice and he was smiling before he’d even looked across.

“Grandfather.”

Harry stumbled to him and hugged him tight around the waist. He was picked up immediately.

“I missed you so much.” He declared.

“Are you quite well?” Tywin asked him.

“I didn’t like being on a ship for almost a turn.” He frowned.

“The journey is harder on the very young. Did you get sea sick?”

Harry shook his head. “No, Grandfather, but I am glad to be on solid ground, even if I don’t feel very steady.”

“Come, you need to sit and rest and get used to being back on solid ground.”

Harry was carried through the city of Lannisport back to Casterly Rock, the Lannister household guards surrounding them and Ser Balon Swann and Ser Arys Oakheart at their backs, protecting Harry.

People called out and Harry smiled and waved from his grandfather’s arms, but he was tired, and he felt dirty and grubby. He wanted a nice long bath, and he wanted to sit in a chair that didn’t rock and slide all over the floor.

“There is a warm bath waiting for you.” His grandfather told him when they finally reached Casterly Rock.

Harry let out a huge, relieved breath which brought an ‘almost’ smile to Tywin’s face. “Thank you, Grandfather. A bath would be wonderful.”

“I thought that you might like one after all that time on a ship.”

Harry nodded gratefully.

“You will be able to meet everyone else after you feel more like yourself again.” Tywin told him, carrying him right up to his room, then past it to the bathing room. “I have laid out an outfit ready for you and there are servants ready to assist you. Will you be keeping Balon with you?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Grandfather.”

Tywin nodded and set him on his feet. Harry didn’t even wait for privacy, he immediately started stripping off his stinking, grubby clothes. He’d been wearing them for a week already and he was just so fucking glad to get rid of them.

He was only four, so his nudity was more innocent than offensive, as he clambered butt-naked up the step and slipped into the warm water, sitting on the little step that went all around the inside and sighing happily.

Tywin snorted softly in amusement. “I will leave you to relax. You do remember the way to the solar?”

“Yes, Grandfather, I haven’t been gone that long.” He giggled.

“I will have some food brought to the solar for you, so that you might eat. Has your poisoning given you any trouble?”

“No, Grandfather. I feel very well and I believe I’ve recovered from that…incident.” He stressed. He really was feeling fine after being attacked and poisoned, but that truly was the up side of having magic. 

Harry was left alone and as soon as they were alone, Balon stripped and joined him, very used to this routine now, as he kept Harry safe in the water, while a servant washed Harry’s hair and gave him a horsehair brush to scrub his body with. He used lye soap made with lemon oil, his favourite, and Balon did the same.

“Do you feel better now?” Balon asked him once they were out of the water.

“Now that I’m clean, yes.” Harry answered, allowing the servant to rub him dry with a sheet of clean linen.

The both of them dressed and now happily back on solid ground, clean and smelling of lemons, and dressed in something that he hadn’t been wearing and sleeping in for a week, he happily took Balon’s hand and walked to the family solar. Ser Arys, who had been stood on guard at his door, immediately fell into step behind them.

“There you are, sweet nephew. How was the wedding?” Tyrion asked him as soon as he cleared the doorway.

“Boring!” Harry insisted. “It was so long too. I’m never getting married. Not unless the septons cut the ceremony in half. My legs were aching, I was bored, hungry, and tired, and Renly even fell asleep.”

“Did you behave yourself?” Tywin asked him, as Harry was plucked up and sat on his customary two cushions.

“Yes, Grandfather. Everyone commented on how well behaved and polite I was. Though…though when I first met my good-aunt, she frightened me. Her voice was deeper than my father’s! She has a moustache too, and a beard. I thought uncle Stannis was marrying a man in a dress, especially as they’re the same height.”

The laughter was loud and ringing.

“Men can’t marry other men, Harian.” Gerion pointed out.

“Why not?” He asked with a frown.

“It won’t result in any children, remember?”

“What if they don’t want children?” Harry asked.

“You are a little young for this conversation, you will understand more when you’re older.” Tywin cut in.

Harry nodded, but he understood perfectly well already. He knew what he’d said, and what he’d meant, but he also knew that nothing could change people’s views on homosexuality in this world, and unless he bribed or threatened the High Septon, then nothing would convince them that allowing a man to marry another man wouldn’t end the world.

“Did your father behave himself?” Tyrion asked with an eager grin, but Harry noticed that it was a little flat…his eyes too looked haunted. Something had happened here while he’d been away on Dragonstone.

“He deflowered Delena Florent in uncle Stannis’ wedding bed.” Harry announced happily. Now wasn’t the time to bring up the bags around Tyrion’s eyes, or the sadness in them. He’d find out what had happened first, and even then he’d have to weigh up the options he had versus what he could actually do and say as he was meant to be a four year old child.

There was silence and then laughter. Tywin Lannister just closed his eyes and sighed.

“Do you know what that means?” His grandfather asked him.

“It means that she was a maiden and now she’s not and Balon says that the best she can hope for now is a marriage to a household knight. I don’t really understand why, though.”

“She has slept with another man before she is married and she has lost her maidenhead.” Tyrion told him.

Harry blinked. “Is a maidenhead important? Should we help her look for it?”

“Oh, I love the innocence of youth.” Tygett laughed. He had his newly born son, Tyrek, on his shoulder. The babe was only a turn old, and his wife, Darlessa, was still recovering from the birth and was not present in the solar.

“Once you have lost your maidenhead, nephew, you can’t find it again. It is gone forever.” Tyrion told him.

“Have I lost mine yet?” He frowned consideringly, setting off more laughter.

“Only maidens have a maidenhead.” Tywin told him patiently.

“You are a man-maid though.” Tyrion added.

“Stop confusing him, Tyrion.” His grandfather insisted sharply, and the smile on Tyrion’s face slipped as quickly as it had come. “He is four, he’s not anything but a little boy. You don’t need to worry about any of this, Harian. It does not reflect upon you.”

Harry nodded and went back to his light meal, but he understood everything perfectly well. He sat and listened to his uncles and his grandfather talking about the possible fall out of this situation, and the possibility of Delena being pregnant and carrying a royal bastard. He listened to it all and absorbed it all, taking in everyone’s point of view while pretending to be an innocent, distracted four year old who was nibbling on his plump raspberries and not paying any attention to their rather disparaging discussion.

But he already knew well the consequences of his father’s actions, and how insulting it had been to Stannis to try to take his newly wedded wife to bed for the first time only to find his brother in the same bed with one of his wife’s maiden cousins. He knew that those consequences would only be more severe, that Stannis’s shame and offence would only grow, if Delena Florent turned up pregnant with his father’s illegitimate child.

Harry sighed silently and popped another sweet raspberry into his mouth, chewing it consideringly as he thought everything over. It seemed that things were only going to get more interesting in his life from here on out, especially if he got a half-sibling from his father fucking a Florent on Dragonstone. He really hoped that if Delena was actually pregnant by Robert that the poor baby didn’t take her ears.

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Chapter Text

It had been a year and a half since he had first come to Casterly Rock, the most wonderful eighteen months of Harry’s short second life. He had pleaded with his father to allow him to remain at Casterly Rock after his assassination attempt, as Robert Baratheon had wanted to take him back to King’s Landing after Stannis’ wedding on Dragonstone, but his father had eventually relented to his whims. This was despite his mother’s ‘concerned’ raven that had commanded her husband to bring their son back to King’s Landing for protection, after she had been told of the attempt on his life. An attempt that Harry was one hundred per cent certain that she had orchestrated.

Harry had refused to go, saying that he wanted to remain at Casterly Rock, and his father was only too happy to deny his mother her wishes, so Robert Baratheon had gone back to the capital without Harry, and without Ser Arys Oakheart, who was to be Harry’s personal guard to protect him at all times along with his sworn shield, Ser Balon Swann. Harry had adapted to the new shadow quickly and he had formed a good bond with Ser Arys as they sailed back to Casterly Rock from Dragonstone, a journey which had taken them three weeks.

Once assured of his recovered strength from the arduously long journey by sea, Harry was allowed to pick up his training sword again, which he had sorely missed during his recovery, but his master-at-arms, Benedict Broom, and his uncle Tygett went easy on him, still because of his poisoning, and the resulting small injury, which had scabbed over and had healed with only a small, ghostly white scar to indicate where the would-be assassin’s blade had cut him, which was now nothing more than a terrible memory.

“Build your strength back up slowly.” Uncle Tygett insisted over and over, as Harry got more and more frustrated that they couldn’t have a proper mock battle. “You haven’t been in training for more than half a year, you need to start slowly, Harian, not charge head in like you’re competing in a tourney melee.”

Today was no different and frustrated, yet respectful and obedient, Harry had nodded, but the pout on his mouth had shown his true feelings on the matter of taking things slowly and carefully when all he wanted to do was have some fun. He wished that Renly had come back to Casterly Rock with him.

Tygett had soon caved to Harry’s pout, however, and he had allowed Harry to attack him as ferociously as he could, blocking and countering only, while giving instruction. The boy listened well, but more than that, he was intelligent and instinctual enough to take in what he was being told and implement it into action. The prince would make a good squire, and a better knight.

“Come now, that’s enough.” Tygett called out. “We don’t want to overwork you so soon.”

“Uncle, it’s been almost a year since I was attacked and poisoned. I have my strength back, I’m fully healed.” Harry complained.

“We just want to be sure, especially after that ship journey you took all around Westeros. Poison is no small thing to be brushed aside.” Tygett told him, as he helped Harry remove his padding, which protected him from the worst of the bruising while he practised.

“I know, it’s just frustrating when I know that I feel fine and I want to get on with my training and learning. I’m almost five now, I need to start getting more serious.”

Tygett laughed. “Oh, sweet boy, you are only four. I know it seems so very old to you, now that you are gaining a proper child’s body and are understanding more and more of the things happening around you, but you are still so very young, and so little. Let yourself grow first.”

Harry sighed unhappily. “Growing is boring, and slow.” He declared grumpily.

Tygett swept him up and carried him from the training yard.

“No!” Harry complained. “Don’t pick me up, Uncle!”

“Oh, you are so fussy!” Tygett complained. “Sit still, I like carrying you.”

“Carry Tyrek, then.” Harry huffed.

“I want to carry you.” He said with a grin.

Harry huffed again and shook his shoulders, like a bird ruffling his feathers, before sitting still and allowing his uncle to carry him.

He was dropped off at his room to wash up and change into proper clothes and he was now able to fasten the lacings on his own jerkins and boots. He was growing, and learning, and here at Casterly Rock he was thriving, going from strength to strength.

He hurried down the hall and he went to the smaller, more intimate solar where he always took the midmorning meal with his family. He avoided his cousin, Lancel Lannister, who was whining about something or other, and he went to sit beside his grandfather. He only needed the one cushion now to reach the table, and not two.

Lancel was crying again and Harry frowned at him as he watched, as if Lancel were some curious oddity. From what he could gather Lancel had a splinter in his finger and he was refusing to allow his mother to take it out with a small pin.

Harry continued watching with a frown, which was actually more of a small sneer. Lancel was older than him by a few turns, but they were both four, and Harry had taken so many more injuries than Lancel, he’d been poisoned twice even. He couldn’t have abided his own life if he’d made the choice to emulate Lancel, a boy who was the same age that Harry was supposed to be.

“Lancel, just pass me your hand.” Dorna tried, the motherly calmness finally cracking under impatience. “I will be gentle, and it will be very quick.”

“No! No!” Lancel whined and cried, clutching the hand with the splinter tightly to his chest with his other hand, recoiling away from his mother and her pin.

“You will not even notice, Lancel.” Dorna pleaded.

“Kevan, see to your son, I would like to eat in peace.” Tywin said to his brother, who stopped eating himself, sighed and stood.

Harry watched as it was more like a military operation, as Kevan picked up the tall, slender Lancel and sat in a chair with him, before Kevan pinned his son’s legs down with his own and held both of Lancel’s skinny wrists in a hand each. The finger with the splinter was held by his mother and as Lancel screamed and cried, trying to thrash in his father’s tight hold, the pin found the splinter and eased it out from just under the skin and then it was gone, as quickly as a blink.

Lancel hadn’t even gotten the splinter while training with a wooden sword, like Harry had gotten all of his, it had come from a wooden toy that Lancel liked and was going rough with continuous use.

“What are you thinking?” Tywin bent over and asked him quietly.

“Thank the gods that I don’t behave like that.” Harry said back, just as quietly, before shaking off his stupor and reaching out to finally fill his plate.

“You are a very unusual boy, to be sure.” Tywin said.

Harry stopped and turned to look at his grandfather. “I can act like that if you wish it of me.” He said evenly. “Like a nice, usual boy, who cries and puts on a show for a mere splinter.”

Tywin almost smiled at him. “There is no need for that. You are unusual, but I never said it was a bad thing.”

Harry giggled. “Uncle Tygett let me fight him properly today, at last!” He said, changing the subject, drowning out Lancel’s pitiful whining and crying, even though the splinter had already been removed.

“How did you do?” Tywin asked him.

“I believe I did okay.” Harry said softly. “I held my own, I listened and did as instructed. I didn’t get tired and I felt okay, strong.”

“Good, perhaps you are well recovered now.”

Harry nodded. “I believe so.”

“Do you want a lesson after the meal?” Tywin asked him, as if he didn’t already know the answer, and he watched proudly as those emerald eyes lit up and his grandson smiled widely.

“Yes, Grandfather!” He said excitedly. “What are we going to be doing today?”

Tywin’s almost smile was as close to a real smile as anyone had ever seen of him before his wife, Joanna, had died in childbed, as he looked on in pride at this wonderful young boy, his grandson, and a true Lannister at heart.

Maester Creylen interrupted and Harry frowned at the grey robed man. Harry had decided early on in his stay at Casterly Rock that he didn’t like the Maester, a decision that had only been strengthened the more time he spent with the man. It wasn’t really anything that the Maester had done, or said, but he’d made it known right from their first introduction that he didn’t like Balon, or the fact that Balon slept and bathed with him, and hung on his shoulder at all times. Harry didn’t like anyone who disliked Balon, on principle. Creylen had even gone to Tywin to complain about how close Harry was to Balon, but had been sternly rebuked for stepping out of place. There was also the issue that Creylen didn’t like that Harry was so clever. During some of their lessons Harry ran rings around the Maester, and during others he could pick up on a word trick or a trap and either avoid it, or work himself through it, much to Creylen’s dismay. It must have been humiliating for such a learned man to be bested by a babe of four, after all.

“Pardon the intrusion, my Lord.” He said. “A raven from the capital.”

He held out the small scroll and Tywin took it and read it. He sighed unhappily and dismissed Maester Creylen, without giving him an answer or instructions to send anything back to the capital.

“Is father okay?” Harry asked worriedly.

“I am sure he’s perfectly well. The message was from your mother. She is complaining that I haven’t yet gone to visit my newest grandson, whose first name day is approaching. His Grace, your father, is throwing a tourney in his honour.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “Joffrey is a baby, what has he done to deserve a tourney? He won’t even remember it.”

“This is Cersei’s way of making sure all the smallfolk know of her son.” Kevan said. “She always had a flair for the dramatic, and the lavish. I assure you, little princeling, that this isn’t your father’s doing, but hers.”

Harry looked at the table top. No one had ever done such things for him. He’d never had a tourney and he was the crown prince. Joffrey was just a baby, who cared if he was turning one? Harry was turning five now in the seventh moon, and he’d never had a tourney.

“Don’t fret so much, Harian.” Tywin told him. “We will be attending, so that the smallfolk don’t forget who you are.”

“I’m likely not invited, Grandfather.” Harry pointed out.

“Oh, to be sure, you’re not, as this invitation is for me and my three brothers. But would I ever leave you behind, and would your father ever turn you away?” Tywin told him with a smirk and a pointed look.

Harry giggled. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“As his oldest son, and our crown prince, this tourney will be more for you than for your baby brother. If you attend, the attention will be on you, as the older boy, and with you being able to walk and speak, you’ll be able to interact with the smallfolk, which they’ll like. This little ploy will backfire into Cersei’s face.” Gerion told him.

“I see.” Harry grinned. “I can come back here after though, can’t I?”

“If you wish to stay in Casterly Rock, as long as your father agrees, I will bring you back.” Tywin assured him.

“The Rock has always seemed more like home to me.” Harry confided softly. “I would like to come back.”

“We’ll see what mood your father is in after three days of games and sport.” Tywin announced.

“He’ll be in a good mood.” Harry said. “He always is with tourneys, as long as there is wine.”

“He doesn’t drink in your company anymore.” Tygett pointed out, his son Tyrek on his lap. The little babe was now five turns old. Darlessa had recovered well from the birthing and was getting back to herself.

“He didn’t when he was here, when I was poisoned, but I have been away from him now for almost half a year. He might have changed his mind in my absence, or forgotten about his promise not to drink too heavily around me.”

“I will remind him of such promises when we attend the tourney.” Tywin insisted. “The rest will be up to him, but he cares more about your opinion than you realise.”

Harry went back to his meal and thought hard about what was to come. He needed to make a very good impression, on the smallfolk and the other lords and their heirs. He needed to be on his best behaviour, at his most charming, amiable and endearing to all. He needed them to remember him, to get to know him, and not his baby brother Joffrey, whom his mother was trying to raise up as king before him. It would be much harder for her to do that if Harry integrated himself with the smallfolk and the lords, ladies and their children who he came into contact with. It was time to step up and use all his knowledge and newly learned skills to win himself allies and friends. He would not allow his mother to beat him and get her way. He would not be killed off to make way for his brother.

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Harry rode beside his grandfather, on a proper horse this time, and he rocked slowly in the saddle, looking around at the changed capital city. The tourney grounds had been marked out on the fields before the city walls, between the King’s Gate and the Lion Gate, and it was a sea of pavilions spread along the Blackwater Rush river, and a mess of horses and men and whores, all making noise. Banners and shields displaying houses great and small sat outside each tent and Harry was excited just to see such things, even though he was tired, achy, and dusty from the road. This was to be his first tourney experience, and he wanted to see and do everything. He didn’t want to miss anything.

“Come along, my Prince. You can look all you wish in the morning, when the tourney starts on the morrow.”

“Yes, Grandfather.” Harry said dutifully.

He managed to get his horse back in line, and he followed Tywin closely, protected on all sides, but he had ever been the curious sort and he was itching to explore.

“Ser Arys, will you participate?” He asked the Kingsguard knight riding beside him, who was getting a lot of attention in his snow-white cloak and armour…his presence alerted everyone who saw him that a member of the royal family was nearby.

“I will, my Prince. Though old Selmy will likely unhorse me with his first lance again.”

Harry chuckled. “I am sure you will do well, Ser.” He said with a smile. “Balon, are you going to participate?”

“No, my Prince. I am only three-and-ten, I will wait until I am older, to give myself a better chance of victory. I am very happy to be your personal shield for the tourney instead.”

“Some would say that that is more of a challenge than entering the lists.” Harry giggled.

“Those people would be right.” Balon joked right back.

They made it to the city and as soon as Ser Arys challenged the guards at the Lion Gate, the gold cloaks shoved a path through the throng to clear the way for Harry to enter the city, sandwiched between Balon and Arys, with his grandfather in front of him and his three uncles behind him.

People halloed him in the street, calling out greetings and well wishes and Harry smiled and waved at them, returning their greetings and starting his plot to plant seeds. He would be the picture of approachability and friendliness while he was here in the capital and he would start now.

It was almost a relief to reach the gates of the Red Keep. The city was so swollen with people that it had been difficult to move, even on horseback. They were let through the gates, which clanged shut quickly behind them, and finally Harry felt able to breathe.

“Balon! Get me down!” He complained, holding out his arms. “I want to see my father.”

Balon swung down immediately from his horse and a groom quickly took the reins and led the horse to the stables as Balon picked Harry up and placed him on the floor. Harry’s own horse was taken and stabled as Harry took Balon’s hand and though he wanted to run through the Red Keep and hunt down his father, he stayed with his grandfather and uncles.

A steward led them to the private royal solar, up a tower in Maegor’s Holdfast, where the king and queen were waiting to receive Tywin and the other Lannisters come to the capital.

When Cersei saw him, she couldn’t control her facial expression and her smile fell as soon as she laid eyes on him, but his father cried out happily and opened his arms, flinging away his tankard of ale to free up his hands, uncaring of where it landed, or what it spilled on.

Harry ran to him with a giggle and his father all but crushed him in a hug, pulling him up onto his lap.

“I had thought that you were not coming.” His father told him. “Mayhaps now this tourney will be bearable with you to watch it with.”

Harry laughed. “Of course I was going to come! This is my first tourney, Father. Grandfather said I shouldn’t miss it.”

“Four is a good age to watch a tourney.” Tywin insisted. “Old enough to know how to behave and old enough to remember what happens.”

“I can ride a horse now! Properly.” Harry told his father excitedly. “I’m doing better with my sword and shield and I’m much better with a bow, but I still need a box to stand on, just a smaller box than before.”

His father laughed and wrapped an arm around him. “I suppose you’ll be wanting that chestnut destrier then?”

“You remembered?” Harry asked with huge, gleaming eyes.

“Of course. I bought the damn thing as soon as you said you wanted it, I’m having it trained up properly.”

“He’s here? Now?!” He all but squeaked in his excitement.

“Come and see.” Robert said, standing with Harry in his arms and Harry didn’t even complain about being carried for a change.

“Do I not even warrant a greeting, my love?” His mother demanded, unable to keep the anger from her tone. “I haven’t seen you in a year and a half and you cannot even spare me a glance.”

Harry looked at her then, resplendent in a red gown bordered in gold. She had his brother in her lap, he noticed. A large, pink and blonde blob still, just as his father had described him last year when he’d been born.

“Hello, Mother.” Harry greeted neutrally. “It is good to see that you are well, and that my brother is healthy.” And with the bare minimum of social greetings done he turned back to his father. “Show me where my horse is, I want to see him and name him!” He said, his voice picking his excitement back up.

“He is not yet two years old, so he can’t be ridden at the moment, but he is doing well with his training. He’ll be ready for you in another year or so.” Robert told him, resuming his walk back out to the stables with Harry nestled safely in his arms.

Harry fell in love at the first sight of the baby horse and he squirmed until he was put down and he ran to it and touched it and he was so happy to see that he was a colour very close to red.

“Why did you want him to be red, Harian?” His father asked, as if reading his mind.

“The house colours, Father.” He said. “I’ve never seen a horse with a red mane and tail, so he had to be red, with a black mane and tail. Lannister and Baratheon. I will name him Gryffindor.”

“Gryffindor?” Robert laughed. “What sort of name is that?”

“I like it.” Harry grinned as he snuggled the little foal, allowing him to snuffle and sniff at him.

“I am glad that you came, your mother told me that you didn’t want to come. I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t have wanted to come home, especially for your first tourney.”

“I wasn’t invited, Father, but grandfather said that it was probably an oversight and that maybe I was just expected to come without needing an invitation as this is my home. I’m happy to be back with you, I missed you.”

“Ah, I never thought myself to be a good father, I was never interested in babies and children growing up. I’m still not truthfully, but I have missed you. Joffrey, damn him, he cries whenever I pick him up and he won’t stop until I put him back down. I’m not that close to him even though we live in the same keep, but you…you I’ve actually missed.”

Harry went to his father and hugged him and he gave him a kiss, before holding on tightly.

“Can I stay with you during the tourney? Can I sit with you? Grandfather says that I should be sat below you, with him and mother and the baby like I was at uncle Stannis’ wedding, but I want to be with you.”

“To the seven hells with tradition, you will be with me, and we can watch this tourney as father and son, not king and prince.” Robert declared, looking happier already.

Robert Baratheon had never wanted to be a king. He wasn’t truly suited to it, he hadn’t been raised to be a king, or groomed to the position like a prince would be. He had gone to war to beat back the corruption of the crown, to put an end to old, mad King Aerys Targaryen, or so Harry had been told. So it made sense that he would be more comfortable handling this tourney as father and son, instead of sticking to tradition, which said that the king had to be seated higher than everyone else at such events, even his own family, which must have been boring and lonely, likely even painful, for his very social father.

Harry said goodbye to the little foal and took his father’s hand and they walked through the Red Keep, talking and catching up. It was wonderful to Harry to experience this, and his young uncle Renly had actually been right, the more he aged, the more comfortable his father was with him. Once he was fully grown, their relationship would be at its strongest, or so he hoped, but right now, as a tiny four year old clutching his father’s huge, spade-like hand, he was actually, truly happy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

His mother had not been happy at all that her oldest son had come home, as he really was taking all the attention away from his baby brother. Everyone greeted him, spoke to him, said how wonderful it was to see him again after so long, even the servants of the Red Keep who had once kept him fed and watered. No one even paid attention to the year old baby who had been dressed in Lannister colours with a tiny golden lion stitched to the front of his little tunic. Harry was dressed all in yellow, the crowned stag proudly embroidered in black on his new doublet and a slim little coronet made of a single band of gold, barely the width of his finger, studded with emeralds to match his eyes and black onyx stones to match the house of Baratheon, was placed neatly on his head.

His father had, rather nervously, presented the clothes and coronet to Harry last night after the evening meal. He had had them commissioned before he’d found out that Harry assumedly didn’t want to attend the tourney, and he had told him that he had been planning to send them on to him at Casterly Rock instead, but now that he was here, his father wanted him to have them and he could wear them for the tourney if he wanted. Harry thought that perhaps this was the first time Robert Baratheon had actually tried to do something on his own for him, or anyone, and that made it all the more special, and it gave light to just why his father was so nervous in handing him these gifts, and why he had given him permission to not wear them if he didn’t want to. He was afraid that Harry wouldn’t like them as for once he hadn’t gotten someone else to decide on the gifts for him, he’d chosen them on his own. 

His father had beamed with pride that morning, when Harry had come down to break his fast wearing the clothes, and the Baratheon cloak that his uncle Renly had gifted him for his third name day as well as the little coronet. He had swept Harry up and encouraged him to eat, all the while telling him how much of a prince he looked, how handsome and comely in his Baratheon apparel with the little coronet nestled in his wild, black hair.

His mother had had to force a smile and a compliment about his clothes under the stern eyes of her father and uncles, and then she had to endure the disrespect as Harry was seated up on the platform beside his father, and she was sat below them, in the tiers for the highborn lords and ladies, but still below them both.

His father kept a running commentary on who was who, pointing them out to him and telling him of any famous deeds they had done, who he believed would win as the jousting was readied and two tents were erected at either end of the tilt line.

“This is a Frey against a Whent.” His father told him. “See their sigils?”

“Blue twin castles on grey for the Freys and black bats on yellow for the Whents.” Harry nodded. “Who do you favour?”

“The Whent boy.” Robert nodded. “See how his horse is calmer and he has a better hold of it?”

Harry nodded interestedly, and he was more excited to see this tilt now, as he wanted to know if his father was right that a calmer horse could be the difference between winning and losing.

“Four lances.” Harry grinned.

“You think they’ll break four lances?” His father asked, trying to clarify his meaning.

Harry nodded. Robert grinned back at him before looking back to the waiting jousters. He clenched a fist and drew it down, and the knights both tipped him with their lances and lowered their visors. It was nail biting, the thunder of hooves charging down the line, the tourney lances pointed at one another, and Harry watched as the lances splintered against the shields. No one fell and the crowd cheered.

The two jousters went to their tents and grabbed a fresh lance each from their attentive squires, but this time they didn’t wait for the signal of the king, as soon as they had their lances in hand they wheeled their horses to face one another and charged.

Harry was right in his guess. The Frey and the Whent boys broke four lances against one another, and his father was right too, as the Whent boy unhorsed the Frey in the end, and sprawled him in the mud.

Harry clapped, and smiled at his father, and then, surprisingly very quickly the tents were torn down and new ones erected. This time the sigils were the Lannister lion versus a different Frey.

“Come on, Uncle Tygett!” Harry called out and his uncle looked up at the call and waved at him, laughing.

“One lance.” Harry said. “Uncle Tygett will unhorse that green boy with one lance.”

Robert laughed loudly, and clapped his shoulder. “I won’t take that wager with you.”

Harry was right again and he clapped happily as Tygett got to progress through the lists. The next match was Ser Barristan against Jason Mallister and Harry looked at his father for a clue.

“Selmy will win this, but it won’t be easy. Lord Mallister is a seasoned tourney knight.” His father said, before taking a large swallow of wine.

Harry drank the crushed fruit juice that he had been offered and watched, without giving a lance number this time, as he wasn’t sure. It took five broken lances and with the sixth, Ser Barristan unhorsed Lord Mallister.

It was so fast paced, tents going up and then coming down just as quickly, charge after charge, tilt after tilt, men being unhorsed and sprawling on the grass and very soon three hours had passed in a blur and there was a break called for the midday meal.

“Father, can I go look through the markets, please?” Harry begged, sitting up on his knees in his chair and clasping his hands in front of him in childish supplication.

“Of course you can. Here, take this.” His father handed him a large, heavy purse of coins and Harry grinned.

“Thank you, Father!” He hugged him and then grabbed Balon’s hand and hurried off excitedly.

“Selmy, go with him.” He heard his father call out loudly.

“You jousted really well, Ser.” Harry told old Ser Barristan as the knight caught him up easily with his huge stride.

“Thank you, my Prince.”

“Based on what I’ve seen, I think you might win. You’ll certainly be in the semi-final tilt.” Harry said as he took the knight’s huge mailed hand in his own, clutching at a thumb, and he went to the ramshackle market stalls that were temporarily erected for the tourney, selling anything and everything and Harry’s eyes were wide as he looked around at everything, taking it all in. He had never seen anything quite like it before as he stood, trying to decide where to go first.

“Look at your little face.” Balon chuckled. “What has caught your attention?”

“What’s that?” He asked, letting go of Balon’s hand to point at the old man with a puppet in each hand on strings. He, of course, knew what it was, but it was all part of the image he was casting. Harian Baratheon had never seen a puppet show before, and he played his part well.

“It’s a puppet show, come on.” Balon led the way over and Harry followed, clutching Ser Barristan’s thumb still, and the people parted like a wave for the legendary Kingsguard member, barely seeing Harry in his shadow, at least until he stepped forward and watched the show with wide eyes.

Harry watched the puppets, but out of the corner of his eyes he was very aware of the smallfolk watching him. This was as much a show for them as it was for him. He clapped his hands together enthusiastically when the show ended and the puppet knight saved the puppet maiden.

“Would you like another show, my Prince?” The puppeteer asked him, looking more than a little nervously to the formidable form of Ser Barristan, splendid in his snow-white armour and cloak.

“Oh, would you, please?” Harry asked of the man and he hurried forward and sat right on the grass, in a free space, with a dozen other boys and girls, though they were all lowborn. He didn’t care, but he heard gasps and tittering from the people watching. There was one man in the crowd who looked highborn, who was watching him closely, curiously, almost as if he were trying to decide on something.

Harry watched two more shows, before the puppeteer said he needed a rest, and Harry jumped up and held his hand out to his Kingsguard shadow.

“That was wonderful!” He said happily. “Are there more shows like that here? I want to see them.”

“We should get you something to eat, you know your lord grandfather doesn’t like you missing your meals.” Balon told him fretfully.

“There’s food.” Harry pointed to all the food vendors yelling and shouting over one another for custom.

“That’s market food, my Prince.” Balon told him. “There will be a place for you at the table with His Grace, your father.”

“He said I could explore the markets.” Harry frowned. “I don’t think there’s going to be anything wrong with this food. Come on, Balon.”

Harry followed his nose to a food vendor several stalls in and he looked up at the woman behind the stall, who seemed speechless to see him at all, especially in front of her stall.

“We’ll take three skewers, good woman.” Balon said, but it was Harry who fumbled the purse his father had given him, taking out a silver coin and forcing Ser Barristan to pick him up so he could pay personally. He refused to take any change, despite the woman telling him that a silver stag was far too much for three skewers of food.

“Thank you!” He chirped happily, accepting one of the skewers from Balon. It was chunks of roasted, browned meat, little onions, mushrooms and peppers, all speared onto a piece of wood.

Harry bit into a piece of meat and chewed happily. He caught out of the corner of his eye the same highborn man who had watched him during the puppet show. He immediately placed his one hand back in Ser Barristan’s, just in case he was about to be abducted, but he pretended not to notice the man watching him from the shadows as he ate happily with his other hand, getting the meat juices all down his chin.

“We should have gotten you a bib to go with your food.” Balon complained, using his handkerchief to wipe Harry’s face clean.

“You’re mean to me!” Harry pouted. “Ser Barristan, tell Ser Balon he’s mean!”

“You’re being very mean to the young prince, Ser.” Ser Barristan told Balon dutifully, but he was smiling.

Harry giggled, high and light, and it turned people’s heads. They stared at him as he passed, in his finery and his little gold coronet, eating ‘peasant’ food through the tourney grounds.

“What’s that woman doing to that man?” Harry asked loudly, pointing with his empty skewer that he had been pretending was a lance, or at least that was what he’d told Balon and Barristan. Again, he knew exactly what was happening, and it made him want to laugh, but he had to play the innocent, ignorant child here.

He almost did laugh when Ser Barristan immediately swept him up into his arms and put him over his shoulder, facing the other way. He tried to push against that solid shoulder, but of course Ser Barristan was much too strong. He saw the exact same highborn man who seemed to be following him around. He was tall and slender, dark haired, dark eyed with olive toned skin. He was very handsome and Harry put his age at late twenties, early thirties. He purposefully let his gaze slide over the man as he tried to ‘fight’ Ser Barristan’s hold.

“What is it, Ser?” Harry asked. “Is she hurting him? Her mouth was on him, is she biting him?”

“That is nothing for you to fret over.” Ser Barristan said firmly.

“I don’t understand.” He said.

“You will in a few years, when you are older.” Balon told him, but he was grinning as he watched the pair without shame…then the two of them were happily out in the open, if they wanted to give away a free show that was up to them, and Balon was not the only one watching them. They had gathered something of a crowd, and some people had started making ribald jokes and comments, some others were shouting out encouragement, or derision about the woman’s technique, and the man’s size, and there was laughter.

Ser Barristan had had enough and he strode off, Harry still on his shoulder, at least until he deemed them to have gone a suitable distance, and he placed Harry back on his feet and took his hand once more…he chose their direction however, and he did not allow Harry to go back the way they had come.

Harry was soon distracted by something else unsavoury, but this time he wasn’t going to be quelled. Three boys were picking on a young woman selling flowers from a basket, and she continually rebuffed them as politely as she could but they didn’t leave her alone. As soon as Harry heard the threat to drag her behind a tent to rape her, he could feel the blood rushing in his ears and he strode off towards them.

“Stop it!” He cried out, his high voice sounding more girlish than the woman’s.

The boys looked at him, ready to dismiss him, ready to hurt him too, until they saw the coronet in his hair, the crowned black stag on his doublet, and the Kingsguard knight at his back, the legendary Ser Barristan Selmy himself.

“You leave her alone!” He demanded in his high, childish voice. “How dare you try and harm an innocent girl!”

“I…I’m sorry, milord!” One boy stammered.

“He is your prince.” Balon snapped. “Not your lord, you will address him properly.”

“What did you think you were doing, trying to harm this girl?” Harry demanded, his cheeks flushing pink with anger. “Why would you do that?!”

The woman hurried to Harry and then behind him, standing in the shadow of Ser Barristan. Harry didn’t blame her for that. Movement to the side of himself made him look over to see the same highborn man who had been following him around the market stalls, who had come to stand beside him.

“You heard your prince. He asked you a question.” The man said, his voice accented, but his words were clear.

“We won’t do it again.” The oldest boy quailed under Harry’s anger…or perhaps it was the two grown men who were closing in on him. Though out of the two, Harry would personally be more intimidated by Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

“Why did you do it?” Harry demanded. “Why would you want to harm her? What has she ever done to deserve your threats of harm?”

“My Prince, I think it would be best if we moved on.” Ser Barristan told him, sending a wary look to the highborn man. Maybe Harry hadn’t been the only one to notice the man following them.

“Never threaten innocent girls again!” Harry demanded of the three boys. “It’s wrong!”

The three boys all nodded, they were sweating, looked about ready to piss themselves, but they agreed and hurried off quickly, almost tripping over their own feet in their haste to get away.

Harry turned to the poor girl and looked up at her with wide, concerned eyes.

“Are you well, my Lady?” Harry asked her. “They never hurt you?”

“No, my Prince.” The woman said, doing a very clumsy curtsey.

“I’m sorry that they frightened you.” Harry told her, his bottom lip trembling. “I don’t know why they’d want to. Ser Barristan, why would they want to hurt innocent girls?” He asked, lifting a hand to rub his teary eyes.

“There are always people who enjoy hurting the innocent, and killing those who cannot defend themselves.” The highborn man told him.

“Enough.” Ser Barristan ordered, stepping forward and sweeping Harry up into his arms. “Prince Harian is innocent of all blame in such matters, Prince of Dorne.”

“The gallant, valiant Ser Barristan, always willing to protect the innocent; the women and children.”

“I was not in King’s Landing when it was sacked or I would have died in defence of Elia and her children.”

“Instead you bend the knee to their killers.”

“I am a knight of the Kingsguard.” Barristan said angrily. “I am sworn to the protection and defence of the royal family, whoever the royal family might be.”

“So you abandoned…”

“I abandoned no one! I was severely wounded at the Trident fighting to defend Rhaegar. His Grace saved my life by instructing his own Maester to attend me. By the time I woke up again and was well enough to stand up, it was all over, so do not lecture me on duty, Ser. I know my place, I know my duty and I still have my honour.”

Harry wrapped his arm around Barristan’s neck and turned, looking at this new man. From what he understood of what he’d heard, this was the Prince of Dorne. From what he knew of the royal family in Dorne, this had to be Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper.

“Why do people call you the Red Viper?” Harry asked him curiously.

“Because he’s a snake who uses poison as a weapon.” Barristan answered.

“I was poisoned.” Harry said. “I still have the scar, see?”

Harry pulled the yellow sleeve of his doublet up his forearm, showing the pale white line over his skin.

“I survived that though, but the bad man didn’t.”

“I’d heard that your lord grandfather strung him over the gates of Casterly Rock. I heard that his body remained there, being picked clean by the crows for a full turn.”

“What would you have done with him?” Harry asked softly. “What if he’d tried to kill one of your daughters in their own beds, in your own home, with a poisoned blade? Would he have walked away from you alive and whole? Would you have just let him go?”

Oberyn blinked at him, and Harry could see him mentally reassessing him.

“No.” Oberyn said curtly.

“So it’s fine for a man to attack me with a poisoned blade, but not for him to attack your daughters? Is it just because I’m a boy, or something else?” Harry frowned.

Oberyn Martell sighed, and pushed a hand through his black hair.

“I didn’t mean to suggest that it was alright for you to be assassinated in your bed, you’re just a boy, barely out of babehood. I think we might have gotten off to a heated start. My brother Doran is always telling me not to be so quick to anger.”

“You should heed your brother.” Harry said. “Anger can be good sometimes, but detrimental to focus and perception. If someone knows that you’re quick to anger, then they will try to rile you on purpose to break your focus.”

Oberyn Martell laughed, and it was a good sound. “Getting lessons from a babe, how do you stand it?”

“It’s good advice.” Balon told Oberyn. “Prince Harian has always been very sharp of wit.”

“We had best be getting back to the tourney grounds.” Barristan cut in. “Your father will want you back beside him.”

“Are you jousting, Ser?” Harry asked Oberyn from over Barristan’s shoulder as the knight strode off.

“Of course, my Prince!” Oberyn called out with a rakish grin.

“I look forward to watching you, Prince of Dorne!” Harry shouted as Barristan’s long legs carried him further away from Oberyn. “I liked him.” He declared, turning back around in Barristan’s arms and settling in.

“You should be careful who you befriend, my Prince.” Barristan told him. “Oberyn’s sister, Elia, was Prince Rhaegar’s wife…”

“I know the history, Ser. I would have been angry too, if that had been my sister, and my niece and nephew.”

“What would you have done?” Balon asked him curiously.

“Elia and Rhaenys I would have sent back to Dorne, unharmed and unmolested.” He said solemnly.

“And the newborn Aegon?” Barristan asked, a hint of something dark in his voice.

“I’d have kept him and raised him in the Red Keep.” Harry said. “It’s better to make a friend of an enemy, rather than make enemies of friends. The thought of what happened to them makes me feel sick. I don’t like being in the Red Keep knowing that it happened there and I mislike that my father climbed the bodies of women and children to take the Iron Throne, but I was barely born when all of this happened. I would have done it differently, but my father and grandfather chose to do what they did and at the time I didn’t even know I’d been born during a war. Their actions are not my own. I will not do as they did when I am a king.”

Balon and Barristan were silent, and near the tilt lines, Harry was placed back on his feet and had his hand held as he was escorted back to the royal platform. The two men with him remained silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

“There you are! I thought you were going to miss the next round of jousting.” Robert called out to him.

Harry grinned and sat back in his chair next to his father, he handed the barely used purse back and wriggled on his cushion.

“I wouldn’t miss spending this time with you, Father.” He insisted.

“You missed your meal, my Prince.” His grandfather said from the row below them.

“I ate in the markets, Grandfather.” Harry promised. “And I saw a puppet show! It was really good, and I got to sit with other boys and girls my age!”

“Consorting with the rabble and eating peasant food….you bring shame onto your family.” Cersei told him sharply.

“Shut up, woman.” Robert demanded. “He’s a boy, and I remember doing the same at his age. It’s normal.”

“The peasant food, as you call it, was really nice.” Harry declared stubbornly.

“What did you find?” His father asked interestedly.

“A nice woman skewered meat and peppers, mushrooms and little onions on a stick and roasted them. It’s my favourite thing!”

Robert Baratheon laughed loudly and ruffled Harry’s hair, knocking the little coronet askew. His father automatically fixed it for him, nestling it comfortably back on his head for him.

Harry looked at the two tents going up and one displayed the plain white of the Kingsguard, it was his uncle Jaime however who was underneath the plain white banner. His opponent was a poor boy, barely older than Balon, under a bronze sigil studded with black dots, etched with a border of runes…he could tell immediately that the runes were in an odd, non-linear pattern, almost random, but more than that, they weren’t active. He would know too, after the amount of time he’d studied ancient runes to perform the ritual to bring him here in the first place. He rubbed at both forearms unconsciously and immediately sought to distract himself from the unpleasant thoughts that seeing the runes caused him.

“Father, I don’t recognise that sigil.” He said, getting the bonding with his father back on track.

“That’s a Royce of Runestone, from the Vale.” His father told him immediately, relishing the opportunity to teach his son something. “The older boy, I would think, Andar. Their seat is on the coast of the narrow sea, near Gulltown.”

“He’s too young to joust, isn’t he?” Harry pointed out, as he saw that the boy being prepared was barely older than Balon. “Is he even knighted?”

“This tourney is open to squires and to hedge knights. It keeps things interesting.”

“Not if people are killed. This isn’t entertaining, putting a boy against a knight of the Kingsguard.” Harry frowned. “The boys should face other boys.”

His father patted his knee. “It is one joust of many, Harian. Don’t let it upset you.”

Harry blew out a breath and nodded. He was right though, the tilt was over almost before it began. It took just one charge and the young Royce boy was on the floor, winded and unable to breathe from the force of the hit from a grown man and the ensuing fall onto the hard ground from a tall horse.

The next three jousts all followed in the same manner, quick, one lance charges and Harry drank his crushed fruit juice to entertain himself, as he certainly wasn’t getting any entertainment from the jousting. Neither was his father by the bored look on his face.

“Come on, give us a good match.” The king complained aloud, thrusting out his goblet to be refilled by his young cupbearer, who was stood behind them, holding a large silver jug of wine, with Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard.

Harry frowned as the golden rose on green of Highgarden went up next. Then he saw another young boy preparing to joust.

“Isn’t that Willas Tyrell? But he’s only four-and-ten!” Harry said. “He’s much too young to be jousting!”

Harry looked to his opponent and he saw the golden spear through a red sun of Dorne. Prince Oberyn, the Red Viper, was to go against this too young, green boy.

“Another one lance match.” He complained. “Prince Oberyn will take him.” He sighed heavily. “I almost wish I’d stayed in the markets.”

“Almost?” His father snorted. “If this carries on, I’ll damn well join you.”

It was horrific in the end. A serious injury had been threatening all through these last several tilts, looming over the proceedings like a black cloud, and it took just one lance to unhorse the Tyrell boy, and Prince Oberyn had the win to much acclaim from the crowds.

But the young boy, Willas, got his foot caught in his stirrup as he fell, and his weight pulled the horse on top of his already twisted leg. Harry heard the sickening crack from where he was sat and he could almost feel his face drain of blood as the young boy cried out loud enough to be heard from behind his helm.

Harry was gone, ducking under the railing from the platform, slipping down and landing on the grass and running to the boy in pain. Prince Oberyn was already there, pulling the horse up and off of the boy it had been crushing and freeing the trapped foot from the stirrup, as his own squire was called forward to lead the horse, who seemed to have suffered no injury despite its fall, away from the field.

Harry went to his knees and took off the helm and cradled the boy’s head in his lap, stroking his face and sweaty hair.

“It will be alright.” Harry soothed gently, even as Oberyn called for the Maester presiding over the games to attend the boy.

“I can’t feel my leg. I can’t feel it.” The boy told him, his words rapid and wheezy with his panic and his pain.

“You have been badly injured.” Harry said softly, as calmly as he could. “You are alive still.”

“How does it look?” The boy, Willas, asked him, his face as pale as Harry was sure his own was.

Harry didn’t want to look. He really didn’t, but he did, and the leg was twisted the wrong way at the knee and he could see an odd jut near the ankle that told him a bone was broken and poking out of the skin. He wanted to vomit.

“It doesn’t look too bad.” He lied smoothly. “You’re going to be fine, just remain calm and keep breathing.” He stroked that face again, the smooth, hairless chin and cheeks. Willas wasn’t old enough to shave. It angered him, Willas was too young to have been jousting today.

“Why did you join the lists?” Oberyn asked him, obviously thinking what Harry had. “You are too young and inexperienced.”

“My father…he wanted…he wanted me to sign up.” Willas told them, his words stilted with pain.

“The fat flower of Highgarden.” Oberyn sneered. “He should have jousted himself.” 

“Will…will I walk again?”

“It’s doubtful.” The Maester told him, from where he was righting the twisted leg, popping the dislocated knee back into joint…from the way he was trying to force it, it wasn’t fitting in as it should, which meant that the knee joint was also damaged.

Harry wanted to beat the man with a club, more so as young Willas screamed, high and shrill, as his mangled leg was manipulated about roughly.

“It’s possible.” Harry said firmly, his high, childish voice cutting through all other noise. “You will need to bear through the pain of exercising it, don’t let the muscles stiffen up, not even a little, and you will walk.”

“I’m a cripple.” The boy sobbed.

“You are alive.” Harry told him, his own eyes welling up at the sight of the boy’s distress.

“I will send my own Maester to attend you.” Oberyn told him. “It was never my intent to hurt you.”

“Your lance struck true to my breastplate.” Willas said, panting through the pain and shock. “It was my foot that caught the stirrup.”

“I’ll get my father to send Grand Maester Pycelle as well.” Harry promised.

Willas looked up at him then, seeing him properly for the first time, and the little coronet in his hair, more than the yellow doublet stitched with the crowned black stag, seemed to indicate just who was cradling his head.

“My Prince!” He said, sounding astonished. “You need not trouble…”

“I am troubled.” Harry said. “I’m troubled that your horrible father forced you to joust when you weren’t ready.”

“This is your first tourney, isn’t it?” Oberyn asked him.

Harry nodded. “I’m not really having a very good time.” He confessed. “Not during this second phase of jousting, at least.”

Harry stroked Willas Tyrell’s face and hair again as he whimpered as the Maester did something to his leg. Harry gave him eye contact and smiled reassuringly, stroking gently to comfort him.

“You’ll be okay.” He said again, making his voice nice and soothing.

“I don’t want to be a cripple.”

“I never wanted to be a prince.” Harry said with a shrug. “We all have to live with the things that happen to us. You will be a cripple, I am a prince, and Prince Oberyn is very handsome and no doubt gets too much attention for it. It is beyond our control.”

“I like being very handsome and getting attention for it.” Oberyn grinned at him.

“Well, two out of three isn’t bad odds.” Harry giggled and he was pleased when Willas joined in, even if his laugh was weak and shaky, and contained a hint of hysteria.

Willas was moved to a stretcher soon after that and Harry allowed Prince Oberyn to help him back to his feet and they both watched as young Willas was taken away to a medical tent for immediate assessment, before he would be moved to the Red Keep where it would be more comfortable.

“He was too young.” Oberyn sighed.

Harry hummed in agreement. “He won’t forget that you came to him after he fell. He will not blame you for this. The fat flower though, he looks angry. I think he might hold it against you.”

Oberyn looked over at the Tyrells in the stands and scoffed. “He couldn’t even get his fat arse down here when his own son and heir was injured. This was his fault.”

“His entirely, for forcing his son to joust much too young. What a goat fucker.”

Oberyn snapped his head down to look at him, and he laughed. “My, that mouth of yours is filthy.”

Harry grinned innocently, as if butter wouldn’t melt. “I hear a lot of bad words in the Red Keep, and at Casterly Rock. A lot of them actually come from the Kingsguard. Just don’t tell my grandfather, he said he would have me whipped if he heard me using such crass, vulgar language.”

“You, and not a whipping boy?”

“I refused to have one.” Harry said with a shrug of a small, narrow shoulder. “I told them that if I did wrong, I wanted to be punished for it myself.”

“You’re very unusual, aren’t you?”

“I see nothing wrong with it. If I do wrong I would rather bear the mark of it myself than see someone else take the weight and marks of my misbehaviour.” Harry said, before he sighed. “I will visit Willas once the Maesters have finished attending to him. I will see you too, I hope?”

Oberyn nodded and escorted him back to the royal platform and hefted him over the railing before walking off. He didn’t acknowledge the king, or say a word more, but Harry understood.

“Are you done caring for cripples?” His mother demanded. “Your actions reflect badly on your house, on your family.”

“I would rather be looked down on for helping others, than to sit by and do nothing.” He said tersely. “Father, can you have Grand Maester Pycelle see to Willas, please?”

His father nodded and turned in his seat, giving just a nod to one of his Kingsguard behind and sending Ser Preston Greenfield off with orders. Harry settled back on his cushioned chair, but he was rather morose as the field was prepared for the next tilt.

“You have gone off of jousting now?” His father asked, noticing his countenance.

Harry thought hard about what to say, as he wished to keep this bonding with his father going strong.

“No.” He said softly. “I just think that Willas was too young to join the lists. His father forced him, you know? He didn’t even want to joust. That is wrong.”

“Mace Tyrell always was an oaf.” His father said.

That made Harry giggle and his father seemed much happier for hearing it.

“The fat flower of Highgarden.” Harry added, which made Robert roar with laughter.

Harry put the ugliness of what had happened to Willas behind him, and as the jousting continued, he thankfully saw no more young boys, and no more severe injuries, as all the young boys, and most of the hedge knights, had been knocked out in the earlier rounds.

As the sun started to set, and torches were lit to keep visibility up, the semi-final tilts came down to his uncles, Tygett and Jaime, against Prince Oberyn and Ser Barristan.

Harry laughed loudly when Prince Oberyn unhorsed Jaime, seating his arse in the dirt. His father joined him in his laughter. It was much harder to call, or cheer, when Ser Barristan beat Tygett.

As the day came to an end, Harry was stood by the railing, watching avidly as charge after charge, lance after lance, took the final tilt almost into the night as Prince Oberyn went against Ser Barristan, and Harry clapped enthusiastically when the Prince of Dorne finally landed a lance and toppled the legendary Ser Barristan.

Harry didn’t really understand the tradition of the champion crowning a woman, as Oberyn was brought a laurel of roses on a small cushion by a squire and suddenly all the women in the crowd tried to catch his eye. Oberyn, for all his talk of liking the attention, ignored them all and went right to a Dornish woman, who accepted the laurel and bent over the wooden rail to kiss him. She had a tiny baby girl in her arms, who Oberyn took and kissed too. Harry hadn’t heard that Oberyn had married.

“She’s not his wife, Harian.” His father had laughed when he asked. “That is Ellaria Sand, his newest paramour, the babe is news to me though, that makes five bastard daughters he has now.”

The feast was held on the fields, and Harry loved it, out under the stars, torches sunk into the ground every foot around the diners, candles burning on the tables, and as much food as he wanted as he sat next to his father at the top table, talking excitedly to him about everything they had watched together.

“And the melee is tomorrow?!” He asked, his eyes wide.

“No, the melee will be the day after, the final day.” His father told him, chuckling. “Tomorrow will be archery and axe throwing.”

“I want to watch all of the archery!” He declared.

“If you want to be alert and fresh for tomorrow, my Prince, you had best be getting to bed.” His grandfather told him from his other side.

“It is late, isn’t it?” He sighed. “It’s just that I’m having so much fun, and I’m so excited, I’m not even sure I could sleep!” He giggled.

“Nonetheless, you should try.” His grandfather insisted.

Harry nodded obediently. “Yes, Grandfather. I will take my leave now.”

Harry hugged his grandfather and then turned to hug his father.

“Goodnight, Father. I will see you in the morning.”

“Boros, see my son safely to his bed.” His father ordered the man stood behind his chair, on guard with his five brothers…of course Jaime Lannister was sat with his sister, and not on guard behind the king. He had never taken his vow as seriously as his sworn brothers.

Harry took Balon’s hand, as he was adamant that his sworn shield come with him, and they set off for the city, and the Red Keep, with Ser Boros Blount behind them.

“Did you enjoy your first tourney?” Balon asked him.

“Everything except for Willas being crippled.” Harry said with a nod. “I will wake up early and go to see him on the morrow.”

“All the lords and ladies were speaking of how you ran to his aid.”

“I didn’t do much to aid him, though I hope I brought him some small measure of comfort.”

“Always so modest.” Balon chuckled. “Everyone is less interested in the champion of the joust and more interested in how you ran to help a fallen jouster. A very gallant act, it’s being called.”

Harry huffed. “I did what I thought might help. He was injured and in pain. It wasn’t even his fault.”

“Think no more on it, you shouldn’t go to bed angry, you will not sleep properly.” Balon soothed.

Harry nodded, but his mood was soured by what had happened to poor Willas.

The rest of the walk was silent, and they made it to the Red Keep without incident. Harry let Balon help him wash, he brushed his teeth and then he swilled his mouth with salt water, as was his habit now that the first of his teeth was getting wobbly and he would soon be getting his permanent teeth, and Balon helped him to undress before he said goodnight to his sworn shield, who went to his room next door. Ser Boros stayed at Harry’s bedroom door, protecting him constantly, as his father had ordered. Harry hoped that tomorrow went better than today had, he could only imagine someone being speared through the eye with an arrow and when he fell asleep, he dreamed of the battle of Hogwarts again, for the first time since he’d been ‘reborn’ in Westeros.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Willas was awake and sat upright when Harry went to visit him early the next morning, but his leg was in plaster from above the knee to his ankle.

“You should not have troubled yourself, my Prince.” Willas told him, under the gaze of his grandmother, parents, and his younger siblings, the ten year old Garlan, who was the same age as his uncle Renly, little Loras, who was the same age as Harry, and the only girl, sweet Margaery, who was only a year younger than him at three.

“I wanted to.” Harry said as he clambered up onto the bed and sat himself next to Willas, against the pillows. “How are you feeling today?”

“He has been crip…” Mace started harshly, his fat face flushed red with anger, but his mother cut in loudly, drowning out his words.

“Willas is most comfortable, my Prince.” She said graciously. “He has been well attended by three Maesters, and I believe that it was you who had the Grand Maester see to him?”

Harry nodded, before turning back to Willas. “Yes. I am glad that you are no longer in much pain.”

“I feel no pain.” Willas said. “I have been given milk of the poppy.”

“Is…is there anything that can be done for your leg?”

“You had the right of it, my Prince. I will be able to walk, but only with a cane to support my weight.”

“That Dornish Prince should be hanged.” Mace grumbled, and from the flash of anger in Olenna’s eyes, she agreed with her son, but had more tact than to say as such out loud.

“The Crown doesn’t hang people for jousting in tourneys.” Harry replied immediately. “Maybe this will prevent you from making the same mistake with your two younger sons, and you won’t force them to participate in tourneys before they’re men grown.” He couldn’t help adding, before turning back to Willas. “Remember to keep exercising the muscles, once the bone has healed of course, so they don’t stiffen up. If you keep at it, mayhaps you will walk without a cane.”

“The Maester said I wouldn’t be able…”

“He gave you his opinion on the matter. Who says his opinion is the right one?” Harry smiled. “Do not take anything anyone says at face value, even learned men like Maesters can get things wrong. See how you feel, as you are the only one who will be able to know how strong that leg feels once it is healed. Keep working at it, keep building the strength in it, and then see if the Maester had the right of it or not, but do not just give up and not even try because the Maesters say there is no hope. There is always hope, Willas, you just have to know the right way to go about getting it.”

“I’m sure you’re not really four.” Willas told him. “I see you and my brother, Loras, who is of an age with you, and I can’t compare the both of you.”

Harry shrugged a small, narrow shoulder. “I am used to others calling me strange. I’m just beyond compare.” He grinned.

Ser Arys stuck his head into the room just then, disturbing them. “His Grace, your father, is looking for you, my Prince.”

Harry nodded. “That’s my cue to leave you to rest. Remember what I said!” He called out, shuffling from the bed and walking to the door.

He left the Tyrells and took Balon’s hand and Ser Arys fell into step behind them. He went to the royal solar and he found his father there, waiting anxiously for him.

“There you are!” He said as soon as he saw him, exhaling in relief.

“I went to see Willas Tyrell to see how he was, Father.”

“Ah, of course. How is the boy?”

“He’s doing okay. He was up and awake, he’s been given milk of the poppy and his leg is in plaster from knee to ankle. He was much too young to be in the joust. Hopefully the fat flower won’t do the same to his two other sons or he might end up with three cripples.”

“You’re wearing the same clothes that you had on yesterday.” His mother interrupted.

Harry looked at her, then the year old baby in her lap who was again wearing red and gold, but this time he had a hundred tiny gold lions sewn onto his tunic.

“I wanted to wear the gift my father gave me again.” He said as neutrally as he could manage. “They are clean still and don’t smell. I didn’t do very much running around yesterday, and there are no stains on them. They’re perfectly adequate.”

“I will have more clothes made for you.” His father told him. “You look good in black and yellow.”

Harry smiled. “I’d like that.” He said.

After breaking their fast, Harry took his father’s huge hand and they walked together down to the archery field. The spectators were to the side, but Harry really didn’t like that the royal platform was so close to the targets. It was done, likely to allow the royals the best chance to watch where the arrow was placed, but Harry thought it was too easy for an assassin to turn and fire an arrow at the royal family.

He needn’t have worried though, as his fears had likely been brought up before, as all seven members of the Kingsguard were up on the platform, and every one of them had their shields in hand. Three members stood behind Harry and his father, and two stood in front of them, below the platform so that the royals could see over their heads, while Ser Barristan stood right beside the king, and Ser Preston Greenfield stood to Harry’s side, their shields held in the hand closest to their royal family, just in case.

Harry enjoyed the archery much more than the jousting, as he knew how to use a bow, thus he could see who the better shot was and he picked who would win from the very first round at fifty paces.

“You can’t know he’ll win yet. There are several more rounds.” His father teased.

“He will win.” Harry said with a grin. “I can see it.”

At the eighty pace mark, only three men were left in the round and Harry watched closely, as the man he’d picked from the off stepped forward, fired his bow, hitting the side of the central mark. He moved to the side and stepped back another ten paces, as those who hit any part of the centre mark on the target progressed to the next round. The man had turned arrogant and he was acting as if he had already won, despite the fact that he had two opponents still, but he was due a bit of arrogance, as he saw that the young prince was cheering for him. The other two men remaining shot their arrows as well, one after the other, and one of them was declared the third place, as he didn’t even hit the centre marker, and the second man stepped back ten paces to join the other and the final round was upon them, at the ninety pace mark.

Harry’s chosen man readied himself, he notched his arrow and then pulled and released quickly. His arrow hit just off the centre mark.

The other man stepped forward, knowing that all he had to do was hit the centre marker…he almost missed the target completely, the arrow landing just barely on the outer rim of the target and Harry laughed and clapped.

“Gods be good, how did you ever guess the winner from the first round?” His father demanded as the archer bowed to the royal family, particularly at the young prince who had cheered him all through the competition, before he started greeting people, likely friends, in the crowd.

Harry laughed. “His form was better. He doesn’t hold the arrow too long. The quicker you pull back and release, the better. When I’m older, and bigger, I want to enter the archery competitions!”

“The gods help your opponents, they’ll never beat you. You’ve been firing arrows since you were two.”

“From a box, maybe.” Harry giggled. “And with help from Balon, but I have always been a good aim. Soon I will be strong enough to do it by myself and then I can enter the competitions.”

“I will cheer you all the way.” Robert declared. “But you need to get some growing in first.”

Harry giggled. “Yes, Father!”

“There will be a break now, before the axe throwing, do you want to explore the markets with me?”

“Really?” Harry asked excitedly, his already large eyes going larger in his surprise. He hadn’t expected this. “Can we, please?”

“Of course, come on. We have two hours before the competition starts, though they wouldn’t dare start without their king.”

Harry was up on his feet in an instant, and reaching out to take his father’s hand.

“No, come on, get on my shoulders, you can see more from up there.” His father said, picking him up and encouraging him to slip a leg behind his neck. “When I was about your age my father did this with me too.”

“It is undignified!” His mother snapped. “You are a king, not a commoner.”

“If I want to carry my son on my shoulders, who will stop me? You?” Robert Baratheon demanded, jumping immediately to anger, which was one half of his entire emotional range, even as he was settling Harry on his shoulders and holding both of his skinny legs, making sure he was settled securely and then striding off.

Harry really could see everything from up here, as his father was at least six foot six, and he grinned as people stopped and looked, before bowing or curtseying as they recognised them both.

Harry was allowed to buy what he wanted, pointing things out to his father, who would buy what he wanted and he got a servant to carry it all. Harry got a bolt of cloth that he liked, which his father insisted he would have made into an outfit for him, and there was a pair of leather gloves that fit Harry’s tiny hands that his father bought for him, Harry planned to use them during his archery to better protect his hands.

Harry was lifted and then settled down on the grass to watch a mummer’s show, laughing and clapping at the comic play with a dozen other children, and his father gave him a copper star to drop into the master mummer’s hand at the end. They ate ‘peasant’ food while sitting down on the grass together and his father drank dark beer while Harry had water. Afterwards, Harry was hefted up and put back on his father’s massive shoulders.

“My Prince! My Prince!” A man called out. “A gift for you.” The man insisted, holding out a huge wooden crate. It was filled with hundreds of painted blocks of different sizes, in different colours. Several on the top were diligently, and very painstakingly, painted with the crests of all the great houses.

Harry looked at them and took one block from the box, the yellow one with the black Baratheon stag on it, and he felt it. It was very smooth, very well made.

“Can I have them, Father?” He asked.

“You can have whatever you want.” His father told him easily.

Harry took out a handful of silver coins and held them out to the vendor.

“They are a gift, my Prince.” The man said, holding his hands up.

“I don’t expect gifts just because I am a prince.” He said. “It is not my name day, I have done no deeds worthy of gifts, so I will pay for them. Thank you though, they are really well made and you are good at your craft. I like this one the best.” He said with a wide, cheeky grin, holding up the yellow cube with the black stag on it.

Harry handed over the coins, and Ser Boros took the wooden crate for him, but Harry kept the Baratheon block in his hand, playing with it. He had paid too much for the blocks, and refused to take any change, telling the man to keep it as a gift, as he had offered the blocks to him as a gift first.

“Do you enjoy playing with blocks?” His father asked him once they were out of earshot.

“I don’t know, I’ve never played with any. I might be a little old to play with them now, but I’ll enjoy building with them all the same. They could help with my coordination.”

His father nodded and carried him on his large, broad shoulders around the markets. He bought Harry a small pouch of the boiled honey sweets that he liked and a small skin of crushed strawberries, despite the fact that if they called for it, a servant would rush to provide the same items from the castle. That wasn’t the point of being at a tourney, nor walking the market stalls.

People called out to them both, children stared, people bowed and curtseyed with varying degrees of clumsiness, and Harry waved and grinned at them.

He asked to be put down when he saw a group of children playing and once he had his feet he ran over to ask them if he could play too. No one dared to say no to him, of course, and Harry unpinned his cloak and took off his coronet and ran to hand them to his father, also passing over the Baratheon block he’d been carrying, before running back and playing a game with the other children. He grasped the rules quickly, and he laughed and played and enjoyed being a ‘normal’ child for a small while.

“He looks free like this.” Robert said, mostly to himself, but he was surrounded by the Kingsguard, by servants and attendants, which included his father figure and the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore them all, he could never forget that they were there. He was never really alone and he hated it. He had never been cut out to be a king.

“It’s a good look on him.” He carried on. “To see him running around, happily playing with boys his own age.”

“He looks unburdened.” Elderly Jon Arryn said, watching the crown prince playing and laughing…when he was truly amused he laughed like Robert did, his head thrown back, a loud roar of a laugh coming from that small, fragile looking body. “He reminds me so much of you.”

Robert smiled at hearing that, watching as his son played, and he inhaled deeply.

“I love him.”

“As all men should love their sons.” Jon said. “As I love you and Eddard as my own sons, as I have none but those I chose. By the gods you were both terrors back then, you still are. I’m convinced that it was always just you getting into trouble, and poor Ned was just dragged along into your schemes.”

Robert threw his head back and laughed that roar of a laugh, the one his son had emulated and the crown prince looked over and he grinned to hear his father’s laughter. Robert Baratheon waved at him, sending him back to his game, whatever it was.

Once the game had finished, or rather two rounds of the same game had finished, Harian came back to him, his face flushed with his exertion and the biggest grin on his face. He lifted his arms and Robert swept him up, nestling the coronet back in his hair and bumping him to his shoulder. Harry straddled him and held on, breathing hard from his exercise. Neither of them bothered to pin the cloak back to his shoulders, a servant who was trailing after them was carrying it.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes!” Harry said happily. “That was so much fun, I don’t have anyone my own age to play with, so I liked that I was able to play with other children.”

“What about your cousin, or cousin once removed? I don’t know how it goes, Kevan’s son, he’s about your age isn’t he?” Robert asked him.

“Lancel?” Harry scoffed with more derision than any child should be able to show. “He’s such a baby! You know he actually cried when he got a splinter once. A splinter! I got cut with a poisoned knife and didn’t even complain about it and he cries over splinters and his boot lace coming undone. He won’t spar with me either. He whines that I’m too rough and that I hit him too hard. That’s okay though, I prefer sparring with actual men, and not babies.”

Robert laughed and several others chuckled.

“You’ll have to show me how good you’ve gotten.” Robert told him.

Harry tilted his head down to look at his father. “Really?”

“Of course. I can’t let you run off back to Casterly Rock without teaching you some tips on how to beat your great-uncle Tygett. What sort of father would I be then?”

Harry giggled. “Thank you!” He declared happily. “Uncle Tygett is a really good swordsman, I can’t best him. Not yet.”

“I should think not! No man, a knight at that, should be bested by a four year old.” His father laughed.

“I dream of beating him sometimes.” Harry admitted. “I use it as a goal to reach. I can’t wait for the day I best him in a spar.”

“You need to train hard and keep to it.” Robert told him. “If you train every day, one day you will best everyone.”

Harry nodded and held on tight as they made their way to the archery grounds again, which were now set up for the axe-throwing.

“Have you enjoyed your walk around the markets?” His grandfather asked him, turning in his seat to look up at him as Harry was set back on his feet and his father sat with a happy groan, waving a hand for his cupbearer to hand him his goblet of wine.

Harry slipped under the rail again and sat in the empty seat beside his grandfather.

“Yes, I’ve had a very good time.” He said, loud enough for his father to hear him. “I got some sweets and some blocks too, and some toys and a bolt of cloth I liked that father says he will have made into an outfit for me. I watched a mummer’s show and played with other boys my own age, though I swear that one of them had to be at least nine, he was just too big.”

Tywin sat and listened to his childish ramblings of all that he had done that day, nodding in appropriate places.

“…and then father said he would help teach me to beat uncle Tygett in a fight. I know it won’t be easy, he’s a proper knight, and I only like to pretend I’m a knight, but I will beat him one day. He’ll be old soon.”

That last comment drew laughter from everyone around him, especially Gerion, and even his grandfather looked dangerously close to laughing.

“What? What’s funny?” He demanded, in all his childish outrage, though of course he knew exactly what they found funny. Tygett was only thirty-six, but more than that, Ser Barristan was still considered one of the most dangerous knights in the Seven Kingdoms and he was fifty now, but he had a part to play, and he knew how to play it well by now.

“Tygett is only thirty-six, my Prince.” Tywin told him.

“I know.” He said, frowning in confusion. “Is that not old? He’s thirty-two years older than me. Thirty-two! He’ll be really old soon, then I could beat him, because he’ll be a little old man.”

Everyone laughed again, the loudest of all was his father, whose roar of a laugh could be heard over everything else.

“Why are you laughing?!” He pouted. “I will beat him. I will!”

“Come back up here.” His father said, still chuckling.

“No. You’re all making fun of me and I don’t know why.”

“Listen to His Grace, your father.” His grandfather told him sternly, and Harry huffed, but nodded and he slipped back up onto the platform above and went to his father, who picked him up as easily as if he were a doll and sat him on his knee.

“How old am I?” His father asked him.

“Twenty-four.” Harry said, nodding.

“Am I old or young?”

Harry frowned. “That sounds like a trick question.” He said.

“It’s not a trick, you are not going to be in trouble for answering.”

“You’re not old yet because you still have hair.”

That was too much for those listening and they doubled over laughing. Harry scowled.

“Oh, so a man is young while he still has hair?” His father chuckled. “I will pray I keep mine long into my nineties.”

“It can’t be white either. White hair means you’re really, really old.”

“I dread to think how old you believe I am then, my Prince.” The white haired Barristan Selmy said with a kind smile.

“You’ve been alive for forever!” Harry declared, turning and looking at the Kingsguard knight. “You’re fifty! How does anyone reach fifty years old?! That’s forever old.”

His father laughed so hard that he started wheezing, going red in the face.

“It’s not funny!” Harry told him, making himself sound stroppy.

“Let us put aside this conversation then.” Tywin said. “You will understand when you’re older, my Prince.”

Harry frowned, but he nodded and settled back against his father’s chest. It was these sorts of little conversations that reminded those around him that though he might be odd, and understand more than he perhaps should, he was a child too. Or at least he wanted them to think of him as a child. He was forty now, and it really was difficult to maintain the ruse, to keep remembering that he should be a child, and not the adult that he felt that he was, to keep the mask of childish innocence around him when he was in the presence of other people. Of course them all being twice the size of him was a constant reminder, but sometimes he needed to forcibly remind himself to act like a child.

He could not allow himself to act like a forty year old man, and little childish games and conversations now and then helped to remind those around him that he was a four year old boy, despite how he might act or the things he said sometimes that made him seem much older and wiser. It was needed, and sometimes it could even be fun. He’d enjoyed doing the wooden puzzle at Casterly Rock, he enjoyed running around, and the puppet show and the mummer’s show had been good too, he’d enjoyed watching them. He would enjoy the blocks too, as he planned to make his own maze with them, which could be fun. It was only for a small while longer, as soon as he was sixteen he’d be considered an adult here in Westeros, a man grown, then he could behave how he wanted and not like the child he supposedly was.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

The melee the next day had gone on from the midday meal until the sun started to set, a massive all out brawl between the fifty-four men who had signed up. Harry had watched with his face set, trying to hide the horror he was actually feeling. The men were not using blunted weapons, but live steel. He had witnessed men being cut and hurt, one man had lost his lower arm not two feet from where Harry was sat, one man had lost several teeth to a morningstar to the face, which had also broken his nose, and at the end of the melee, with just one man left standing, three men were dead, unmoving on the floor.

“Gods, I love the melee.” His father told him as they made their way to the outdoor feast. “Running around, swinging my hammer, no one could touch me.”

“Have you been champion before?” Harry asked curiously.

“The year two-eighty-one. The year before you were born.” His father said, his face and tone darkening. “The tourney at Harrenhal, the one where Rhaegar Targaryen crowned the woman I loved and kidnapped her.”

Harry said nothing. The Targaryens were such a sore topic to speak of, and his father lost his mind if anyone so much as mentioned them. He would rant and rave for days. Harry didn’t want that to spoil the three days of bonding they’d already done.

“I want to be a champion too.” Harry said, changing the subject, just slightly, so that he was still on topic, but not that topic. “It’ll be archery first though, I can do that younger.”

“You’re a good little archer, I’ll give you that.” His father said, his dark mood clearing as he was pulled out of his thoughts.

“I’ve really enjoyed the tourney, spending it with you.” Harry said with a smile.

His father ruffled his hair and then hefted him up into the chair beside his own. The tables were all full of the lords and ladies come to the capital for the tourney and Harry picked out Oberyn and his paramour and youngest daughter, who Harry had found out had been named Elia after Oberyn’s sister (he hadn’t told his father that little bit of information), the Tyrells, which included Willas, which made Harry smile. There were Freys and Whents and Tully’s and of course his Lannister family were all at the top, nearest Harry and his father. Harry noticed that all the great houses were sat closest to the top royal table, while all the lesser houses were at tables further away, but there were hundreds of people filling the tables, most of them people that Harry had seen participating during the tourney.

“Before we start on the feast I’d like to say some words!” His father boomed out, as if he were bellowing orders on the battlefield, standing tall and strong.

Everyone shut up immediately to listen to him, giving him their full attention, and Harry believed that he would be able to hear a pin drop. His father had been a loud, powerful man before he’d become a king, now it was only too easy for Robert Baratheon to gain the attention of hundreds of people at once.

“This tourney has been very special to me.” He declared loudly. “I have spent three wonderful days with my beloved son beside me, sharing in on his very first tourney experience, and there is no bigger source of pride to a father than that. My boy is now four years old, the perfect age to watch his first tourney, or so I am told, and his enjoyment of these games has made my own joy at watching them swell all the more. This tourney was for him, to welcome him back to the capital, and I’d like to raise a cup to him, my son, Prince Harian Baratheon. Welcome home!”

Harry smiled happily at the roar from those lords and ladies watching, as they all raised a cup and drank to him, but on the inside he was laughing. His father hadn’t planned this tourney at all, his mother had, and not for him but for the first name day of Joffrey, his brother who hadn’t even been mentioned in his father’s speech at all. His father hadn’t even known that Harry would be attending, but all of that had been forgotten, and from his speech, people would believe that this tourney was for him, for his homecoming, and it would go down in history as Prince Harian’s tourney, not the tourney for Prince Joffrey’s first name day, as his mother had wanted.

“My love.” His mother called out, deadly quiet from the table below, a sleeping Joffrey clamped in her arms. Her tone made it clear that she’d rather call her husband something else, something a lot more derogatory. “This tourney was for your son’s first name day.” She reminded venomously.

“What in the seven hells has he done?” Robert demanded, waving a nonchalant hand to indicate the sleeping Joffrey. “He’s slept through most of the games and cried through the rest. Harian has been by my side, watching and enjoying every moment of this tourney. He deserves the honour of it more.”

Robert dismissed Cersei by shifting his back to her and waving his hands, calling for the servants to serve the first course of the feast. It was a thick soup with warm bread and Harry ate ravenously.

“It’s good to see your appetite up.” His father told him.

Harry nodded and swallowed. “I’m getting bigger.” He said with a grin. “I’ll be as big as you soon!”

Robert laughed and clapped his back. “I think you and Renly are more alike.”

“Renly looks like you.” Harry pointed out.

“As do you, but you’re both markedly smaller than I am.”

“The giant of house Baratheon?” Harry giggled.

“Less of your cheek, boy.” His father grinned.

“Apologies, Father, I meant King Giant of house Baratheon.”

Robert threw his head back and roared his laughter, and Harry did the same.

The end feast of the tourney was several courses of food, and after the soup came a jewelled salad, then a mint salad with onions and beans and by the time they got to the meat courses, Harry was already feeling rather full, but he continued eating anyway, enjoying himself, laughing with his father, with his uncles, he started a debate with his grandfather, impressing all those who were close enough to listen.

Cersei sat sullenly, her brother next to her, as she held baby Joffrey, who had been overshadowed by Harian, just as she’d known would happen. She had tried to do what she could to introduce Joffrey to the appropriate people, keeping him well away from the smallfolk, those filthy, disease ridden peasants, but it had been no use. All anyone could talk about was Harian. How adorable he was, how comely, how well behaved he was, how kind, how gallant, how chivalrous, how much he was enjoying himself, how sweet he was, how she should be so proud of her oldest son. She couldn’t get away from him, she heard his name several times a day, even when he wasn’t even near her, all anyone wanted to talk about was Harian this and Harian that, even her own family members, her own father, her uncles. It was sickening and she hated it.

“So, I heard you have gotten yourself an epithet, my Prince.” Tygett grinned.

“What’s an epi-pet, Uncle?” Harry asked, taking care to mispronounce it, as a child would have. Of course he knew what an epithet was, and he’d even heard what people were now calling him. He’d already rehearsed what he was going to say to try and push forward his childish persona.

Everyone laughed at him, as he’d known they would, and he did a good job of looking around confusedly.

“Epithet, my Prince.” His grandfather told him, using his ‘teacher’ voice, as Harry had come to refer to it in their lessons. “It is a name used to describe someone based on their characteristics. For example, Baelor Breakspear, who got the name ‘Breakspear’ by winning the final tilt of a joust against Daemon Blackfyre.”

“Or Aerys the Mad King.” His father put in from beside him.

“Are…are people calling me mad?” He asked worriedly.

“No, they call you odd and strange.” His mother told him cruelly. “It’s no less than you deserve for the shameful way you act.”

Harry ducked his head and looked at his hands in his lap. He hadn’t expected that, not for her to speak up in front of Tywin and Robert, but he considered that perhaps having this tourney declared as his, and not Joffrey’s, had angered her so much as to grow so bold. He almost smiled, it was too perfect, and she had pretty much just shot herself in the foot by revealing her true feelings for him in front of so many people, her own family whom Harry was living with. It would push them more into his own corner, instead of hers, and that was exactly what Harry wanted and needed. It truly was much too easy to outsmart her and to coax her into dancing to his tune.

“Cersei, you’ve had a long day, go back to your bed chamber and rest.” Tywin told her sternly.

“I am not a child that you can…”

“You are tired.” Tywin cut in harshly, glaring at her. “Go and take your rest.”

Ever afraid of her father, Cersei stood and fled the table with Joffrey in her arms. Two Lannister red cloaks fell in behind her, escorting her back to the city and the Red Keep, and several servants and ladies-in-waiting hurried to trail behind.

“I don’t want an epithet.” Harry said into the silence that followed, though it wasn’t truly quiet, as everyone at the other tables were being loud and rowdy, unknowing of what was happening at the top tables, it was only the three tables at the front that had gone quiet.

“Epithets are rarely chosen by those who receive them.” His grandfather told him, taking his sharp gaze from the form of his retreating daughter and putting it back on his upset grandson. The sooner he got the boy back to Casterly Rock, the better.

“Stop torturing the boy.” Robert said loudly. “The people are calling you Harian the Sweet Prince.”

“I’m not edible.” Harry said. “How can I be a sweet?”

Just like that, everyone was back to laughing, his father above everyone else.

“Is it because I like sweets?” He asked the laughing men.

“No, it is because you are as sweet as honey and as kind as a maid.” His father told him.

“I am not!” Harry huffed.

“You’ve spent three days eating from market vendors, playing games with lowborn children and saving women from abuse.” His father laughed. “Of course you’re sweet.”

“Could have named me chivalrous instead.” He complained sullenly. “It sounds more grown-up, Harian the Chivalrous, not Harian the Sweet.”

“I’m sure you’ll collect many more names as you grow.” His father told him with a grin.

“Good, I don’t want that name for forever! I can’t be Harian the Sweet when I’m as ancient as Ser Barristan.”

“Oh, I’m ancient now, am I, my Prince?” Ser Barristan asked him, smiling at him.

Harry turned in his chair to look at the Kingsguard knight stood on guard behind him. “Are you not?” Harry asked him. “You were alive during the reign of Aegon the fifth, and you got your knighthood in a tourney against the Lord Commander Ser Duncan! Grandfather has been teaching me my history and all history is old, but you’re still alive.”

“That was only thirty-six years ago, my Prince. I was six-and-ten.”

Harry gasped. “That’s before even uncle Tygett was born! You were knighted before he was born?”

“Have I missed something?” Tygett asked bemusedly.

“Our little Prince thinks that he’ll be able to best you soon in a spar because you’ll be an old man.” Gerion told his brother with a grin.

“I’ll be an old man soon?” Tygett laughed questioningly.

“See, uncle Tygett agrees with me.” Harry said, purposefully ignoring that it had been phrased as a question, and not as a statement.

“How soon will I be an old man?” Tygett asked him.

“If he goes with what he told me, then it’ll be when you lose your hair, or it turns white.” Robert laughed.

“Uncle Tygett is going white, that’s why he’s getting old, see?” Harry said, pointing to the silver streaks at Tygett’s temples.

That set off more boisterous laughter.

“How old is your grandfather then?” Tygett asked. “He’s my older brother after all.”

“He’s a grandfather, of course he’s old.” Harry said simply.

Robert laughed and pulled Harry onto his lap. “I love you.” He declared loudly. “I have not laughed so much since you came around.”

“I love you too.” Harry said with a smile, hugging his father and snuggling in as much as he could while his father was so big and muscled.

“Are you sure you want to return to Casterly Rock?” His father asked him unhappily.

Harry nodded. “I have much more to learn, Father.” He said. “I don’t want to leave you, I love spending time with you, but I need to learn and take my lessons, and grow bigger. We don’t have to leave right away, we can stay a few more days, can’t we, Grandfather?”

“We can.” Tywin said with a nod. “We can set off at the start of the next turn, if you wish for some more time with your father.”

“I do.” Harry said with a nod.

Harry stayed on his father’s lap, picking at a bowl of berries, but he had long since stopped being hungry. No one told him to go to bed, not tonight, not even his grandfather, and as a result, he eventually fell asleep resting on his father’s chest, an arm securely around him as he slept.

“Do you want me to take him to bed, Your Grace?” Ser Barristan asked.

“No. I have him.” Robert said, unwilling to let the slight weight of his sleeping son go. “I will take him to bed myself.”

He got his son into his arms and stood, trying not to wake his boy. He left the feast, perhaps two hours before he normally would have, and for once he had no wish to drink or whore. He just wanted to put his son to bed.

His Kingsguard were in step behind him, and Harian’s young sworn shield awkwardly followed. He had been unsure when Stannis had recommended such a young boy for Harian’s sworn shield, but Stannis had made it seem so logical, the right thing to do. The boy was knighted very young, after proving himself in some civil argument turned fight, and he had saved the lord he’d been squired to, he was a Stormlander, being the younger son of Lord Gulian Swann, he was a good choice. He had even proven himself capable of being a sworn shield already, having saved Harian’s life from an attempted assassination, but Cersei was insisting on someone older, someone more experienced. He didn’t know what to do.

He reached the Red Keep, and then Maegor’s Holdfast easily enough, his son a minor weight in his arms, and he settled the boy into his bed, taking his boots from his tiny feet and the coronet from his hair.

He undressed the boy as carefully as he could, but it was not careful enough and those sleepy green eyes slitted open, squinting up at him blearily.

“Father.” Harian murmured sleepily.

“I’m trying to get your doublet off without jostling you. An impossible task it seems.”

His son smiled sleepily up at him and sat up to help. Robert got the cursed doublet off and the little leggings, then the stockings, before he went to a drawer and went hunting for a sleeping tunic.

“Middle drawer, Father.” Harry told him, as he watched from his bed. “I don’t like to bend or stretch when I’m tired.”

Robert opened the middle of the five drawers and found the folded sleeping tunics. He took one out and went to dress his son and tuck him in. This would be the first time he would have ever tucked anyone in. He was already failing, seeing as Harian was now awake.

He pulled the tunic over Harian’s head, his wild, jet black hair sticking out in every direction. He ruffled that hair and laid his son down as gently as he could, pulling the sheet over him.

Harry yawned widely and Robert smiled at him.

“I had a really good day.” Harry told him.

“So have I.”

“Is Balon next door?”

“He is. Do you trust him?”

Harry’s eyes opened again and he peered up at him. “With my life, Father. He’s already saved me once.”

“Wouldn’t you feel…safer, with an older sworn shield?”

Harry shook his head. “If he’s too old, then when I’m older he’ll be too old to protect me because he won’t be able to keep up with me. It’s better to have Balon now, because he’s young, and I’m young. Then when I’m older and getting into trouble, I’ll trust Balon and he will be the perfect age to protect me.”

Robert chuckled. “If you say so.”

“Please don’t take Balon away from me. He’s my friend.”

“I won’t take him from you, it’s just your mother said that it might be better for you to have an older sworn shield.”

“She’s only saying that to make me unhappy, because she knows that Balon is my friend. She doesn’t like seeing me happy.”

Robert sighed and bent to lay a kiss on that smooth forehead.

“You can keep Balon and nothing more will be said on the matter. Get some rest now. Tomorrow I want to spend the day playing games with you.”

“Really? Won’t you be too busy?”

“No, that’s what I have a Hand and a small council for.” Robert laughed. “I can spare my son some time to play before he rides back off to the lion’s den.”

Harry grinned and yawned again. He closed his eyes and settled himself down to sleep. He was already planning what game to play to entertain his father tomorrow. Something boisterous and destructive would likely serve well.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry was awake early the next morning and he dressed in leggings that were black on the right half and red on the left. The doublet that matched his leggings was yellow on the one side, with a black stag under his right arm, the left half was red with a golden lion under his left arm. It was made to appear that he was perfect halves of both houses, but truthfully he made people see what they wanted to see and played up certain aspects depending on who was around him.

He hurried to the great hall, with the Iron Throne up the slender, narrow set of stairs, thousands of swords melted all around it, lethal, sharp, jagged points sticking up everywhere and in every direction, it looked dangerous…he didn’t go near it. He didn’t think he’d even want to go near it when he became king, when he’d actually be expected to sit on it, and avoid all those lethal, razor sharp swords.

“Right here, Balon, put them here.” He said and poor Balon, struggling under the weight of the wooden crate of blocks, happily put the damn thing down.

“You want to play here?” Balon asked, eyeing the intimidating throne.

Harry nodded. “This hall is big enough for playing in.”

He went to the crate and tipped it over. It was ridiculous how difficult it was for him to tip over a crate of wooden blocks, how much effort it took him, but he did, thankfully, manage it. He truly couldn’t wait until he was older, and stronger.

He kept the eight house blocks (of which there were only supposed to be seven, as the Greyjoys were not considered a great house, though Harry could at least be grateful that the maker had not included house Targaryen, or the man might have found himself locked in a dungeon cell…or dead) to the one side, safe from the plain blocks, and he started building with the others, stacking them on top of one another. He made walls around himself, until he could no longer be seen.

“You’re entombing yourself in blocks.” Balon told him, from where he’d grabbed a stool to sit on, watching him play indulgently.

“Maybe I like being entombed in blocks.” Harry answered.

Balon laughed, but left him to it, watching as the prince joined all the walls together and even made himself a little door.

“You boy, where is my son?” The booming voice of the king demanded.

“In there, Your Grace.” Balon answered the angry looking king quickly, pointing to the wooden structure.

“Here I am!” Harry called out.

He went to the little arch he’d made and he crawled through it and grinned up at the people in the hall. Not just his father, but the Kingsguard too.

“I made my own castle! It’s called Harian’s Holdfast, because it’s a keep inside a keep.” He giggled.

His father strode over and looked over the wall, to see the small space in the middle.

“You get a crate of blocks, and you make a castle. I think you’re going to be a builder.”

“I’d need stone blocks to be a builder.” Harry said. “I’m going to build a wall next.”

“Oh, will that one be made of ice?” His uncle Jaime quipped.

“No…blocks. Where do you think I’ll get ice from this far south, Uncle?” Harry demanded.

“He has you there, Kingslayer.” Robert laughed.

“I need to knock down my castle first.” Harry said and he went and put his foot through the bottom of the wall. The wooden blocks came crashing down and Harry giggled and did it with all four walls.

“So you want to build a wall?” His father asked.

Harry nodded. “Right here.” He said, pointing. “But you have to build one too. Over there.” He said pointing a few feet away.

“Why?”

“So we can play!” Harry said. “First one to knock the other’s wall down, wins.”

“And we’re knocking them down with what?”

“The house blocks. We have half each, but we can throw back the ones thrown at us.”

Robert Baratheon laughed. “Alright then, boy, challenge accepted.”

They split the blocks as equally as they could without actually counting them and they were both sat on the floor building their walls.

“We’re going to need more blocks. Boros, go and find us more blocks.” Robert demanded, and the Kingsguard knight had no other option but to bow and walk away, to find them more wooden blocks for them to play with.

Harry was almost done with his wall when Boros came back with four servants, each of them carrying wooden crates of painted blocks. Harry made an excited noise, part way between a screech and a shriek and went to go and look at the blocks.

“Now this is what we need. Harian, this will be good siege practice for you.”

“And a good lesson in how to aim.” Harry giggled.

“It’s always a good thing to learn where to place your trebuchets.”

Harry laughed and got two of the servants to dump out two crates of blocks on his side, while his father got the other two.

Harry had to think hard about how to build his wall, with thought on projectiles from his father, who would be able to throw much harder than he would be able to. He came out from behind his wall to check on what his father would see, before ducking back behind it and building more towers and putting a second wall behind the first, now that he had enough blocks to make it thicker.

“Are you ready for the war, boy?”

Harry peeked up over his wall. “You’re the one who is going to lose, are you ready?”

His father laughed loudly. “I’m ready. Where are those house blocks?”

Harry hurried around and he put all eight of the house blocks in his tunic.

“We get four each, but you can’t look which house you get.”

His father pulled out four blocks and cheered when he got the Baratheon block. Harry took his four back to his wall.

“Who goes first?” His father asked eagerly.

“I do, because I’m littler than you!” Harry declared and he looked at the four blocks he had. “I’m going to turn this into a naval battle.”

“A naval battle?” His father asked.

Harry held up the Greyjoy block. “House Greyjoy attacks your wall, Father.”

Harry threw the block as hard as he could and took out one of the towers, the blocks raining down with a crash. He laughed happily.

“Watch your damn head now, Harian.” His father called out. “I won’t have you running around with two black eyes and a broken nose.”

“Throw the block!” Harry giggled.

“Fine, house Baratheon will charge your walls and turn them into ruins.”

Harry screeched when the blocks fell down around him and he threw his head back and laughed. He collected the Baratheon block and put it in his pile.

“House Stark has turned on you, and will destroy your keep!” Harry declared, before launching the white block with the running grey direwolf on it at his father’s wall.

He heard his father cursing from behind his wall and he giggled.

“You can laugh.” His father told him. “House Tyrell are marching on your wall.”

Harry laughed harder as the wooden blocks tumbled around him. His father laughed too, letting out a single sharp exclamation. Harry looked, and one half of his wall was down and in ruins. He peeked out the side.

“Damn those Tyrells!” He cursed.

His father threw his head back and laughed louder.

“Now it’s time for your wall to fall, as house Arryn takes it out!” Harry declared, throwing the blue block with the white moon on it, with the sky blue falcon in the middle.

It hit true and the middle of his father’s wall fell. Harry giggled as his father was exposed and he carefully planned where he would hit next.

“We’ll see how you like your family attacking you, as house Lannister takes you on.”

“What do you mean? You’ve already thrown my family house at me, the Baratheon block was first!” Harry shouted back, even as blocks fell about him.

“Oh, are you not a Lannister too?” Robert called back.

“I can be an antlered lion.” Harry giggled.

“Sounds like you should be in a grotesquerie.”

“Oh, I believed that I already was living in a grotesquerie being back here in the capital!” Harry quipped back with a giggle.

“I assume I am going to be attacked by the Martells?” Robert asked, his voice thick with laughter.

Harry considered it and he chuckled. “Oh no, Father. You are being turned on by your own house!” Harry declared and he threw the Baratheon block back at his father.

His father laughed and covered his head as the last remaining tower of blocks fell on him. There was only one small spike of blocks left and Harry knew he was going to win.

Robert Baratheon threw the Tully block at him and took out the middle of Harry’s wall, but Harry still had half a wall left to hide behind.

“There is still time to concede, Father!” He cried out. “I will exile you from your keep and take it for myself, but if you bend the knee now, I will be merciful and spare your life!”

Robert was laughing too hard to answer him.

“Very well, your mocking laughter is all the answer I need, prepare to die!” Harry cried out, and he threw the Lannister block at the last remaining bit of the block wall that was left standing.

Harry jumped up and charged, he leapt onto his father and claimed that he had been ‘seized and imprisoned’ even as his father caught him and held him up in his strong arms, laughing too hard to resist.

“I demand a rematch!” His father told him once he’d calmed himself a little.

“You’re going to lose again.” Harry teased, prodding his father’s nose with a little finger.

“I will defeat you in the next round, go on, go and rebuild your wall.”

Harry giggled and ran back to his pile of blocks and he took out the last half of his wall by purposefully stomping through it while roaring out that he was a giant, which made everyone in the hall laugh, before he started building again, going with a different design this time. He curved it outwards, away from himself, building it just as thick, to absorb the power of his father’s throws.

“Here you are, what are you doing?”

Harry looked over to his grandfather and he grinned.

“I’m playing blocks, Grandfather. We’re playing at war. I won the first battle.”

“I see. Do you not require a lesson today then?”

Harry frowned. “Is it possible to have it after the rematch, Grandfather? My father demanded a rematch, despite the fact that he’s supposed to be dead under his crumbled walls, and now my honour is at stake.”

Tywin Lannister looked at him, then nodded once and settled at a table with a ledger. He started reviewing what was inside it, but he kept an eye on him too, as Harry went back to designing and building his wall.

“I’m ready, Father!” He called out, once he’d finished looking at his walls and inspecting them for weak points.

“I am too. I have five house blocks, come and get one of them.”

Harry hurried over and accepted the first block to hand. It was the Arryn house block.

“This time, I’ll go first!” His father declared.

Harry giggled. “As you say, Father. I’ll be gallant and allow you the first throw, in light of your previous loss.”

“You’re a cheeky brat.” His father told him. “Watch your head as house Lannister destroys you.”

The red block with the golden lion came crashing through his wall and he screeched and then giggled. He checked the damage done and decided that it wasn’t too bad.

He picked out a spot on his father’s wall and picked up the Martell block, yellow with a red sun and a golden spear.

“House Martell is in my vanguard.” Harry declared and he lobbed the block as hard as he could near the base of his father’s left side. It came tumbling down like a cascading wave.

“Gods be damned, did you throw all of them?” His father laughed.

“No. I figured out how to break the walls.” Harry giggled. “Two more and they’ll be gone and you’ll have no more walls left and I will win again.”

“We’ll see about that! House Baratheon is going to take out your right tower.”

Harry shrieked as the block came right through his wall, sending more blocks raining harmlessly down on him.

“What are you doing?” Harry looked over to see his sneering mother watching them. Baby Joffrey was in her arms and he was actually awake for once.

“Playing.” Harry and Robert said together. They looked at one another from over their walls and laughed, throwing their heads back and roaring together, like two peas in a pod.

“Don’t you have Seven Kingdoms to rule?” Cersei demanded of her husband.

“Shut up, woman. I’m taking some time to play with my son.”

“You’d never think that you had two of them. You didn’t even mention Joffrey last night. It was his tourney, for his name day, and for all the notice you took of him, he could have been one of the orphans from Flea Bottom!”

“He doesn’t do anything!” Robert told her. “He’s not going to remember any of this. I could throw him a fucking parade and he wouldn’t remember it. I’m playing with my son, who can walk, talk and remember. Now get out of the way, it’s Harian’s turn to throw.”

Harry looked at the blocks he had and he grinned. He picked up the green block with the golden rose.

“House Tyrell is going to engage your wall, and flatten it.” Harry shouted out and he threw the block low, right into the bottom of the wall in the middle. The wall fell and Harry laughed, but so did baby Joffrey, who clapped his hands and kicked his feet.

“The baby likes this game too!” Harry giggled. “He knows you’re going to lose, Father!”

“House Stark disagrees with you!” Robert bellowed and threw the Stark block at him and Harry shrieked and giggled as it demolished a portion of his wall.

“This last block will be the end of your wall, Father! Now is the time to surrender.” He said, peeking around his wall.

“There will be no surrender!”

“Have it your way then.” Harry said. “It only seems fitting that I use house Arryn to take down the last remnants of your wall.”

Harry threw the block and it hit right at the bottom and the last section of his father’s wall fell. Harry laughed loudly. “That is two wars to me. I win!”

“Do you want your lesson now?” Tywin asked him.

“Let me clean up first, Grandfather, then I’ll come for my lesson.” Harry said, grabbing the first empty crate and stacking the used blocks back into it.

“Let the servants do that.” His father told him.

Harry shook his head. “They’re my blocks, I got them out, I will put them away again, Father. Though I can’t carry them, they’re too heavy.”

“Leave it, go on. Go and take your lesson.” His father encouraged, picking him up and carrying him over to Tywin.

Harry sighed, but he took his grandfather’s hand, who picked up his ledger and took him away, out of the throne room, but they only went next door, to the small council chambers where it was quieter.

Harry, having had his fun, settled into a chair and readied himself to engage his brain in the coming lesson. He considered this fun of another sort though and he put his shoulders back and looked at his grandfather, ready and waiting, his face serious and set. He was prepared and he would enjoy this, as he always did.

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Harry was actually saddened to go back to Casterly Rock, he didn’t want to leave his father, but it would be much safer if he did, he knew. After the bungling of the tourney, and his father’s declaration to the world that it was his tourney and not Joffrey’s, his mother was more angry and vindictive than ever. She didn’t want him overshadowing the son she loved, but just two weeks back in the capital and that was exactly what Harry had done.

He was getting out now, while everyone was praising the crown prince, Harian the Sweet, before he could be murdered in his bed on his mother’s orders…or perhaps even by her own hand if she was angry enough.

He’d had a rather tearful goodbye with his father, hugging him tightly, and Harry had actually seen tears in his father’s eyes too as they said goodbye to one another.

‘It won’t be for long, Father.’ He’d said, swiping a hand over his eyes. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

‘Be good.’ His father had told him loudly, before crouching down and hugging him tightly. ‘Give that old lion hell.’ He’d whispered into his hair and Harry had chuckled.

Then soon after that they had set off and he’d been on his way back to Casterly Rock, in the saddle of his own horse.

It was the third moon turn in the year two-eighty-seven. He would be five in the seventh moon of the year, and he hoped to learn a lot more from his grandfather in that time.

He had a new Kingsguard shadow. His father had sent Ser Preston Greenfield with him to Casterly Rock and the knight was so terrified to let Harry out of his sight that he was practically riding on top of him.

Harry was overall glad to get to Casterly Rock, and with leave from his lord grandfather, he ran to his bedchamber and set himself back up in the room that reminded him so strongly of the Gryffindor common room, and the dormitory where he had spent some of the best days of his life…well, of his previous life, that was.

There was a feast later that night, to celebrate their homecoming, and after a bath and a change of clothes Harry was happy to reunite with his uncle, Tyrion, who had not accompanied them to the capital.

“Did you enjoy your brother’s name day tourney?” His uncle asked him.

Harry giggled. “It ended up being my tourney, Uncle.” He said.

“Your tourney? And just how did you manage that, dearest nephew? You must tell me.”

“My father forgot that he had another son, so when he made his speeches, he declared it to be my homecoming tourney, and he never mentioned Joffrey at all.”

“Well, I can’t imagine my sweet sister enjoying that.”

“She really didn’t.” Harry laughed.

“Come, tell me all about it.” Tyrion told him and Harry sat next to his uncle and told him everything, from the joust, to the archery and axe throwing, to the melee. He told him about the puppet show, the mummer show, the blocks, the food, and about Willas Tyrell and Oberyn Martell.

“The Red Viper hates anything to do with Lannisters.” Tyrion told him.

“I don’t blame him.” Harry said quietly. “Imagine if it had been your sister and her children? Well…not your sister, but someone you loved.”

Tyrion gasped. “Sweet nephew, are you accusing me of not loving my only sister?”

“She’s my only mother and I want her dead.” Harry said seriously, before he turned and picked up his goblet, a servant rushed to fill his cup with crushed berry juice before he could do it himself and he smiled his thanks.

“I take it that she was not pleased?” Tyrion asked, looking a little shocked at Harry’s calm, measured declaration.

Harry shook his head as he drank deeply. “No, I thought that perhaps she might try to hit me, so I’m glad to be away from her again.”

The subject was dropped after that, and Harry ate happily, just glad to be home, or what he considered to be his true home. He was tired from the road, though, so very soon after he finished eating, he asked to be excused and he went to bed, Balon taking his hand and escorting him.

“How are you feeling?” Balon asked him.

“Sleepy, from the road, but I’m so glad to be back. You?”

“I feel the same. Tired, sore from the saddle, but I’m glad to be in one spot and staying in one spot, for a while at least.”

Harry nodded as he climbed onto his bed with a book. The feather mattress was heaven on his aching back, they had spent long hours in the saddle on the road and sleeping in a bedroll on an uncomfortable travel cot just wasn’t the same as his own bed. Even back in King’s Landing, where he did have a feather bed, it wasn’t the same…it wasn’t his bed.

“Do you mind if I go and lay down?” Balon asked him.

Harry blinked. “Of course not. Ser Preston is outside my door, you can go and do as you please. I am very content here reading.”

Balon nodded, before leaving the room and shutting the door. Harry heard him speaking to Ser Preston outside and he smiled.

He would be on alert tonight. He didn’t think that it was Ser Preston who was his mother’s Kingsguard creature, his money was on Ser Boros, as the weakest link of the Kingsguard, but he would not lax his stance until he was one hundred per cent sure.

He had done the same with Ser Arys too, vetting them before putting any amount of trust in them. The only one he truly trusted was Ser Barristan. He was a man of honour and integrity, he would not be bought or bribed by anyone, Harry liked that about him, and it helped him to trust Ser Barristan more than any other member of the Kingsguard.

He’d already vetted Ser Arys, who seemed harmless, if a little distracted to his purpose. Now it was Ser Preston’s turn to pass Harry’s inspection, so that he might determine where his loyalty truly lied. To his father, and thus to him, or to his mother, and likely to his younger brother as well.

He sighed and put those thoughts aside, only time would tell such things and there was no rushing such observations. He instead went back to the book he’d chosen, and he started learning and absorbing all the information that he could.

He would be back in his lessons tomorrow morning, and he couldn’t wait to get back into his old routine. He would make sure to practice his magic again tonight, before he fell asleep. He’d been unable to use it on the ride to Casterly Rock and he was feeling antsy, like there was too much charge in his body for him to handle. It needed a release and he’d only be able to get it now, tonight. This was a downside to knowing about his magic so young, and how to control and exercise it…if, for whatever reason, he was unable to release enough of it in his practice, it would come out in any way that it could, as a bout of ‘accidental’ magic that he couldn’t hide or control. That would be very dangerous for him while he was still so young and vulnerable, and unable to adequately protect himself from the grown adults around him.

He sighed, he would need to take care to exercise his magic, just as much as he was exercising his body and mind, so that such accidents didn’t happen. It was going to be a long couple of years for him, and slow too. He really couldn’t wait until he was fully grown.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Chapter Text

The next year of Harry’s life was mostly a blur of training with his sword and shield, practising his archery, going out horse riding or hawking, fishing or swimming and a number of other activities that his grandfather, or any of his uncles, thought that he should know. It was all aimed at building him up and making him better, stronger and smarter. Not a single day, a single hour, was wasted and Harry was learning new skills slowly but surely. He was even invited to sit in on his grandfather’s meetings, sat quietly on his lap, listening intently as the men around him spoke of all the little nuances of running an entire region of the continent and problem solved every issue that came up.

Harry was growing so well, and while not particularly tall for his age, as his uncle Renly had been taller than him at this age and he was turning out to be the shortest of the three Baratheon brothers, Harry was nonetheless growing well and strong.

His cousin, Lancel, was still taller than he was, but Harry was sturdier. Lancel was gangly, painfully thin and rather stick-like, he was all bones and bulging joints, where Harry was smaller, but a little more thicker-set as his limbs didn’t look like dry, brittle twigs that would snap with the slightest pressure.

Harry had been hearing rumours for a few turns, but it was halfway through the year that those rumours were actually confirmed to him directly, and his mind started ticking over, and he had been…not really surprised, but more resigned when told that Delena, the Florent cousin of Stannis’ wife Selyse, the one that his father had taken in the wedding bed, had ended up pregnant after all.

No one had seen fit to tell him about the pregnancy, or his newly forming half-sibling, until the baby, a boy named Edric, was born in the sixth moon of the year, likely in the hope that Delena would not carry the babe to term and there would be no bastard child to speak of.

Stannis had immediately sent the boy to be fostered at Storm’s End, with his wet nurse, putting him into the care of the castellan, Ser Cortnay Penrose, who also looked after Renly. Because of that quick move from Dragonstone, where most of the Florents were residing with Selyse and her new husband, and the clear indication that Edric was to be raised in Storm’s End, the boy had taken the Stormlander bastard name of Storm, and not the Crownlander name of Waters. Harry thought that Edric Storm had a nicer ring to it than Edric Waters anyway, but on the whole bastard names were complicated things. It didn’t matter where Edric had been conceived, or born, or where either of his parents were from, he would take his name from where he was being raised and Stannis had made sure that that was at Storm’s End and not on Dragonstone, under his very nose.

Balon had also been correct, as not a month after she had given birth to Edric, and had him taken immediately away from her, Delena Florent was married to a household knight, Ser Hosman Norcross, who was in the employ of her father, Ser Colin.

Harry had cried for her, in the privacy of his bedchamber that night. Not because of her marriage, no, he’d gotten used to the idea of the nobility not being able to marry whom they wanted, he wouldn’t even be able to marry who he wanted, but instead he cried for her newly born baby, taken away from her and given to the care of a wet nurse and whisked half a world away to Storm’s End. Delena wouldn’t see Edric again, she wouldn’t raise him, love him, or know him, and Harry cried for her. She was being punished in such a horrifically cruel way and his father carried on as if nothing had even happened. Everyone was pushing all of the blame onto poor Delena because they couldn’t share it out equally because Robert was the king. How could Delena have said no to him? You did not say no to a king when they asked you of something; Robert Baratheon had wanted to bed her, and so he had, and Delena was facing all of the shame and consequences of that by herself.

That ugly business aside, the most notable thing that had happened to Harry himself during the last year was that he had contracted Redspots just after his fifth name day, and he had spent a few weeks in bed with the affliction, which reminded him strongly of chickenpox, as he tried not to scratch the red spots that had raised all over his body and face, as Maester Creylen applied a simple salve to cool the itch.

His father had ridden to Casterly Rock like a beast from the seven hells the moment the raven had brought the news of his illness to the capital. He had dropped everything (which admittedly wasn’t much as it was his small council who ruled the realm) and had come to sit at Harry’s bedside, talking to him, playing with little wooden figures over his duvet, and reading with him to keep him from being so bored while he was stuck in bed with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

Harry had liked that his father had done such a thing, just to keep him company. He wasn’t actually sick, not truly. The spots were itchy and annoying, he had felt a little more subdued and tired, with less energy than normal, but it was far from a serious disease, yet still his father had ridden nearly night and day to reach him just a little quicker after hearing that he was sick. It made Harry feel just a little bit closer to him, which was strange considering he’d started out his new life hating both of his parents and wishing them both dead, wishing that he had Lily and James Potter back. But things had changed after that incident involving his broken arm. His father had started to take more notice of him, and finding a ‘reasonably’ intelligent boy, he’d started interacting with him more, and Robert Baratheon had actually found more of a kindred spirit in his oldest son, which only bonded them closer together. Now that Harry was almost six and gaining a proper child’s body, with more height, strength and flexibility, they were near enough inseparable.

Harry was still considered odd and strange, he always would be as he was truly forty-one years old, but now that he was older, he was becoming more and more ‘himself’, speaking more of his own thoughts instead of those of a five year old child. Lancel still believed in Grumkins and Snarks, cowering under his pillow from the darkness as he begged for a candle to remain burning in his room at night, but Harry was so different in contrast to an actual five year old that it forced people to take note of him, which was good, and bad. Good because it got him recognition in his own right and made people think of him, bad because sometimes he just really wanted to be left on his own without anyone poking or prodding him with conversation or questions.

Once Harry had recovered from his bout of Redspots, he had spent another week with his father, playing and showing off all his new skills, such as swimming and juggling (which his uncle Gerion had taught him), he had a few sword practices against his father, and then King Robert had had to leave him, going back to the capital alone, while Harry remained at Casterly Rock to learn and grow some more.

His Kingsguard member had been switched out again though, he had lost Ser Preston, who he had grown to trust and was certain was loyal to his oaths and not to his mother, and he now had Ser Mandon Moore as a Kingsguard shadow. Harry wasn’t sure what to think of him, he seemed more unreadable than the other knights, and his dead, fish-like eyes made Harry uneasy. They were an incredibly pale grey, almost white, and Harry couldn’t always suppress a shiver when those eyes caught his own. Ser Mandon however did his duty and Harry was not attacked, or otherwise made to feel like his mother had ordered his death yet again by using the Kingsguard members.

It didn’t mean much, as it was dangerous, reckless, and stupid, to attack him personally, or while the knight was supposed to be giving up his own life to protect Harry, so Harry kept his own guard up and only allowed Ser Mandon to get so close to him, holding the man at arm’s length while evaluating him. This behaviour was odd in a child too, who were usually much more trusting, but Harry would not take that sort of risk with his life for a mere ruse, not when he already knew that his mother was trying to kill him and he was reasonably sure that she had at least one member of the Kingsguard in her employ. Well, one member in addition to her twin brother, as it went without saying that Jaime was most certainly on her side.

Ser Balon was growing bigger and stronger by the day too, training with Ser Tygett and Ser Benedict Broom, and against Ser Mandon too, who was only too happy to join the arms training, being otherwise bored out of his skull playing babysitter to a five year old.

Harry watched Balon with no small amount of pride as he grew into a man’s body and got bigger, better, stronger, harder and became a rather deadly swordsman now that he was four-and-ten. He was just a little over a year shy of being a man grown and he would be absolutely formidable when he was an older teenager, nearing eighteen or nineteen. Harry was very pleased with his father’s choice in his sworn shield, though he was still convinced that his uncle Stannis had had a hand in the selection.

It was now the year two-eighty-eight after Aegon’s Conquering and he would be turning six later this same year, it was getting harder to judge what he should know as an almost six year old. It had been easier as a little boy, a three or four year old, because he wouldn’t have known that much and he could just pretend to be a little ‘dense’ and then throw in some little odd one-liners that made him seem more childlike. Now that he was getting older, that wouldn’t work and would make him look thick, which would be detrimental to his standing in this world, especially as he was to be king one day. So he had to move the bar a little higher, but he didn’t know the limit. Sometimes he said something and the looks he got for it, he didn’t know if it was good or bad, but he clearly wasn’t judging the level he should have had accurately if those looks were anything to go by.

He really couldn’t wait until he was fully grown and he could say whatever he wanted, his own thoughts and feelings, without people looking at him like he’d grown another head, as he was sure those looks were because he was saying such things while he was supposedly so very young. He sighed to himself, at least he was used to people looking at him funny, in this life and the last, so it didn’t really bother him all that much. It just served to remind him that he was failing at passing himself off as a real five year old, though he already logically knew that no one, absolutely no one, would suspect the actual truth of what had happened to him. Who would?

His fingers traced his inner forearms on impulse, he still remembered slowly and calmly dragging the silver knife right down the centre, following the vein from his wrists almost to the elbow. The self-sacrificial ritual had demanded his blood and his death, and slicing open his arms had been the only way he could see to do it. He vaguely remembered curling up, giving in and letting himself die. He’d been lost and so alone in that world, which was why the thought of coming to a new world had appealed to him so much at the time.

It had taken him years, almost two decades even, to study the runes he needed to carve into a circle to complete the ritual, to understand them and use them as he needed to put his soul into a new body. He hadn’t really understood what it was he was doing, despite his extensive research. He’d thought that he would be slipping into a new body, and truthfully he had done exactly that, but he’d be lying if he said that he’d actually understood what that would mean for him. It was too late to fret about it now, of course, or to change what he’d done, but that was alright. He might have had difficulty adapting to it in the beginning, during his babyhood, but he had come to enjoy the ‘freedom’ that being a child once again offered him. He enjoyed the attention that his intelligence got him, but unlike a real child, he also enjoyed solitude and being by himself, reading huge books that boosted his knowledge and gave him the confidence to debate things about this new world that he hadn’t known before.

It was certainly an experience, one that he had come to enjoy. He did not regret his decision to take his own life in the ruins of Hogwarts, in a runic circle of his own carving. He hadn’t known what he was coming to, he hadn’t known where he would end up. He’d always known that he would end up in a different world, that had been the selling point for him as he hadn’t wanted to stay, but he hadn’t known what sort of world he would land in.

Westeros wasn’t so bad. Sure it was primitive compared to where he had come from, but it had a sort of rustic charm that he enjoyed. He wouldn’t be able to wear leggings, hand stitched doublets, or ride a horse from city to city back in his old world. He wouldn’t be a crown prince and get to wear coronets either, nor would he get to carry a sword or a bow on his body everyday…or at least not without being arrested for it. So there were some perks that satisfied him, and he was kept so busy that he didn’t really miss televisions or computers, not that he’d gotten to use many of them in his previous life, seeing as Hogwarts hadn’t had either and the Dursleys had hated him and hadn’t let him touch their stuff. The lack of adequate sanitation and decent medical care was a worry though, he was thankful that he had kept his magic.

He looked at his soft, unblemished forearms, which he could still see as open, bloody wounds in his memories, and he sighed heavily. No, he didn’t regret any of this, he had been so depressed and lonely that he hadn’t wanted to stay in that world any longer. He’d been very young when he’d made the decision to leave that world, one way or another. He’d been only eighteen years old, but instead of choosing to end it all, to commit suicide truly, he had made the choice instead to leave that world of loneliness and awful memories behind and be reborn in another. One which wasn’t magical Britain of the nineteen-nineties through to the two thousands. He’d been so fed up with it all, so perhaps coming back to this rather primitive time had been the best choice after all.

It had taken him eighteen years to research what he needed for the ritual. He’d had to give his entire bank vault to the runic mistress he’d hunted down just to get the ritual from her in the first place, but researching the runes, which had to be carved perfectly, at an exact distance from one another, in a perfect circle, in the right order, had taken him years. He’d been thirty-six when he’d finally felt truly confident that he had carved the runes correctly, in the right order and that this ritual truly would take him to another world, as the mistress had assured him it would…if he got it right.

She had been unwilling to help him with it, to carve the runes herself for him, and she had steadfastly told him that if he bought the ritual from her, he would be on his own with it from then on out. He had still agreed, even after she had told him the ritual would demand his blood and his life as a sacrifice to power it, perhaps hoping to put him off, but Harry could never be accused of being a coward.

He’d chosen to do the ritual in the ruins of Hogwarts, his first true home, and because there was enough ambient magic still lying over the ruins that it could help supercharge the ritual. That wasn’t including the fact that he was bankrupt and without a knut to his name, so he had been squatting in the ancient ruins for several years before he was confident enough to perform the ritual that had brought him here.

It was the best decision he’d ever made and he was now much happier and he was healing from the war under the care of his grandfather, his uncles, and his father too, at least now that he was older and they were getting on better, but the worst part was that they didn’t even know that they were helping him. They had no idea that he was another person, a fully grown adult, in this tiny body. They had no idea that he’d been through severe abuse and through a war too. How could they? He could never tell them either, but still, they were helping him to heal just by being around him, just by caring for him and loving him. That was all he’d ever wanted, a family, someone to love him and look after him and it might have been a little late in coming, but he had that now and he’d never been more grateful for this second chance at life. He just hoped that it went better than his first life ever had.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

In the fifth moon of the year two-eighty-eight, Harry was surprised by his uncle, Gerion, introducing him to a baby girl named Joy at breakfast.

“But…where did she come from?” Harry asked in confusion. “Whose is she?”

Harry was actually convinced that perhaps she was Tyrion’s. He’d found out all about the nasty business of Tyrion’s marriage when his uncle was just thirteen years old…and he’d seen that famous cruelty of Tywin Lannister that everyone swore was there but Harry had never seen. He’d gone cold when he’d heard the story of how Tywin had given Tysha, Tyrion’s fourteen year old wife, to his guards for them to gang rape her in their barracks. Tywin had forced Tyrion to watch, and then go last before casting the poor girl out. It made Harry gag to even think of it now, and it was no wonder that Tyrion had been so upset about it at the time.

Jaime had been involved too, he had come to visit while Harry had been away on Dragonstone for Stannis’ wedding, he’d been told to tell Tyrion that Tysha was a whore that he’d ‘hired’ to make Tyrion a man. Harry would eat his own hand if that was anywhere near the truth. Jaime’s story sounded rehearsed, and shifty, and it was not at all convincing. There were too many gaps in the story, too many loopholes, and Harry was sure he would crack if anyone questioned him properly.

Harry had been sure that Tyrion would see through the words, see that it was merely a cover story just because Tysha had been a crofter’s daughter, lowborn, and not fit for a noble Lannister, but his uncle had been young, and upset, and he had accepted the story as truth from his beloved brother.

No, Harry had figured out that Tysha had likely been a real girl, that her story had been true, and that she had been genuine in her love for Tyrion, which would be hard to come by for his dwarf uncle in these times. Her only crime had been her low birth. If she had been a noble woman, then Tywin would no doubt have accepted the match, though Harry was no longer certain that he wouldn’t have torn the two young lovers apart, regardless of Tysha’s birth, purely for spite.

He’d been unable to meet his grandfather’s eye for a week after overhearing, and coaxing, bits and pieces of the story from the red cloaks, and his own Kingsguard shadow. He had eventually pulled himself together. He needed allies in this world, and it would do him absolutely no good if he alienated his most valuable ally. He’d pulled his mask back over his eyes, pretended he’d just been feeling a little unwell to account for his strange behaviour, and he went right back to behaving how he’d been before he’d heard that horrific tale of cruelty. He was a grown man, he could handle it, and he could hide it.

Gerion laughed, snapping Harry from his torturous thoughts. “She is mine, Harian.”

“But…you’re not married.” Harry pointed out, his frown deepening to hide his relief that Tyrion had not fathered a natural child. He was no longer certain that Tywin would not throw the babe from the top of Casterly Rock to be rid of it and what he saw as his son’s shame.

“You’ll want to be careful, you’re looking more and more like your grandfather every day pulling those faces.” Gerion teased. “I wasn’t married to Joy’s mother, Briony, Harry. Joy is a Hill, but she is my daughter still and I will look after her.”

“Oh. May I hold her?” Harry asked, looking at the wrinkled newborn.

“Of course, sit yourself down and I’ll lay her over your lap, she is surprisingly heavy for how small she is.”

Harry scrambled to do as asked, sitting on a soft chair and Gerion laid his newborn daughter into Harry’s arms.

He made sure that he supported the baby’s head and neck, smiling down at her gently, even as he shifted his body a little, and his arms, to better cradle Joy’s tiny body, so that she felt comforted and safe. She slept on undisturbed so he must have been doing something right.

“There is to be a feast held to honour her birth.” Gerion told him. “You’ll finally get to meet your aunt Genna, and the Lannisport Lannisters too.”

Harry knew that he had more family, and that some of them were as close by as Lannisport, but he’d yet to meet them. He knew all of their names, and how they related to him too. He knew that he had Frey cousins through his great-aunt Genna, though his grandfather had told him to ignore any and all attempts they made to get close to him last year, as Tywin had expected them to try something at the tourney in King’s Landing. They hadn’t gotten the chance as Harry had spent all of his time either with his father, or running around the market with his guards.

All but one of his Frey cousins were older than him, the youngest was only three years old, and Harry believed that he was one of the numerous Walder Frey’s running around.

“She’s beautiful, Uncle.” Harry declared, laying a soft kiss to his baby cousin’s pouted lips.

Gerion ruffled his hair and took his daughter back into his own arms.

Other than being introduced to the newborn Joy, Harry’s day carried on as normal. He went to his lessons, spent some time walking the courtyard on his hands, finished off the book he’d been reading, before spending some more time selecting a new book to read, and before he knew it he’d eaten, bathed and been tucked up into bed, waiting for someone to come to tell him a story. Someone always did.

It was Gerion who came to him, regardless that he had a brand new daughter to care for, and he pulled Harry from his nicely tucked bed, making Harry giggle.

“Hush, you’re supposed to be sleeping.” Gerion teased, as he sat in Harry’s reading chair and cuddled Harry on his lap.

“I was going to sleep before you came in, Uncle.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you overly tired, sweet boy?” Gerion laughed. “Come, I haven’t told you a story in a while.”

“Uncle Kevan told me stories of the War of the Ninepenny Kings.” Harry said excitedly.

“No wonder you have been so energetic recently with such stories filling your head.” Gerion said with a smile.

“I liked it!” Harry insisted, in all his childish enthusiasm.

“I was as yet too young to fight in that war, I was five, though your grandfather will also have some stories about it, and your uncle Tygett too.”

“Uncle Tygett was only ten.” Harry said with a frown.

“He was a squire, Harian. Squires go into battle, and to war, with their lords. Tyg was only ten, but he killed a man in his very first battle, and three others later in the war. He distinguished himself very well, though being just ten he was deemed too young for a knighthood, that honour went to Tywin and Kevan. We knew from then that he would definitely be knighted though. There was no other option for him. But that is a story best left to Tygett himself, as I said, I was five. All three of my older brothers rode off to war and came back heroes…at least to me.” Gerion said with a smile.

Gerion pulled Harry tighter to his chest and jiggled him a little.

“Anyway, you’ve heard enough about warfare, what story would you like to hear?”

Harry frowned as he considered it. “Grandfather was showing me the bread being proved for tomorrow, and the bowls of salt being prepared. He told me that guest rights were going to be offered and that it was important. Are there any stories of guest rights?”

Gerion chuckled. “Always learning, sweet child.”

“I don’t know why it’s so important.”

“Alright then, let us speak of guest rights and the duty of hospitality, and why it’s such an important law.”

Harry settled more securely against Gerion’s chest, placing an ear over the strongly beating heart that always made him feel so comforted. He loved being surrounded by large arms that cradled him tight and close. There was something primal about it, or maybe it just awoke primal instincts deep in his brain that made him able to fully relax when he was held like this.

“When a guest, be he commonborn or noble, eats the food and drinks the drink off a host’s table beneath the host’s roof, guest right is invoked. Bread and salt are traditional provisions, but are not strictly needed. If you invite someone into your keep, and serve them food and wine, they have guest rights under law. Even those in Essos practice the laws of guest right.”

“But what does that mean?” Harry asked from his place cuddled up against Gerion’s chest.

“It means that under law neither the guest nor the host can harm the other for the length of the guest’s stay.”

“Oh, but what happens if one of them did break guest right?”

“Let me tell you the story of the Rat Cook of the Nightfort.”

“Nightfort?” Harry asked with a confused frown, his mind automatically cycling through all of the castles and keeps he knew, and the name didn’t ring any bells.

“One of the castles along the Wall, Harian.” Gerion explained patiently.

“Oh. Oh!” He said, suddenly understanding a little better, then tipped his head back to look up at his uncle. “Can rats cook?”

“Are you going to let me tell the story?” Gerion asked teasingly, with a small laugh, knowing well by now that Harry always asked a mountain of questions during a story, interrupting frequently to gain a better understanding.

His Lannister relatives always teased him over his habit of interrupting their stories or lessons, but they were very patient with him, none more so than Tywin, who encouraged his questions and inquires for better understanding or more information because it helped him to learn more.

“The rat cook was a man who worked in the kitchens of the Nightfort.” Gerion told him. “An Andal king had done him wrong in some way, the stories do not say what, though it was likely why the man ended up at the Wall in the first place, and he wanted revenge for it. It is an interesting story because the king involved was either Oswell the first of the Vale, or King Tywell Lannister the second.”

Harry wriggled a little as he heard that this might actually be some Lannister history.

“I thought that that might pique your interest.” Gerion said with a grin down at him.

“I like history.” He announced. Of course, it was mostly because he had been trying to learn as much as possible, as quickly as possible, about the new land he had been dumped in by that runic ritual. He shoved aside those thoughts as a phantom pain went through his arms.

Gerion hummed. “We had noticed that little quirk of yours.” He said, jiggling Harry again. “But back to the story, it goes that the Andal king and his son arrived at the Nightfort, and were given their guest rights, but the Rat Cook saw his chance for vengeance and he had slain and cooked the son of the Andal king in a big pie with onions, carrots, mushrooms, lots of pepper and salt, a rasher of bacon, and a dark red Dornish wine. Then he served him to his father, who praised the taste and had a second slice. Afterwards, the gods transformed the cook into a monstrous white rat who could only eat his own young. The story goes that he has roamed the Nightfort ever since, devouring his children, but still his hunger was not sated. Do you see the moral of the story?” Gerion asked him. “It was not for murder that the gods cursed the Rat Cook, nor for serving the Andal king his own son in a pie. A man has a right to vengeance, after all. But he slew a guest beneath his roof, and it is that that the gods cannot forgive. He broke guest rights and now he is a giant rat forced to eat his own children.”

“So if you break guest rights you become a giant rat?” Harry demanded sceptically.

Gerion chuckled. “The story has it that the transformation is literal, but imagine it being more figurative, Harian.”

Harry eased down as he realised what was being alluded to. “A man expects guest rights to be followed if he has eaten at his host’s table, so breaking that guest right after food had been provided is akin to showing the rest of the world that you’re a giant rat?”

“The lowest and most contemptible of animals.” Gerion nodded. “Disease-ridden, cowardly, untrustworthy…that would be what would become of the reputation of a man who broke guest rights. There will be much fanfare on the morrow, as bread and salt are presented to the guests of your grandfather, as they will eat his bread and salt and drink his wine flamboyantly, in front of witnesses to prove they’ve been given guest rights here at Casterly Rock.”

“So…it is like a tradition? Or a ritual.” Harry mused.

“A most sacred law.” Gerion told him. “To break guest right is akin to falling on your own sword, Harian. Your reputation would never survive, people would never trust you again, your children would be mistrusted, in fact, it would affect your entire family, to the most distant cousin. Guest rights are very serious, and a most ancient custom. You must never break guest rights, no matter what a guest has done to you, no matter how grievous an insult they’ve offered. You wait until they have left your hospitality before you do them injury. Then, and only then, can you take your vengeance.”

“Can you deny people guest rights?” Harry asked. “I mean, if you didn’t like them, had no reason to trust them, or maybe believed they’d do you an injury or offend you in some way during their visit, do I have to suffer through that, or can I deny them guest rights?”

“Of course.” Gerion told him. “It is as simple as denying them bread and salt, of denying them food and drink in your keep. But, if that is unavoidable, laying a bared sword over your lap is a more traditional sign that you are denying someone guest rights regardless of what they eat or drink afterwards.”

Harry nodded, absorbing all the information being given to him, mulling it over and thinking about it.

“Come, that is enough of stories and customs for a night. You need to be fresh on the morrow.”

Harry was lifted and carried back to his bed and once again settled and tucked back in.

Gerion used a big hand to push the hair from Harry’s face and laid a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep well, sweet boy.” Gerion told him. “Know that you are safe and loved here.”

Harry smiled, even as his exhausted little body settled in his bed and suddenly his eyes felt so heavy that he couldn’t keep them open for a moment longer. He heard Gerion leave his room, heard the click of the door closing. His sheets were cool and his face was buried in his freshly laundered pillow.

Tomorrow Casterly Rock was going to start filling up with guests to come and congratulate Gerion on the birth of his daughter, and Harry would get to meet a lot more of his Lannister family and see the guest right custom being performed personally.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

It was worse than Harry had thought it would be. When Gerion had said that he’d get to meet his aunt Genna, and the Lannisport Lannisters, Harry hadn’t actually realised that it would be all of them at once, bringing their whole families.

Stafford Lannister, the younger brother of Harry’s deceased grandmother Joanna, arrived very early on, before midday even, with his wife, Myranda, and his three children, Daven, who was fifteen, Cerenna, who was ten, and Myrielle, who was just a year and a bit older than Harry was, at seven.

Harry watched the guest rights being performed, as Tywin offered Stafford bread and salt, which was eaten immediately upon arrival, before Stafford had even sat down. Tywin made a big show about how Stafford and his family were welcome at Casterly Rock, and how no harm would come to him while he was there. There were hundreds of witnesses to this ritual and Harry understood how going back on that promise now would be seen as cowardly behaviour and would be grave enough to tar the entire family, their entire reputation, for generations to come.

Harry noticed immediately after the guest rights had been seen to that Stafford and Myranda were pushing their youngest daughter, the one who was closest in age to him, Myrielle, at him, trying to force them to talk and play together. Harry might not have noticed this behaviour if he were not truly forty-one years old, but he was, and he clocked the obvious ploy straight away. His grandfather also noticed it instantly, and his shrewd eyes narrowed on his good-brother in displeasure.

Harry was clever enough to see through the ploy himself, however, and he didn’t even need anyone to come and rescue him from the situation, as he dragged Lancel over to play as a buffer between himself and Myrielle, and when the two were talking together, Harry slipped away.

“Are you not pleased with your cousin?” His grandfather asked him as Harry hurried to his side.

“I could see that cheap ploy in my sleep, Grandfather.” Harry replied. “If I am to marry when I am grown, I will pick my own bride. I won’t have anyone else do it for me.”

“As long as she is from a great house, I will not argue with you.”

“Why a great house? As long as she is noble, does it matter?” Harry asked curiously.

“It is not so important for others, but you will be king one day, Harian. Marrying a daughter from a great house will give you more support, and a better alliance, than perhaps a girl from a lesser house can give you.”

Harry absorbed that little piece of information for a moment, mulling it over, and he nodded. “I understand.” He answered. “I need to aim as high as I can. I am already a Baratheon and a Lannister, marrying into either house again would be redundant, but forging a new alliance, with another great house, will give me a third alliance that I wouldn’t have otherwise had.”

Tywin laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed it tight. “As always your skill in deduction astounds me. Yes, that is what I had in mind also. Look to the other houses, Harian. You already have the Lannisters at your back, and the Baratheons. You are incredibly clever, I am sure you will not fail in your duty to select the best choice in wife to add to your support system, ready for when you are king.”

Harry mentally ran through the girls of the other great houses. It was a very, very short list.

First on the list was, of course, Margaery Tyrell, who was a bare year younger than him. He knew that the Starks had had a daughter also, Sansa, who was about half a year younger than Joffrey. There was also the option of the Martells, if they would even accept a union between their houses after what his family on both sides of his parentage had done to theirs. Oberyn’s daughters were, unfortunately, all ruled out as they were all naturally born by Oberyn’s different lovers and paramours, but Prince Doran had one daughter and two sons. Arianne was quite a bit older than him though, she was Prince Doran’s oldest child and now twelve, and he was only five, so that might cause some problems, especially if she got married, or betrothed, before he even came of age.

There were no Tully’s, as the only heir, Edmure, was still rather young at eight-and-ten, and he was unmarried and childless too. The Arryns had no one, as, despite Jon being married to Lysa Tully for several years, they still had no children, just a string of miscarriages.

So really the only options he had currently were out of Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark if he assumed rightly that the Martells would want nothing to do with him because he was a Baratheon with Lannister blood. Not a lot of choice really, as it was one or the other, but perhaps by the time that he was full grown he would have more of a selection to choose from, for now though he was only five, turning six in just two turns, and he didn’t need to fret over his own marriage just yet.

Ser Stafford’s youngest brother, Dacian, was the next to arrive and receive guest rights. He was the youngest son of Ser Jason Lannister, whose brother, Tytos, was the father of Tywin, Harry’s grandfather. Dacian was only twenty-nine years old, married, and he had one daughter, Mara, named no doubt for her grandmother, Marla Prester. Dacian also tried to push Mara at Harry, because they were near enough the exact same age. Mara had been born just three turns after him.

Harry again avoided this by using his twin cousins, Willem and Martyn, as a buffer this time. They were three years old now, walking and talking, and rather boisterous too, so they made a good distraction while Harry made his escape.

The oldest of Jason Lannister’s sons arrived with his family, this one was only the half-brother of the others, as he had been born to Jason’s first wife, Alys Stackspear who had died birthing him, and not his second wife, Marla. His name was Damon and he had married his own cousin, Ella Lannister. They’d had one son, Damion, who had arrived with them, with his own family, his wife, Shiera Crakehall, and their two children, the eighteen year old, knighted Ser Lucion and the thirteen year old Lanna.

Genna Lannister, or rather Genna Frey, was hard to miss, as she had become rather fat while at the Twins. She was ordering her husband around as if he were a servant, and it made Harry grin to see such a role reversal in this patriarchal society. Her four sons were with her, ranging in age from nineteen to three. The littlest one was clutching at the skirt of her red dress.

“Aunt Genna.” Harry called out, hurrying over to see her.

“Ah, and here is our sweet prince.” She smiled at him kindly, crouching down to hug him tight. Harry automatically liked her. “It is a disgrace that this is the first time I am seeing you since your time here as a newly born babe.”

“I hope that your journey was safe.” He said politely, from his place squashed into her bosom.

“It was.” She replied, pulling him out of her cleavage and laying a smacking kiss to his cheek. “We ran into no trouble, and the road was nice and quiet.”

“Genna!”

“Gerion, there you are. Where is this little daughter of yours? It’s about time that you became a father.”

“Joy is being passed around for the moment. By the gods, it’s good to see you. I wish that you and Tywin had not had that argument and you had not run off to the Twins. Mayhaps if you made up here, you could stay.”

Genna got back to her feet to greet her younger brother.

“Mayhaps. I will try, at least. But Tyg has got Tyrek, now you have Joy, it’s nice to see you both with children. Mayhaps it might take your mind from dangerous adventures.”

Harry watched as Gerion’s face darkened a little, and he frowned. What was that about?

“Not in front of our little nephew, Genna.” Gerion said, making a play at teasing, even as he picked Harry up. “He’s incredibly perceptive. He remembers everything said to him.”

“Is he a little Tywin in the making?” Genna teased him.

“Between us, he’s going to be better. I’ve taught him how to do backflips, and how to juggle. Tywin has never managed to do that.” Gerion stage whispered, and Genna laughed.

“I can backflip without using my hands now!” Harry declared.

“Without using your hands?” Gerion demanded. “How in the name of the Seven have you taught yourself to do that? Show me.”

Harry was put on the floor and he loosened his shoulders, swung his arms, before throwing himself backwards and flipping without touching his hands to the stone floor.

Genna and Gerion both laughed and clapped.

“You really are going to surpass us all.” Gerion told him. “You take everything we teach you and improve on it.”

Harry smiled hearing that. Doing backflips was a new skill for him, he hadn’t known how to do them in his previous life…or at least not without a broom, so he really liked the new skill.

“You will make a fine king.” Genna told him.

“He will.” Tywin answered, stepping up behind Harry, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Tywin, have you been well?” Genna asked her older brother.

“I have. It has been very busy at the Rock lately, with Harian’s lessons, he takes up a lot of our time.”

“There’s a lot to learn, and I want to know everything. Grandfather says I can start learning High Valyrian soon.” Harry declared, trying to keep his voice as childishly enthusiastic as he could. He failed and he sounded more like an adult and he saw Genna staring at him with narrowed eyes.

Tywin’s eyes gleamed with pride as Harry said that, however, and the hand on his shoulder squeezed tight. Tywin and his uncles were used to his strangeness, Genna was not, so he was coming across as extra strange to her, and she was suspicious.

“A very quick learner he is too.” His grandfather boasted.

The adults started conversing together, catching up with one another, and Harry sidled off. He went down the corridor to the privy, just for a moment to himself. It was more difficult than usual to keep his ‘kiddie’ mask in place today.

He sat and tried to work out what was bothering him, and why he couldn’t bring himself to keep to his mask of being a child when usually he enjoyed it.

Usually, it didn’t take so much effort for him to remember to act like a child. Perhaps all the talking of marriage was making him revert back to an adult mind set? He’d always known that he would be married very young, at least compared to the average in his previous life. He would be considered a grown man at just sixteen, and as the crown prince he would be expected to marry around his coming of age. He knew of boys being married off much younger though, or promised to another as mere children, all so that their title, money, or land could be utilised.

Harry chewed on his lip and considered that thought more closely. Is that what was bothering him? He would be in incredibly high demand as he would be the king one day, and that would make whatever girl he married the queen. Perhaps that was what was upsetting him, that he was very limited in his marriage options, only two girls were currently suitable, and if he didn’t like either of them then that was just tough. He would still have to pick one of them to marry because it would be his duty to the realm as the future king.

That these girls might not like him either was also playing on his mind. They would have no choice either, their families would likely all but throw them at him in order to get them to become the queen, with a chance for a grandson to become king, just like Stafford and Dacian Lannister were doing with their own daughters.

Or perhaps it was just that merely because he and his grandfather had limited Harry’s options to the five great houses left after taking out Lannister and Baratheon, didn’t mean that girls from other noble houses might not try to catch his attention, or want him for themselves, and the thought of it made him feel awkward.

He’d always been awkward around girls. His disastrous attempt at dating Cho Chang had more than proven that, then his strange jealousy over Ginny dating other boys. He’d always gone for the athletic type of girl, those who liked Quidditch and didn’t mind getting muddy and dirty. He’d always been drawn to strong, intelligent women, and that was why he and Hermione had been such great friends. The automatic pain he felt at seeing them dead on the battlefield made him stand, spin, and vomit into the privy.

It had been so long since he’d last allowed himself to think of these things. Since he’d last allowed himself to grieve for all he had lost. He remembered Ginny’s face after he’d told her that he thought that he was gay, her freckles had made a cute band over her nose and her cheeks, he remembered. She had narrowed her brown eyes on him, and had demanded to know if he had gone out with her because he thought that she was boyish.

He swallowed hard, trying to prevent more vomit from coming up. He’d told her that she was pretty, that he’d gone out with her because she was athletic and he liked that type of person, not because he thought that she was boyish. Ginny had been angry at first, but she had come around. She’d been a good friend and had started teasing him about fancying boys and she kept trying to set him up with every boy she knew, anyone and everyone else, just to see Harry blush bright red.

Harry let out a soft sob and tried to ignore the image that popped into his mind of her crippled body surrounded by blood.

They were all dead. All of them. He’d been the only one of his friends and loved ones who had survived the war. He’d been so lonely. He hadn’t even wanted to stay in that world anymore, so he’d done that ritual to bring him to a new world. To bring him here.

A new identity, a new family, a new life. It worked incredibly well as a distraction…for the most part. There were things that he just couldn’t forget, images that were burnt into his mind that plagued him, actions that had him reacting via muscle memory, such as his father’s raised hand after his broken arm incident. He could immerse himself into his new life all he wanted, but the old life was still there, underneath, making him the very strange boy he was now.

He remembered Hermione, the first casualty of the battle of Hogwarts, killed because she was too clever, too much of a threat…taken out before she could sway the battle in their favour. He remembered watching, helpless, as Ron sacrificed his own life to save his mother, who had died anyway, just half an hour later. He remembered finding Ginny, broken and cold. He vomited again and tried to shove these thoughts from his head. Why now? Why was this happening now?

It took Harry a while to gather himself, and regain control of himself. He brushed the tears away, calmed his breathing, and tried to clear his mind. He’d never been any good at Occlumency, but given a second chance to grow, his mind was more ordered and structured than it had been before. He had a greater control of himself at a much younger age.

He was almost sure that knowing what he did of Occlumency that when he reached the same age he had started learning Occlumency before, that he would have a better chance of succeeding. Not that he needed to protect his mind against any attacks, but he was hoping that Occlumency would be a natural lead to Legilimency. It would be a massive help to him if he could read other people’s thoughts. Or rather see others thoughts, as Snape had been right, the great, greasy git. The mind wasn’t a book to be read, it was more a screen to be watched, and Harry wanted to be able to watch others’ thoughts, to see what they were thinking, and planning. It would keep him much safer.

Of course, Occlumency had the added benefit of hiding his thoughts and emotions from others by helping him to keep his mask in place and he hoped that by the time he was an adult that he would have a greater control of his, rather passionate, emotions as well, so that he’d stop showing them on his face to people he would rather not know his real thoughts or feelings.

“Harian, are you in there?” A quiet voice asked him. Balon’s voice.

Harry wiped his eyes, just in case. “Yes.” He answered, then grimaced. His voice was thick. He realised too late that his nose was running, and he sniffed hard and wiped away more tears. Balon would know immediately that something was wrong.

“Oh, thank the gods, you’ve been gone for a while, your grandfather is looking for you, and no one had seen you. The feast has started.”

“I’ll be a moment.” Harry said, trying to calm himself and force himself back into the mask of a child.

“You are well, aren’t you, Harian?” Balon asked worriedly and Harry heard the scrape of metal as Balon started to draw his sword. “Is anyone in there with you?”

“No.” Harry said, closing his eyes and shoving away all the thoughts of his past, trying to bury them, trying to hide all the loss and grief he felt. “I’m alone.”

He wiped his face one last time before he went to the door and opened it, and a worried Balon immediately assessed him, his eyes roving over Harry to check for injuries, even as the sword was slid back into its scabbard.

“Have you been sick?” Balon asked him, crouching down and looking at a smear on his chin.

“Only a little bit.” Harry admitted, seeing as he couldn’t deny it as Balon took out his handkerchief and wiped the smear away. It could have been drool or even a lingering tear, but it was most likely a fleck of vomit.

“Poison?” Balon asked fearfully, already looking behind him for Tywin Lannister.

“No. I think I just ate too much and got too excited for meeting everyone and it just turned my stomach.” He lied.

“Do you want to go and lie down?” Balon asked him. “Some rest would help calm you.”

Harry shook his head. He took Balon’s hand and tried to force the childish persona to the forefront, and now he seemed to be ageing himself down too much again, but it needed to be done. He stopped walking and lifted his arms, and a concerned Balon picked him up, holding him close and tight. Protective to the last.

Harry put his face to Balon’s neck and tried not to think.

“What has happened?” Tywin asked immediately, laying a hand on Harry’s back. “Where was he?”

“He’s been sick, my Lord.” Balon said. “He’s not feeling very well.”

“Harian, look at me.”

Harry pushed away from Balon and held his arms out to his grandfather, who picked him up and sat down, sitting Harry on his lap.

“You have vomited?”

Harry nodded carefully, lest he vomit again.

“Are you still feeling sick?”

Harry shook his head.

“But you are feeling unwell?”

Harry nodded again.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“No. I want to stay here.” He said softly, his voice a croak from the stomach acid that had passed through his throat.

Tywin nodded and held him on his lap, and Harry snuggled in, trying to use these new people around himself as a distraction, trying to force his mind from his previous life. It really was much too difficult today for some reason. Perhaps because it was the equivalent of May in Westeros, and the final battle had taken place in May? That made sense, as he was drowning under the feelings of loss and grief, unable to push aside his past life. He had lost all of his friends and family in May, it was not so strange that he was upset during this month out of all of them.

Harry stayed with Tywin Lannister, not talking much, but drinking water and eating some small, soft fruits. He made sure to stay snuggled into his grandfather’s chest, because that way people left him alone for the most part.

A hand stroked through his hair and Harry tipped his head back to look up at his uncle Gerion.

“I heard that you’re not feeling well.” He said, still stroking his hair.

“Just a little sick.” Harry insisted.

Harry was forced to smile when Gerion bent and kissed his forehead.

“Perhaps you should go and rest, Harian. You are looking rather pale.”

“I don’t want to ruin Joy’s celebration.”

Gerion laughed. “Harian, she is newly born. This is more a celebration to allow the family to meet her, not for her personally. You will not be ruining anything, go and get yourself washed up and into bed. I’m sure with a bit more rest than you usually have you’ll be perfectly fine on the morrow.”

“May I, Grandfather?” He asked, turning tired green eyes to Tywin.

“Yes, go on.”

Harry was put on the floor and Balon took his hand. His Kingsguard shadow, Ser Mandon, fell into step behind them. He’d been chastised harshly by Tywin Lannister for losing sight of his ward earlier, when Harian had gone missing, and he had no wish to repeat that experience.

Harry was undressed, washed down with a cloth and warm water by Balon, and then dressed in a sleeping tunic and tucked into bed.

“Do you want me to read to you?” Balon offered, still looking rather concerned.

Harry perked up a little at that, and he nodded. “If you don’t mind, Balon.”

“Of course not, come, settle into bed and I will read to you in place of your usual stories from your great-uncles.”

It would be better to have Balon stay with him, to distract him from his thoughts, and by reading to him it would redirect his mind too. He would need that to be able to sleep at all tonight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry had felt better the morning after his little meltdown. He’d woken up and had been in better control of himself, able to walk the line between being a strange child and arousing suspicions. He’d been back to his normal self, and the adults around him relaxed and brushed it off as just one of those things. After all, small children got sick all the time and usually recovered well enough.

Harry had made more of an effort with Genna, and the Lannisport Lannisters, and he was able to keep control of his rampant emotions and thoughts of his past.

He played childish games with his cousins, all of them, even the Freys, and he seemed to be the bright, happy boy he usually was, but inside he was still plagued by his previous life. He needed to do better, be better. He would be the king of this continent when he was older, he could not afford a breakdown, or at least not one in public. He could cry and sob all he liked into his pillow at night, as long as Balon hadn’t stayed with him, but he could not allow anyone to see him so ‘weak’, as such shows of emotion were seen as in this world.

Once he was king then he could do as he pleased, but right now he had certain standards to meet, and expectations to live up to. He had to act a different way with different people, especially his father. The only person he could be himself around was himself, and that was a very lonely thought, but it was the price he’d known he’d have to pay for coming to this new world.

He’d known as he was researching and practising for that ritual that he would never be able to share his previous life with anyone else, he’d have to carry it all on himself. Actually seeing Westeros, the world he’d come to, he knew that he seriously could not tell anyone, not once, not even the slightest slip. They would not hesitate to execute him if he shared the wrong piece of information with the wrong person.

He took a breath and went back to his book. It was open on the table, he was sat by himself, and he was reading, trying to absorb the words, but he kept getting distracted. He kept sending the people who tried to approach him away, telling them that he was studying. His cousins were continually sent away with a glare, as they tried to force him to play. He was not in the mood to play anymore, or interact with actual children, he had hit his absolute limit after his little wobble yesterday, which is why he’d hidden himself away with his book in the first place.

“Are you still not feeling well?” Tygett asked him, coming to lay a hand on his head after witnessing him snapping at the other children.

“I’m feeling better, I just want to read in peace.” He said grumpily.

Tygett sighed and rubbed some hair between his fingers. “What has happened, sweet boy?”

“The girls won’t leave me alone.” He complained hotly. “I know their fathers have told them to bother me, but I don’t like it, Uncle Tygett. Myrielle and Mara keep pulling on my arms as if I’m a doll for them to play with, Cerenna is trying to pull me about or lead me away from the others as if I am a dog, and Lanna is three-and-ten, a woman flowered, and she keeps trying to kiss me! So now I want to stay here and read by myself.”

Harry felt a kiss being dropped onto his head.

“It doesn’t look like you’re getting very far.” Tygett commented.

“I’m too distracted to read, but at least if I pretend to read I have an excuse to send everyone away from me.”

“Come on.” Tygett lifted Harry up and slid underneath him, placing Harry in his lap. One hand rose to stroke Harry’s back.

“Read aloud to me, you’ll be able to concentrate better that way.”

Harry did just that, allowing his uncle to correct him when he purposefully mispronounced a word that he knew perfectly well how to say, and what it meant too. Tygett was right, however, it was much easier to focus when he was reading aloud and his stresses started to melt away, along with the tension in his shoulders as Tygett continued to stroke his back in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

“My Prince.” Little Myrielle interrupted. “Do you want to come and talk with me?”

“No, I don’t. I am reading to my uncle.” Harry said angrily, he was pissed that his reading, his peace, had been disturbed yet again, as he felt the tension bleed straight back into his tight shoulders.

“I am going home on the morrow.” Myrielle told him, as if that would make a difference.

“I wish you a safe journey.” He said politely, but obviously dismissing her.

“Please? I feel that I have barely gotten to know you.”

Harry hated the pestering, he hated being pulled apart by everyone all trying to get a piece of him, their grasping hands clawing for more of him than anyone else had, as if he were a mere possession to claim for themselves. He was a five year old boy, a mere child, why did that not matter to anyone?

“I would prefer to read, my Lady.” He said firmly, as patiently and as politely as he could possibly still be in his rather foul mood.

Myrielle was only seven herself, it was not her fault he reminded himself. It was Stafford Lannister who was to blame, whose older sister, Joanna, had been Harry’s grandmother. Myrielle, and Cerenna and Mara too, were all his first cousins once removed. Harry would not be marrying or having children with his own cousins, no matter how far removed they were.

Myrielle’s eyes filled with tears and she ran off. She was heading for her father, who just so happened to be standing with his grandfather. He’d love to be a fly on the wall for that little conversation, as little Myrielle complained about him.

Harry went back to reading to Tygett, and once he’d finished the chapter he debated about it to his uncle, proving that he understood what he’d read and had taken it all in, and that he also had his own opinions on everything too.

“Harian, did you upset Myrielle?” His grandfather came over to ask him.

“If she is upset, Grandfather, then I didn’t mean to.” Harry answered, looking up from where he’d just started to read aloud the next chapter.

“He was perfectly polite, Tywin.” Tygett insisted. “He didn’t want to go and play, or talk, as Myrielle wanted, and he told her so very gently.”

“I’m fed up of them all trying to grab at me.” Harry said angrily, feeling his cheeks flushing. “I know they’re trying to get me to like them because they want to be the queen, they don’t want to know me at all. Even when I was playing earlier the girls kept trying to grab me and force me to be on their team, fighting over me like I was a mere toy. Lanna was even trying to kiss me, Grandfather. Properly kiss me like we were already married!” He protested, reaching up a hand to knuckle at his eyes to brush away tears that he didn’t want to fall. “I don’t want to kiss anyone like that, it’s all slobbery and gross! Ser Balon had to shove her away from me and remind her that I'm only five, not five-and-ten. I got fed up of it, which is why I wanted to come and read instead.”

Tywin’s green-gold eyes flashed with a carefully controlled rage, his mouth pulling into a tight scowl, a look that no one wanted to be directed at them. He stood a moment, and his eyes automatically searched out Lanna’s father, Damion, staring at him for a long minute.

Tywin nodded to himself and then sat beside him. “How far have you gotten?” He asked, that anger washed away, even as Tywin likely thought of a suitable punishment for Lanna, for daring to try to kiss a five year old boy as if he were much older.

“I’ve just started chapter sixteen, Grandfather.”

“You should have been here for his debate on the previous chapter, Ty. He never ceases to amaze me.” Tygett praised, though he looked slightly worried, perhaps at what his brother was going to do to Lanna. Harry was expecting, at the very least, that a betrothal announcement was imminent. Lanna couldn’t come after him again, at future gatherings, if she was married to someone else.

His grandfather gave him that proud look again, and Harry sat up straighter, feeling a little better with that look aimed at him.

“Come, read this next chapter and you can debate with both of us.” His grandfather insisted. “I would hear your thoughts for myself.”

Harry did just that, and with Tywin Lannister sat with him, no one dared approach him again, so Harry was able to regain his control, and rein in his emotions, and slip right back into his mask of the very odd five year old he was portraying to everyone around him. He really should have considered a career in acting.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry’s sixth name day had dawned bright and sunny, and he had woken up early, very excited for his name day, and he’d gone to wake Balon, and in the process had woken up his Kingsguard babysitter, Mandon Moore, with his excited squeaking.

It had been barely daybreak, and Balon had grumbled like any usual teenager would at the early call, but he had dutifully gotten up with him, and kept him distracted enough to allow his Lannister relatives to wake up more naturally. This distraction had been archery, which Harry had grown exceptionally fond of, and he’d spent the early hours firing at a target with Balon and Mandon, with a child sized bow in a courtyard that had to be lit by torches so that they could actually see.

He’d been forced to break his fast before he’d been given any gifts, as his grandfather tried to teach him patience, but Harry played his part well, bouncing in his seat and barely eating in a play of excitement, when all he really wanted was to get his hands on some new books. He knew he would be getting at least a few books as gifts, and he would really love to just devour them to gain more knowledge. He would need as much as he could possibly remember when he was king.

It was better than he’d been hoping for, and the stacks of books he was presented with made him genuinely excited, enough to kick his legs like an actual child, as he looked through their index pages to see what information they might contain. One of them, from Gerion, was titled Justice and Injustice in the North: Judgements of Three Stark Lords by Maester Egbert, and a confused Harry looked through it to find that it was a book on guest rights, which made him laugh. One of the books in particular though made him very, very excited. It was an introductory book on High Valyrian, a language he’d been very curious of since he’d found out about its existence, and that his grandfather had insisted he wait until he was at least six years old to start learning due to its difficulty.

The biggest surprise though was that his father had travelled to see him for his sixth name day. It had been kept as a complete secret from him, and as was normal he’d heard his father before he’d seen him. He’d looked up in confusion, realised what was happening, and he had stood up from where he’d been sat on the floor and he’d ran to greet his father from his place in the solar, where he was receiving gifts from family.

“Father!” Harry cried out happily, barrelling towards him with his arms outstretched.

“There you are!” His father all but bellowed. “Six name days old, look how big you’ve gotten!” He praised.

Harry was picked up when he reached his father and thrown into the air, before being safely caught again in huge hands and strong arms. He was thrown again and he shrieked in delight.

“Have you been properly spoilt?” His father asked him, holding him close.

Harry nodded. “Yes, Father. Everyone has given me so many wonderful gifts.”

His father hummed. “Then I suppose it is time that I give you my own gift.”

Harry was carried back into the solar, and while his father greeted his Lannister good-family, Harry went back to looking through all of the gifts that he’d already received. A lot of them were books, and he knew that that was his grandfather’s influence, and Harry’s known desire to learn and know absolutely everything.

“Come here, Harian.”

Harry stood and ran to his father, standing in front of him and waiting. Robert Baratheon picked him up and sat him on his knee.

“Here, this is your name day gift.”

Harry was handed a beautiful silver brooch. It was wonderfully crafted, shaped like the stag of House Baratheon. It was made of black stone, likely onyx or dragonglass, with golden hooves and a golden crown in its antlers. It was beautiful…and valuable.

“I love it. Thank you, Father.”

His father took the brooch from him and pinned it to his doublet, sitting it on his chest with pride.

“I have to remind you that you are still a Baratheon.” His father joked.

Harry laughed. “I never forget.”

“Good.”

Harry played with the brooch a little, before slipping from his father’s lap and going to the book which called to him the most, the book on High Valyrian. He picked it up and went to snuggle back onto his father’s lap, opening the comically large, heavy book and he started reading, keeping half an ear on the conversation around him, just in case something was spoken about that he would rather know about.

His entire day was dedicated to what he wanted to do. He wasn’t having a public feast, because he was so young, instead it was strictly family only. That didn’t mean that people hadn’t sent him gifts though, they had. Mostly toys and sweets, which were all checked thoroughly for dangers, and in the case of any food items, for poison by a food taster before Harry was allowed to so much as know he had been given them.

His best idea came when he separated everyone into two groups and insisted that they were having a mock battle. Everyone was given a wooden training sword, and Harry was forced to be padded up for his own safety, and then everyone went at one another as if they were at war. It was utter carnage, especially with the Kingsguard, and more particularly his father, running around and beating each other with sticks.

Harry just remembered darting around and shrieking like a high-pitched banshee, claiming that it was his war cry, whacking people’s legs with his stick and causing absolute havoc. His father had enjoyed himself, however, even if Gerion and Tygett had teamed up to get several good whacks to their king with no repercussions. It was the loudest that Harry had heard Robert Baratheon laugh in his life. It must have been several years since he was last properly hit by anyone, for any reason. It was still a crime to hit the king, after all, or any member of the royal family for that matter, and it was usually punishable by losing a hand, or even straight-up execution.

Exhausted, but exceptionally happy, Harry ate his evening meal with gusto, spooning buttered peas into his mouth, and tearing at minted lamb ribs, drinking berry juice, and then having strawberry pies and lemon cakes for dessert.

“I have never actually seen you refuse any food, Harian. Do you like everything?” His father asked him curiously.

“Yes, Father.” Harry nodded. “I have never come across a food I haven’t liked. Not yet.”

He didn’t mention that it was because he remembered being starved in his previous life. He could never mention it, but he remembered. He had come across foods that he wasn’t particularly fond of, but he ate it without complaint regardless, even if other food was readily available, because he remembered getting nothing or having a small bowl of cold soup shoved through the cat flap in his bedroom door. If he sat and cast his mind back, he could almost feel the pain and the hollowness of the hunger pangs again, and it humbled him, and thus if he was served a plate, he ate everything he could possibly manage without so much as a scrunched face.

“You’ve got an appetite like me. Good lad.” His father praised.

Harry gave him a smile, before turning back to grab a blackberry cake. “I get hungrier as I get older, and I notice I’m more hungry if I’ve trained harder, or for longer.”

“You’re a growing boy, and you’re growing well.” His father insisted happily, giving Harry a clap to the back and shunting him forward into the table.

Harry was back to reading once he’d finished eating, but this time he was sitting on his grandfather’s lap. He was absorbed in the text, but again he had half an ear on the conversation going on around him. He immediately heard his grandfather calling him, but he chose to ignore it, and then when he was touched he jumped as if startled.

“Harian?”

Harry blinked and tipped his head back. “Yes, Grandfather?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Apologies, Grandfather, I didn’t.”

“I said that it is getting late, and you should go and bathe.”

Harry’s mouth made a little ‘O’ and he nodded. “Yes, Grandfather.” He said, looking for a strip of leather to use as a bookmark. He marked his page and closed the book.

He turned and kissed his grandfather, then hurried over to his father to kiss and hug him too.

“Sleep well, Harian.”

“Leave the book with me.” His grandfather told him, holding a hand out for it.

Harry groaned and trudged back to him to hand over the precious book.

“I know you too well. You will open it back up when you are in bed and you will not sleep at all. Then you will be a horror to deal with on the morrow because you are grouchy.”

His father laughed, and Harry giggled. “You have the right of it, Grandfather, as always.”

“Of course, now, get yourself into the bath and into bed. You may read more on the morrow.”

Harry went to Balon and took his hand, taking him for their nightly bath.

“Did you have a good name day?” Balon asked him, helping him into the wooden tub.

Harry nodded, even as he splashed about a bit to make a play at being a child. He always splashed in the bath and paddled a little from side to side, as it was meant to fit grown men, not little children.

“I especially loved the mock battle.” Harry grinned, allowing Balon to hold him still as he climbed in.

“I will have so many bruises from that, you were the only one who was padded.” Balon complained, looking at a particularly bright red mark, which was already darkening. It would become a very impressive bruise.

“It was good practice for me, that was the first time I’ve had any sort of idea on what a real battle might entail.” He pointed out.

Balon hummed thoughtfully. “You are right, perhaps we should have some more of these mock battles, so that you are more used to it, though real battles are much different.”

Harry nodded. “I understand.”

Balon helped him to wash, but he didn’t allow Harry to linger too long in the bath. The hot water was making Harry’s young body sleepy, and he was yawning now every other minute. As soon as Harry was clean and rinsed off, Balon had him out and in a sheet of clean linen to towel him off.

“Your grandfather was right to take that book from you. You’d have been a little monster on the morrow if you’d stayed up for much longer.”

Harry grinned tiredly and dutifully held up his arms for Balon to slip on his sleeping tunic for him. Balon then dressed himself before he escorted Harry back to his room.

Harry smiled as he climbed into his red and gold bed, slipping under the sheet and wriggling about to make himself comfortable.

Balon didn’t need to be told to get in with him, he did so automatically, as with the king coming to Casterly Rock, a lot of others had journeyed with him. Knights, whores, singers, and any one of them could be a hired assassin come to kill the six year old boy. He would protect his prince, however, as he had the last time…no…he would protect him better than he had the last time, as Harian had still been cut and poisoned that time. The next time, he would not allow Harian to move off on his own, and he would not allow him to pass in front, or beside, any assassin, no matter how much it seemed like they had been incapacitated. That had been an oversight on his part that would never be repeated. He would do better the next time. Much better.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Chapter Text

Harry was turning seven this year and he was growing exponentially, both in size and in knowledge. He had recently started to take an interest in instruments after a new singer had come to Casterly Rock, a young man who was charming, but most of all patient and Harry had found him to be funny, and kind to him. His name was Simon, and after speaking to Harry a little, and like so many others finding him very intelligent for his age, he’d offered to teach him the fiddle. Harry had agreed, mostly out of boredom, and partly because he’d never had the chance to play any instruments before, in this life or his previous one, and it interested him to learn brand new skills.

As with everything that he did here he was a diligent student, and he learnt to play simple children’s songs as early as the next turn, when the announcement came for his brother’s third name day. His mother hadn’t thrown another tourney for Joffrey since Harry had crashed, and in her eyes ruined, his first one. Instead she sent out ravens reminding everyone that Joffrey existed, and that there was a second prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

It amused Harry that she was scared to throw Joffrey another tourney, just in case Harry crashed that one too. Which he would, because he enjoyed making her life an utter misery for trying to murder him at every opportunity because of her dirty little secret.

Of course his family were very impressed with Harry’s musical talents, and his grandfather gave quite a bit of gold to Simon for teaching Harry to play the fiddle, and instructions for him to spread how brilliant Harry was from one end of the Seven Kingdoms to the other in order to advance Harry’s reputation and to keep him in the minds of others.

Harry enjoyed playing the fiddle, and his grandfather had promised to find a harpist to come and teach him too, as apparently the high harp was more the instrument of the nobility, and royalty. He had refused lessons on how to sing, insisting that it didn’t interest him, and truthfully it didn’t. Music was one thing, singing something entirely different and he’d never really wanted to sing. He’d sound as bad as the Merpeople singing above water, he was sure, and he really didn’t want to humiliate himself in such a way.

Harry had been told by Tywin personally about Janna’s punishment. She was one of his Lannister cousins from Lannisport, a woman flowered at three-and-ten, she had tried her luck by snogging him last year, when he’d been just a five year old boy. Harry had told Tywin what she had done and the look he had gotten on his face, Harry had known that she was going to be punished for her actions. He had been right about the punishment too. She had been betrothed almost as soon as she had arrived back home to Lord Antario Jast, a match made personally by Lord Tywin himself, so neither party could refuse without causing offence to their liege lord. The two of them had been married a few months later and Harry had been told that they were already expecting a baby together.

It wasn’t quite so much as a punishment as it could have been though, for which Harry was glad, despite that Lanna had shoved her tongue into his mouth. Lord Jast was the head of a prominent house, a noble house, at least, and he wasn’t quite so old at twenty-eight, though to the thirteen year old Lanna he probably seemed ancient, but at least Lord Walder Frey hadn’t been advertising for a new wife at the time, so perhaps Lanna should think herself rather lucky.

Harry was just finished with his fiddle practice for the day and he was heading to the solar for supper, when he happened upon his fifteen year old uncle, Tyrion, lying on the floor and trying to get back to his feet.

“Uncle! What happened?” Harry asked, rushing to help him.

“It is a cramp, dear nephew, no need for you to fret.” Tyrion insisted, trying to sit himself up while his leg jerked out of his control.

“Here, let me help you.”

Harry got Tyrion sat against the wall and placed his uncle’s foot into his lap and he started massaging the calf muscle that was causing the problem.

“Do you suffer these often, Uncle?” He asked worriedly.

“Not so often, usually the cold only stiffens the muscles, but sometimes it cramps and I cannot walk.”

“Is this helping?” Harry asked unsurely, his hands still moving over the seizing leg muscles.

“Vastly. Gratitude, Harian.”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t thank me for this, Uncle. I love you, and I would not see you hurting.”

“You’re a very odd little boy, Harian.”

“So you keep telling me, Uncle. I rather enjoy being odd, it’s more fun.”

Harry shot Tyrion a grin and got one in return.

“Here, I believe I may now be able to stand.”

Harry stopped his massage and he helped Tyrion to stand.

“Is that better, Uncle?”

“Much. Come now, I believe we are late for supper.”

Harry noticed that he was gaining on his uncle in height, and Lancel was probably taller than Tyrion already, because Lancel was growing like a beanstalk…tall, thin and rather fragile looking. Willem and Martyn were growing the same, only Harry was different, because he had the sturdy Baratheon blood running through him.

“Ah, there you are.” His grandfather commented, and Harry gave a soft touch to his uncle before hurrying to his chair next to Tywin, with the single cushion to boost him high enough to reach the table. “Were you practising your fiddle, or lost in a book?”

“Practicing with my fiddle, Grandfather. I’m getting much better.”

“You do in all things that you put your mind to.”

Harry smiled at the praise, absorbing it like a sponge, before he reached out for the food, filling his plate and then sitting back down and eating. His appetite had grown with him, and he was able to eat a much more normal portion of food than the paltry plate that had once been all that he could stomach.

“I have a surprise for you on the next turn.” His grandfather told him, after they had eaten and Harry was spooning berries drizzled with thick cream into his mouth.

He swallowed his mouthful. “What is it, Grandfather?” He asked curiously.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, Harian. It’s not quite ready yet.”

“So, the beginning of the third moon?” Harry asked, making a play at excited impatience, while his mind actually considered what this surprise would be. He’d heard talks of Lannisport adding to the Lannister fleet, but he’d also heard that there was an archery contest being held at Crakehall, by Lord Crakehall, which was open to squires. He would have liked to have gone to see that, he wondered if that was his surprise.

“Yes, the beginning of the third moon. You will have to wait until then to find out what it is.”

“Yes, Grandfather.” Harry said obediently, but his mind continued to try to puzzle out the surprise he was getting long into the night, weighing up all options.

He was quiet and rather less playful than usual throughout his bath, and when he said goodnight to Balon too, and then when Kevan came to tell him a story.

“You are rather distracted tonight.” Kevan told him with a smile, as he held Harry on his lap and cuddled him in.

“I’m sorry, Uncle.”

“No, don’t be. I believe this to be your grandfather’s fault for mentioning that little surprise earlier.”

“Will you tell me what it is?”

Kevan laughed. “Certainly not.” He told him, giving Harry a little squeeze. “But I can see that you aren’t going to properly focus on anything until you know what that little surprise is, or until you work it out for yourself.”

Here Kevan gave Harry a little look. One that told Harry that Kevan knew exactly what he was trying to do. Harry gave him a little grin in return.

Kevan laughed again. “How about I tell you of the War of the Ninepenny Kings again? You seemed to enjoy that story.”

Harry nodded eagerly. “I am older now, you can tell me more details this time.”

“As you wish, sweet boy, but do not blame me on the morrow if you have bad dreams.”

Harry laughed. “Silly, Uncle. I never have bad dreams.” Or rather he never had bad dreams that he was willing to share with anyone.

“Hmm, you are a rather curious boy, to be sure. Nothing seems to frighten you.”

“I have nothing to be frightened of.” Harry replied. Except Robert. A drunken Robert frightened him.

“All children have bad dreams from time to time.” Kevan told him soothingly. “Even if you haven’t had any yet, just remember if you do have any in future, that it is normal, and a part of growing up. There are men, and women too I suppose, who have bad dreams too.”

“What is enough to frighten men and women grown?” Harry asked, in a ploy at seeming childish.

“Wars.” Kevan replied immediately, a look on his face that told Harry all he needed to know that Kevan had his own nightmares of the battles he’d fought. “Famine too.” Kevan added. “I know that women have nightmares about taking to their birthing beds, and babes lost.”

Kevan looked down at him, at his frowning face, and grimaced.

“I should not have said as such to you on the cusp of falling asleep.” He said regretfully, giving Harry another gentle squeeze. “Come, no more talk of bad dreams, let me tell you a story and then tuck you into bed.”

Much later, once Kevan had told him a light-hearted children’s tale instead of a story about the War of the Ninepenny Kings and had tucked him into bed with a kiss, Harry was alone in his bedchamber, practising his magic to drain his core by turning the sparks running between his hands' different colours. He was sat up in his bed and he was considering all he had learned that day, and his coming surprise.

The archery contest wasn’t too far away, and any chance that his grandfather had to show him off to other lords was always a possibility. He would enjoy the archery contest too, everyone knew that archery was among the top of his favourite pastimes. Yet he also remembered that his grandfather had once promised to take him out onto the water and teach him to captain a ship, and how to handle a naval battle, and with the new additions being added to the Lannisport fleet Harry was putting his money on being taken out on the water. But whatever this surprise turned out to be, Harry fervently hoped that it wasn’t a betrothal.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry held his grandfather’s hand and looked at the three brand new ships in the harbour, at anchor with the rest of the Lannisport fleet.

He’d been dressed in a brand new outfit of leather breeches and a red and gold leather surcoat, his black leather boots coming up to his knees, before he’d been brought here by his grandfather, accompanied by Tyrion, after they had broken their fast that morning; the only thing he’d been told was that there was a surprise waiting for him at the harbour. That surprise was three brand new ships that were gleaming and pristine, still smelling of freshly cut wood and varnish, right in the middle of the anchored fleet. Harry had been right after all, as he usually was these days. His surprise was being taken out onto the water, on the brand new Lannister ships.

“They are the newest designs and at the height of craftsmanship.” His grandfather told him. “I want you to name one.”

“I can name one?” Harry asked, looking at the three huge ships.

“Of course.” His grandfather told him, watching his reaction. “Every prince should name a ship.”

Harry stared at the ships and he grinned. “Firebolt.” He said. “I want to call my ship Firebolt.”

“Bad luck, don’t you think, to call a wooden ship ‘fire’ anything.” His uncle Tyrion told him.

“Only if you believe in superstitious nonsense, Uncle.” Harry answered.

“If you could name that one as well.” His grandfather said, nodding to the other ship beside the largest one in the middle. “What would you call it?”

Harry smiled softly. “Lady Lily.”

“My dearest nephew, have you met a little lady of your own?” Tyrion asked him interestedly.

“No. I just like the name.” He said. “Girls are weird and they keep staring at me and giggling as if I’m some joke to them. All of them do it, little girls, older girls, I don’t like it.”

“Then Firebolt and Lady Lily they’ll be.” Tywin told him. “I’ll have them both emblazoned.”

“You said I could only name one of them.” Harry frowned.

“And by choosing a suitable name you won the honour of naming two.”

Harry smiled. “Can I go on them and see what it’s like?”

“Of course, but don’t you want to know what the flagship is called?”

Harry blinked and then smiled. “Of course, Grandfather. What have you named your new flagship?”

“Prince Harian’s Hammer.” His grandfather said proudly. “Your father has a war hammer, I thought it only fitting that you had your own.”

Harry giggled and hugged his grandfather. “Thank you, I love it. I never would have named one after myself.”

“I know you wouldn’t have. You’re much too modest for your own good.”

“Can I go on them now? Can we go out to sea? Not too far, but just so I know I won’t get seasick and throw up over the deck if ever I did have to sail again. The sail from Dragonstone doesn’t count, because I was only four and too little to know for sure.”

His grandfather snorted a soft sound of amusement. It was the closest he ever got to uttering a laugh, but it was more than he’d ever done before Harry had come into his life, so Harry counted every soft sound of amusement to be a blessing.

“They do have to have a maiden voyage.” His grandfather told him. “And they do need a captain.”

“I’m six, Grandfather, I can’t captain a ship.” Harry said.

“A captain’s job is to tell the crew where to go. They will do the rest.”

Harry frowned. “I’m pretty sure a captain is the one who steers the ship.”

“And I’m certain that if you told that crew where to go, they would go there.” Tywin said.

Harry hummed. “Well, you have me there, Grandfather.” He laughed. “So can I go out on the sea?”

“Just for a few hours, and you stay within sight of the shore at all times.” Tywin told him. “I have some accounts that need going over, after I am done, I want you back here in Casterly Rock for your evening lesson.”

Harry grinned happily and was almost bouncing in anticipation and excitement.

“These three men will be your naval captains, one per ship.” Tywin told him, waving over three men. “This is Tom, Gyles, and Gerold. They are all experienced men, and they are the three I have named as the captains on each ship.”

“It is nice to meet you all.” Harry said with a smile.

“Which ship will you be riding on today, my Prince?” The one introduced as Gyles asked him.

“I’ve named two ships, but only one was named for me. I will take my first voyage in two years, and their maiden voyage, from the flagship, Prince Harian’s Hammer.”

“Try not to drown.” His grandfather told him.

“I will do my best not to drown, Grandfather.” He giggled, but he happily ran off, towards the pier, the three captains following him hurriedly.

The three of them had already been cautioned about what would happen to them if anything…anything at all happened to the prince, and in place of his sworn shield, and his Kingsguard knight, they were to throw their lives on the line for his if need be…they had all agreed immediately. But then not one of them knew what was coming, and not one of them could have possibly guessed that they would be expected to hold to their sworn oaths that very same day, not an hour after they’d made their solemn vow.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry looked down into the white, foamy water churning before the ship’s prow and he smiled. It had been over two years since he’d last been on a ship but he had found his sea legs early on; he had felt a little queasy while he adjusted, but after that he was fine and he ran from one end of the ship to the other, laughing and looking at everything from a new perspective. His gaze often fell on the immense Casterly Rock, which looked majestic in the daylight.

The sea was beautiful, clear blue waters, the sun was shining brightly making everything sparkle and glitter. It was a perfect day, until very suddenly, in just a single moment, it no longer was.

“Ser, what is that ship there?” He asked the man, Gyles, pointing to a looming, dark speck that had just come into view around the peninsular of Feastfires. He could just barely make it out as a small, dark spot on the horizon, but Harry could see that it was a ship clearly enough, and he could see that it was flying a flag.

The captain looked indulgently to where he was pointing, ready to answer all his questions as he had been doing all morning, and Harry watched as Gyles saw what he was pointing at, and he saw the man’s face drain of all colour as several more black ships crested the peninsular behind the first.

“They’re flying the flag of house Greyjoy.” Harry said, as the ship was coming closer impossibly fast, getting clearer by the second, and understanding dawned on him and his stomach fell to his feet. The Ironborn were raiding the Lannisport coast.

“Make for the coast!” The captain roared at the crew. “We have our prince aboard! Get to the shore!”

There was no time. Even as quickly as the ship had been spotted, even as far away as the Greyjoy ship had been, there was no time. They had been idling in the water, it had been for his amusement, so he could see the water, and get used to being on the deck of a ship in a more leisurely manner than the fast journey to get to Dragonstone, and then from Dragonstone to Casterly Rock. But the Greyjoy ships, fast war galleys, were going at full speed and they caught up much quicker than Harry would have possibly imagined. One moment it had seemed like they had all the time in the world to reach the shore, to get to safety, and then the next moment the huge ships had been looming over them, casting shadows over the deck of Prince Harian’s Hammer, stealing all hope, even as Harry tried to plan a means of escape. He had not survived all he had, in his last life and this short second one, to be killed in a fucking Greyjoy raid.

Harry watched as the hulking brute of a man on the ship right in front of all the others, in his plate armour and kraken styled helm, picked up a flaming torch from a brazier beside him, and he threw it, right onto the deck of the ship. The fire took hold almost instantly. The ship was newly built, and freshly varnished too, and Harry was stuck right in the middle of the carnage.

Everything was panic, men screamed and leapt overboard, all of them out to save their own skins, either ignoring him, or forgetting him, in their panic, but Harry just stood still, his feet fixed to the deck, and he watched as dozens of Ironborn leapt onto the burning ship, Prince Harian’s Hammer, and started cutting and hacking at the crew who were too afraid to jump overboard for fear of drowning, those men who had taken him out for what should have been a pleasant day of sailing.

“Why do the Lannisters put little boys on their ships?”

Harry looked up at that hulking man, the Greyjoy kraken across his breastplate. He was in full armour, a thing most men didn’t dare wear while at sea. Not even the Kingsguard knights had dared, and they were supposed to be among the bravest of men in all of Westeros. He had three weapons on him that Harry immediately clocked, a small dirk at his belt, a longsword sheathed on the other side, and in his hands was a cruel looking axe already covered in fresh blood.

“Who are you, little boy? Some rich lord’s plaything? Or the captain’s son? Tell me true.”

The hulk removed the tentacle embellished helm from his head and Harry knew that he was looking at someone from the Greyjoy family, one who was captain here and could possibly be his way of surviving the raid without burning, drowning, or being rammed through with a sword…or hacked in half by that cruel looking axe.

“I’m Prince Harian Baratheon.” He said, looking straight up into that handsome face and those cold, cruel blue eyes.

“You’re not running and jumping like the others, do you fear the water? Do you fear drowning?”

“No, but I’m only six. I’m a good swimmer, but not so good as to make that distance.” Here he pointed to the shore that was clearly visible, but was still a very long way away. “I could never swim back to the shore and this ship was brand new, she was unveiled only today. This was her maiden voyage. Prince Harian’s Hammer she was named and I was named her captain. It was my understanding that captains went down with their ships.”

He’d thrown the big brute, Harry could see it. When you couldn’t win by strength, winning with wits was by far the best option remaining and Harry hoped that it saved him now.

“You are prepared to go down on this ship when you are but six name days old?”

“I was named the captain.” Harry said firmly. “So I will stand here until there is no ship left, and the water fills my lungs and takes me to my grave.”

“You aren’t dying today.” The Greyjoy told him, and with one huge arm, he hefted Harry up and threw him over his shoulder.

“I am supposed to go down with my ship!” He shouted, kicking and flailing.

“As a prince, you’re too valuable to let sink. The Drowned God will forgive me for taking you from his halls, we have need of you still, and he is getting plenty of tribute already.”

Someone threw the man a rope and he pulled himself safely to his own flagship, as Harry’s burnt and sunk in the water. Harry could see the entire Lannisport fleet, which had been safely at anchor in the port, burning. Every ship was aflame, the people of Lannisport running and screaming as Ironborn ran after them, cutting down men and boys and throwing women and girls over their shoulders to take back to their ships as salt wives. They hadn’t been prepared for this, there had been no warning signs that this would happen and they hadn’t expected it, and that was entirely the point, and that was why the Greyjoys had won this battle today.

Harry watched until Lannisport could barely be seen anymore, as the ship was manoeuvred around and headed back to the Iron Islands, passing by Feastfires and as they travelled around the peninsular, suddenly Lannisport, nor Casterly Rock, could be seen any longer.

“Who are you?” He asked from over that hard, painful shoulder that was plated in armour, trying to keep his calm.

He was painfully aware that he had saved himself from immediate death by announcing himself as the crown prince, but he was still in an easily injured, easily killed, six year old body and the Greyjoys were known to be mercurial and unpredictable. He was not in an ideal position by any means, he would have to play up being a child and hope that that earned him some leniency and he could only hope that being a prince meant that the Greyjoys weren’t going to kill him and would instead ransom him back to his family.

“I’m a Greyjoy.”

“I know that you’re a Greyjoy.” Harry said exasperatedly. “Which Greyjoy are you?”

“Victarion. Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet. You are now aboard my flagship, the Iron Victory.”

“Oh, I see what you’ve done there. You’re Ironborn, from the Iron Islands, and your name is Victarion. Iron Victory.” He giggled.

He was seized from that hard, horrible shoulder and held out, so that Victarion could look at him.

“Do you have any idea what has just happened?”

“You’ve declared war?” Harry asked questioningly. The Ironborn wouldn’t have dared take him, nor attack Lannisport, if they weren’t prepared for the consequences. They had obviously risen up in yet another rebellion…again.

“We demand independence. My brother, Balon, is king of the Iron Islands.” Victarion told him.

Harry blinked huge eyes at Victarion. “So, you come to Lannisport and burn my grandfather’s ships and take me hostage. I assume there are other attacks taking place too?”

Victarion looked puzzled by him, though Harry was getting the feeling that it wasn’t a very hard task to confuse this man. He was coming across as the typical stereotype; big and dumb. Harry had more than enough wits about him to run rings around Victarion Greyjoy.

“Of course there are other attacks taking place. I have set things into motion, with the Lannisport fleet destroyed, my nephew can take Seagard.”

“Oh, that’s a bad idea.” Harry said. “I know Lord Jason Mallister, he’s not fond of squid.”

Victarion’s brow lowered in confusion. “Seagard will fall just as Lannisport did.”

“Only Lannisport didn’t fall. You just burnt all the ships at anchor, Lannisport still stands, as does Casterly Rock. What about the royal fleet? What about the Redwyne fleet? What are you going to do about those?” Harry asked.

“They will not be mustered in time.” Victarion told him confidently.

“But they will be mustered eventually. Do you think my father, King Robert Baratheon, the demon of the Trident, is just going to let you keep me?” Harry asked seriously. “What happens when he does muster the Redwyne and the royal fleets? There isn’t a place in this world, or in the seven hells, that you could take me, where he wouldn’t come for me.”

“Do you want to be thrown overboard?” Victarion demanded of him.

“What happens when I am found to be dead?” Harry asked, smirking. “What happens when you are cornered and you no longer have me as a hostage to trade? Do you think my father will go any easier on any of you if I am injured or dead?” Harry giggled then. “You signed your own lives away the moment you put me in harm’s way. My father will beat you all, and the Greyjoys will never again even think of rising above their stations.”

“Shut up, little boy.” Victarion demanded, shaking him violently, snapping his head back and forth making Harry feel dizzy and sick. “Your father is weak, he doesn’t hold the love of the people, or the other great houses. His claim to the throne is tenuous and insecure. He will not be able to muster a host against us. They won’t answer to his call.”

Harry just blinked the stars and spots from his eyes and stared at this stupid man. “Is that truly what you believe? What your brother believes? It is not true. The North will always muster to my father’s call due to the foster bond between my father and Lord Stark. My uncle Stannis has charge of the royal fleet. My father, as king, is the lord of all the Crownlands and the Stormlands will always answer to my father’s call as their previous lord. My grandfather will muster the Westerlands. The Hand of the King is also the lord of the Vale as well as my father’s foster father. That’s five regions of the seven already, and the Reach and the Riverlands will not want to be accused of being left behind, so they will rally to the call to arms too. You have not thought this through at all.”

Victarion had nothing to say to that. Harry doubted that he had the brain cells to formulate a reply, instead he glared at Harry, then at one of his men. “You, put him in my cabin and lock it. Don’t let him escape. Put your backs to the oars, we sail for Pyke, to drop off our valuable little hostage, then we come back for Fair Isle.”

“That’s a bad idea too.” Harry said, even as he was handed over to another Ironborn man. “Fair Isle is an island. You’ll be crushed between the royal fleet and the land.”

“Gag the little shit too!” Victarion roared angrily.

Harry was taken and gagged with a filthy rag that tasted of salt and the coarse rope that was tied tightly around him bit into his skin, even as he was placed on a feather bed in the captain’s cabin. At least he had talked himself out of being killed outright, though he suspected from the raging headache he had that he now had a concussion from being shaken so violently, but he was going to use a bit of magic to make sure that nothing came of it. Now he just needed to survive meeting Balon Greyjoy, no easy task as it seemed he had gone completely mad and had declared the Iron Islands independent of Westeros. Some things didn’t change, and it looked like he had as much luck in this life as he had his previous one.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Cersei tried to endure the time she had to spend with her hated husband as best as she could, and with gritted teeth. Robert had come to try and bond with Joffrey, their so called father and son time, where Robert spared Joffrey an hour of his time every other week, if he even remembered that he had a second child that was.

She hated him touching her perfect son. She wanted to scream at him that Joffrey was not his, that he had no right to touch her golden haired boy, but she had to swallow those words down, to keep her beloved son safe. She knew that Robert wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he knew the truth.

The Kingsguard were naturally within the room, with their king, but worse than that, Stannis was here too, and if there was one Baratheon worse than Robert, it was his bore of a brother, Stannis.

Joffrey was crying and fighting against Robert’s hold on him, trying to get away, and she trembled with the urge to go to him, to save him and protect him. She wanted to rip Joffrey from Robert’s arms and tell him that Joff didn’t like him, that her son would never like him, and it was at that moment, when she thought that she couldn’t take another second of this disastrous meeting, when the urge to leap up and snatch the wailing, screaming Joffrey from Robert’s pathetic attempt to soothe him, that things suddenly got better. The door slammed open, startling the Kingsguard into going for their swords, but it had been Grand Maester Pycelle, and not any sort of attacker, who came barrelling into the room, his face red and sweaty, gasping for breath.

“An urgent…urgent raven from Casterly Rock, Your Grace!” Pycelle wheezed out painfully, holding out a small scroll from a raven.

“Is it Harian? Is he safe and well?” Robert immediately demanded, abandoning the son in his arms to reach out for the scroll in Pycelle’s. He roughly shoved aside the son he had been holding for the merest word of the son halfway across the realm. Cersei hoped the boy was dead as she picked up the wailing three year old Joffrey from where he’d been discarded. Perhaps he had gotten sick and died, or perhaps another assassin had done the job right, she hoped that it had been painful.

“Stannis. Go to Dragonstone immediately.” Robert ordered, his face so red it almost bordered on purple. “The Greyjoys have risen in rebellion. They’ve put the entire Lannisport fleet to the torch.”

“We should plan this attack, Robert.” Stannis said calmly.

Robert looked at his brother, and there was something so dark, so terrible about the way he looked, something in his eyes, as his chest heaved up and down, that terrified all of them. No one dared open their mouths for fear of what that demon would do to them.

“Harian was out on the waters, on the new flagship of the fleet, and they put it to the torch.” Robert said, his words almost strangled as he forced them out. “Go to Dragonstone, sail the fleet and kill them. Every single last fucking one of them, do you hear me?”

Stannis bowed his head at the order and Robert rounded on Pycelle.

“Send out the ravens. Everywhere.” He ordered. “Tell everyone that the Greyjoys have my son and I want him back!”

“He’s not dead?” Ser Barristan asked, the relief palpable in both his voice and countenance.

“Lord Garrison Prester of Feastfires swore to Tywin Lannister that they saw a man on the flagship, with a small boy over his shoulder. A small boy wearing a red and gold leather surcoat.” Robert was breathing hard, like he had just run from Aegon’s Hill to Visenya’s without stopping for breath. “The same surcoat that Tywin confirms that Harian was wearing that morning. They have taken my son hostage, and I will crush them to ruins for it!”

“We should rouse the Redwyne fleet too.” Stannis told him. “Call in the ships from Oldtown and the Reach. White Harbor too.”

Robert nodded. “Yes. Pycelle, call in the banners, ask them to send all the ships they can muster. Get Tywin to marshal his forces as well. I will march to him at Casterly Rock.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You should wait.” Cersei said, trying desperately not to smile at this news. She couldn’t show her glee, not yet, so she held her mouth in a firm line, and she hoped that any wobble or tremble in her lips was thought to be grief or anger, and not the joy it truly was. “They might give terms of ransom.”

“I will not pay to get my son back!” Robert shouted at her. “I will smash open their fucking walls and take him back! And every single Ironborn who stands in my way will be put to the sword.”

Jon Arryn came hurrying into the solar. “Is it true?” He asked, his old, withered face as white as his hair. One look at Robert’s face, however, and he just seemed to know and he shrunk in on himself.

“Harian has been taken hostage.” Robert thundered. “I’ve sent Pycelle to send out the ravens. I’m going to get him back.”

Jon Arryn nodded. “Have you called in the banners and ordered the fleets to be crewed?”

“Yes.” Robert said. “Stannis is going to be in command of the royal fleet, as is his due being the Master of Ships, which will join with the Redwyne fleet, and all other ships that can be mustered.”

“Is there anything left of the Lannisport fleet?”

“No, they’ve burnt every single ship, all thirty of them.”

“We need to plan this, Robert.” Jon Arryn said gently. “I know the urge to charge in to get him back is going to be strong. I felt the same when Aerys killed Lord Rickard and Brandon and ordered me to send him your head, and Eddard’s, but you know a good plan is better than rushing in rashly. Come to the small council chambers, and we can plan where to strike them while we wait for your banners to answer your call, while we wait for the fleets to muster.”

“It will take too long for the royal fleet to sail down past Dorne and up the west coast to the Iron Islands as is.” Robert raged.

“Give the ravens’ time to reach those who have ships to join to ours, then as the royal fleet sails past them, they can join it into one larger force instead of being scattered all over the place and risk being taken out piecemeal by the Ironborn.”

Robert inhaled deeply. The urge to throw his body into the sea and swim to the Iron Islands to rescue his boy was so strong that he had to clench his body tight to prevent himself from doing just that. He forced himself to nod, to calm down. If it had been anyone other than Jon Arryn who had suggested this plan, he would have swung a punch at their faces.

“Stannis, send a message to Dragonstone to ready the fleet, then come to the small council chambers. I’m calling a war meeting.”

Robert strode off without so much as a glance backwards, towards the meeting room, and Jon Arryn went with him, and so did the Kingsguard. Stannis followed them and Jaime was last of all. He didn’t say anything to Cersei, but he gave her a look, a smile that was more of a cocky smirk, and then he closed the door behind himself.

Cersei looked down at the quiet three year old boy in her arms. He’d stopped crying almost as soon as Robert had put him down, when he’d been back in her arms. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, but once she had smiled, she couldn’t help herself, and she laughed.

No one could blame this on her. The boy would be killed by the Ironborn, and she would be free of him and it would make way for Joffrey to be king, just how she had planned, and she wouldn’t even have to do anything. The gods had finally answered her prayers. Seven long years she had been trying to kill Robert’s child, seven years she had been praying to the gods to kill him, and today, they had finally seen fit to answer her.

“You will be the king, my sweet, perfect boy.” She told Joffrey.

“I am king.” Joffrey replied, smiling sweetly at her.

Cersei held him close, the child of her true love, Jaime. No, she didn’t need to worry about anyone comparing the two together, Harian with his Baratheon black hair, and Joffrey being the double of Jaime.

Soon all of her problems would be gone, and all she had planned would come to fruition. It had taken longer than she would have wanted, as she had first tried to kill him in her womb, but the gods had finally seen fit to remove the boy from her life, from Joffrey’s path to the Iron Throne. Everything was finally looking up, her plan was finally in motion and she couldn’t be happier.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry was back to being over the shoulder of Victarion Greyjoy as they reached the small, scraggy island of Pyke, the seat of House Greyjoy. He was still bound and gagged, he had been ever since that first day on the ship, but he could still think perfectly well, especially after using his magic to patch up a brain bleed caused by Victarion shaking him so violently. He was glad that his magic had been full at the time, and had ‘known’ what he wanted it to do, as it usually healed his injuries automatically, like it did when he was poisoned, otherwise he would have died in a few days regardless of what the Greyjoys wanted with him. But he was a forty-two year old man truly, he could think his way through this, or at least talk his way out of being executed, he was sure.

“Victarion, is that your new salt wife?” Someone called out teasingly. “A little small for you, and the wrong sex too! Did you confuse him with a little girl?”

“Shut up, Euron.” Victarion demanded harshly.

“Why did you save the little boy?” Euron asked, ignoring the order to shut up. “Fancy taking him in as a son? Seeing as you haven’t had any.”

“You have no sons either.” Victarion growled out.

“I don’t want any.” Euron said easily. “So you are going to take him in as a son?”

Harry listened closely to this relationship between brothers. He knew from his lessons that Euron was the elder between the two, but from their conversation it seemed that they didn’t exactly get along.

He watched from his place over a broad shoulder as the rough stone steps fell away to sand, then to more rock and then to smooth stone, and all the while the brothers spoke to one another like enemies who had been forced to get along with one another by a stern father.

“I’m not taking him in as a son, he’s a hostage!” Victarion said, his voice losing some of its calmness. His hold on Harry tightened, crushing his little body into an armoured shoulder, and he wondered if he’d have to use more magic to fix a broken ribcage, or maybe a punctured lung.

“You have brought me a hostage?” A new voice asked, interrupting the brothers, and Victarion’s hold on Harry immediately eased, much to his relief.

“The Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.” Victarion said, and he actually sounded proud of himself, as he hefted Harry from his shoulder, turned him and stood him up.

Harry looked at the two men before him, the one with the long, grey hair he knew must have been Balon, the so-called king of the Iron Islands. The other, younger man, was Euron. He was very handsome, with dark hair, a dark beard and one sky-blue eye. The left eye was covered by an eyepatch.

“Oh, Victarion, I think this is the best plunder you’ve ever brought home.” Euron teased.

“You have done well.” Balon agreed. “Is the fleet at Lannisport destroyed?”

“Every last ship.” Euron nodded.

“The boy was out on the water, on a new flagship.” Victarion added.

“Well, this is no way to treat an honoured guest, this boy is a prince.” Balon said with a cruel smile and he reached out to take the gag from his mouth. “Hello, young prince.”

“Do you really have a crow’s eye under that patch?” Was the first thing Harry asked, looking past Balon to Euron, insulting the so-called king. “I was told that you lost an eye and to replace it you killed a crow and took its eye for your own.”

Euron laughed, and it was a nice sound, but it was also a dangerous sound.

“Do you truly believe that?” Euron asked him with a smirk.

Harry shook his head. “No. That’s not how eyes work. My uncle Tyrion has one green eye and one black one. I think you have a black eye like he does, and because crows have black eyes too, you got called crow’s eye and you don’t like that name, which is why you cover your black eye with an eye patch. So no one can see it.”

“I take it that this was why he was gagged?” Balon asked his brother.

“He doesn’t stop talking.” Victarion agreed.

“He’d find it difficult to speak without a tongue.” Euron said, that amiable smile still on his face, despite the words of threat.

“He is not to be harmed.” Balon ordered immediately. “He is going to be very useful, but only if he is in one piece. Release him, Victarion.”

Victarion nodded his head and then he went to his knees behind him and cut the ropes binding Harry’s hands with the dirk from his belt. Harry pulled his arms in front of himself and rubbed the blood back into his sore wrists. They were already raw and bleeding where the rough rope had rubbed the skin away.

These men were being very…loose-tongued was likely the nicer way of putting it. You did not tell the prisoners that you were unwilling to harm them. It was far more effective to make them believe that they were going to be tortured, or even killed, in order to get them to talk, or behave in the way you wanted them to. Harry now knew that Balon Greyjoy had no intentions of hurting him, which allowed him to relax a little, though not by much. He was intelligent enough to know that he would still be in for a rough time whilst he was a prisoner here on Pyke.

“Who’s that?”

Harry looked over to the three children who had come hurrying in to join them. The youngest, a boy, looked to be about ten, the only girl was about twelve and the other boy was the oldest, he looked about fifteen. It had been the girl who had spoken.

“This, Asha, is Prince Harian of the Seven Kingdoms.” Balon said. “We are to make him welcome.”

The girl grabbed for a dagger in her belt and brandished it in Harry’s direction. “I will make him welcome.” She declared viciously.

“No.” Balon said. “Properly welcome. He is to be our guest.”

“I wonder how much gold King Robert would give us for him back.”

“We’re not going to trade him for gold.” Balon said. “We’re going to trade him for a throne.”

“The Seastone Chair.” Victarion said, finally cottoning on.

“Yes, Victarion, we’ll trade him for our independence.” Balon sighed.

“I’m sorry for your burden.” Harry said.

“What burden?” Balon asked him curiously.

“Him.” Harry said, pointing to Victarion. “I have no idea how you put up with him. I wanted to throw myself overboard and I’ve only been in his company for five days.”

Euron ‘Crow’s Eye’ laughed uproariously.

“What do you mean?” Victarion demanded furiously, knowing that he was being made the butt of a joke, but not really understanding what that joke was.

“I’ve met tree stumps with more brains than you.” Harry declared. “Meeting you, I understood why the Iron Islands have never had a successful rebellion, I reasoned that if they’d made you the Lord Captain of the Iron fleet then you had to be one of the most intelligent men that the Iron Islands had to offer and if you’re the best they had, it’s no wonder your history is full of failed rebellions.”

Harry braced himself for the backhand smack that was coming his way, but Balon caught his brother’s hand just in time.

“He’s riling you on purpose. If he is in any way harmed, Robert Baratheon will not agree to anything.” Balon said soothingly to his brother. “I don’t want a single hair on his head harmed before we have agreed terms for the exchange.”

“That one should have been the Lord Captain.” Harry said, pointing to Euron. “He should probably be king too. He’s the only Greyjoy I’ve seen thus far who actually seems to hold an ounce of intelligence.”

“My father is the best king we’ll ever have!” The younger of the boy’s declared, running at Harry with a little axe scaled down for a child.

Harry dodged the wild, overreached swing and turned on a hairpin to kick out a knee. He took the axe from the bigger boy and threw it away from them both, purely because he didn’t want the Greyjoys to kill him because he was armed, and he noticed from the corner of his eye that the axe embedded itself into the back of a chair. He turned back to the boy to finish incapacitating him and that was easy enough as he planted a fist into the other boy’s stomach, knocking the wind from him to keep him on the floor. For good measure Harry stomped on the boy’s genitals, making him scream in a high, shrill tone, before Harry was roughly picked up from behind by Victarion and thrown back over that armoured shoulder with an ‘oof’ as all the air was forced from his lungs this time.

“Beaten by a six year old green lander. Theon, you’re useless.” Euron declared. “Little prince, where did you learn to throw an axe?”

“I’ve been sword training since I was two.” Harry said. “I’m better at archery though.”

“But you’ve never touched an axe?” Euron prompted.

“No. I’ve had a go at throwing daggers though. I can hit a target with a decent accuracy for my age.”

“Impressive for such a little boy. You would have made for a good Greyjoy. We’ll swap you for Theon.” Euron chuckled darkly.

Balon looked offended, and ashamed, but they were all distracted by a drunken man weaving his way into the room.

“Aeron, we thought you’d gotten lost.” Balon announced.

“He’s a Greyjoy too?” Harry asked. “A drunken idiot who walks as if he’s still on the water? Why are you so surprised that your rebellions never amount to anything? You don’t have enough brains between you to make up the brain of a horse, and that’s with black eye over there making up half.”

“Can we put the damn gag back in?” Victarion growled.

“Who’s that?” Aeron Greyjoy asked, giving Euron a wide berth and going to stand between Victarion and Balon.

“He is our way of getting the independence we demand.” Balon said. “Victarion captured the son of Robert Baratheon.”

“Well done, Victarion.” Aeron said, unable to stand still as he sort of swayed where he stood.

Harry stared at him as best as he could while pinned over Victarion’s shoulder. “How do you captain a ship without ploughing it into a cliff? You can’t stand on solid ground.”

Aeron blinked at him. “He’s got a mouth on him.” He said in surprise, obviously not expecting him to be so rude while he was a captive.

“Everyone has a mouth.” Harry pointed out. “The only difference is that you drown your mouth with wine and as a result you can’t stand up properly.”

“Pass him here.” Euron said, and Victarion passed him over. Harry was actually cradled, as if he were a newborn, with his knees crushed together to stop him moving his legs and his wrists held tightly in one of Euron’s large hands. “Let’s go and find you a nice cell to sleep in. Perhaps after a night of discomfort you’ll be feeling more friendly towards us.”

“That’s not likely.” Harry said. “I’ve had to sleep with stumpy over there for the last four nights, I think I’d prefer a stone floor. He started snoring at one point and I thought it was a rockslide.”

“Don’t harm him, Euron.” Balon said firmly. “We need him.”

“I won’t harm him, I’m just going to tell him some stories to settle him to sleep.” Euron grinned.

Harry groaned. “I hate stories. Can’t you sing to me instead?”

“Oh, you are certainly a little arsehole, aren’t you?”

Harry grinned. “It has taken you this long to figure that out? Maybe I overestimated your intelligence too.”

“You’re going into the deepest, darkest, dankest cell I can find.”

“It’ll still be better than trying to have a conversation with a living tree stump. Half the time he just stared at me, a confused frown on his face, and that was after I’d tried to dull down my words for him.”

“By the drowned god, I hate that little shit!” Victarion raged and banged his fist on a wooden table. “I will kill him with mine own hands!”

Harry giggled and looked up at Euron, who was carrying him.

“Do you feel better for riling him up now?”

“He torched my brand new ship, it was her maiden voyage. I told him I had been named captain and that I wanted to go down with my ship, but he picked me up and took me off of it! He’s horrible, and stupid.”

“He could still kill you with one fist.”

“So?”

“You would be killed.” Euron prompted.

“So? I have a baby brother, he would be the crown prince.”

“Aren’t you afraid of death?”

“No, death is nothing to be afraid of.” Harry said softly.

He would know too, as he’d technically died twice now. True, both times he had come back, but he’d felt no pain as he’d died either time, though when he had sacrificed himself he had felt the physical pain of cutting open his own arms, but the actual death hadn’t hurt at all, and he hadn’t been afraid either. He had chosen to do it, he had known what was coming and all he had felt was a serene peace. The pain had eased off, there was no panic or fear…just peace.

“Death is being freed from the chains of living, from the pain of life. It’s living that is hard, living that causes strife and misery. Compared to that, dying is more like going to sleep. It’s like finally getting to rest at the end of a very long day. I like sleeping.” Harry said with a small smile up at Euron, who was watching him closely, considering his words. Euron was most definitely the most intelligent of the Greyjoys by Harry’s estimation. That made him the most dangerous.

“You’re very unusual.”

“I know.” Harry said easily. “Everyone who meets me says the same.”

“Come, let me tell you a story.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t think you’ll make a story sound as boring as my Maesters, that’s something at least. Though if you bore me enough I might be able to sleep easier.”

Harry was placed into a horrid, damp cell that was dripping water, and had a pile of mildewed straw in the one corner. It already smelt like stale urine. There were blood splatters on the walls. He was pushed in further by Euron, who closed the barred iron door behind him, and then locked it, taking the key.

“You could have at least cleaned it up for me first. I’m glad I’m not paying rent for this.” Harry quipped.

Euron chuckled before he could stop himself.

“You’re the most amusing boy I’ve ever met.”

“Do you meet a lot of boys?” Harry questioned, turning around to face Euron.

“I’m a raider and a reaver, of course I do. Most little green lander boys like you shit themselves when they see the Ironborn come from the sea.”

“I’m sorry to break tradition.”

Euron moved away from the barred, iron door and sat on a chair just outside. Harry sighed and sat on the damp stone floor. It was icy cold. He refused to go near the urine soaked, mouldy straw pile.

“You’re small for six.” Euron told him, looking at him through the bars of the cell.

“I have had a couple problems with people trying to poison me. It’s happened twice now, and twice I’ve survived, but those poisons have left me smaller than I might have been. Or at least that is what Grand Maester Pycelle and Maester Creylen theorise.”

“Surviving poison, at your age?” Euron asked interestedly.

“No, I was younger. The first attempt I was a newborn baby, the second attempt was when I was three. They were both different methods of delivery too, the first was put directly into my mouth, the second was a poisoned blade, see.”

Harry pulled back his sleeve and showed the thin white scar he had on his arm to Euron.

“Anyway, you’re supposed to be telling me a story, not the other way around. Make it a good one too.”

Euron Greyjoy looked at him, silently, studying him. Harry sat on the cold, stone floor and looked back, blinking now and then, but otherwise just staring at the older man. He said nothing, he didn’t shift, he just sat quietly and looked. If he’d been an actual six year old he might have squirmed in discomfort or been sat in the corner crying…thankfully he was forty-two and he was able to hold himself still and calm.

“Let me tell you about a little boy who was very stubborn.” Euron eventually said, but Harry interrupted with a loud scoff.

“Let me guess, he was stubborn, didn’t do as he was told, and he was killed?” Harry said. “That’s so boring, and predictable too! All the best stories are real. No story could ever compare to actual history.”

“So you want a history lesson?” Euron asked him.

“Do you Greyjoys even know any history?” Harry asked.

“We know, and we remember.”

“Tell me some Greyjoy history then.” Harry said eagerly.

“Haven’t you been told any?”

“It’s never the same as getting the information right from the source. Who better to tell Greyjoy history than a Greyjoy?”

Euron sat forward, putting his hands between his spread legs. “A history lesson, then. You are currently in the Guest Keep, it’s on its own islet just off from the Great Keep.”

“I know, we walked across that covered stone bridge.” Harry said.

“Don’t interrupt the story.” Euron chastised him. “The Guest Keep has another name you know. The Bloody Keep.”

“How many people died here?” Harry asked curiously. “Apart from the person who vacated this cell before me, that is.”

“It got its name for just three deaths.”

“Really? That seems rather paltry.”

“You need to stop interrupting.”

Harry sighed, wishing that it was one of his uncles telling him a story, or even his grandfather, they let him interrupt as much as he liked. He waved his hand at Euron. “Fine. Carry on your boring story.”

“These three people were the sons of the River King, Bernarr Justman.” Euron told him. “The King of the Iron Islands, Qhored Hoare, reaved and raided in the Riverlands, and he defeated the King of the Trident and he took all three of his sons as a hostage. They were kept here, in the Guest Keep. For three years they were guests here, hostages of King Hoare, but their father was too slow to pay the tribute demanded of him, and King Hoare got tired of waiting.”

Euron stopped his story and looked at him, as if waiting for him to say something, or interrupt, but Harry was very quick to learn and he just stayed still, looking at him, waiting for him to carry on.

“He killed them, all three of them. They were hacked apart, chopped up and the pieces of them were put in a box and sent to their father. They say that the blood coated every wall, and if you look closely, you can still see blood spots on the ceiling.”

“That was in poor taste, they had guest rights.” Harry told him.

“Do you think that matters here? To the Ironborn?”

“It should.” Harry said. “It’s not a regional practice, it’s a scared law wherever you go, even places in Essos have the law of guest rights.”

“Carrying on the history, King Bernarr tried to sue for vengeance, he tried to attack the Ironborn in retaliation for his three murdered sons, but he failed. Do you know what the Ironborn did with him?”

Harry frowned and thought. He knew the traditions and customs that the Ironborn followed, thus he could make a good, educated guess.

“Any guess at all?” Euron encouraged, seeing that Harry was actually thinking about it.

“He was drowned.” Harry said. “As a sacrifice to the Drowned God.”

“You are a quick study, aren’t you?”

Harry nodded. “I like to be.”

“He was drowned, yes, in a ritual sacrifice to give his strength to the Drowned God. Do you know the moral of this story?”

“Don’t come to the Iron Islands and expect guest rights from a Greyjoy?”

“You’re an amusing little boy, I’ll give you that.” Euron told him. “No, the moral is, we are Ironborn, and no matter who you are, the sons of kings included, if we don’t get what we want, we’ll kill you. Sweet dreams, little Prince.”

“Night, black eye!” Harry called out, and he laid himself on the stone floor. “Come see me again, I like you. You’re the only one here that I can actually have a conversation with, though your storytelling needs some work.”

Euron said nothing, but he walked away and Harry tried to settle himself down to sleep. They would expect him to be up all night, scared and crying, maybe calling out from fear, seeking company, especially when it got dark, but he wasn’t going to do that.

He would put them on the wrong foot right from the off by acting like normal. He could only hope that it was enough to keep himself alive, and he hoped that his father and grandfather were able to get here quickly, and rescue him, because there was no way he could get off this broken, ragged group of islands and islets alive, not by himself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Eddard ‘Ned’ Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, made sure that his greatsword Ice was secured to his body, that his longsword was at his hip, and his armour was buckled tight as his young children watched with gaping mouths as he prepared himself for battle.

Robb and Jon were both five years old, and were both begging to come to war with him. He had already told them no, that they were much too young, but still they were trying to get him to agree to take them with him, insisting that they could be his squires. The thought of taking his five year old boys to war made him grimace, but their insistence that they could be his squires lightened him a little; the two of them struggled to do up their own buckles, let alone the buckles to a man’s armour.

His two year old daughter, Sansa, was in her mother’s arms, crying and begging him to stay. Catelyn, his wife, was heavily pregnant with their third child, due to give birth in just a turn and he was now going to be away from her as she laboured to bring their new child into the world. He could see in her blue eyes that she was worried about him going off to war.

“I’ll be careful.” He told her softly, taking Sansa from her mother and holding her carefully against his breastplate.

“Don’t go, Father!” The little girl cried.

“I must.” He told her solemnly. “The Greyjoys have taken Prince Harian hostage and we need to fight to get him back.”

“Come back to me.” Catelyn told him.

He pulled her into a kiss and laid a hand on her rounded belly.

“Take care of yourself, and this little one. I will be fine and I will come back to you.” He swore, passing Sansa back over. “Boys.”

Both Robb and Jon came to him and he hunched down and hugged them both tightly and ruffled their hair, Robb’s the Tully russet and Jon’s, thick and brown, it was all Stark just like his own.

“Be good.” He ordered them. “Look after Winterfell for me.”

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Robb recited dutifully.

“Yes, there must and while I am away, that must be you. Be good, attend your lessons and listen to your mother.”

He kissed Robb’s forehead, and then turned and kissed Jon’s. He stood and made sure that all his buckles were pulled tight and strapped. As soon as Robert’s raven had arrived, he’d called in his banners and they were all setting out for White Harbor. They needed to catch a ship and go straight down to Dragonstone and join with the royal fleet. The North didn’t have many ships, but all that they had was now mustered at White Harbor and would sail as many men as possible to join Robert’s strength, before setting out to the Iron Islands.

“What would you have had me do if it had been Robb?” Ned asked Catelyn, when he looked up and saw her face, her unshed tears.

She nodded to him. “I understand. I may not like it, but I understand.”

Ned nodded himself. “It’s time that I left.” He told them, which made both of his boys look to the floor, saddened yet understanding, but it caused Sansa to wail.

He ignored it, though it tugged at his heart. Robert had called for him to help, and he would answer. Robert was his friend, his brother, and his young son has been taken hostage. He knew that if it had been Robb, or any of his children, and he asked Robert for help, king or no, he would be there, in person, hefting his war hammer and ready for a war. He would do no less in return.

So he left Winterfell, he rode with his men tirelessly, only resting when they needed to, or when they feared their horses might falter. They made it to White Harbor in good time. They sailed that same day and expected to be in King’s Landing in sixteen days.

It wouldn’t be soon enough for Robert, Ned knew, as the man would be frantic about his missing son, but Ned prepared himself to take the words thrown at him…nothing caused a man to lose his head more than a loved one being taken, and it had happened to Robert twice now and if this rebellion was as ferocious as the last then they would see the extinction of House Greyjoy very soon.

The rowers were exhausted as the sixteenth day crested, they were rotated regularly to give them some semblance of a break, but after sixteen days, and some nights too, all the rowers aboard every ship was spent and on the brink of collapse. Luck was on their side, however, and Dragonstone was in view. They had made it, despite some headwinds trying to throw them off course, it had been a good idea to row through the nights that they could, when it was clear and the moon gave them enough light, otherwise they might not have made it to Dragonstone for another week, and Robert would have been wroth with them for the extra delay.

“My Lord, the royal fleet is ahead of us.”

Ned nodded to the man and inhaled deeply. He would be going straight into Blackwater Bay, to King’s Landing, to see Robert, which would take a further three days.

“Put yourselves under the command of Lord Stannis Baratheon, or the man he has left in charge.” He ordered. “Anchor the ships as he instructs. I need to see the king.”

Ned, unwashed, unshaven, and tired too, disembarked on Dragonstone and took a smaller, faster ship across the Bay to the harbour. It took two days rowing through the night, and Ned was even more tired now, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t rest. He entered King’s Landing proper through the Mud Gates and made his way up to the Red Keep, a walk that made his already weary legs ache.

He was immediately escorted by a steward, right to the small council chambers. Robert looked up at the intrusion, unshaven, unwashed, ungroomed, and looking as exhausted as Ned felt, but once he recognised who had come into the chamber his dark glower lifted, his brow lightened slightly, and he strode to him and pulled him into a rough, hard hug.

“Ned, what took you so long? We were planning to leave without you.”

“Apologies, Your Grace, it takes time to get from the North to anywhere.” He said solemnly, noticing as he did how rough and strained Robert’s voice sounded.

 “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters. Come here.”

Robert led him over to a map, with wooden markers all over the west side.

“The sons’ of whores attacked the Lannisport fleet.” Robert told him, pointing out the kraken marker that sat over Lannisport. “My son was out on the water.” Here Robert glared at Lord Tywin Lannister. “His first time out to sea on his own and those damned Greyjoys decide to rise up in rebellion. He was seen on the deck of a Greyjoy ship, but we haven’t had any terms of ransom.”

“They’re Ironborn.” Ned pointed out. “They won’t take anything they feel they haven’t earned through the iron price. They won’t accept gold in exchange for him.”

Robert’s fist thumped down on the table, making the markers wobble.

“I know that, damn you! We need to lay a siege on the Iron Islands and take him back. I’m not leaving him with those Greyjoys!”

Ned nodded his understanding, his agreement. Prince Harian was only a year older than his boys, he was six name days old, seven in a few turns, but he wouldn’t have left a six year old to the mercy of the Greyjoys either.

“What do we know?” Ned asked, noticing that a fallen kraken was lying over Seagard.

“Lord Mallister killed Rodrik Greyjoy at Seagard.” Robert said, noticing where he was looking. “He threw their arses back into the sea. We have information that Victarion, Euron, and Aeron Greyjoy are waiting to engage our fleet, they’re at anchor on Fair Isle. We need to sail all the way down past Dorne, pick up the Redwyne fleet and all the ships they have mustered at the Arbor, then we smash the so-called Iron Fleet and sail on to the Iron Islands. I want Stannis to take Great Wyk and Selmy to take Old Wyk. Paxter Redwyne will take Orkmont. Me and you, Ned, we’re heading straight for Pyke.”

“Do we know where Prince Harian is being held?”

“No. We have had no word of him since he was taken. If they’ve harmed a hair on his head, that’s it, Ned. Not a single Ironborn will be coming off of those islands alive.”

“Robert…” Jon Arryn tried, but Robert held up a hand.

“No.” He said bluntly, his voice dark and terrible. “If my son has been hurt, if they’ve so much as scratched his skin, they all die.”

“So we take the four main islands and hope that he’s there?” Ned asked.

“I hope that he’s on Pyke.” Robert said, a huge fist clenching tight, shaking with suppressed emotion and rage.

“Pyke will take the longest to siege.” Tywin Lannister spoke up for the first time. “It is better defended than the other islands, so if Lord Stannis, Lord Paxter, and Ser Barristan sweep the three other islands, they can come and assist in the siege of Pyke.”

Robert clenched his jaw, but he nodded. He was blaming Tywin for losing his son, Ned could see it clear as daylight, but he was also willing to work with anyone to get Harian back, even the man he saw as the reason for his missing son.

“Today, we stock the ships, we eat and prepare. At dawn, Stannis will sail and we will march to where Kevan Lannister is rousing the Westerlands.” Robert declared. “Ned, come take supper with me.”

Ned followed his king, and brother, through the Red Keep and found himself in the king’s private solar within Maegor’s Holdfast. They sat down and Robert all but crumbled in front of him, resting his elbows on the desk and putting his face into his hands.

“I need him back, Ned. He’s the best damn thing that has ever happened to me. My boy, my firstborn. I need to get him back. The thought of him being hurt or suffering in some dungeon on the Iron Islands…”

“You’ll drive yourself mad thinking like this, Robert. We will get him back, and we’ll show the Greyjoys that taking him was the most foolish thing they’ve ever done in their history.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do if they decide to kill him when we attack the islands.” Robert said, sounding lost and very small.

Ned had only seen him like this once before, and that had also been to do with Harian. It had been when Harian had been newly born, and they’d gone to Casterly Rock, so that Robert could see his newly born son for the first time. They had arrived to the terrible, ill-omened news that the babe was severely fevered and not taking milk from his wet nurse.

He remembered seeing Robert walking around the nursery in Casterly Rock, naked from the waist up, cradling the wailing, cherry-cheeked babe in huge, muscled arms. The babe had looked like a tiny doll in those arms and Ned had witnessed something miraculous happening. The squalling babe had quietened, those big, blue eyes had peered up at Robert and being against his father’s chest had seemed to comfort him as he finally stopped his exhausted crying. The babe had reached up an impossibly tiny hand and laid it against Robert’s clean-shaven chin, and father and son had shared a touching moment, before Harian had succumbed back to the fever ravaging him and his tiny body, and after that Robert had been an unquelled storm. He had shouted and raged, kicked over chairs and tables, his heart utterly lost to his son and the only thing that had helped calm his fury was taking him back into battle, so that he could unleash that tremendous quell of rage by killing people.

This was looking to go the same way. If Harian was hurt or killed, there would be nothing to stop the storm that would break over them and Ned feared for what that would mean for everyone, and for the Seven Kingdoms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Chapter Text

It was exceptionally boring in his damp little cell. Harry had nothing to entertain him, nothing to take his mind from his current predicament. He had no books, no games, no human interaction save for the guard always on his door, who oftentimes outright refused to speak with him anyway, or when he got the rare visitors to his cell that he’d rather didn’t come.

He wasn’t allowed out of his cell, ever, so he couldn’t bathe or use a proper privy, or even explore a little of Pyke. It’s not as if he could have gotten off the Iron Islands by himself, he wasn’t going to be able to swim to the mainland, and he doubted there was a single Ironborn who would give him passage on a ship, so he didn’t see the logic behind keeping him locked up day and night, he was still only six and such harsh treatment could kill him and that really would be detrimental to the Greyjoys plans of trading him for their independence. They couldn’t trade him for shit if he was dead, after all. All his death would bring them was death in return and ruin at the hands of Robert.
Harry could hear shouting sometimes from his tiny cell, nothing distinct, just random, sudden noise, but everything had gone quiet for the last few days. He assumed that the Ironborn had once again gone out to attack the western shores in their bid to declare war and independence, but he had no way of knowing for definite. His guards told him nothing, no matter how much Harry poked and prodded them for answers, and the little shits that came to see him, to tease and torment him, were less than helpful. Harry was coming to hate all three of Balon Greyjoy’s shitty, bratty children.

The oldest boy, Maron, was by far the worst. He was fifteen, and he boasted that next year, when he was a man grown, he would be going on his first raid and he swore that he would come home with his first salt wife. When Harry had been visibly disgusted with that announcement, Maron had given a harsh, braying laugh and told him that perhaps he should cut Harry’s cock off instead, and make him his first salt wife. Harry thought then that perhaps keeping him in his cell wasn’t because Balon Greyjoy feared that he’d try to escape, maybe it was actually some sort of weak bid to protect him from the Ironborn, and his vile, perverted son. If that was the case then he was thankful that Balon Greyjoy didn’t allow his three children a key to his cell as having them taunt him and throw stones at him from outside it was bad enough. The little shit, Theon, had even urinated into his cell, which was already damp and smelly as it was. Harry hated them all and he hoped that his father hurried up and came to get him, it had already been far too long, and this poor treatment was slowly starting to wear him down as he drained his magic to keep himself warm and protected, but it was no longer enough. He wasn’t being fed enough, just once a day, and he found it difficult to sleep on the wet, rough stone floor with no pillow or blanket, so he was exhausted too, and he was starting to feel the strain of captivity.

He was watched constantly, there was always a guard outside his cell, sitting on the little chair that Euron Greyjoy had sat in to tell him stories. He had noticed immediately that those stories had been an attempt to frighten him, to keep him scared and to launch psychological warfare on him, but Harry refused to let it bother him and he was able to let the words slip over his head like water off a duck’s back. Much to Euron’s surprise, and everyone else’s surprise too, who all saw him just sitting down in his little cell, staring, bored out of his mind, but otherwise completely unaffected by his situation.

He ate without verbal complaint and slept as much as he could without any signs of nightmares or other issues. He used the straw that was supposed to be his bedding as a toilet and when asked once if he wanted anything, likely as some cruel trick, he’d asked for books because he was bored. He didn’t get his books, but he had unsettled them all. He wasn’t behaving as a normal captive would, and certainly not as a normal six year old would have done in his place. Harry considered that a success. If they were curious of him and his behaviour, they wouldn’t kill him. Or at least he hoped that they wouldn’t, you could never be sure when dealing with people who had clearly slipped into insanity at worst, or at best were just very dumb.

Harry tried to entertain himself by sitting quietly, his eyes closed, as he focused on his magic. He didn’t cast anything outwardly, and nothing showed visibly to those who might be watching him, but he was busy entertaining himself with his magic regardless, to stop his mind from dying of boredom. He only ever came out of his magical bubble when he sensed someone approach the barred door to his cell, as rare as that was now that it seemed the Ironborn had gone back out onto the water.

“Are you comfortable, my Prince?” Came the sarcastic question from Asha Greyjoy.

Harry blinked out of his thoughts and stared at the twelve year old girl.

“Most comfortable, thank you for asking, my Lady.” He said politely, mostly because he knew how much she hated that he referred to her as such. Her eyes and jaw tightened whenever he called her ‘my lady’ so he carried on doing it. This time was no different.

“You think you’re so much better than anyone.” Asha hissed at him.

Harry blinked and said nothing in reply, making his expression innocently puzzled, but inside he was smirking to himself at being able to so easily get under her skin with just one comment.

“Just because you were born a prince doesn’t mean anything!” She insisted to him, her face twisted with rage. “My father is king of the Iron Islands, so that makes me a princess.”

“Perhaps here on the Iron Islands.” Harry pointed out. “But no one anywhere else will recognise you as such, and neither do I. The only princess in Westeros currently is Arianne Martell of Dorne.”

“I can kill you so easily.” Asha spat at him, clenching the bars to his cell door and shaking them, as if the clanking noise might frighten him. It didn’t. “No one would care if I did!”

“No, you can’t.” Harry said plainly. “Your father needs me alive to trade me for the independence he seeks. If you do manage to actually kill me…I imagine he’d be furious with you, perhaps enough to kill you in return. A life for a life so to say.”

“He’s my father, he’d never kill me.” Asha said stubbornly, but there was a flicker of uncertainty around her eyes that Harry saw immediately, and sought to exploit mercilessly.

“I don’t think that’s true, and I think that you know it.” Harry told her, using her own doubts and fear against her. “I think he’d hurt you, beat you, maybe even kill you if you disobeyed him. Therefore I don’t believe that you can do anything to me, my Lady.”

Asha Greyjoy glared at him hatefully, her hands mottled where she was clenching the bars to his cell so tightly, and Harry smiled back pleasantly, infuriating her further, but he’d hit the nail on the head, she couldn’t do anything to him and they both knew it.

“Was there anything else that you wanted from me today, my Lady?” He asked her with a small smirk.

Asha shook the cell door again, before releasing it and just stormed off without another word and Harry snorted and went back to his own thoughts, closing his eyes and slipping back into his own magic, almost like a form of meditation, allowing it to soothe and entertain him. He was so fucking bored here.
He wanted his father and grandfather to hurry the hell up, he didn’t even want to think about how much learning he’d already missed out on. He wasn’t truly being mistreated, he was fed and watered at least, if disgusting fish stew and murky water once a day counted, and he hadn’t been tortured, or so much as struck since he’d arrived, though the Greyjoy children did throw things at him from time to time, but if his family didn’t come soon then he’d either get sick from the cold and the damp of this miserable place, or he’d die of boredom. He didn’t much fancy either of those options.

He sighed to himself and focused on trying to warm himself up with his magic, it was one of the spells he was using to lessen the chance of accidental magic, yet also being practical to keep him warm and healthy. It also helped that it wasn’t a ‘visible’ spell, so no one knew that he was casting anything.

With a wash of warm air, Harry happily sunk into his own skin with a relieved sigh. It might have taken him a while to finally manage it, his last four attempts had all failed and had only served to exhaust him, but at least he had actually managed it this time, and as he warmed from the inside out, that was all that mattered to him. This sort of damp cold, that he was unaccustomed to in his six year old body, and being a southerner too, could easily make him sick, or even kill him with the substandard level of medical care in this world. He needed to take care and make sure that he didn’t get sick or injured, at least until he was older and he was more confident that his magic could handle anything that was thrown at him.

As it was it took him half a day, and several attempts, to force a warming charm at the moment, he would not be able to work a healing spell, or at least not in time for it to save him from certain side-effects, such as scarring or weakened bones, or worse, misaligned bones or even paralysis. It would be near enough a death sentence in this world and with such an emphasis placed on physical strength, it might even affect his birthright of being king. He could not allow that to happen, Cersei would seize any opportunity, and chink in his armour, to see Joffrey on the throne in his place and any sort of physical weakness would play right into her hands.

Fuck, he really hoped his father hurried up. He was going out of his damn mind with boredom. He almost wished that Euron would come back to speak to him…almost.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Ned watched Robert closely in the following weeks, watching the madness take him over, as they were forced to wait, forced to endure weeks with no news on Harian or his condition. They didn’t even know which of the seven great islands the young prince was being held on, if he was on any of them at all and not further out to sea on a minor island. They didn’t even know if he was still alive, though no one dared voice such an observation in front of Robert, who wasn’t eating or sleeping and wasn’t taking care of himself in his grief and rage. All he could think about was his captive son.

It was the longest the king had been sober since taking the Iron Throne. It was the longest he’d gone without taking a woman. The only thing he cared about was Harian and getting him back as soon as he possibly could before destroying the Greyjoys and the Ironborn.

The Iron Fleet had already been destroyed off of Fair Isle by Stannis, who had lured the Greyjoys into a carefully laid trap. Their way to the Iron Islands was clear they just had to wait for the royal fleet to come and collect them, to sail them to the islands, but by far the best news came when Gerion Lannister came charging over on horseback to deliver the news that Aeron Greyjoy had been taken captive after washing up near Lannisport and being taken to Lannisport in chains by local fishermen. He was now in the dungeons of Casterly Rock.

‘Get all the information you can about Harian from him!’ Robert had bellowed, his voice reaching the common soldiery several metres away.

‘Your Grace, it has already been done.’ Gerion insisted. ‘Harian is safe and well, in a cell on Pyke. Aeron insists that he is being fed and cared for. Balon Greyjoy hopes to exchange him for a crown. He believes that you will give the Iron Islands independence in exchange for Harian back.’

‘Then he’s a fool!’ Robert had roared. ‘We sail for Pyke as soon as the ships get here and we will take Harian back.’

That had been a week ago, and after the battle at Fair Isle, where Stannis had destroyed most of the Iron Fleet and sent the scant survivors scurrying back to the Iron Islands, they were finally going to see some battle themselves, as they took to the ships docked in Lannisport and sailed for Pyke.

Ned was on the ship with both Robert and Tywin Lannister. Stannis was on the royal flagship, Fury, and he was going to subdue Great Wyk, as planned. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy, was leading another group of ships to take Old Wyk, and Lord Paxter Redwyne was heading the Redwyne fleet on his own flagship, the Arbor Queen, to take Orkmont.

They had siege engines at the ready to take the castle of Pyke, but first, they had to subdue the rest of the island.

Thousands of men had answered the call to arms, in defence of Prince Harian, and to aid King Robert. Northmen, Southrons, Westermen, Reachmen, Valemen, they had all marched with them to put down the Greyjoy Rebellion, to rescue the captive Prince Harian.

They were set upon the moment they landed on Pyke four days later, and they disembarked the ships to hails of arrows and axes. Ned’s direwolf shield was already peppered with iron tipped arrows and he grit his teeth and swung his longsword. He did not unsheathe the Valyrian steel greatsword, Ice, which was strapped to his back and that he found too unwieldy in close-combat battles.

He kept Robert to his left and kept an eye on his friend, and king, even though he had six members of the Kingsguard surrounding him. Or rather to his back, Robert would never have allowed them to block his front while he was fighting…nor would he ever stand behind any man and allow them to fight for him.

The battle was loud, the fighting fierce as Ned fought to push the Ironborn back. His body ached, but he didn’t stop as the battle pulled him in every direction, as he swung his sword, thrust it into bodies, dropping them where they’d stood. He kept the bulk of his body behind his shield, which was unwieldy now, studded heavily with arrows that would have otherwise sunk into his flesh and perhaps would have already seen him to the Stranger. It was heavy and useless as an actual shield, but it kept him from being hit by stray arrows that were still flying from the walls of Pyke, so Ned kept it in hand.

The fighting started to slow, and it took several moments before he found another opponent to engage with after he’d dropped his last. He was able to stop and gather his bearings, to take a breath and look around. The fighting was now slowed to just a few pockets of Ironborn, but there was little resistance left, and those fighters remaining were being dealt with, so Ned went looking for familiar faces.

The end of that first day on Pyke couldn’t have come soon enough. He’d lost Robert along the way, and he couldn’t see any white cloaks either, he recognised very few of the men around him, but he knew all of their banners and sigils. Ned was exhausted. He was dirty, sweaty and stinking. His hands and arms were slick with blood and other foul things and every step on the rock underfoot was treacherous as his feet kept sliding from under him.

“Ned, there you are.” Robert’s voice bellowed out from his right, and Ned was relieved to hear his friend’s voice, hale and healthy.

“Robert.” He sighed, making his way over carefully on the slippery rock and moving to grip the offered arm in brotherly affection. “It is good to see you unharmed.”

“You too. Botley castle has been razed to the ground, and Lordsport is taken as well. I’ve already got the siege engines heading to the castle of Pyke. I want those damned walls destroyed by morning.” He insisted. “I will not give them more time to hurt or kill Harian, we need to break him free as soon as possible.”

Ned nodded. “I agree. The sooner we have him safe, the more control we’ll have over the Greyjoys.”

“They won’t get away with this, Ned. This is it, every Greyjoy will be put to the sword.”

“Balon Greyjoy has young children.” Ned tried.

“So Harian isn’t a child?” Robert demanded of him furiously. “They started this, Ned. They took my boy first!”

“Harian might be perfectly safe and well inside the castle. Whatever decision Balon Greyjoy made in rising up in rebellion, his children are innocent of it.”

“I don’t care!” Robert roared. “They took my boy from me and I will answer that with blood!”

Ned said nothing, he just sighed. There was no use in arguing with Robert when he was in this sort of mood. Instead, the subject was dropped and they saw to the preparations of building what camp they could on such bare, rocky ground. Ned went around and made sure that the wounded were being seen to and that those too injured were given a mercy death with a sharp sword before he went and checked that the siege engines were being put together as quickly as possible. It was the latter that Robert was most curious and anxious about and Ned found him there, hovering over the construction work, watching and bellowing, but as the night rapidly approached, visibility was compromised and the engineers were given leave to stop building, so that they might rest a little, to continue at first light the next morning.

Ned went to the tent that had been erected for him and he took off what armour was uncomfortable, but he slept in his boiled leather with his sword close by and a dagger under his pillow, just in case. He was close to the royal pavilion, though he already knew that Robert wouldn’t sleep tonight, not so close to his imprisoned son. Not while there were thoughts that the Greyjoys would execute Harian out of hand in retaliation for storming Pyke running through his mind.

Ned hoped that Balon Greyjoy was clever enough to realise that he and his Ironborn had already lost and that the only way for any of them to get out of this situation alive, including his young children, was by handing over a perfectly healthy, unharmed Prince Harian.

Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion had failed. It had failed the moment they had taken Harian Baratheon from that ship because it had woken a demon in Robert. A demon not seen since the Battle of the Trident. Robert would do anything to get Harian back safely, even if it meant forfeiting his own life, Ned could see that clearly enough in those determined blue eyes. Robert loved his son enough that he didn’t care about any injuries or threats to himself, only about getting his son back safely.

Ned could understand those feelings. He felt the same way about his own children and if they had been in Prince Harian’s place he wouldn’t have slept tonight either. Thinking of his children brought his mind to Catelyn, who would have birthed their third child by now, and the North was too far away to receive news while he was constantly on the march. He hoped a raven had been sent to King’s Landing, or to Casterly Rock, and that a message was awaiting him on his return. He sent a fervent prayer to the old gods, to watch over his family, to lend strength to his wife, and to give health to his newly born babe.

He sighed and tried to settle himself down enough to sleep for a little while. He needed to be ready for tomorrow. The siege could take a few more days at least, in which anything could happen. They were focusing on the oldest wall around Pyke castle that was most in disrepair, but even then any breach in the wall could be defended by the Ironborn and delay their rescue of the young prince. Ned hoped that the southern wall, and the watchtower attached to it, fell quickly because Robert was only going to get more evil tempered the longer it took to break down the walls and complete the siege.

Ned prayed to the old gods that Prince Harian was safe and well in the castle, as Gerion Lannister had told them that Aeron Greyjoy had insisted, babbling that the young prince was being well looked after by his brother, and that he hadn’t merely told them what they wanted to hear to safeguard his own skin for a little while longer. The crown prince was just a six year old boy, after all, he needed proper care, and Ned doubted that he was getting that on Pyke, under the care of the Greyjoys. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep. He needed to be ready at first light, and he already knew that sleep would be a long time in coming.

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The massive booms, the shouts, the screams. Harry remembered them all well from the final battle in his old life. He knew that Pyke was being besieged, it meant that his father had come for him at last and he would soon be out of this horrid, damp, smelly little prison cell. Of course, he wasn’t going to wait for rescue like a damsel in distress, this was a rare chance for him to impress his father with martial skill while he was still so young. Robert would enjoy it, and he would be very proud, Harry was sure, which made him more determined to do it. It would help to create a deeper bond between them if Robert thought that Harry was brave and fierce like he was.

Harry inhaled as much as he could through his blocked nose, and he tried to see out of his cell as far as he could. He suspected that everyone who was able had run to protect the besieged walls, which had left him without a guard for the first time since he’d been brought to the Iron Islands, but he couldn’t really be a hundred per cent sure of that.

He couldn’t see anyone, though, and he couldn’t really hear anything over what must be half a dozen siege engines hard at work destroying stone, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a guard somewhere, perhaps just out of sight, or even on the door to the Guest Keep that he was locked in.

Harry took his moment and he easily, carefully, squeezed himself through the bars of the door that he’d already known that he could slip through, and he crept down the corridor. He was not going to wait to be handed over to his family as a hostage. Nor was he going to wait for execution if Balon Greyjoy decided that he wanted to take a pre-emptive revenge on Robert Baratheon by killing him first. He hadn’t survived this far to be taken out by a Greyjoy, or a pathetic excuse for a rebellion.

He stuck close to the wall, long forgotten muscle memory making him keep low, hug the wall, and stick to the shadows…though could it be considered muscle memory if it was just his memory that remembered the way his body should move to keep himself as hidden as possible and not his actual body remembering the movement? He told himself that it didn’t matter, not right now. He’d mentally debate that with himself later when he had the time.

He had been right at least. There was a guard further down the corridor, watching the door to the so-called Bloody Keep. The man was jumping with every ground-trembling boom, which seemed that much louder up here, but he was distracted, he was on edge, and he didn’t realise that Harry was creeping up behind him. Realistically he would have expected him to still be locked in his cell, and not wandering the corridors. Harry was grateful for that, of course.

Harry tiptoed the last few feet towards the guard, hunching down to avoid catching his eye, and he went carefully for the finger axe that the man had hanging from his belt on a leather loop. Every Ironborn had a finger dancing axe on his, or her, person, even children as young as ten. Harry assumed it was a cultural thing, a status symbol of sorts. To him, it was stupid to risk losing fingers, or even a hand, for a mere game, but he was glad of it now as he carefully eased the axe out of the belt loop it was hanging from and into his own hands.

The next part of his plan was being able to get out of the door that the man was supposed to be guarding. Harry tested the weight of the axe, and he was thankful that it wasn’t too heavy when he realised that the only way to get out of the Bloody Keep was to kill this man standing in his way. He was about to make the Bloody Keep that little bit bloodier it seemed.

Harry inhaled a deep, silent breath through his mouth, not trusting that he wouldn’t sniffle through his blocked nose, calming himself and preparing himself for what he was about to do, and with one quick, outward swing, putting the weight of his entire body behind the axe, he aimed right at the back of the guard’s knee.

Harry almost went tumbling to the floor from the force of his swing, but even then, he wasn’t strong enough, he didn’t have enough power or strength to completely sever a grown man’s leg. It did a lot of fucking damage though, and though it didn’t sever the leg, it did reach the bone and the guard crumpled to the floor like a puppet with cut strings, with a surprised, pained yell that turned into screams when the excruciating pain eventually registered.

Desperate and now in danger of being overpowered, disarmed, and probably killed, even by an injured man, Harry quickly hefted the axe again, while the man was collapsed on the floor, clutching at his ruined leg, and Harry let swing at his neck, right where he knew the main vein and artery were throbbing with blood.

It was messy and exhausting, he was gasping for breath just from two swings, but then he was sick now, he had a cold from his damp, draughty cell. He was not as prepared for this as he had believed of himself. Mentally, he was completely fine, he’d killed numerous times before in his previous life, during the war, so it wasn’t that which was bothering him. It was the physical exertion. The muscles of his tiny six year old body just weren’t used to such activity and he was using muscles that he hadn’t needed to use yet in his young life, he already knew from past experience that he was going to be very sore later.

He stepped over the body, his stride not wide enough to avoid the large puddle of blood forming around it, but he didn’t let it bother him as he eased the door open, the blooded axe held ready for another swing, even as he hoped that there wasn’t another guard outside the door. He was actually in luck for once, and there was no one on the stone walkway that connected the Bloody Keep to the Great Keep.

Harry kept low, away from the crenels in the walkway just in case, slipping towards the Great Keep on silent feet that were leaving bloody boot prints behind him. He hefted the axe up again when he reached the end of the walkway, taking a quick look behind him to make sure that he wasn’t being followed by anyone who might have still been in the Bloody Keep, before turning back and readying himself, clenching his hand around the rough haft of the finger axe.

He took another deep breath, his throat sore and dry, and he knocked on the door to the Great Keep as hard as he could to be heard over the booms, screams, shouts and other noises that couldn’t even be identified, but were as equally loud and rumbling.

Harry’s luck didn’t hold, and the door was yanked open by a rugged looking Ironborn man. Of course, he hadn’t expected anyone as short as Harry, he’d probably been expecting his comrade from the Bloody Keep. That was what gave Harry the edge he needed, as he put his body weight behind the swing and aimed right for the groin using the momentum of his own body to get more power behind the axe.

The blood sprayed over his face, and shocked and horrified, Harry spat out a mouthful onto the floor. He should have seen that coming. He wiped his face with his ripped, dirty sleeve and looked at the man he had downed. He wouldn’t last much longer, the pain and shock would likely kill him, but just to be sure Harry leapt over a flailing leg, gripped a fistful of hair and he swiped the edge of the axe over the guard’s neck, killing him.

Harry stuck to the shadows, using his smaller body to hide in places that would be overlooked as he caught his breath back, snuffling through his dripping nose, trying to suppress a harsh cough so that he didn’t give away his position, clutching the axe desperately. Perhaps he should have searched both guards for a knife? Just so he wouldn’t be completely unarmed if he lost the axe, or if he was overpowered and it was taken from him.

He heard the shouts and screams louder now, there were no more loud, ground-rumbling booms. Harry assumed that the wall had been breached and the siege engines were now unneeded. That meant that he had timed his ‘escape’ perfectly, and with a little luck he would meet up with friendly forces soon enough. Which was a good thing really as he wasn’t sure how much more his body could actually take in the way of fighting off grown men while he was weakened and ill. He really couldn’t wait to grow some more and gain the muscle mass that would actually help him in these sorts of situations. He was ageing too slowly, and he was still very small and vulnerable.

He moved again, having recovered his breath, and as he slipped down a new corridor he heard closer shouts this time…ones of his name. He heard a bellow that could only have come from Robert.

The castle had been breached. His family was coming for him. He smiled, but he knew that he wasn’t out of danger just yet, which was proven only a moment later as an Ironborn man ran into the room that Harry had been hiding in, fleeing from the royal forces. His blue eyes lit up upon seeing him. Harry could already see that he was planning on using Harry as a living shield, the both of them knowing that Robert Baratheon wouldn’t see him harmed.

Harry inhaled deeply and clenched his hand around the small finger axe, ignoring the sharp pinch of rough wood on his palm. He kept his gaze on the man in front of him, breathing evenly, ready in case the man charged at him.

“Come ‘ere, little boy.” The man tried, holding a hand out as if Harry were nothing more than a stray dog. “I’ll see you safe to your father.”

“My father is already here. Probably my uncles and grandfather too. Why would I go to you when I can just go to them?” Harry demanded, his voice made thick from his sore throat and blocked nose. “Do you take me for a fool?”

The man’s eyes hardened further, and Harry just knew that he was going to try and make a grab for him. Harry was this man’s only hope of maybe getting off this island alive, and Harry was unwilling to play his part. He was thoroughly fed up with being a hostage, it had been months, and he wanted off of this terrible group of islands as soon as humanly possible.

“Come ‘ere and I won’t hurt you none.”

“I don’t believe you.” Harry said simply, glaring at the man opposite him.

“Harian?!” He heard a man that sounded like his uncle Tygett shout out very close by. He must have been in the corridor right outside, the one that led into this room.

“You’re out of time.” Harry said softly. “My family are here for me.” Harry inhaled deeply, in preparation, keeping his eyes on the man before him. “UNCLE!” He yelled out as loudly as he could, his high, childish voice cutting through the deeper toned voices of grown men, even with how rough the cold he’d caught made him sound.

The Ironborn man opposite him leapt at him a moment after, grappling for him in a desperate attempt to get him under control to use him as a bargaining tool, but Harry was ready. He ducked under the grappling arm and swung the axe at the nearest body mass. The axe stuck in a hip and only came free when the man’s legs buckled and he fell to the floor. The axe came loose, but Harry was yanked from his feet too.

The man was screaming, and Harry scrambled back up to his feet as quickly as he possibly could and backed away a little, but the man was writhing on the floor, clutching his middle as if he might close the wound by holding it together tightly enough. Harry’s hand was still clenched numbingly tight around the handle of the axe, even as he hefted it right up, overhead. It had given him a sizable splinter as it was almost ripped from his grip, he could feel the itch in the palm of his hand.

Harry was aware of people forcing their way through the three doorways into the room, he caught his father out of the corner of his eye, gold and red that had to be his Lannister relatives, and blood splattered white that could only be the Kingsguard, but he didn’t stop as he carried through the movement and brought the axe down into the Ironborn man’s unprotected skull.

He wrenched the axe back out with a harsh twist and a good kick to the dead body. He hefted it up again and looked around him, his body stanced to fight again if need be. He blinked, made it a point to look around as if checking for enemies before he dropped the axe to the floor and he ran with his arms wide open.

“Father!” He cried out happily.

Robert Baratheon was blood splattered, covered in bits that Harry didn’t want to name, his strong, powerful, muscled body was sweat slicked, smelly, and filthy, but Harry didn’t care, after months of being locked in a small, wet cell with no access to a bath, and killing three men himself, Harry was likely the same.

Robert immediately swept him up and crushed him tight in his arms, Harry could feel the faint tremble in him and he didn’t believe for one moment that it was exertion or exhaustion.

“Are you hurt?” Robert asked him.

Harry peeled back from him, looking into worried blue eyes, and he shook his head. “No. I’m well.”

“You’re not sick, injured?”

Harry paused. “I’ve taken a chill.” He said thickly with his blocked nose and sore throat. “I don’t like these islands. I haven’t been injured, though I think the axe gave me a splinter.” He said, looking down at his hand, he could just see the slim sliver of wood sticking out of his skin. His hand, arm, and all five fingers were slicked red with blood.

“You did so well. Protecting yourself and killing that man.”

“I killed three.” Harry said, looking back up.

“Three men?”

Harry nodded. “One was guarding the Bloody Keep, one was guarding the Great Keep, and then this one.” Harry said, pointing to the man on the floor. “He tried to grab me. I think he wanted to use me as a living shield to protect himself. I wouldn’t cooperate.”

Robert grinned. “You are truly my son.” He said.

“Can I come home now?” He asked with a frown. “I don’t like it here. It’s cold and wet and I want my bed. I’ve been sleeping on the stone floor.”

Harry watched the rage seep back into those blue eyes.

“Were you fed?” Robert demanded.

Harry nodded. “I had water too, but nothing else. They wouldn’t even let me have a bath, or give me a book to read. Though, to be fair to the Greyjoys I don’t think there are any books on the Iron Islands. I managed to trick so many grown men with word play, they all wore the same confused frown, so I don’t think intellect is a valued trait here.”

His grandfather stepped forward, to his father’s shoulder and Harry smiled at him. At least until his grandfather raised a handkerchief to wipe at his face.

Harry half-heartedly fought him off. “Where did you even get a handkerchief from in your armour?!” Harry demanded as he squirmed. The handkerchief came away red with blood.

“Your Grace, Balon Greyjoy still needs to be dealt with.” A man who had been stood just to the side of them told his father.

Harry looked at him, with his long, solemn face and long brown hair, and tried to place a name to him but couldn’t. Harry snuffled and barely suppressed a body wracking cough.

“Calm down, Ned!” Robert demanded. “I have my son in my arms, safe and well for the first time in four turns! I will deal with Greyjoy later.”

“I’m glad that you came for me.” Harry said, taking his gaze away from the man, now confirmed to him as Lord Eddard Stark, his father’s foster brother.

“Of course I did. You’re my son. I love you.” Robert said.

Harry wrapped skinny arms around Robert’s neck and hugged him tighter.

“I love you too. I want to go home.”

“Tywin, take him to my tent and see to him and his needs while I finish off the Greyjoys. Do not let him out of your sight.” Robert demanded, handing Harry gently over to his grandfather.

“Grandfather.” Harry said, breathing softly, holding on tight to Tywin Lannister.

Harry was popped onto a hip so that his grandfather could walk with him, and his uncles spread out around him like a guard of honour. They were all in dirty, bloodied armour, which made being held uncomfortable, but Harry didn’t want to walk, he was tired from his strenuous exercise…that exercise being killing three men with a stolen axe.

His six year old body just wasn’t used to it and he had used muscles today that he never had before…at least not in this life. He was going to be very sore tomorrow, and perhaps for the next few days as well. Of course, it didn’t help that he was sick either, and hadn’t been fed properly or had any real rest or sleep since he’d arrived on the Iron Islands.

He was carried out of the castle, through the massive breach in the ruined walls, and through the lines of siege engines. There was a camp further back, out of reach of the walls, and Harry was carried into the royal pavilion, right in the middle of it all.

“Tygett, get Harian something to eat.” Tywin ordered as he sat himself in a chair and held Harry on his lap.

“I’m almost seven now, Grandfather.” He complained.

“I know, but I have missed you.” Tywin said. “Allow me this moment with you, after thinking the worst for these last few turns.”

Harry nodded. “Can you take your breastplate off at least, Grandfather? It’s not very comfortable to rest against and I’m already sore.”

Tywin just looked at the squire all but hiding in the corner of the tent and he stood back up. Harry was placed on the floor for a moment, but Tywin kept a hand on his shoulder as the squire quickly fumbled the buckles on the blooded, slicked breastplate to remove it.

“We will get you something to eat now, then a bath.” Tywin told him conversationally. “Then you can get into bed and rest for a while, especially as you have taken a chill.”

“It’ll be wonderful to get into an actual bed, though I think it might take some getting used to again after spending so long on a stone floor.” Harry admitted, even as he slipped away from his grandfather and went to greet his three great-uncles, Kevan, Tygett, and Gerion. All three of them had come to battle for him and Harry felt even closer to them because of it.

“I can’t believe they kept you in an actual cell.” Tygett spat, glaring out through the tent wall, before shaking off his thoughts and going back to filling a plate for him, using a dagger to carve slices from a large ham.

“It was the worst cell too, the deepest, darkest, and dampest. The floor was always wet and it was so cold at night.”

“Did they not even give you a blanket?” Kevan asked, even as he reached out with a bowl of water and a cloth to wash his hands and face so that he could eat.

Harry shook his head. “No. I had nothing. I thought I’d maybe get really sick, but all I got was a chill.” That was only due to his magic as well, or so he believed. He might have come away with pneumonia or pleurisy, both of which could have been severe, or even fatal, without modern medicine to help fight it off, if he hadn’t had his warming charms and his magic to help keep him warm and his immune system bolstered.

Once his hands and face were clean he went back to his grandfather, now free of all of his armour, and he was once again cuddled on a lap and to a chest. It was much more comfortable now too. His grandfather had a pin brooch held in his hand, the pin opened and held between his fingers and Harry held out his hand, knowing what it was for, and he watched as the sizeable splinter was eased out of his palm with just a few deft flicks of the pin. There were three other, smaller splinters too, which could be seen now because his hand had been cleaned of blood and those were also easily removed, one after the other.

A plate was nudged towards him and he turned and picked at the food. It had been so long since he’d had something other than a bland, watery fish stew and stale, black bread. He picked up a slice of tender meat and chewed on it happily. He didn’t care that it was cold, it was just nice to eat something that wasn’t fish.

He ate the sweet fruit, the fresh, soft bread, the succulent meat, everything that had been placed before him, and he was so happy.

“My Lord, the bath has been prepared.” A servant said, his head bowed respectfully.

“Are you done with your meal, Harian?” Tywin asked him.

Harry nodded. “Yes, Grandfather. I want to be warm and clean now.”

Tywin nodded and stood, carrying him to another room of the royal pavilion tent and there was a steaming bath waiting for him.

“Where’s Balon?” Harry asked curiously, as he was helped from his filthy, ragged clothes. “Is he here?”

“He is. He was fighting when last I saw him.” Tywin told him.

“I saw him once the fighting was over.” Gerion insisted when it seemed like Harry would panic. “He is tired, but unharmed. He fought well. He truly has earned his knighthood now.”

Harry blew out a relieved breath that his friend was alright and then, once naked and his grubby skin could be seen, along with his bruises and his too skinny ribs, he moved to climb into the wooden tub.

Tywin Lannister stopped him by holding his ribcage gently between both hands, there was fury in those gold flecked, green eyes.

“You have been injured.” He said harshly.

“I think these came from sleeping on the floor, Grandfather. No one has struck me.” Harry insisted.

“You are sure?” Tywin asked him, looking at him critically. “You are with us now, you are safe and no one can hurt you.”

“No one struck me, Grandfather. I was teased and taunted, made to sleep on the floor in a wet cell, but the worst part of it was the boredom. No one hit me, not even the guards, or the Greyjoy children, though they were horrible to me and threw things at me. I was just bored and uncomfortable and if I ever have to have fish stew again I might vomit.” He declared.

Tywin nodded and lifted him up gently and settled him in the warm water. Harry just sunk bonelessly into the water, letting it heat him from the horrible chill he hadn’t been able to shift for weeks. The hot water made him feel hollow inside, as if all of his organs had been removed, but he ached. He ached so badly it was all he could do to keep the tears at bay. He covered his mouth and let out a harsh, wracking cough that made his uncles and grandfather share worried looks with one another.

Harry allowed the servant to wash him, revealing clean, pink skin, mottled with some bruises that were a dark blackish-purple in the places where he’d slept on the floor. His hair was cleaned and cut back to the length he liked it and he was starting to feel like himself again.

He didn’t linger in the water, it was too dirty, instead, he was helped out and wrapped in a clean length of linen and rubbed gently by the servant to dry him off. He felt so much better now that he was clean and free of blood, and warmed up too.

The way his ribs were popping out was a worry though. He hadn’t needed to remove his clothes since arriving on the Iron Islands, so he hadn’t noticed how bad they’d gotten. They hadn’t looked like that since his Dursley days in his previous life, looking like he had lost all the flesh from his body leaving behind just skin and bones, and he saw the worried looks he was getting from his Lannister relatives, even as Tywin ran gentle hands over his bones, a look of barely concealed rage within those gold-flecked green eyes.

Gerion came back into the bathing section of the tent and he was holding a folded sleeping tunic. It was one of his father’s if the size of it was an indication.

“I cannot believe that not one person thought to bring any of Harian’s clothing.” He said, shaking his head as he unfolded the sleeping tunic and helped Harry to get into it. He shook his head again as he saw how big it was and how drowned Harry looked swimming in his father’s tunic.

“It will have to do for now.” His grandfather said, picking him up again and carrying him back into the sitting area of the tent and then through another doorway and into the bedroom.

The bed itself was massive, and very impressive, but it was so soft and as Harry was placed onto it and covered over by the thick duvet, he sunk a good inch into the groove his father’s body had made.

He wriggled about and settled on his back. He didn’t really want to sleep, he was just glad to be back with his family. The soft feather mattress felt amazing on his sore body though.

Harry coughed again, harsh and continuous, covering his mouth with a small hand, even as he tried to catch his breath. He really didn’t like being sick.

He managed to stop his coughing, which seemed worse when he was on his back, and he settled again, just staring at his family, who were watching him in return.

“Are you not tired?” His grandfather queried as he looked at Harry lying awake.

“It is daytime, Grandfather.” Harry pointed out.

“No one would say a word if you wanted to rest for a few hours.”

“I’m not a baby.” Harry said.

Tywin sighed and reached out to grasp his hand.

“You have been through a horrible ordeal, Harian. You haven’t had any decent sleep or rest in four turns and you have taken a chill. It is not babyish to take a rest during the day, especially not if you are ill, most grown men would do the same. The medical tent is currently filled with grown men sleeping.”

Harry frowned. Those men probably weren’t sleeping at all, more likely they were knocked out and drugged with the milk of the poppy and had little choice in sleeping or not. Many of them probably didn’t know where they were or what day it was.

He sighed and settled himself more firmly on the mattress.

“I just don’t want to wake up and find that I don’t know where I am.” He admitted softly.

“We are not going to leave you.” Tygett swore to him. “You will not be out of our sights now, not until you are a man grown…perhaps not even then.” He added.

Harry smiled at that. “I missed you all too.”

They were all distracted from the mush that none of them really indulged in by the bellow of Robert Baratheon as he came storming into his tent. He seemed to be happy rather than angry, but he was a loud man no matter his mood.

“Where is my son?” He demanded, before reaching the bedroom and crashing in with the force of a tornado. “Harian, how are you?”

“Better now that I am clean.” Harry answered, sitting back up with a smile.

Robert sat on the bed and pulled Harry to sit on his lap, cuddling him close. Harry noticed the added people in the rather small room of the tent, including all seven of the Kingsguard, even his uncle Jaime, though Harry assumed that he was here more because he’d been ordered to be here, or perhaps for the glory of battle, rather than truly wanting him back alive. His uncle Stannis had joined them along the way, he was blood splattered too, but not to the degree of the others, so Harry believed that that was because he was doing what he did best, and leading from the back, like his grandfather did, where his father always led from the front, his massive war hammer in hand. Lord Stark was also there, looking at him with piercing, grey eyes and his solemn face, as if everyone he’d ever known or loved had died before his very eyes. Then Harry understood what had happened in his past, and exactly how he’d become the lord of Winterfell when he’d been a second son.

“Have you eaten?” Robert asked him.

Harry nodded. “I have eaten and bathed. I am well.” He insisted.

“Any injuries?” Robert persisted.

“Just bruises.” Harry answered. “I wasn’t struck or in any way injured.”

“Good.” Robert said darkly. “I saw the cell they kept you in. I saw the bodies of the men you killed to escape too. Good lad.”

“Who let you out of your cell, my Prince? It was still locked when we found it.” Lord Stark asked him.

“I walked through the bars, Lord Stark. They were meant for grown men, I knew I would fit, I just needed a chance to get through them without being caught. They kept a guard on me at all times, except for today, so that is when I made my escape.”

Robert threw his head back and laughed and Harry grinned tiredly. Maybe having a nap wasn’t going to be such a bad thing, now that he was warm and full and safe, he was finding himself getting sleepy and his body was screaming at him, he just wanted to lay back on the feather mattress and rest.

“We will pack up the ships and you will be back safe in the capital soon.” His father told him.

“King’s Landing?” Harry asked. “Not Casterly Rock?”

“I am not letting you out of my sight again.” His father told him darkly.

“Is grandfather coming too? My lessons.”

Robert laughed. “You are a strange boy. Most boys your age would be trying to get out of their lessons, not insisting that their teacher comes with them.”

“I like my lessons.” Harry said simply.

“Tywin can come with you, if he pleases.” Robert allowed.

“I wish to carry on his lessons.” Tywin spoke. “He is a diligent student, and there is yet more that I can teach him.”

“I want to know everything.” Harry insisted.

“Then perhaps you should look into becoming a Maester.” His uncle, Jaime, piped up.

Harry looked at him and blinked. “I would, but Maesters can’t become kings. What else am I learning for other than to be a king?”

Before Jaime could answer, Harry coughed harshly for good measure, clearing the mucus from his throat into a handkerchief that was hastily handed to him by Kevan when he coughed so hard that he gagged. The men around him all looked rather alarmed and worried, as if they believed a mere chill would kill him.

“Come, you need your rest.” Tywin insisted as they all watched and listened to him labouring to breathe.

Harry nodded his agreement to needing rest and he yawned, showing off all his little white teeth and his red raw throat. He turned and snuggled into his father more securely, and those huge arms wrapped him up tighter, holding him close to a burning chest. He was nice and warm and it was making his pounding head and tight chest feel better.

He was aware of the quiet conversation going on over his head, and he was barely aware of when he was laid down on the feather mattress and covered over. He made a soft noise and rolled to his side, one hand coming out to grip at the blanket that had been laid over him.

That was the last he knew for several hours, before he woke up on a ship that was already on the water, his uncle Gerion was sat at his bedside with Ser Arys stood on guard within the room, to immediately tell him that he was still safe and surrounded by his family, on a ship heading for King’s Landing.

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Harry was allowed to walk through the Mud Gates and up to the Red Keep by himself, but he was holding his father’s hand throughout. His father was being true to his word and did not want him out of his sight and he had spent the entire three and a half week long ship journey with Harry very close by. Harry had not really been feeling all that energetic either, given his illness, and he was happy enough to just sit still and rest a while.

They were finally back in the capital and Harry was grateful. He’d found that though he didn’t get officially seasick, he really did not like being aboard a ship because he couldn’t sleep and when he had a blocked nose and a hoarse, mucus cough, sleep had eluded him even more than usual and he was exhausted, his eyes ringed in red, with black bags underneath. His family were very concerned for him and kept him within sight at all times.

He looked over his shoulder and smiled at Balon, his sworn shield, who had been brought to Harry upon his request as soon as he had woken on the ship. His friend had been worried about him and was relieved to see him, as Harry was relieved to see him again also. Balon had thankfully not been injured during the siege, nor the ensuing battle upon Pyke.

Being victorious in the rebellion, the common folk cheered and clapped as they walked past, many of them shouting out how glad they were that he, Harry, was back and unharmed. The news had clearly spread that he had been abducted and imprisoned on Pyke and perhaps the rumours going around were that he had even been injured or killed. Rumours which would now be laid to rest as untrue.

The greatest thing, however, was the look on his mother’s face when she first saw him. A face that made her look as though she had tasted horse shit. He savoured it as a moment later it was gone, forced away by a fake smile and a look of false relief.

“Harian, you are safe and well.” She said, almost blandly, as if merely declaring the weather.

Harry nodded his head. “Perfectly hale and healthy, Mother.” He said with a smile that was mostly just a challenging smirk. 

“The gods answer our prayers.” She said, still in that same empty tone.

“Is my brother well?” He asked.

“He is.” She told him.

Harry nodded and turned to his father. “May I go and rest?” He asked. “I didn’t like being on a ship and I’m still sore. I want to lay down for a while.”

“Of course, rest well.” Robert told him, letting go of his hand.

Harry went to Balon and took his hand instead and he pulled him from the royal solar and to his rooms.

“Are you really tired?” Balon asked him.

“A little.” Harry said. “Mostly I just wanted to be away from them and all their hovering. It’s uncomfortable to have eyes on me constantly. I know why they’re so fretful, of course, but I truly am alright and my chill has lessened, so there’s no need to constantly be around me. Even my cough is easing now.”

Balon chuckled. “Come, do you want to practice your form with me?”

Harry lit up and he nodded. “Yes. I might get tired more easily, but I want to get back to normal now and I can only do that if I am treated normally.”

Harry reached his bedchamber and opened the door. His sheets were fresh and the window was open, letting in a nice breeze, but he went and shut it immediately. He hadn’t yet recovered from being in a cold, draughty cell and he currently preferred to be overly warm than to feel the cold or the wind.

“Do you want my cloak?” Balon asked, already reaching to take it off.

Harry shook his head. “No. I want normalcy, remember?” He teased. “I’ve had enough of being wrapped up and held on someone’s lap all the time, or on their hip. I’m almost seven years old!”

Balon chuckled. “Alright. Do you at least want your fire stoked higher?”

Harry considered it and then nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Balon.”

Balon moved over to throw more wood onto the fire and he prodded it with the poker while Harry set his room back to how he liked it. The servants meant well, and they believed that they were cleaning up after him, but he liked his room a certain way and he got frustrated when they moved his things around, particularly his furniture.

“Balon, can you move my chair back how I like it, please? The servants keep moving it!”

Balon, used to this by now, merely chuckled and dragged the chair back over to the window, where Harry loved reading in the natural sunlight that came through his window. He didn’t want his chair by his bedside, where it was all dark.

“You would have thought that they would have learnt by now.” Balon insisted, as he made sure that the chair was facing into the room, but at an angle so that the light from the window would fall over the arm of the chair and onto whatever book Harry wanted to read.

“I’m sure they’re doing it on purpose, likely on my mother’s instructions.” Harry sighed. “I hope I get to go back to the Rock soon.”

“Let things calm down from this first, Harry.” Balon soothed him. “Then perhaps broach the issue with your father.”

Harry nodded and he found his wooden sword on a shelf, before walking over to Balon so that he could practice his form.

The older boy, now fifteen and just three turns from becoming a man grown, hunched down and took Harry’s hands into his own before walking him through the basic forms that he would need to know for his swordsmanship.

Harry was patient, diligent in his learning, and a very quick study, but he did still get tired easily, as he knew that he would, and very soon Balon was tucking him into his bed for a nap after he got exhausted by a coughing fit.

Balon waited until his little prince was asleep before he picked up the little wooden sword and put it back in its place before taking out his own, live steel, sword.

He made sure to be quiet as he practised his own form, ducking and weaving invisible opponents as he stayed to guard Harian as he slept.

Now that he was back in the capital he would send a raven to his father and his older brother, Donnel, to see how they were and if perhaps they might like to come and visit him at King’s Landing. He hadn’t seen them in some years now, and there would be time now, he knew. The king would not want Harian away from him for a while, not after this.

His mind made up, he would go and send a raven to Stonehelm during the evening meal, while his little ward was well protected and wouldn’t need him. He would love to introduce Harian to his family and show them just how extraordinary he was in person, so that they could see that he wasn’t exaggerating in his letters. Everyone in the whole wide world, from Dorne to the Wall, from Pentos to darkest Asshai, deserved to know Harian Baratheon, the first of his name.

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Chapter Text

Harry settled back into life at King’s Landing. He didn’t prefer it, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t enjoying himself, or the company of his father. He was. He just felt the blade hanging over him at every moment that he was here, and it was incredibly off putting.

The only thing that made it even remotely better was that his grandfather had steadfastly chosen to remain in the capital with him, despite his three younger brothers heading back off to Casterly Rock once Harry had been properly settled in and had mostly recovered from his ordeal. Tywin, naturally, received a raven every other day from Lannisport and he sent just as many back, but his main priority was Harry, and his safety, and to a lesser extent, his education. Jaime and Cersei couldn’t be trusted, and they wouldn’t dare do anything to him while Tywin Lannister was here in the Red Keep, watching over Harry so very closely. Or, at least that is what both Harry and Tywin hoped.

Harry’s cold, or chill as everyone kept calling it, had vanished a few days after he’d arrived back in King’s Landing, and though he sometimes still had coughing bouts it was now just a lingering dry cough and he wasn’t gagging on mucus anymore or struggling to breathe. His lessons continued with his grandfather, the Kingsguard had taken over from Ser Benedict Broom and his uncle Tygett in his swordsmanship lessons, and Harry could play with his father all he liked.

No one had really discussed the siege of Pyke with him, of course not, they still believed him to be a six year old boy, and likely thought that the knowledge would give him nightmares or traumatise him further or something, but Harry had overheard a lot of the details just by sitting and listening when he shouldn’t have been.
Jon Arryn had eased his father’s terrible anger down and had stayed his hand from killing the Greyjoys outright, and putting an end to them as he’d done to the Targaryens. Maron had been killed during the fighting, battling on the walls of Pyke, which had left Balon Greyjoy with just his two younger children, Asha and Theon. Ned Stark had then taken the ten year old boy to foster at Winterfell, leaving just Asha behind on Pyke.

Aeron Greyjoy, who had been a captive at Casterly Rock, had been traded back to his brother for all the gold and silver that could be found on the Iron Islands, including jewellery and scrap, and more than half of their ships and all of the shipbuilding timber had been confiscated as punishment for the rebellion
Harry had heard Tywin and Kevan speaking, when he was thought to be asleep, that it had been Tywin himself who had urged Jon Arryn to keep Balon as the Lord of Pyke, who had, in turn, urged Robert to keep him in place. With no sons left to him, over half of his ships taken, no gold or silver or timber, and a defeat in battle, Balon was a broken man. He might still harbour revenge in his heart, but it was going to take him years, perhaps a decade, to build back the strength of the Iron Islands to what it had been and ships couldn’t be built overnight either, the wood alone for such an endeavour would need several years to dry and season.

Harry agreed with Tywin’s assessment, it was much better to leave Balon in place. Though Harry had hoped that they had at least killed off Euron, but from what whispers he’d heard, he hadn’t been found in the aftermath of the battle, nor anywhere on Pyke. He and Victarion had been missing since the battle of Fair Isle. Harry didn’t for one minute think that either of them were dead, likely laying low until they could return to Pyke and rebuild.

But Harry had been sat down to talk through his captivity at least. He didn’t much like that he had a rather large audience for this talk either, but he had spoken about everything he had suffered through while on Pyke and the adults had assured him and reassured him over everything, particularly Tywin and his uncles. Robert had mostly just held him on his lap and patted him from time to time and had laughed when Harry had recounted how he had gotten himself free of his cell and killed three Ironborn men.

Harry was watched closely, but he didn’t have any nightmares. He slept peacefully, and he ate with a gusto as soon as his cold had eased off. He was back to playing, learning, and causing mischief and he had suffered no lasting effects from his captivity, either physically or mentally.

Joffrey was growing and he was now walking and talking more, but Harry just stared at the little boy, mostly in disgust, at what he was becoming…a spoilt, pampered little prat. It was no wonder that their father didn’t like his younger son and would rather spend his time with him. Joffrey reminded Harry of a skinny Dudley, only worse. After all, Dudley had never been an actual prince, regardless of how much he was treated like one.

Harry tried to do what he could, but Joffrey would scream and lash out at him, even biting and clawing at him like some sort of wild animal, and their mother was always there to pluck up her perfect child and shoo Harry away like a bothersome cat. She had even tried to kick him once, but Balon had snatched him up and gave her a glare, threatening to tell Robert and Tywin.

Harry decided to give up on Joffrey after that. No one else was paying attention to the boy, not their father, certainly not their grandfather, and there was so much for Harry to learn, so much for him to read, and to do, and now that he was riding a proper horse, he was also out every other day with his chestnut red destrier, Gryffindor. He loved the horse so much, and he was always willing to learn how to ride, and how to care for the horses, from the stablemaster.

He spent a lot of time with Gryffindor and the four year old horse had gotten to know and trust him, and now Harry was able to ride him too, and play with him of course. They were forging a bond, one which would last for a lifetime, he was sure.

His seventh name day had been spent at the capital, just a bare week after he’d arrived back from his captivity on the Iron Islands, and a huge day of games had been laid on, just for him. There were mummer shows, puppet shows, archery because it was his favourite, and in the evening a massive feast that was more a gift to the nobles and their families who had come to the capital for the occasion, with gifts each more fantastic than the one before, all for him.

He’d gotten beautifully embroidered clothing, cloaks, necklaces and rings all in gold or silver with colourful gems embedded in them (the favourite colour choice was obviously green, for his eyes, and he had jewellery studded with every green gemstone available, from jade to true emeralds.) He’d gotten a new coronet, toys, daggers, a new foal, two kittens, his own hunting dog, a shield he could barely lift and a real archery bow that was much too tall for him which he adored all the same. Then there were the boxes of sweets, delicacies from all over Westeros and Essos, which had all been tested by a food taster before even being presented to him, and what had to be his favourite gift, a Valyrian steel dagger from his father in an intricately embossed, gilded sheath. Harry had tied it to his belt and had yet to take it off.

All in all his bedchamber was now overfull of gifts and the two female kittens, whom he had named Hermione and Ginny, who he had kept safe in his room. They liked to sleep on the rug in front of his fireplace, and at night they would snuggle into his neck in his bed.

Even the smallfolk had given him small tokens of their favour. Flowers for the most part, but the bakers had treated him to fruit tarts and other sweets as he took an hour of his name day to walk the streets of King’s Landing with Ser Barristan and Balon to greet them and speak to them. He made sure that the remnants of the feast, all the dishes untouched and the food not eaten, went to the smallfolk.

After that he had settled back into his old routine, only it had added components now, as he went to the kennel master to see his new hunting dog, Fluffy, went to the stables to see Gryffindor and his new little foal, a palfrey filly, whom he was thinking of naming Ravenclaw, because of her bronze coloured coat. She was still too little to ride and Harry was happy to just let her be a foal for the time being, he had Gryffindor still to ride and he was getting to be boisterous enough. Harry had refused to have him gelded, and instead wanted to keep him a stallion destrier. He’d been warned that it would make him harder to handle and more aggressive, but Harry had still refused. He had a deep bond with Gryffindor and though he was cautious, as all men should be around an animal no matter how well trained, he did not fear Gryffindor.

The moon turns passed so quickly, Harry was busy from the moment he woke up until he fell asleep, sometimes with Balon in bed with him, sometimes not. He kept up correspondence with Oberyn Martell, and Willas Tyrell, who wanted him to visit him at Highgarden so that he could teach Harry how to go hawking properly. He was a much better rider now that he had received proper instruction, and the Kingsguard knights, overseen by the master-at-arms of the Red Keep, Ser Aron Santagar, had well and truly gotten him into his swordsmanship. They all complimented him and said he was coming on to be a very fine little warrior.

A tourney had been held at Lannisport to celebrate the end of the Greyjoy rebellion a turn after it had ended, and Harry had enjoyed watching that sat next to his father, and being at his most favourite place in Westeros. He remembered the archery, the axe throwing and the melee. The joust had come down to a Stark bannerman, Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, who was actually knighted, which was rare for Northmen, and Jaime Lannister. Harry had laughed with his father, and cheered, when Mormont was given the win after breaking nine lances against Jaime with no definitive victor. The man had crowned Lord Leyton Hightower’s daughter, Lynesse, as his queen of love and beauty, and he had asked her father for her hand. They had married very quickly afterwards, while still in Lannisport.

Of course, Cersei was adamant that Robert had only given Mormont the win to spite her, as she argued with him the next morning. Harry had been hurried away from that brewing fight by his grandfather.

He had been dragged back to the capital after the all too brief visit to Casterly Rock. He had tried to beg his father to allow him to remain, but Robert hadn’t wanted to leave him behind. It was both touching and frustrating.

In the last moon of the year Harry became aware of his mother’s pregnancy purely because he saw her belly start to swell. No one had seen fit to inform him, but then it didn’t really concern him, he was only seven years old though he was growing well and strong. He still wasn’t the tallest of boys, but he was more thick-set and sturdy. He could plant himself like a tree and use it to his advantage. Ser Barristan and Ser Mandon were teaching him to do exactly that, and how to do it properly too, so that no one would be able to topple him.

“Here you are.”

Harry looked up and smiled at Balon. He was currently seeking refuge in the Red Keep library, one of his most favourite places besides the godswood.

“Of course you would be in the library, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

Harry laughed, and marked his book, placing it aside.

“I thought you knew me better than that.” He teased.

Balon chuckled. “You have so many favourite things now in the capital, I’m never sure where you’ll be.”

“I wanted a bit of quiet. How was your training?”

Balon grinned then. “Hard, but Ser Barristan is teaching me much. I am honoured to have the chance to be taught by such a legendary man. Where is Maester Mellciter?”

Balon looked around, as if he could spot the annoying man whose job included watching over the Red Keep library. Harry just shrugged.

“He left the library as soon as I entered.” Harry said. “He tries to avoid me as much as he can after he failed me in regards to my early education. Grandfather interrogated him for over an hour on why he wasn’t teaching me properly. Now he flinches and runs off as quickly as he can when he sees me. I am grateful.”

“You shouldn’t have been left here without a guard.” Balon chastised.

“He is no proper guard and I am perfectly safe within the Red Keep, Balon.”

“But you’re not.” Balon said softly.

Harry knew immediately what Balon was alluding to. Cersei and Jaime.

“I am as safe here as I can be, Balon. They can’t openly show their hand by hurting me directly, and the Red Keep is one of the safest places. The Kingsguard are patrolling. The gold cloaks are patrolling. But more so, my grandfather is here, keeping a close eye on them both. They can’t do anything to me in front of him, or even while he’s so close.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Harian. Please take more care with yourself.”

Harry sighed. This was why he hated being back in the capital.

“I came to collect you for the evening meal. Lord Tywin is asking for you.”

Harry nodded his understanding and went to Balon, allowing his friend to escort him out of the library in the middle bailey. Balon took him to the small council chambers, and Harry smiled to see Tywin seated there, a small meal set out on the table, and a stack of new books. Harry loved when they delved into something new and recently he had been learning languages. He’d started off with High Valyrian when he had turned six, and now that he was almost eight, he was learning the bastard Valyrian of the Free Cities of Essos…for trading purposes, his grandfather insisted, but Harry was sure it was most probably because he was like a sponge for information. He soaked up anything that he was taught and everything that was put in front of him and Tywin just loved teaching him everything he knew, passing that information on. Languages were rather time consuming to learn as well, so Harry didn’t need to be kept continuously entertained with new things to do, which was a bonus to the adults in his life.

“Harian, are you quite well?”

“Yes, Grandfather.” He said happily, taking his seat. “I was in the library.”

That almost smile came out. “Of course you were.”

Harry started eating the small meal of duck breasts in plum sauce, his plate filled with vegetables at his own request. There was a plate of a selection of small cakes waiting for him too, for after he’d finished his main meal.

“I thought that we would go over some of your High Valyrian today.”

Harry looked up excitedly. “Can we?”

“Of course. Eat your meal first. Remember that it is important that you train your body as well as your mind.”

Harry nodded. He had been doing that since he’d arrived here in Westeros. Being a grown man in his child’s body he knew the importance of a good diet, and exercise, and getting the opportunity to start all over again, with his mind and memories intact, had been utterly perfect for him to do this.

He finished his meal quickly, relishing the good food, and he was allowed to pick a few cakes to eat, before they started on the stack of books.

He endured the tough lesson on proper grammar from Tywin, and after three hours, just as he was forming a headache, he was dismissed and allowed to get ready for bed.

“I don’t know how you manage to understand anything he says to you.” Balon said. “My head hurts just from listening in.”

Harry chuckled. “It’s not easy, Balon, but I’m willing to learn. I want to be taught, so I try my hardest in everything.”

“Is that why I’ve heard rumours of Ser Mandon telling you off for doing backflips?” Balon asked slyly.

Harry grinned. “I didn’t realise he was there.”

“No. From the way he tells it you were half a second away from death.”

Harry scoffed at that. “That is clearly an exaggeration.”

Balon hummed and gave him a look. Harry gave him an innocent smile, and Balon shook his head.

“You’re a terror now that you’re getting older.”

Harry just laughed as they made it to his bedchamber, where Balon merely watched now, supervising him as he cleaned himself off, cleaned his teeth, brushed his hair and then changed his clothes for a sleeping tunic.

“Is there anything else that you need, Harian?” Balon asked.

Harry shook his head. “No, I am well for the night. I will see you on the morrow, Balon.”

Balon nodded. “See you on the morrow.”

Harry settled into his bed, arranging the covers over his legs, before picking up the book from his bedside table. He would read until he felt tired, practice with his magic a little until he was exhausted, and then get some well-deserved sleep, ready for whatever awaited him tomorrow. He couldn’t wait to find out what lessons his grandfather had planned this time.

His favourite was when he was allowed to sit in on meetings with his grandfather. He got to watch and emulate his favourite person in a way that he could use when he became the king. He was sure that that was why he was allowed to sit in on the meetings in the first place, but right from the start, as he sat perched on his grandfather’s lap as a small child, and now next to him in a proper chair, he had watched and learnt, and he was committing everything to memory so that he could use it later.

Harry didn’t know how long he’d been asleep before he felt that something wasn’t right. He awoke in the pitch darkness of his bedchamber, his mind still mostly asleep, as he peered around, listening for something out of place.

“My Prince! You have to wake up.” Someone hissed from right beside him, and for a moment he thought that it might have been Balon.

It was pitch dark in his room, he was groggy and half asleep, and he was confused.

“What?”

“My Prince, hurry!” Someone urged him, their voice stressed. “The keep has been breached, we have to leave now!”

Someone pulled on his arm, and Harry was tugged from his bed, his bare feet hitting the stone floor that was so cold that he recoiled from it sharply.

“What has happened?” He asked sleepily, trying to wake up, but he was too groggy to make sense of anything.

“The keep has been breached.”

“How?” He asked next, trying to wake up, trying to puzzle out what he was being told.

He was tugged again, and when he didn’t move from his bed he was picked up and slung over someone’s shoulder. The indignity of it had him kicking out.

“My Prince, please. I am trying to save you. You must be quiet.”

“Where is Balon? The Kingsguard?”

“Protecting the king.” The person answered, as they made it to the dimly lit corridor, and Harry could see clearly enough that it was a servant who had taken hold of him.

The boldness of the man’s actions made Harry suspicious. The servants did not dare touch him, some were even afraid to approach him because of how well his father loved him. Now here came this particular servant, who was not only speaking to him in such a cajoling manner, but was touching him, actually picking him up and carrying him. It was odd…too odd.

Harry couldn’t hear any sounds of a breach, there was no shouting, no clash of metal on metal, everything was quiet and still in the pitch black night. It was too peaceful for there to be any sort of breach or fight.

“It is Balon’s job to protect me, not my father, where is he?” Harry demanded.

“He will be waiting further along, my Prince. Please, we must be quiet.”

The servant certainly sounded stressed, and worried, but Harry was waking up now, and his mind was ticking over. The servant was likely stressed because he was trying to abduct him from the Red Keep itself. Not an easy task at any given time, and Harry was clearly making it that little bit easier for him.

“Put me down.” He ordered, wiggling his legs so that the servant had a job to hold him steady.

“Forgive me, my Prince. We will go faster if I carry you.”

“I can walk just as quickly. Put me down.”

“It’s too dangerous.” The servant insisted.

“PUT ME DOWN!” Harry shouted at the top of his lungs, watching as the servant’s face bleached pale at the loud, ringing shout in the silent night of the Red Keep. He did not, however, look around for any intruders…he sent a fearful look to White Sword Tower, where the Kingsguard members who were not on duty slept. That was incredibly telling and Harry started thrashing his body, trying to get himself loose.

“My Prince, please, you must be quiet! Please be still. I am trying to rescue you.”

“Help! Help me!” He screamed out as loudly as he could, kicking and thrashing still.

A head popped out of one of the windows on the first floor of White Sword Tower, and Ser Arys looked horrified at what he saw.

“You there! Stop!” He yelled out, even as he moved away from the window, obviously intent on coming to help.

The servant cursed and made a run for it, and Harry kicked and tried to break free of the hold on the backs of his legs so that he could try to make an escape, or try to slow the man down.

He couldn’t believe that he’d been complicit in his own abduction attempt. He should have immediately shouted for Balon. He should have shouted for help. His father always had two members of the Kingsguard on his bedchamber door, and his room was literally in the next corridor to Harry’s.

He had been groggy, however, just woken from an exhausted, deep sleep and it had taken too long for his mind to piece things together. He had allowed this man to drag him from Maegor’s Holdfast without a murmur of sound. Why? Why had he been so stupid?

“Prince Harian!” He heard Ser Arys crying out.

“Ser Arys!” He shouted to gain the man’s attention. Letting him follow his voice to his location, even as he was jogged and bounced around on the servant’s shoulder.

“Prince Harian?!” Another call shouted out, this time more confused.

“Ser Barristan, help me!” He cried out. “Help me!”

He heard the clattering of mail, the slide of metal as a sword was drawn. The servant cursed colourfully.

They were coming up to the gates to the city, and Harry prayed that the gold cloaks stopped his abductor. No such luck though, as two men lay dead on the floor, in twin pools of blood, wearing the distinctive gold cloaks for which they were named, and three more men were ready and waiting with horses. All of them were servants, though none that Harry could recognise or give a name.

Harry redoubled his efforts to get free. He couldn’t allow them to get him away from the capital.

“Quickly, move!” One of the men hissed desperately, even as another came to help the first.

Harry couldn’t believe his fucking luck, as he was passed to a man already sat on a horse, held tightly and pinned down on his stomach sideways across the horse. It was less than a year since he’d been abducted by the Greyjoys. It had only been six months since his rescue from Pyke. He hoped that this wasn’t going to be his life from now on, abduction attempt after abduction attempt.

The horse galloped away, the shouts of Ser Barristan and Ser Arys behind him, and Harry tried to get free, he tried so hard to call upon some magic to help, but it was for nothing. There were more men waiting by the Gate of the Gods, with more dead gold cloaks. It was the straightest road from the Red Keep, and Harry knew that this had been planned well by his abductors.

He was out of the city within an hour. They immediately veered right upon exiting the city through the Gate of the Gods, and they avoided all of the main roads, galloping out into the grassy plains. Harry calmed himself, he would wait for his moment. He would listen to his captors, make a parody of obedience and childish fear, he would lull them into dropping their guard, and then he would make his escape from them and find his way back to the city. He would memorise faces and names in the meantime, and find out their motive for taking him. One thing was for sure though, his father was not going to be happy with this development.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Tywin was disturbed from his sleep by frantic calls and shouts. He laid in bed, wondering what the commotion was about, when a shard of ice slipped into his heart as he made out what the man was shouting about.

“Prince Harian has been taken!” A man’s voice called out, rushing through the Red Keep, likely to the holdfast to tell Robert.

He threw himself out of bed and dressed quickly, urgently. His heart wouldn’t settle at the thought of Harian being taken.

His mind jumped to Cersei, to Jaime. Surely they wouldn’t be foolish enough to try something so drastic right under his nose.

He followed the noise, right into the open holdfast, which was a worrying sign. Robert had just lumbered himself out of bed in his haste to confirm that Harian was gone, but Tywin saw the look on Balon Swann’s face. The pale, sickly, sweating face that showed desolation and horror. He knew just from that that Harian was indeed gone.

He went into the boy’s bedchamber regardless, and saw the messy bed. Nothing else was out of place and there was no indication of a struggle.

“What in the seven hells is going on?!” Robert roared. Anyone who wasn’t already awake was going to be now.

“Your Grace, I saw a man with Prince Harian over his shoulder, carrying him out of the holdfast!” Ser Arys reported. “I was in White Sword Tower and I heard shouting, so I looked out of the window. I tried to catch up, Your Grace, I swear I did, but they had horses waiting.”

“I heard the commotion as I was patrolling, Your Grace.” Ser Barristan filled in the deathly silence. “I also tried to reach Prince Harian, and failed. The gold cloaks on the gate to the city had been slain.”

“I want him found. Right now! Right now!” Robert repeated, so loudly that Tywin’s ears started ringing.

“Why are you bellowing at such an hour, my love?” Cersei asked him, a robe tied around the simple shift she was wearing.

“Harian has been taken.” Robert said shortly, red-faced and fuming.

Tywin studied his daughter intently, and he saw the initial confusion on her face. Then her eyes brightened and an almost smile made her lips twitch, before she schooled her expression into one of concern.

He had seen everything, and he knew that she was not behind this plot, but he saw her internal delight at the news that Harian had been taken. He had never been more ashamed of his daughter.

“We need to send out ravens, Your Grace.” Tywin said as calmly as he could manage. “Prince Harian’s captors could be anywhere by now, and we need people to be on the lookout for him. He’s a smart boy, if he is taken anywhere in a city or a town, he will find someone to help him. Ser Arys, Ser Barristan, did you see the men’s faces? We need descriptions.”

Tywin was the one to set things into motion. He wrote a short but detailed letter to Kevan, and he sent it straight away to Casterly Rock. He didn’t think any man would be stupid enough to take Harian anywhere near Casterly Rock, or any other major city in Westeros for that matter, but he had instructed his brothers to search the Westerlands regardless, to send the patrols a little further out than they usually went, just in case Harian was being held captive nearby.

He prayed that these men were merely after a ransom, and had not taken Harian for any other nefarious reasons. He tried to push away the thoughts that they might have already killed Harian and dumped his body. It made no sense for them to have taken him, Harian was a boy and couldn’t have offered anyone such dire offence that they felt the need to kill him for it. It must be a ransom plot…unless the offence had been caused by Robert and they were taking it out on Harian. Tywin’s gaze slid to the oaf in question and studied him. He would need to find out if he had caused any offence to anyone recently. He needed leads in order to track these men down.

The Kingsguard had been rallied, along with the city watchmen, and they were going to go out in groups to search the Crownlands, especially the Kingswood.

“Kingslayer, you take the road to Rosby!” Robert was ordering.

“Your Grace, leave Jaime here.” Tywin suggested.

“For what purpose?” Robert demanded. “We need everyone who can be spared searching for Harian!”

Tywin couldn’t say that he feared that if Jaime was the one to find Harian then he would still be in danger. He couldn’t risk that if Jaime found Harian alive and well that he wouldn’t kill his grandson and claim that he had already been dead.

“We will need someone to remain here to look after Cersei and Prince Joffrey, and to wait in case Harian breaks free of his captors and makes his way back to the capital.”

“I can head a group easily, Father.” Jaime argued. “Cersei and Joffrey will be well protected by the gold cloaks.”

Tywin gave him a stern glare. “Like Harian was protected by the gold cloaks? By the Kingsguard? No, you will stay here with your sister.”

“There is no glory in that.” Jaime said angrily.

“This isn’t about glory!” Tywin snapped. “Harian has been taken. The most important thing is to get him back as quickly as possible, unharmed.”

“I spared the Greyjoys under direction from Jon, but when I get my hands on those who took him this time…” Robert trailed off, his voice and expression dark and terrible.

“The ravens have all flown. These cowards will not get away with taking Prince Harian, Your Grace.”

Tywin and Robert left Jaime to his angry sulking. They would go out and head their own groups of men and he would be left behind with the women and children.

“I will take the Kingswood down to Storm’s End. I will gather more men to help with the search from there.” Robert told him. “Find him, Lannister.”

Tywin nodded. He, more than anyone, wanted Harian back safely. He had been grooming that boy to be king since he was three years old. More than that, he had found a person whom he actually loved, one whom he could be proud of. He would not allow any harm to come to Harian. He had dropped his guard in the Red Keep. He hadn’t expected anything to happen to Harian while he was there, and as a result, Harry had been taken from under his very nose.

He inhaled deeply and swung himself up onto a horse that was waiting for him. He was going to search the Roseroad. He prayed that Harian was found quickly, that he hadn’t been hurt. He closed his eyes for a little longer than a blink before turning and heading out of the Red Keep. They would find Harry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry had been bound with rope and left by the fire. They were out in the wilderness, somewhere off of Gods Eye. They were in the Riverlands, and Harry wondered if anyone would look here for him.

He was making a ploy at being good. Huddling down in his now dirty sleeping tunic and doing everything asked of him. He was being quiet, so that he could hear their murmured conversation. There were eleven of them all in all. A lot more than he had been expecting.

From what he had already gathered, they had taken him so that they could ransom him back to his father. They wanted his body weight in gold. All their greed was going to get them was death once his father caught up to them. They were all lowborn so their punishment would be extreme, they would be made examples of to dissuade anyone else from trying something like this in future. Harry could see it as clear as day, he just didn’t understand why these men couldn’t.

It was royal procedure to ignore all ransoms, especially as there was another prince to replace him if he did actually get killed. The crown couldn’t afford to keep paying ransoms, so this practice was used to discourage anyone else from trying the same thing if a ransom was ignored, as there was no pay out for a very high risk operation.

Harry curled and huddled up as much as he could, and he tried to cast another warming charm on himself. He was freezing in his sleeping tunic, out here in the cold night, with his bare arms, legs and feet.

It had been a week since his initial abduction, and his captors were happy enough to just leave him be as long as he was quiet and sat still. They fed him and watered him at least, more than what he’d gotten with the Greyjoys, and they didn’t seem to want to hurt or abuse him directly, though it could be argued that as they were letting him freeze and weren’t cleaning him that he was in fact being abused to some extent.

He looked at his mud caked bare feet and tried to flex his sore toes. He was very cold and he shifted a little closer to the fire, trying not to garner any attention from his captors. For some reason they didn’t like him sitting so close to the fire…he wondered if they actually thought that he might jump in if he got close enough.

He tried to work out if he was nearer to Casterly Rock, King’s Landing, or Riverrun, but he couldn’t see any landmarks to help him work out the distances. He knew the Gods Eye was close, which made him think that he was perhaps closer to Riverrun, but he couldn’t be sure. If the Gods Eye was above them, then he was actually closer to King’s Landing.

“Has he given any trouble?” One man asked as he wandered back into the small clearing.

“None. Hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word.” Another said, turning to look at him.

“Enough about the boy, what news from the town?” The man Harry believed was the leader asked.

“The king’s men are still searching everywhere. We’ve had no answer for our ransom request yet.”

The man put a small bag down and took out some food he’d brought in the town close by.

The same man came over to Harry, and untied his hands, but looped the rope tightly around his neck, sitting next to him and holding the other end.

Used to this treatment, Harry ate what he’d been given quickly, and without fuss, even though it was just a small piece of stale bread and it was uncomfortable to swallow with the rope tied so tightly around his throat. He was still pretending to be a small, terrified child, and this had included some night time crying and whimpering. All the while he plotted and waited for his opportunity. It would come, he knew it would, he just needed to be patient and wait this out and pick the moment to move perfectly.

He had already learned that four of the men had been servants in the Red Keep. They had been ‘bought’ by a group on the outside, and from what Harry had gathered, this plot had been in the making for months, spurned on by his captivity during the Greyjoy Rebellion.

He was angry with himself more than anything. He had had a window of opportunity while in the holdfast to shout out, to alert someone of his predicament, but he had been sleepy, groggy, and confused. There were downsides to being a child after all, not least his small, easily overpowered body.

It had taken him too long to wake up, to realise the danger, and now he was out in the wilderness, near Gods Eye, with no clear escape, nor any hope of rescue.

“Sleep now, boy.” The man told him, taking the rope from around his neck and tying his arms again.

Harry laid down and tried to inch closer to the fire. They didn’t give him a blanket, but he was better at using warming charms now after his stint on the Iron Islands.

He tried to make his mind blank, to fall asleep, but he was woken up not too long after as he was roughly hefted up from the floor and thrown onto a horse.

Tired and bruised, he tried to force himself to figure out what was happening. They were on the move again, and he wondered if he should risk shouting.

“Get into the mountains!” One man ordered. “I’ll get some food and join you in a few days.”

The horse was steered off, and Harry could hear other horses. He wondered if it was a rescue party, or if it was a coincidence. He decided it was too risky to break his obedient ploy, and instead he stayed quiet. If they were taking him into the Westerland mountains then he would be very close to Casterly Rock. If they took the route through Deep Den then Harry could try to get free there. He knew Lord Lewys Lydden, and he would help him without a doubt. The man was terrified of his grandfather.

The worst part was that it would be colder up in the mountains, and he wasn’t dressed for it. He was still in his filthy, ragged sleeping tunic, and it was rather thin and stopped at his knees. He was also barefoot.

He really hated being kidnapped. He swore that this would be the last time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

They hadn’t been able to find anything but rumours about Prince Harian. They had every noble family looking for him, commitments of men going out to look for the seven year old, but it had been almost a turn since the boy had gone missing now and they hadn’t found him.

Ser Barristan looked at the ragged group of men he was leading, and he felt that he probably didn’t look any better than they did. He was tired, aching, and smelly, but he didn’t dare give up. His honour as a knight wouldn’t allow him to.

They were searching tirelessly, and every now and then they had a rider come to find them from the capital, with news and more orders. They were following every lead they could, but they were getting nowhere.

“We’ve been searching out here for three weeks already.” He heard someone complain.

“He’s probably dead by now.”

“Silence!” Ser Barristan roared above them. “We follow our orders from His Grace, our king.” He said, glaring at the men he had with him. “You are speaking of our crown prince as if he is a stray dog!”

The men straightened their backs, and they swallowed nervously in the face of his temper. He had been getting increasingly evil-tempered as the days and weeks passed. He knew it, but he wasn’t willing to stop himself. If anyone dared give up the search before they had orders to do so, he would personally exact vengeance upon them.

Another day of fruitless searching, and he sent one of the men back to the capital to report their movements and that they had found nothing in their section. They had asked smallfolk, tavern owners, everyone they had crossed paths with if they had seen anyone suspicious, or a small boy who looked like he was a captive or in distress, and they had received all negative responses.

Barristan felt himself a failure, as he had been on patrol when it had happened. He had watched those four men ride off with Prince Harian, and he hadn’t done enough to help, he hadn’t done enough to save the poor boy.

It was an hour later, just as they had been settling down for yet another night beneath the stars, that a rider on a lathered horse pulled up beside them. “Ser Barristan!”

“What news?” He asked immediately, standing from where he had been sat on the damp ground.

“Prince Harian was spotted in the Riverlands by Tully men. His Grace commands all groups to converge on the area. The group of men spotted were reportedly going towards the Westerland Mountains.”

Ser Barristan was already moving towards his horse without conscious thought.

“Move out!” He commanded. “We make for the Ocean Road!”

He swung himself up onto his horse and looked at the messenger, who was drinking deeply from a skin of water.

“We will enter the mountains from the south.” He told the messenger, who nodded his understanding.

“I will tell His Grace, and Lord Tywin. They are heading to Deep Den, as a central base in the mountains.”

“Has a message been sent to Casterly Rock?”

The messenger nodded. “Yes, Ser Barristan. Lord Tywin has marshalled the Westerlands and messengers from Casterly Rock will ride to those in the mountains to help search for Prince Harian.”

Barristan nodded, and he waved at his men, silently ordering them to move out. He hoped that this newest information was in fact true, that the Tully men had actually seen Prince Harian. He swore he would not rest until the young prince was back safely in the capital and he would keep a closer eye on the young boy in future.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry had managed to seize his moment and get free from those who had captured him. He had taken his chance when he had seen it arise, after a desperate escape from men of Riverrun.

They had had to abandon the horses to climb the mountain while avoiding the roads. Harry had been carried by his captors for the most part, because they could move faster with him over their shoulders than they could by dragging him along behind them. They had carried him for most of the night, carefully picking their way through small streams, through bushes, carefully picking their steps over loose stones and shale. Dawn came, making their steps more secure and not long after they had found a small cave in the mountains to take a breather. Harry had been placed down, and then foolishly left alone as the men who had taken him had scouted around, trying to see any sign of the Tully men who had followed them, or to find a better hiding spot. They stupidly believed him to be a scared and obedient child, and that he would stay in that cave even though they weren’t there watching over him. He had stolen his chance, and despite the rope tied around him, pinning his poor, abused arms behind his back, despite his bare feet and the pain he knew that was going to come, he had gotten up and stretched as much as he could inside the cave, while out of view, and then he had run…right past his captors who were so stunned that they didn’t react straight away, which only helped Harry’s escape plans.

“Catch him! Fucking catch him!” One of them yelled out angrily, bursting into action and giving chase.

Harry had ducked past scrubby trees and prickly bushes. He had run through nettles, and thorns, his bare feet and legs being ripped apart, but he didn’t care, as he splashed through another stream and weaved through the undergrowth and ran in a zig-zag pattern to lose his pursuers.

When their voices slipped away, and he felt that his heart was going to burst in his chest, he stopped and slotted himself into a copse of low bushes, hunkering down and making sure that he was well hidden. He needed a chance to calm himself and recover his breath.

He tried to ease the rope from his arms, but it was tied too tightly, and his magic didn’t have any effect upon it, let alone remove it.

He sighed and took a rest, listening hard and straining his ears for any noise. He wondered exactly how close he was to Casterly Rock, or even to Lannisport. He knew Stafford Lannister now, he knew Dacian and they would both help him. If he could just get somewhere public, somewhere where people knew him, then he could get himself somewhere safe.

There was a stick on the floor, close to his foot, and Harry stared at it hard, willing his magic into it.

“Point me Casterly Rock.” He said. Unsurprisingly the stick didn’t move. He hadn’t had any cause to use the directional spell since he’d come to Westeros. Even the simplest of spells needed some practice before they’d work.

He threw himself back in frustration and rested himself on the ground. He would move under the cover of darkness, and hope that he didn’t break an ankle, or even his leg, but there was too much of a chance that he would be spotted by his captors if he moved in the daylight.

He fell into a restless sleep, napping while he could, passing the time until he could move. He woke up with every slight noise around him, fearful that his captors would find him and take him back into their care. They would surely kill him now for running and he wasn’t willing to risk it.

Finally, darkness was falling when he next jerked awake, and Harry sat himself up, deciding to start moving, even if anyone saw him now he could reasonably pass himself off as an animal, or hide himself again in the darkness, hide himself away from anyone pursuing him. He was frozen solid and he cast a warming charm on himself, trying to ignore how numb and rubbery his feet felt. He couldn’t even feel his fingers.

“Point me Casterly Rock.” He said, looking back at the stick on the floor and pushing his magic at it.

It twitched and Harry got excited.

“Point me Casterly Rock.” He said, willing more magic to move the stick.

It twitched again, more violently than before.

“Point me Casterly Rock!” He demanded of it.

The stick jerked sharply to the left, and Harry stared at the way it pointed. He started walking in that direction, wishing that his arms were free, but maybe he could find someone to help him. He knew that he must be close to Sarsfield because they must have been close to Riverrun when they’d come up into the mountains, as they had been spotted by Tully men, that reasoned that he was likely in the northern area of the mountains, if he could reach Sarsfield, or any main castle, or even Oxcross, which was a small village not three days from Casterly Rock, then he could get to his Lannister relatives. He could get himself to safety.

He did wonder at the stupidity of his captors though, they should have gone straight through the Riverlands to the North. There was next to nothing past the Neck and they had been on the right side of the Trident to make such a journey. They wouldn’t have had to go through Walder Frey’s domain of the Twins, so there had been no chance of him being recognised. It seemed they hadn’t expected Tully men to be patrolling, which had been an oversight on their part, of course the first thing his family would have done, his grandfather especially, would be to inform every city, every major castle, that he had been taken and to keep a watch out for him.

He slipped down a small incline, cursing himself as he scraped his legs and felt the cold wetness of blood. He was doing more damage to himself than his captors had. He gave a cursory glance down, but it didn’t seem to be too bad, just a gash to the calf of his right leg.

He hid himself during the day, napping as much as he could, and he only moved during the night. He was extra careful if he heard anyone moving around near him, aware that it might just be a rabbit, a mouse, or a bird, but he also had to keep in mind that his captors would be looking to get him back. Any stick that he came across he used the directional spell to guide his way…if the spell worked of course. He was using a lot of magic to keep himself warm, especially as he was only covered by his torn, tattered sleeping tunic, and he couldn’t always get the spell to work for him.

He’d been walking for a week already, maybe more, he couldn’t really tell as the days were blurring into one as he struggled to survive. He could no longer be sure of anything. He was cold, hungry, he’d been forced to drink from a small trickle of muddy water bubbling from between two rocks in the ground just to keep himself alive, but it had upset his stomach to the point that he now had diarrhoea. Not the most pleasant of ailments and it would certainly become dangerous if he didn’t find himself some clean water, and safety, very soon. He was using his magic to do what he could, but he was slowly depleting it. The constant directional spells to help guide him, the warming charms to prevent him from freezing to death, the healing spells to make sure he didn’t die from an infected cut. It was all taking its toll now. He needed to get to people, and quickly.

The air wasn’t so hard to breathe anymore, and he had been moving steadily downwards for several days now, and he reckoned that he could see buildings in the distance as he moved. He came through a copse of scraggly trees and he could have cried in sheer relief as he saw the immense cliff of Casterly Rock in the far distance. He could see the River Road just ahead of him, he only had a small slope to climb down before he reached it now. He inhaled and moved carefully towards the Rock, his most favourite place in the world.

It took another five days of walking, begging people on the road for help, but they hurried away from him, not wanting to get involved in whatever mischief he was a part of, or likely fearing that he was part of a bandit group that were waiting in the bushes to rob them of their worldly goods. Harry didn’t blame them, but he was starting to falter, he had little magic left, his arms so numb he thought that the limbs might have died. His feet were sore, swollen and bleeding. His legs were filthy, and there was something caught under the skin of his one foot that caused pain every time he put any weight onto it so he was limping a little. He was still in his tattered sleeping tunic, bruised and feeling broken. He just wanted some help. He needed help.

He was almost on top of Casterly Rock before he was picked up by a group of red cloaks out on patrol and thankfully one of them recognised him straight away.

“Prince Harian!” The one who spotted him cried out in alarm.

Harry recognised the man in return and he sagged in relief. “Adym.” He called out, his voice hoarse and pained.

The man all but threw himself off of his horse and he ran to him. An arm was wrapped around his shoulders, and Adym looked around the landscape just to be sure that there was no immediate threat, before taking out a dagger and cutting Harry free of his bonds.

Harry cried out in agony as his arms fell to his sides, and the stinging, numbing pain that rushed through his lower arms and hands brought tears to his eyes.

“Everyone has been so worried, my Prince! Your captors were found two weeks back, but they didn’t have you with them, and they swore they didn’t know where you were. They claimed they’d lost you in the mountains, but no one believed them. Everyone believed that they had killed you and left you in the mountains.”

Harry was hefted up gently and carried carefully over to the horse. He was settled up on it, and he was sobbing softly, as Adym rambled.

The man hefted himself up into the saddle behind him and Harry was held gently, but the arm that was placed around him was rock solid…no one would be able to get him from Adym, and Harry wouldn’t be able to slip or fall from the horse either.

“We ride for Casterly Rock.” Adym ordered the other men. “Kyne, ride ahead and get Maester Creylen prepared.”

“Yes, Ser!” Kyne replied, giving Harry a last look of utter amazement, before turning his horse back towards Casterly Rock.

The man rode off, obviously the fastest of them, even as the group of remaining men surrounded him and made for the Rock. Harry relaxed a little. His entire body was sore and aching, but he was almost home. He was still alive and he had been found.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

It still took them a little over an hour of riding to get to Casterly Rock. There was an honour guard waiting as soon as they arrived, and right at the front were his four uncles. An anxious Kevan, a bristling Tygett, a pacing Gerion, and a concerned Tyrion.

The horse carrying Harry and Adym was pushed to enter Casterly Rock proper, and pulled to a stop right in front of his uncles. It was a furious Tygett who hefted him off the horse and held him tightly in his arms.

“Harian, sweet boy, how are you?” His uncle asked him.

“Sore.” He said, his tears having cut visible tracks through the grime on his face.

“Kevan, send a message to Tywin. You, young man, need to come and pay a visit to the healing rooms.”

Harry just snuggled in, still crying silently, as he was carried into Casterly Rock proper and taken straight to Maester Creylen, who was in the healing rooms, bottles and bandages laid out ready, just in case, waiting for them.

“It was him?” The Maester said, even as he indicated for Tygett to place him down.

“It was him, yes. Harian, Kyne mentioned that your arms had been bound when he found you?”

“They hurt.” Harry said, his tears starting again, even as the Maester held out one arm, to show deep furrows in his flesh where the tight ropes had been biting in for weeks. The other arm was the same.

“Can you bend your fingers, my Prince?” The Maester asked him.

“I can’t even feel them.” He said, and he ignored the panicked look the two men gave one another.

“Here, I brought you a clean sleeping tunic.” Gerion said, hurrying into the room.

His tattered, filthy tunic was taken from him, and a servant was called to sponge wash his battered body.

Mottled bruises, scabs and cuts, grazes and gashes were uncovered as he was cleaned, and Harry moaned and sobbed through it, his body one massive, pained ache. Maester Creylen had to take out no less than seven thorns from his legs, and one small stone that had lodged under the skin and into the sole of his right foot. He’d had to call a servant over to help him, and it had taken tweezers and a knife to get it out, while Gerion had held Harry in his lap to comfort him and Tygett had gripped a hold of an already bruised ankle, just in case he jerked it away from the Maester and caused more damage, but Harry had been calm and still. He hadn’t even cried out as the Maester dug around in his foot with the tip of a blade.

His feet were completely shredded, swollen and faintly warm to the touch, and Maester Creylen slavered them with a poultice and then bandaged them up. He didn’t want Harry walking on them until they had healed, and they had to be checked diligently several times a day for infection, as he warned his uncles.

The rest of his body was checked over, more bandages were tied around him, more of the poultice was smeared over his cuts and grazes, and then the needle came out. Harry needed stitches in his shin from a deep cut he’d gotten sliding down the mountain without the use of hands to help him.

Tygett held him this time, wrapping him up in his big, strong arms and it was Gerion who took hold of his leg, holding him at the knee and ankle to keep him still, as Maester Creylen put in a neat line of small stitches. Harry didn’t whimper or cry out, he didn’t try to move or draw away…he was much too tired to fuss and he was just immensely glad to be back with his family. To be safe once more as he was looked after and cared for.

“This will make you sleep, my Prince.” Maester Creylen told him, handing him a cup filled with a murky concoction.

Harry drank it down with no complaints. He just wanted to sleep but he was much too sore without the help of the medicine.

Gerion, now sat beside him, helped him to drink the cup down, and before he could finish it, he was out like a light in Tygett’s arms.

“How bad is he truly?” Kevan asked once Harry was tucked up, watching as his brother brushed aside some tangled hair to kiss the bruised forehead.

“He will survive it.” Maester Creylen told them, though he hesitated. “His arms are severely bruised and the lack of blood flow to his fingers might pose a risk later. But I won’t know to what extent until he has fully recovered.”

“What is the worst case scenario here?” Tygett asked.

“That the fingers might have to be amputated. Perhaps his hands, and if it is particularly bad, then the lower arms as well.”

The three Lannister brothers looked at one another in shock, and horror, completely aghast at the news.

“How likely is that to happen?” Gerion demanded.

“I won’t know until he awakens again, and has recovered a little from this ordeal. At any sign of rot, I will have to amputate, if I do not, it will kill him within a turn. If he hadn’t been found when he had…” The Maester trailed off, and seemed to consider his words for a moment. “He couldn’t have survived much longer like that. If he hadn’t been found this week, we might not have found him until his body was recovered in the mountains.”

“Thank the gods that he was found.” Gerion said, laying a hand on Harian’s head and gently touching the dirty, matted hair. There were still thorns, leaves and twigs tangled within it. “He needs a bath.”

“Let him rest, Gerry.” Tygett said. “The poor boy has been through a terrible ordeal. In fact, it has been a terrible year for him.”

“The Greyjoys took him in the third moon of the year, we didn’t even get him back until the sixth moon, and then the very servants of the Red Keep took him in the twelfth moon.” Kevan sighed. “We must keep him safer. This time his captors wanted to ransom him, the next time he might not be so fortunate.”

“How safe can we keep him when even the servants pose a risk?”

“That is something to speak with Tywin about.” Kevan insisted, even as he watched the young boy in the bed.

He was too pale, too sickly looking. He was overly thin and he actually looked frail in the large bed. Too many times he had seen Harian in such a state.

“What are the chances of Robert allowing him to stay here, in the Rock?” Gerion asked, his fists clenching tight.

“He will not allow Harian from his sight.” Tygett cursed. “The poor boy will be dragged back to the capital, and will be put in danger after danger. It’ll be too much one of these days.”

“We will break words with Tywin. He might be able to convince Robert to allow Harian to stay here.”

Gerion threw a hand through his blonde hair, and let out a soft sound of frustration.

“It’s infuriating that we can’t keep him safe.”

“He won’t be going anywhere for the time being.” Kevan said, looking at both younger brothers. “He is too ill and injured. We must ensure his safety while he is here.”

“I will tighten the guards.” Tygett nodded, moving to do just that.

“I will not let him from my sight.” Gerion swore.

Kevan nodded to his youngest brother. “I will go and inform the women and children that it was Harian who has been found, if Tyrion has not already done so and then send out the ravens. Robert will ride like a demon when he receives the news, I wager that he and Tywin will be here within a week once the raven reaches him at Deep Den.”

Kevan took one last look at the pale boy laying in the bed, before sighing and walking from the sick room. He prayed that no complications arose from this. He prayed that Harian came out of it safe and well. He couldn’t imagine the horror that the little boy faced with the threat of having his hands or arms amputated hanging over him when he was just seven years old. Kevan prayed harder than he ever had before that Harian would not have to suffer through that. It just wasn’t right that one little boy had suffered so many hardships throughout his young life, only to have yet more piled on top. They needed to try and keep him safer. It was easier said than done, but they needed to do better, for poor Harry’s sake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Tywin was hard-faced and stoic as he watched the last of the captives being tortured for information on Harian.

They had run down eleven men in the Westerland Mountains, but they had not found Harian despite extensive searching. They were at Deep Den, making use of Lord Lewys Lydden’s gaolers and torturers, who, while not as fearsome as Ser Ilyn Payne, were nonetheless apt at their duties.

This man was the last that they had found, and despite the Kingsguard hunting the Westerland Mountains, no one else had been found who didn’t have a legitimate excuse to be in the mountains.

“Where is Harian?” Robert demanded in a parade bellow. “What have you done with my son?!”

The bloodied, sobbing man just made more pitiful noises, but Tywin was getting impatient, and if he was, then Robert was more so.

They both wanted Harian back, and this was the last man they had captured in relation to the abduction. None of the previous men had admitted to knowing where Harian was before they had succumbed to their torture injuries, but all of them had named each other, and had admitted that there had been eleven of them. They knew that this man was the last, and they still didn’t have the answers they needed to find Harian.

“Tell us where Prince Harian is. Where you left him.” Tywin asked this time, quieter, calmer than Robert.

“He got free of us!” The man cried. “He ran off.”

This was the same story that the other ten men had given. That Harian had gotten free of them in the mountains and had managed to elude all of their attempts to recapture him. Yet none of the search parties had come across him either.

“How did he manage to do this?” Tywin asked, trying to remain calm. Harian had been missing for almost nine weeks, they needed to find him…and soon.

“We got startled by Tully men by the Tumblestone.” The man sobbed.

This was a familiar line too. Every man had said the same. They had been heading for the wilderness of the North, to hide out on the Cape of Eagles until the ransom was paid, but when they had been camping in the foothills of the mountains, just past Wayfarer’s Rest and near the Tumblestone, they had been surprised by a patrol of Tully men. Rather than risk fighting them off, or slipping past them, they had instead headed further up into the Westerland Mountains and there they had found a small cave and had put Harian inside it while they scouted out a better hideout. Harian had been left alone and he had made a run for it and they hadn’t been able to catch him.

“We left the boy in a cave. We thought he was scared and would stay there, but he didn’t. Please gods, he didn’t stay. He ran off and we didn’t ever see him again after that. I swear.”

“What condition was he in?” Tywin asked.

“Good!” The man insisted, trembling. “He cried a little, but he was not harmed. We made sure. We were feeding him well, he didn’t complain of any injuries. He didn’t complain about nothing, he was quiet. A good boy!”

That was familiar too, each man insisted that they hadn’t harmed Harian, that he had been fed and watered well, but this was the first time one of them had admitted that Harian had been crying. Harian was a hard, tough little boy, he rarely cried over anything, not splinters or cuts, not bruises or even a stint of captivity on the Iron Islands. Harian had not cried when he’d been rescued, not even from relief. He had been tired, he had rested more, he had even been sick, but he had not cried. So what had these men done to him that had made him cry? Tywin dreaded to find out the answer to that question.

“Why was he crying?” He demanded.

The man looked up at the harsh tone, but he seemed confused. “I…he was just a little boy. We knew he would be upset. He was upset. He did cry. He was just a boy, of course he cried.”

“I have never seen Harian cry.” Robert said, cottoning on to the same thought that Tywin had. “Not after he was cut by that blade and poisoned, not even as a two year old babe when I accidentally broke his arm. He didn’t cry as it was broken and he didn’t cry as it was set and bandaged.”

“I have also never seen Harian cry.” Tywin agreed. “So what did you and those other men do to him that made him cry?” He demanded of the man, who looked horrified that he had dropped himself into this mess.

“Nothing!” The man squeaked. “Nothing, he was just…he was left alone! We fed him, we had to tie him up, but he was fed and he was left alone, I swear it.” The man sobbed pitifully.

Tywin looked at the gaoler, who nodded to him and then turned to the captive, who screamed as the sharp blade was sliced through his shoulder. Another several cuts and Tywin held up a hand to stop the torture.

“What was done to Prince Harian?” He demanded. “I will not ask again.”

“Nothing!” The man still insisted. “He ran off by himself!”

They were interrupted by a servant come hurrying into the room. He went to his lord first, Lewys, but he directed the servant immediately to Tywin and the king.

“Another group has arrived back, Lord Lannister, Your Grace.” The servant told them. “Ser Preston and his group. They’ve found nothing.”

“There’s no sign of Harian?” Robert demanded.

The servant shook his head. “No. They found no sign of him, Your Grace.”

Robert slammed a curled fist into the arm of his chair. “Send them back out!”

“Allow them time to rest, Your Grace, to pack what provisions they need to return to the search.” Tywin added. “If they have come back, they need more food and water.”

Robert breathed out hard, and he gave a tight nod.

The servant nodded back, bowed deeply, and then hurried right back out of the room.

Tywin looked back to the sobbing, trembling captive. “Prince Harian has not been found.” He told the man. “So, we are going to continue here.”

The man cried out wordlessly, pulling on the rope that bound him to the chair he was in.

“I don’t know no more!” He insisted.

“Then you won’t mind if we check.” Tywin said relentlessly. He gave a nod for the torture to begin again, listening to the screams and the wailing.

“This is getting us nowhere!” Robert growled. “None of them know where Harian is. He’s still in those damn mountains.”

That was Tywin’s fear as well. All eleven men who had been captured, and according to all of their testimony under torture there had only been eleven of them (that detail had never changed), had insisted that Harian had gotten free of them, and that he was still in the mountains…alone.

If that was true, however, it meant that they had no idea where he might be and Tywin couldn’t accept that. He needed to find Harian again, and he would not let the boy out of his sight ever again. He would post guards outside his bedchamber door, he would order Balon Swann to sleep in bed with him until Harian was a man grown. He would do everything he possibly could to see Harian safe now, this was too much, it hadn’t been six turns since he had been returned home from Pyke before he had been snatched again. It could never happen again.

“Your Grace! Lord Lannister!”

It was the Maester this time, and he was holding a small scroll come from a raven.

“Has he been found?!” Robert demanded anxiously.

“He is at Casterly Rock.” The Maester insisted. “Ser Kevan sent the raven and tells that Prince Harian just walked himself to Casterly Rock.”

Tywin took the missive, and he breathed out in relief at seeing his brother’s writing. His shoulders sagged at seeing the words, in Kevan’s hand, telling that Harian was now safely within Casterly Rock. There was no news of his condition, only that he had walked himself through the mountains, but that did tell them one thing at least…he was alive.

Robert was already out of the door, likely heading for the stables, leaving Tywin to dispatch the needed messages.

“All the search parties are to be called back to Casterly Rock. Tell the Kingsguard when they arrive that we have ridden for Casterly Rock.” He ordered Lord Lewys, who nodded quickly. “Kill this scum as well, throw his body with the others.”

“Yes, Lord Tywin.” The man nodded.

Tywin took one last look at the scum tied to the chair. “Be grateful that he has been found alive.” He said, before leaving to the sobs and cries of a grown man.

Provisions were being quickly gathered, Lannister guards were getting ready to move out with them, back to Casterly Rock, and Tywin was as impatient as Robert to get going, but they couldn’t leave without provisioning food and water for themselves.

“I just want to see him again!” Robert bellowed, glaring at all the scurrying people, as if urging them to be quicker about their work.

“We can reach Casterly Rock in as little as five days if we are careful down the mountain, and then push the horses over the Gold Road, Your Grace.”

Robert took a breath, and then nodded. “I want to be gone within the hour.”

Tywin nodded his agreement. “We will be.” He swore.

He too wanted to see Harian again, and assess him for himself. He wanted to know how he was, what injuries he had suffered, if he could recover from them, and just what had been enough to make such a strong boy cry for the first time that Tywin could remember.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry smiled at the twenty-two month old baby who came toddling over to him, as he leaned forward and bent down to reach her even as she giggled and reached out to pat his face.

Joy was the only one of his cousins who he actually enjoyed being around and he was sure that it was because she was still just a baby. Tyrek wasn’t so bad, he was only three, but Harry hated Lancel even though they were supposed to be the same age, and he didn’t like the twins, Willem and Martyn, despite that they were only four, and turning five later this year.

It occurred to him that the cousins he didn’t like were all Kevan’s children, and he wondered if there was a reason for that, or if it was circumstantial.

“Harian, take it easy.” He was warned by Gerion, as Joy was easily distracted by a ball being rolled past her, and she toddled off away from him, following the ball.

Harry sighed and rested back in the soft chair, and wrapped the blanket more firmly around himself. The kid gloves had come back out in full force but this time he wasn’t too upset about it, he was very tired still and he actually wanted to rest now that he had the chance.

He was at least thankful that he had regained the use of his fingers a few days after he had arrived at Casterly Rock, and from the looks on their faces, so were his uncles. He had heard them whispering of amputation when they thought that he was asleep, but he would never have let his injuries get that bad, his magic would not have failed him in such a way, he knew it, but no one else knew that he had magic, or such a way to circumvent such serious wounds. For them, the threat of needing to have his arms amputated had been all too real, and exceedingly distressing for them to even consider. To them, he was still just a seven year old little boy and making the decision to cut off his arms must have been keeping them awake at night. It wasn’t any wonder that they all looked like they hadn’t slept in weeks.

He was very…colourful though, in the aftermath of his latest abduction. And by that, he meant literally colourful, as he was various shades of black, blue, purple, green, and yellow as his bruises made themselves known. He even had a line of neat stitches in his shin from a deep gash after he’d slid down an incline with bound arms. There was still a faint indent in his arms from where the ropes had cut in deep.

The door to the solar burst open, startling all of them, but from one blink to the next Harry was smiling, as his father blustered into the room and went on his knees in front of his chair and hovered his hands over him, as if unsure if he should touch him or not.

“Hello.” He greeted softly, his voice still thick and croaky.

He reached out with his black and blue arms, wrapping them around his father’s neck to hug him. He was almost crushed as his father did the same.

“Those bruises look bad.”

Harry looked up with a smile at his grandfather. He felt tears prickle at his eyes, but he forced them back.

“They are. They’re still sore to touch.” He said, his voice cracking.

“Harian, Maester Creylen told you not to speak.” Kevan reminded him.

Harry nodded his understanding, but there was a lot that he wanted to say. He had been asleep for a few days in the beginning, and the continuous medicine had irritated his throat until he’d lost his voice. If he forced his words then he could lose his voice all over again, and he didn’t want that to happen.

“Are any of his injuries severe?” Robert demanded of Kevan.

“None, Your Grace. Harian hasn’t taken any lasting damage, despite our initial worries. The bruises are deep, and painful, but will heal. Prince Harian did have to have five stitches to his shin and he is not yet able to walk.” Kevan answered promptly.

“He can’t walk? You can’t walk?” Robert demanded first of Kevan, and then of Harry.

Harry slipped his bare feet out from under the blanket, showing the thick bandages around them.

“They made me walk and didn’t give me shoes.” He said, his voice wavering.

“Don’t speak.” Tywin chastised him, laying a hand on his head and scratching lightly against his scalp…the mats in his hair had needed to be cut out after several baths hadn’t been able to shift the tangles and knots, and it had left his hair a little shorter than he normally wore it.

Robert’s huge, ham like hands cradled both of his tiny feet, and Harry could see the rage in those stormy blue eyes as his father stared at his bandaged feet.

“I killed them too easily.” He growled lowly, his voice deeper than it usually was. A physical response to his anger that couldn’t be controlled. Harry looked up quickly to Tywin for help. He had never been comfortable with an angry Robert, but Tywin wasn’t looking at him, but at his bandaged feet also.

“Prince Harian took some severe damage to his feet, Your Grace.” Kevan reported. “Maester Creylen doesn’t want him walking for a while yet. He had to dig out stones and thorns from under Prince Harian’s skin. One stone was so embedded in the skin that it took a knife, a pair of tweezers, and an extra pair of hands to remove it.”

“Any infections?” Tywin asked urgently, moving his gaze from Harry’s bandaged feet to Kevan.

“None that have made themselves known.” Kevan said calmly. “Prince Harian had a fever when he arrived, and an upset stomach from drinking bad water, but both have since passed.”

Harry was thankful for that too, but his magic had soon cleared up any infections he had taken, once he’d had a few days to recover, and allowed his magic to regenerate sufficiently. His arms had been his biggest concern though, so they had come first on his priorities list, then the upset stomach, and then any ‘maybe’ infections.

His father picked him up gently, and sat himself in the chair, placing Harry on his lap. Harry frowned at him for the move.

“Don’t give me that look. I’ve missed you.” Robert chuckled, nudging Harry’s chin with his thumb.

Harry looked around, and it was only then that he noticed that his father and grandfather had come in alone. He frowned, he looked at his father, grandfather, and then into the empty room.

“What is it? What are you trying to say?” Robert asked him.

“Kingsguard?” Harry croaked.

“They’re all out looking for you.” His grandfather told him. “They were sent out with groups of men to search everywhere. Then we got the news that you were in the Westerland Mountains so they were told to converge on the area, and we set up a base of operations in Deep Den and the Kingsguard have been searching all over the mountains for you, though it seems that they weren’t needed.” Here Tywin gave him a soft touch, stroking back over his scalp. “Now that we know you are in fact safe, I will send out riders to gather them all in and bring them to Casterly Rock. It shouldn’t take long, as of my last message most of them are close to Deep Den, and some are rather close to Casterly Rock.”

Harry nodded and took this time to rest on Robert’s chest. He was almost eight, so these sorts of interactions were getting to be rarer. No one cared while he was so sick and injured, however, so he absorbed the attention while he had it.

Tywin relaxed a little as he noticed Harian drift off to sleep. Rest would be the best thing for him now. Rest would help him to heal.

“How has he been?” He demanded of his brothers now that it was safe to do so.

“He…he has cried a little over the incident.” Tygett sighed. “He is not only injured from the encounter, but he’s been sick from it as well. He slept fitfully in the beginning, and woke with every noise, and sometimes he would jerk awake for no reason, though he is getting better in recent days, now that it has sunk in that he is back at Casterly Rock, with his family, and that he’s safe.”

“Did you find out any more about why he was taken, and how?” Gerion asked.

“They wanted a ransom for him.” Tywin said. “With four servants of the Red Keep, they had easy access to Harian. They managed to get him from Maegor’s Holdfast, and out into the lower bailey before anyone knew anything about it. They were heading for the Cape of Eagles, in the North, when they were found by Tully men and diverted into the mountains.”

“Why didn’t he call out while he was in his room, or in the holdfast?”

“I imagine because he was sleeping.” Tywin said. “None of us expected such a thing to happen within the Red Keep. One of the servants was able to get into his room and pull him from his bed. I believe that Harian didn’t know what was happening until he reached the lower bailey, at which point he called out to alert others, but as we know, it was already too late.”

“Did they say if they had hurt him while they had him in captivity?”

“They all insisted that they didn’t. All eleven of them, even under torture, they remained firm that they hadn’t harmed him, but clearly such a thing was a lie.”

They all looked at the black and blue prince, who was sleeping in Robert’s lap.

“They all insisted that Harian had gotten free of them shortly after they got into the Westerland Mountains.” Tywin said, sighing. “That they had left him in a cave after being surprised by a patrol of Rivermen. They expected him to remain in that cave while they scouted out a better location to hide.”

“Like on Pyke, Harian was likely waiting for the best chance to make his escape.” Gerion commented.

“When he wakes up, and is more ready to speak about it, we will ask him what happened then. For now, he needs to rest and recover from what those men did to him.”

“I was too eager for their deaths.” Robert rumbled, trying to be as quiet as he could. “I should have drawn it out for longer. I should have really made them suffer for what they did to him.”

“You were more concerned with getting Harian back safely, Your Grace.” Tywin said. “We didn’t know where he was, or in what condition. He had to be our priority, regardless of how deserving those men were of a slow and painful, drawn out death.”

“He seems to have lost all weight.” Robert sighed, gently hefting Harian’s weight in his arms. “He is never going to grow properly if these things keep happening. He was just barely getting better after those damn Greyjoys had him, and now this!”

“When he arrived, Your Grace, he hadn’t eaten in some weeks. Only the gods know how he didn’t starve to death in those mountains, and without the use of his arms.” Kevan stated.

“I cannot even imagine what he must have been thinking, the horrors that he endured.” Tygett growled angrily. “He is seven years old and he faced death every day in those mountains.”

“Has he been eating since he woke up?” Robert asked.

“Maester Creylen is keeping him on light broths and soft fruits for the moment. He was given a full meal when he first woke up, but he vomited it all back up before he’d even finished half the plate. He had gone for so long without food that his stomach rejected it when he tried to eat heavy foods.” Kevan reported.

“Is he doing better?” Robert asked worriedly.

“He is recovering his strength by the day. Tyrion has been a huge help in distracting him with books and debates. That is ever Harian’s favourite thing to do.” Gerion added with a smirk.

“He has a bright mind.” Tyrion spoke up from the corner of the solar he was sat in, a large book in his lap. “He is a restless boy, but easily distracted from moving about if engaged in a deep, thought provoking debate.”

“What was the subject matter this time?” Tywin asked.

Tyrion smirked this time. “If the Citadel is actually a cult or not. Maester Creylen was not amused.”

“They honestly debated about it for nine hours, Ty.” Gerion complained. “Though it did get amusing towards the end, but then Harian fell asleep.”

“As long as it kept Harian calm and resting.” Tywin said, looking to the small boy, who only seemed to have gotten smaller since this incident. These things needed to stop. They needed to protect him better.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

The Kingsguard had converged on Casterly Rock, and so had Balon, who had held him so tightly that Harry was worried for his friend. They had had a long talk together about what had happened, and what they would do if there ever was a next time. It had included shouting for Balon the moment anyone he didn’t know entered his bedchamber.

Harry was feeling a little more rested now, and he was healing. He was still colourful, still slightly sore, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been. He was keeping to odd hours, because he was napping on and off through the day, so he was up later than usual on some nights and today was one of those days. He had woken up, in Tygett’s arms, and it was dark out, the solar lit by candles and torches around the walls and on tables. It was at least ten at night.

“Are you awake, sweet boy?” Tygett whispered.

“Yuh.” Harry said sleepily, but he didn’t move, instead, he just snuggled in closer.

“Would you like something to drink? We have some berry juice for you.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, please.” He said softly.

They were the centre of attention as Harry sat up and Tygett offered him a goblet of red juice, reminiscent of wine, but it was just crushed summer fruits. Harry drank deeply.

“How are you feeling?” Tywin asked him.

Harry considered it as if it had been a much more difficult question, but the answer was complicated.

“Not too bad.” He said, his voice still a little raspy. “I’m feeling better.” He clarified. “But my feet and my arms still hurt.”

“Are you hungry?” Robert asked him.

Harry shook his head. He was still mostly on light foods, which had now moved on to include boiled vegetables, boiled fish and eggs, and watery porridge, but his stomach still wasn’t right, and it threatened to rebel if he put too much into it.

“Harian, we wanted to speak to you about what happened while you were a captive.” Tywin told him, rather gently for him, and rather cautiously too. Harry wasn’t used to it. Tywin was usually much more direct and didn’t usually broach a subject with such caution. It was odd and Harry hated it.

He had been expecting this though, it had been the same after he’d been rescued from the Iron Islands.

He looked around the room to see who he would be telling his story to. Robert and Tywin were there, Tygett of course, who was still holding him cuddled into his lap. Gerion and Kevan, and all of the Kingsguard minus Jaime, who he had been assured was back in King’s Landing.

“What would you like to know?” He asked, calm and rather stoic considering he was supposed to be a seven year old boy, but he didn’t know how to deal with these childish emotions, and he certainly didn’t want to age himself down too much, as it would negatively affect his reputation. Thus he had decided that remaining calm and stoic was the best approach to take.

“How did the servant get you from the holdfast?” Robert asked and Harry saw Tywin grimace at the wording, his eyes narrowing on Robert.

Harry struggled to hold back a smile. That way of wording it made it sound as if it had been his fault that he had been kidnapped, he was sure that Tywin would have worded it differently, in a way that didn’t put the blame onto him but on his captors.

“He woke me up.” Harry answered. “It was dark, I was very tired. I felt groggy and almost dizzy as he kept speaking to me, almost too fast for me to pick up every word he was saying. I didn’t understand what was happening and he just picked me up and carried me out. I didn’t wake up enough to realise what was happening until we were in the lower bailey.”

“You are a child.” Tywin said firmly. “Being woken in such a way would leave anyone dazed and confused. This is not on you.”

“I should have realised what he was doing sooner, but I was so tired I couldn’t even think. I couldn’t puzzle out what was happening quickly enough. He kept saying that he was helping me, that there had been a breach in the keep and that he was taking me to safety. It was only when we reached the lower bailey that I realised that everything was too quiet, there were no sounds of a breach and I realised only then what was truly happening.”

“It is not on you.” Tywin repeated firmly. “Tell us what happened after that.”

“The gold cloaks on the gate were dead, they had horses waiting. The gold cloaks on the Gate of the Gods were killed too, and as soon as we left the city, we veered left. We were up near Gods Eye for a time.”

“Your captors told us that you were surprised by Tully men.” Robert prompted.

Harry nodded. “I didn’t know where we were exactly. They made sure I didn’t know where we were. I was tied up constantly. I heard some of their conversations, but they made sure I didn’t know their names, or where we were. After the Tully men startled them they carried me into the mountains.”

Harry had to stop and try to remember specific details. A lot of his time had been dedicated to just surviving, there hadn’t been room for details.

“It had been dark when the Tully men came across us, we were settling down for the night in a small camp, but they had to go up the mountain, they had to abandon the horses to force a path through the thicket, and they carried me through the night. They found a small cave near dawn and they put me in it thinking that I’d stay. It was the opportunity that I was waiting for and I ran.”

“Good lad.” Robert praised, but whatever it was that Robert thought, it wasn’t what Harry wanted to hear…it was always Tywin that Harry wanted to hear the thoughts of, but his grandfather stayed silent.

“They couldn’t catch me.” Harry said softly. “I hid myself in a copse of bushes, I stayed hidden during the day and I moved only at night. I tried to follow the streams down the mountain, but some of them disappeared, or ended in waterfalls and I couldn’t get back down to them, not without greater risk. I was told that you found my captors a few weeks before I was found?”

“We had search parties out, it didn’t take us long to run down the men, how many of them were there, Harian?” Tywin asked him.

“Eleven that I knew of.” Harry said, knowing that his grandfather was testing him slightly, just to make sure that he had gotten everyone involved.

“Did you hear of more?”

Harry shook his head. “No. There were four servants of the Red Keep, the others were from the outside and they bought the ones from the inside to abduct me.”

“We found all eleven of them, Harian. They were questioned one after another, we were just finishing with the very last of them, when we received the raven that you were at Casterly Rock, you do not have to worry about any of them anymore.” Tywin assured him.

Harry nodded his understanding, but he doubted that he would be able to trust the servants around him again. Not after this. He would always have a shadow of suspicion to cast over them now. It wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t afford to misplace his trust in people, not in his position.

“I…don’t remember much, it was all the same, the days blurred together. I spent the nights walking, I…I did get injured, mostly my feet and my legs. I didn’t have my arms to help me get down the mountain. I didn’t really know where I was, but I thought that if I could get to a road, just get down the mountain and find people, that I could find help.”

“Where did you come out of the mountains?” Gerion asked him gently.

“On the River road.” Harry said. “Just south of Oxcross. I could see Casterly Rock, so I decided to walk the road and see if I could find someone to help me, but it wasn’t until a patrol of red cloaks saw me that I found help.”

“No one helped you?!” Robert bellowed. “Why in the seven hells not?!”

“I was filthy, in a dirty, bloodstained, ragged tunic and I was clearly injured. I didn’t look like a prince, or even a noble. They likely thought that I was either an orphan trying to rob them, or I was part of a bandit group that wanted to rob them.” Harry pointed out.

“Things turned out well, despite everything that happened to you.” Kevan told him.

Harry nodded. “It could have been worse. I know that.” He said softly. “I was very lucky, even as injured as I turned out to be, I will recover, so I do consider that I was rather fortunate.”

“Just be sure to rest yourself.” Tywin told him, but he seemed to be working his way up to something. There was something that was still bothering him. There was something that he still wanted to ask, but he was debating whether he should ask it or not.

“What is it?” Harry asked, feeling tired again, his voice getting even more hoarse. “You can ask me anything, Grandfather. If I remember then I will answer.”

 Tygett topped off his goblet again with more berry juice and Harry took a deep drink while Tywin watched him wryly.

“You always were very perceptive.” Tywin told him. “What I wanted to ask I wished to keep private.”

Harry frowned. “Why?” He asked curiously.

“It is a matter of what one of the men we captured said, but I did not wish to upset you.”

“What did he say?” Harry asked, even more curious now.

He was considering that perhaps Tywin thought that he had been raped, or maybe molested or assaulted, but didn’t want to speak those words out loud with such a large audience, but he hadn’t been. None of those men had so much as slapped him, they hadn’t even given him a cuff about the ear, so he didn’t know where these concerns had come from if Tywin was having them and he couldn’t think what that servant had said that had so greatly unsettled Tywin. Harry hadn’t done anything unusual while he’d been captured, and his captors had not done anything but tie him up and leave him by the fires.

“One man admitted that you had been crying.” Tywin said carefully.

Harry blinked, then frowned.

“Ty, of course he had been crying.” Tygett hissed at his brother. “He was abducted!”

“I have never seen you cry.” Robert piped up.

“Neither have I, which is why it struck me as being odd.” Tywin admitted.

Tygett eased down as he thought back to if he had seen Harry crying at all before this incident. The answer was a resounding no.

“I have never seen you cry before this either, and only then it was only when you were first brought to the Rock.” Gerion said with a frown. “You do cry though, don’t you?” He directed at Harry.

“Sometimes.” He said. “Not usually around other people though. Balon, maybe.”

“Was it just because you were abducted? Nothing else?” Tywin insisted.

His grandfather definitely thought that he’d been harmed in some way, but he hadn’t been, not by his captors.

Harry chuckled slightly. “I did it on purpose. I only cried around them to make me think I was scared and witless. It lowered their guard and they left me alone. Because of that, they left me in that cave, thinking I was too afraid to leave them to run off on my own.”

“Very clever of you.”

Harry nodded. “I thought so.”

“Do you not feel like crying over this incident?” Gerion asked him. “It’s alright to cry, Harian. You are only seven.”

“No. I know I cried when I was first found, but it was because I was so glad to see you all again, and I could get help. I don’t feel like crying now. I…” Harry trailed off and frowned, wondering if his thoughts were too ‘adult’ to speak out loud.

“You may speak your thoughts.” Tywin told him, as if reading his mind. “You are with your family, Harian.”

“It’s just…I’m safe now.” He said, trying to make his words more fitting to the age he was supposed to be, and likely failing. “Why would I want to cry now? If I was truly going to cry it would have been in the mountains, when I couldn’t find water and had to drink from a muddy, cloudy trickle between two rocks. I knew that it was bad water and that would make me sick but I had nothing else to drink, or maybe when every berry bush I came across was poisonous or barren and I couldn’t eat. But crying wouldn’t have served me in the mountains, it wouldn’t have changed anything, so I didn’t. I was relieved when I first arrived, I couldn’t help crying a bit, I felt…overwrought. Emotional. But I don’t feel that way anymore, so why would I cry?”

“Of course you would be remarkable in this, as you are in everything else.” Tywin said, shaking his head. “Of course you were focused on survival, and on logic.”

“You have raised me to be this way.” Harry pointed out.

“I have. I never said that it was a bad thing, a negative thing, it’s not, merely surprising, given the circumstances.”

Harry smiled. “Crying wouldn’t have gotten me out of those mountains. I needed to keep my thoughts in order, I needed to remember which direction I was heading in, so I didn’t get turned around. If I had started crying, I likely would have panicked and I would have died in the mountains. I needed to see myself safe first, and then I could cry a little.”

“And those men did not harm you at all?” Tywin asked again.

Harry shook his head. “No. They acted almost like they were afraid to touch me most times. They fed me more than the Greyjoys did at least, but I was always waiting, watching, for a chance to escape them.”

Tywin nodded at his answer. “Rest now, Harian.” He said. “You still need to recover and rest is the best thing for that.”

“Take me to bed?” He turned to ask Tygett, who smiled at him and gathered Harry more securely in his arms and then stood with him.

“Come on then, I will tell you a story before you sleep this time.” Tygett said with a groan, walking Harry from the family solar to his bedchamber. There were two red cloaks on his bedchamber door, before he’d even entered it.

“No one has entered, Ser.” The one reported to Tygett, who nodded and carried Harry through.

Harry was settled gently into his bed, his feet carefully tucked in given that they were still bandaged.

Tygett went around the room anyway, checking windows, curtains, and then he poured Harry a goblet of water, leaving it on his bedside table in case he needed it in the night.

“Would you like a story about Aemon the Dragonknight?” Tygett asked him. “Or perhaps Daemon Blackfyre? You do like the Blackfyre rebellions.”

“That was the second Blackfyre rebellion, wasn’t it?” Harry asked.

“Well remembered, it was, though paltry a rebellion it was.”

Harry let out a soft, sleepy giggle.

“Come, let me tell you as much as is known about the brown dragon.” Tygett said, making Harry giggle again.

Harry liked Tygett’s stories, because he didn’t hold Harry on his lap, or even sit in a chair to tell it, he acted out scenes from his stories for Harry’s amusement, leaping around the bedchamber, and rolling on the floor in ‘death throes’ just to make him laugh.

“…so, as you know, Daemon gave Glendon Flowers the chance to prove his innocence during a trial by battle with himself.” Tygett told him, and then mimicked holding a lance and stanced his legs as if he was on a horse, making Harry laugh as he charged an invisible opponent. “Ser Glendon won his trial by battle, seating Daemon Blackfyre’s arse in the mud!”

Tygett mimed cheering and holding his arms up in triumph, and then sat on the floor and wiped fake mud from his face, and Harry laughed at him.

“Of course, Brynden Rivers, Lord Bloodraven himself, was marching on Whitewalls to put down Daemon’s rebellion, and though he insisted on a trial by battle, as such he had just lost, he was arrested instead.”

“He was kept as a hostage in the Red Keep, wasn’t he?” Harry asked.

“He was, to stop Aegor Rivers from crowning Daemon’s younger brother Haegon, as king. That happened anyway, a few years later, and Bittersteel and Haegon rose up in the third Blackfyre rebellion, but that, sweet boy, is a story for another night.”

Harry giggled, and squirmed in his nicely warmed sheets.

Tygett came to him, and tucked him in and then kissed his forehead.

“Get some more rest. We will come to get you in the morning. You are to only stand on your feet if you need a chamber pot in the night, and for no other reason, am I clear?”

“Yes, Uncle Tygett.” Harry murmured, turning onto his side and mashing his face into his soft, goose down pillow.

Tygett stayed with him, and rubbed his back slowly, soothingly, until Harry’s eyes fluttered a last time and closed, and remained closed.

“Sleep well, special boy.” Tygett whispered, making sure that Harry was still tucked in to keep him warm, and then leaving the room, closing the door softly behind him.

He turned to the guards who were at attention on either side of the doorway.

“No one goes into that room, am I clear?”

“Yes, Ser!” They both replied, clearly, but whispered so as to not wake the prince.

“No member of the Kingsguard, no matter what they tell you, has permission to enter this room. No other guard, not Maester Creylen, not Balon Swann.”

The guards nodded and straightened their backs and Tygett surveyed them for a moment longer, and then nodded, going to see his own son, Tyrek.

The boy was not too far from Harian’s room, three corridors away, but he was fast asleep and had been for hours. Gerion had tucked him into bed today, and had given the boy a story, and Tygett was grateful to his brother for such care.

Tyrek was three, and growing tall, and Tygett smiled as the babe snuffled in his sleep. He tucked him in gently, so as not to wake him, and then he went to his own bedchamber, to bed down for the night himself.

Harian, despite being injured, or maybe because of it, was likely to wake after only a few hours of rest. Harry would remain in bed, reading, but Tygett wanted to be awake early, with dawn if possible, to keep an eye on the boy in case he needed anything.

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Harry was allowed to stand up and walk once more when his bandages were taken off, the stitches removed from his shin, and Maester Creylen declared him to be on the mend.

It had been sore and painful the first few days he had started walking again, but he was getting used to it. His bruises were still painful, but they were slowly, so very slowly, fading. The ones on his arms, from the tight ropes, were naturally taking the longest to heal.

Lancel’s birthday had been very quiet, and Harry knew that that had been for his sake as he still wasn’t up for anything overly strenuous. Lancel hadn’t stopped complaining that Harry had ruined his name day, and Kevan had actually cuffed him for being so disruptive, and for not enjoying what he had been given.

A few more days had passed since then and Harry was feeling better, his feet had healed enough so that he could walk more normally and even run again, and he was terrorising everyone at Casterly Rock because they wouldn’t let him do anything. He was bored, he was never left alone and he was watched constantly so he couldn’t even practice with his magic, which was so full now that it felt like it would burst out of him. He was being watched so very closely, the kid gloves hadn’t relented despite that he was getting better, so he had decided to be a little bit of a shit to punish them.

He ran down another corridor, giggling and avoiding Balon, who was chasing him, trying to catch him.

“Harian! Harry!” His sworn shield cried out. “You shouldn’t be running!”

“Come and catch me!” He taunted, willing his legs to move faster.

“Harry! You’re supposed to be recovering! You need to rest.”

Harry was eventually caught. Balon was bigger than him, and faster, and he did still get tired more often than not. He was hefted off of his feet from behind, sweaty and red-faced, but laughing uncontrollably.

“You are terrible!” Balon declared. “Come with me.”

Harry had no choice, as he was being carried gently. He was taken to his grandfather, who was waiting with a large stack of books, ready to distract him. Harry found that he didn’t truly mind. He did still get tired easily, and he was still recovering, but still…a little bit of mischief was to be expected from him.

“I see that you managed to run him down.” Tywin said, almost teasingly.

“Eventually, my Lord.” Balon groused, as he settled Harry down in a soft chair and sat beside him.

“You’re getting unfit!” Harry teased.

Balon huffed. “I am not. You are just surprisingly quick for a boy who is supposed to be resting.”

“Resting is boring!” Harry complained.

“Resting will allow you to become stronger.” Tywin told him, aiming to be reassuring. “It is always difficult to take such injuries and illnesses as a child. I know you want to run around and play, but you must be careful with yourself.”

Harry sighed, and visibly slumped.

“You will understand when you have children of your own.” Tywin told him.

Harry immediately pulled a face and grimaced. Balon chuckled at him.

“It seems like a long way off for now, but it won’t be. You are always so busy, and you are approaching eight now. Another eight years and you will be a man grown.”

“But that’s my entire life lived over again, Grandfather!” Harry made it a point to complain. “It’s going to be so long!”

“As you get older, time will pass more quickly. You are going to be kept so busy over the next few years, especially when you start to get closer to being a man grown.”

“It just seems so long away, Grandfather.” Harry sighed.

“Then let us keep you busy.” Tywin insisted, picking up a book from the stack and handing it over to him.

Harry looked at it curiously, reading the title. He grinned widely as he realised what it was.

“You found a copy!” He said excitedly.

“I was keeping it for your name day.” Tywin told him. “But this is a special occasion given that you have been injured and need a distraction while you recover.”

“When Women Ruled: Ladies of the Aftermath.” He read out loud, his fingers tracing the book gently.

“Pray tell, why did you even want to read this tome, Harian?” Tywin asked him curiously.

“Why not?” Harry countered with a cheeky grin, cracking open the mammoth book and settling back to read the preface.

His grandfather chuckled, and Balon started to clean and oil his sword while he had some free time.

Harry absorbed himself into the book, detailing the lives of the women left behind to rule in the aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons. So many men had died during that war that their widows, the women left alive, had needed to take up the roles usually reserved for men. They had ruled for their young sons, those children who had not been old enough to rule and had taken the place of their dead husbands where no children had been waiting, ruling themselves and their households, perhaps even entire cities or regions, for the very first time.

The account was disgustingly biased, of course. Written by a man, of course, Archmaester Abelon, who couldn’t help but add in his own two pennies of thought every other paragraph, even as he documented history and facts. Harry tried to ignore that as much as possible, and instead, he formed his own thoughts, and they were a lot more respectful and admiring than those of the author.

He didn’t tell anyone his thoughts or plans, however. There was a reason that he had wanted this book, a reason why he had wanted to read it carefully, closely, and it had everything to do with his future children. He could quite possibly have daughters, and only daughters. He was of the opinion that women could rule just as well as men, better in most cases. He was thinking of bringing the rest of the Seven Kingdoms into the custom of Dorne, and allowing his daughters the chance to rule as queens in their own right, without the need to be married to a man who would be named king and take all of their power for himself.

He was not going to follow the tradition of having the oldest boy be named the future king, and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to name his oldest child, girl or boy, as the future ruler. His firstborn might be so unsuited for the role that forcing it on them would destroy all of Westeros, and his child as well. He wanted to handpick his successor. He wanted to watch his children grow, he wanted to evaluate them personally, and then handpick the next king or queen based on his own observations.

How far he would get with implementing this custom, he didn’t know. He would likely get away with it with his own children, while he was alive, but his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren, who could say?

It might be seen as a crazy, brainless blot in his rule. The dotty king passing over his oldest son to give the crown to a younger son, or gods forbid to a daughter. He didn’t care, he would do it anyway.

He was going to love all of his children, he was sure. He would not have favourites. He was going to be attentive and lavish them with love, care, and wisdom. He was already forty-four. When he did eventually have children then they would become the second most important things in his life. Regretfully the first would always have to be the needs of the realm that he ruled.

He sighed silently, and stopped reading for a moment to take in the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. Very soon he would have to start scouting out his future bride. He made a childish play that eight years was a long time, but in truth, it wasn’t. It wasn’t anywhere near long enough. Anything could happen now in the next eight years. Had he not just been kidnapped from the very heart of the Red Keep, by the servants that he was meant to be able to trust?

These next few years were going to be crucial. He would need to do as Balon insisted, and keep much closer to his sworn shield.

It was mostly his own fault that he had been taken, he knew that. He had become complacent. Never again.

He had become comfortable with his position in life, despite knowing that Cersei and Jaime were trying to kill him he had lowered his guard enough to allow himself to be walked out of Maegor’s Holdfast, and out of the Red Keep. Never again.

He would need to be smarter in future. He would need to remember that he was still an easily harmed, easily overpowered, almost eight year old, no matter what his mental age was. He steeled himself and turned his mind back to his book. He would never stop learning. He would never let these people who wished him harm to win. He wouldn’t let Cersei and Jaime win. He was going to be the one to come out on top. He was going to be the only winner here.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Chapter Text

Harry had recovered well enough from his captivity, though truthfully most of his injuries had come from his wandering around the Westerland Mountains by himself as he sought safety and rescue. The worst injury he had taken had been from his arms being tied tightly behind his back for weeks on end, but due to his magic, there had thankfully been no lasting damage done to him. He was checked very thoroughly, rather often, by Maester Creylen though, just to be sure. It was almost like the man couldn’t believe that he had walked away completely unscathed.

Harry enjoyed being with his Lannister family though, without Cersei and Jaime there to bother him, as he monopolised Tywin’s attention and that of his uncles. He was back in his lessons, just getting back into the flow of things, when his father had announced that he’d had enough of Casterly Rock, and being surrounded by Lannisters, as it approached June and he had told Harry that they would be leaving, but not for the capital, as Harry had been expecting, but for Storm’s End.

It was likely the only reason that Harry hadn’t complained overly much about leaving Casterly Rock, his most favourite place in the world. This would be his first time visiting his father’s ancestral seat of power and he was very excited to be reacquainted with his, now thirteen year old, uncle Renly, and he was curious of the two year old Edric Storm too, his bastard half-brother born of Delena Florent.

Harry was rather dismayed upon their arrival to see that the poor boy had taken his mother’s prominent ears, but almost everything else was Baratheon, from his wild, jet black hair that matched Harry’s to his stormy blue eyes.

Harry and Renly caused such havoc together that the servants were cursing them and Harry wasn’t really having any instruction or lessons. Maester Jurne was not as firm as he should have been when dealing with two children, so he and Renly got away with murder, and without doing their lessons.

Edric, only being a two year old babe, was less interesting, and Robert didn’t so much as acknowledge the boy while they were there. Then that was normal for the man. The only child he had whom he even liked was Harry and that was entirely by design. Harry changed his words and his behaviour around Robert Baratheon in order to manipulate the man into being his ally and it had worked spectacularly well. He would continue to do as such throughout his life, though it wouldn’t be limited to his father.

On the morning of his eighth name day he had been surprised by the appearance of his grandfather, and the announcement of a tourney that was being hosted in his honour, for his name day.

He was excited, even as he received his gifts from all over Westeros, and even from some leaders in Essos who wanted favour with his father, or his grandfather. He went through every gift and he detailed who had sent him what and he started writing little thank you letters to show his appreciation of the gifts he had been sent. If nothing else it would show his humility in being able to accept even the simplest of gifts with a kind word. No one else seemed to understand this little custom he had made for himself, believing at first it was just a childish quirk that they had laughed off, but Harry had carried it on through the years and now he was eight and still writing his quirky little thank you notes for gifts that others just expected him to have. But Harry had decided long ago that it would help his reputation and would give a little more recognition for his own name to send out such personal notes. Sometimes he even got messages back, which was a good thing, because it opened up a line of communication to leaders in Essos and prominent nobles in Westeros and he could then start to cultivate his own support network without going through his father or grandfather.

“Did you enjoy the tourney?” Balon asked him, standing taller, his chest thrown out, having come second in the archery contest. He was sixteen, a man grown, and he was certainly coming into himself now.

Harry nodded excitedly. “Oh yes.” He declared. “I am also very pleased for you too, Balon. Well done on your victory.”

“I only came second, Harian.” Balon waved off, though his ears had turned red, a sure sign of his embarrassment.

“Second at six-and-ten is certainly a victory I would claim.” Harry said shrugging a small shoulder. “You are too hard on yourself, Balon.”

“I believe that comes from being your sworn shield while I was still young myself, my Prince.” Balon mused.

Harry considered that closely, then nodded. He could understand that being the case. That being charged with the safety and protection of the crown prince of the realm, the only prince at the time to boot, while only twelve must have placed a massive amount of pressure on Balon.

Harry took Balon’s hand in his own and grinned up at him. “Have I told you recently how much I appreciate having you as my friend?” He asked.

Balon grinned down at him and squeezed his hand gently.

“You never fail to make me feel included and appreciated, Harian. I am honoured to call you my friend.”

They went to the feast hall and Harry sat next to Renly. The two of them started talking about the tourney, about the events of the day, while they ate.

Harry would be leaving on the morrow, back to King’s Landing, and he was going to be very sad to say goodbye to his uncle and half-brother, and to Storm’s End, but eventually, he did have to go back to the capital. His father travelled with half the court every time he left the city, and those people needed to be back in King’s Landing, even if his father didn’t care to do things dealing with the realm personally, he couldn’t be so ignorant of the need for his presence in the capital. So their little break was finally at an end.  

Harry ate his fill and got his fill of Renly too. They didn’t know when they would next see one another, but Harry swore he would remember to send a raven to Renly from time to time so that they could at least speak to one another. He already sent ravens to Willas Tyrell at Highgarden, and Prince Oberyn in Dorne, he could easily include Renly. It reminded him of sending owls to his friends back in his previous life and it was just nostalgic enough that he got excited to send ravens, so truly the more people he wrote to, the more ravens he could send and the more he got to feel the little ripple of excitement that it was almost like sending owls.

The week long journey from Storm’s End to King’s Landing was quiet and uneventful. It was almost peaceful and Robert took the opportunity to point out the prime hunting areas to him as they passed through the Kingswood. Harry listened intently, in a ploy at eagerness, but he didn’t relish the thought of hunting when he cared so much for animals and their welfare. His first hunting trip would be coming in the next few years, he knew. Robert was too eager to take him along, to share in the hunting experience with him. He sighed and steeled himself, it would be disastrous if he rejected any form of hunting while it was such a huge passion of Robert’s. It would rock, and possibly fracture their rather solid relationship and he couldn’t afford to let that happen. No, it was better to take part and do what was expected of him, in order to keep his father as his ally for the future, no matter how much he wouldn’t like it. He was still too vulnerable to strike out on his own terms. He still needed Robert as his ally for the time being.

It was rather late when they got back to the Red Keep, and it was getting dark. A rider had gone on ahead to make sure that everything was prepared and ready for them as they arrived.

They ate first and foremost and Harry was almost falling asleep onto his plate. He tried to ignore his heavily pregnant mother as she glared at him from the other side of the table. At least he had little to fear from her in her condition, as she couldn’t really move easily and was in a very delicate state…or so he had believed.

He had been sent to bed by his grandfather after he’d finished eating and he had taken a bath and dressed in his sleeping tunic with Balon beside him. He had dismissed his sworn shield, who was just as tired as he was, and he went to his bookshelf to pick out a book to read before moving to his bed.

He was immensely grateful that he flipped the cover down instead of just sliding in between the sheets. Finding the two snakes in his bed was shocking, especially as they had been injured, likely nicked with a knife from the state of them, and they had been trapped under his heavy covers, unable to move. The one reared up immediately once it was free, hissing and spitting, lunging for him.

‘Calm. I will not hurt you.’ Harry hissed out softly. ‘How did you come to be here?’

‘Kill. Kill.’ Was the only thing the snake replied, lunging for him again. It reminded him of the Basilisk, with the only words he’d ever heard from it being how it was hungry, how it wanted to rip and tear. All animals seemed to care about was eating and attacking. Of course, there were the Acromantulas too, all they’d ever said was how they wanted to eat him and Ron as well. It seemed that even if the animals could speak English, or be understood, their mind sets were still all animal instinct.

Harry struck it when it reared back to strike at him again, and he caught it behind the head, forcing its jaws open. He reached for the other snake, but pulled back his hand and waited for it to lunge and then repeated the process, catching it behind the head. He assumed that this was another crude attempt to murder him, this time in his own bed, as he padded barefoot out of his room and down the hall in his sleeping tunic. He had an idea, and hopefully, this would prevent any more murder attempts, or perhaps it would increase them, but this was the most desperate attempt yet and he was thoroughly fed up of it all.

He slipped into his four year old brother’s room and he put the more docile of the snakes on the floor, furthest from his brother. He didn’t want him killed, despite how monstrous the little fucker was turning out to be, but to scare his mother, absolutely.

He left his brother’s room and padded down the hall of Maegor’s Holdfast. His family were all in the royal solar near the entrance to the holdfast and he pushed open the door and looked at them all looking back at him.

“What is the matter, Harian?” His grandfather asked immediately. “You were told to go to bed.”

“I went to get into bed, Grandfather, but this was in it.” He said, holding out the writhing snake.

“That…that’s a Dornish spitting snake! They’re highly venomous.” Ser Preston said, recoiling from the thrashing snake.

Ser Barristan approached immediately to take the snake from him.

“Hold him here, Ser. Behind the head.” Harry instructed. “He cannot bite you that way.”

Barristan’s mailed fist took the snake from him and then crushed its skull. Harry tried not to feel anything, the snake had been injured, so it might have died if released anyway.

“Harian, come here!” His father called out, immediately putting his wine to the side. “Were you bitten at all?”

Harry went to him and was pulled onto his father’s lap. He shook his head. “No. I’m alright, Father. Upset that someone has tried to murder me in my bed, as that snake didn’t get there by itself. Perhaps my brother’s room should be checked also?”

“Selmy, Moore, go and check Joffrey’s room.” His father commanded.

The disturbed four year old was brought to the solar, sleepy and throwing a fit while the Kingsguard scoured his room. Ser Barristan brought a second dead snake to the solar.

“There was a snake in Prince Joffrey’s room also, Your Grace.”

Harry was held tightly, and he rather thought that his father’s head would explode, but Harry kept his eyes on his pale mother, who was smothering Joffrey as well as she was able with her heavy belly between them. She looked up and caught his gaze. He smirked and turned away.

“I want the person responsible for this found.” Robert said harshly. “By any mean’s necessary. I will not stand for my own sons to be put in harm’s way, murdered in their beds in my own holdfast! This stops now! Harian was taken from the holdfast by the servants and almost killed, now there are snakes in his fucking bed?”

“Perhaps the person who sent that cutthroat after me when I was three hasn’t given up after all, Father.” Harry pointed out.

Robert breathed heavily. “They won’t get away with it. I want my son protected at all times.” He directed at the Kingsguard. “His room is to be searched every night and I want the one responsible caught.”

“What about Joffrey?” Cersei demanded.

“Him too!” Robert waved away as an afterthought, but everyone could see that it was Harry who was his main priority.

“Come, Harian. I will take you back to bed.” His grandfather insisted.

Harry faked a yawn and turned to hug his father, kissing him before slipping from his lap. He took his grandfather’s hand and allowed himself to be walked back to his room.

“Both snakes were in your bed, weren’t they?” His grandfather asked him shrewdly.

“Yes, Grandfather. I know it was dangerous to provoke her, but I wanted her to know that I wasn’t the only one vulnerable. I put the snake on the floor, away from Joffrey’s bed. I didn’t want him harmed, I wanted her warned.”

“I understand, but you shouldn’t have let your emotions overrule your logic. It was not smart to provoke her with her favoured son. You let your anger overcome your thoughts. This sort of unplanned revenge for instant gratification has far reaching consequences, Harian. You must do better the next time.”

Harry hated that disappointed look being aimed at him, but he was forty-four years old now, though no one could know that. He knew how to look out for dangers and threats, and he also knew how to lay one down. Putting the snake in Joffrey’s room had been a warning, letting his mother know that he knew she was behind it, and a threat to kill off Joffrey if she tried for him again, which was likely given her track record. But it also put in mind how many attempts he had survived thus far, and if he survived the next attempt, his intent was clear, he would take out Joffrey in retaliation.

“I will do better, Grandfather.” He said softly.

“I know that you will. Overall this was a rather pathetic attempt at your life.” Tywin said as he watched Harry climb into his bed, the sheets already changed from the snake blood that had stained them.

“It could have worked.” Harry insisted. “If I had slid into bed without flipping down the sheets, they could have bitten my legs before I knew they were there. Perhaps numerous times and it would have killed me. I’m just so tired, Grandfather. I’m so fed up of it all. The Greyjoys, then the servants abducting me, and now the same day I arrive back to King’s Landing yet another assassination attempt. I haven’t had a chance to rest between any of these events. I’m so very tired.”

Tywin looked worried as he considered Harry’s words.

“This has been a rather terrible year for you. I will tighten the protection around you, even if I have to pay Lannister guards to protect you at all times. This was a pathetic attempt, but you are right, it might have worked and I cannot allow it to keep happening.”

“It does come across as very desperate to use an unreliable animal for an assassination. She had no idea if they would strike at me or just curl up to try to protect itself. Animals are usually a will unto themselves. The thing that strikes me the most from this attempt though is that it’s doubtful that she would have handled those snakes herself, or pricked them with a dagger herself. So who would have?”

“I would imagine the culprit for that will be the one caught and executed for attempting to kill you and your brother.” Tywin told him.

Harry nodded. “I would like to see how this unfolds. Is the person responsible truly so loyal to my mother that they will not speak her name under torture? And if my mother is implicated, how will she respond, how will my father respond?”

“He would likely have believed her behind it if you had not moved a snake to your brother’s room. He knows there is no love lost between you two and it would have been easier to implicate her had you not let your emotions overcome your rationality.”

“Father will likely come to the conclusion that the person acted on their own, and has some grievance against my mother as motive to implicate her. She will see that and spin some tale about a threat to her children if she did not go to bed with the culprit, or something similar. As a loyal wife, she refused, calling the person’s bluff, only to have snakes end up in her children’s beds.”

“A lie that can be scented out how?” Tywin asked with an almost smile.

“She will not spin such a lie without something to work with. She will only think to do so under questioning. If it was the truth, why not mention anything now, before the culprit is caught and tortured?”

“You are a truly remarkable boy. A little emotional, and quick to anger at times, like your father, but still remarkable. She will not try again so soon, so get some rest. I will ensure that a member of the Kingsguard will be posted outside of your door for the night.”

“Goodnight, Grandfather.” Harry said, settling himself into his bed.

Once his door was closed, he sat back up and started his nightly practice with his magic. He was getting stronger, better, and he was almost at the age now where he would be going to Hogwarts. His magic should come much stronger by then, and it would be smoother and easier to handle. Then he would be in a much better position to protect himself from attackers and would-be assailants. He just needed to keep his wits about him for another three years or so and always be on his guard, always watching and listening. He had survived eight years thus far, another three should be doable.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Cersei paced cumbersomely around her bedchambers, squeezing her hands together until they were mottled, fretting and afraid.

“He knows, Jaime. How does he know?” She demanded of her twin.

“It would not be too difficult to guess, Cersei, with how you have always treated him.” Jaime replied blithely. “Sit down, this fretting isn’t good for the babe you carry.”

Cersei sat on her bed and fretted some more. “The look he gave me when the snake was found in Joff’s room. He put it there, I know he did.”

“The boy is growing up, he thinks he knows it all, and how to play the game of thrones. All boys at that age think they know everything, that they’re the greatest at everything. He’s yet to have a knock down to prove him wrong, that’s all.”

“I’ll knock him down.” Cersei promised darkly.

“Tread carefully, Cersei. Joffrey won’t be the only one at risk once this baby is born. He’s already shown that he has no love for his brother and a newborn babe is a lot easier for an eight year old boy to kill.”

Cersei’s hand went to her swollen belly, pressing on the writhing babe within. Her second child with Jaime.

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“I would say that there was little that the boy wouldn’t dare do. You have shown your hand to him, given him the opportunity to study it and he has worked out where to hit you hardest. That snake was not in your bedchamber, it was not you that he was directly striking at, it was his brother. He knows what would hurt you the most and he is striking out at that instead. He’s not as stupid as once believed. He has had five years of tutelage under our father in Casterly Rock. Father refuses to leave him even here. Harian is no lackwit, but neither is he as clever as he believes himself to be. He has shown that tonight, by putting the snake in Joffrey’s room and allowing you to see his knowledge of your plots. There will be opportunity still, but you must stop endangering yourself with these attempts.”

“He’s threatened Joffrey!” She hissed, her hands angrily striking out before they were clenched into tight fists by her sides.

“He is warning you.” Jaime hissed back. “He is showing you that he can get to Joffrey as easily as you can get to him, but Joff is more vulnerable than Harian is. Joff is a four year old babe and Harian is twice that age. He’s bigger, stronger, and smarter. Harian has survived all your attempts to kill him, and now that he is older, he’s going to start hitting back. The snake was a warning, Cersei. If you try again, and fail again, he’ll take out Joffrey in retaliation.”

“Robert would…”

Jaime let out a mocking laugh. “Now who is being foolish? Robert has no love or tolerance for Joffrey. Compared to his golden son, Harian, Joffrey is nothing to him. You saw it clearly tonight, all of his concern was for Harian, his first thought was to Harian’s safety. He would not have even remembered Joffrey if you had not reminded him, and Joff was even in the room with him at the time. If Harian does kill Joffrey, blatantly, and owns up to doing the deed, even if he boasted of it, Robert would do nothing. Who knows, he might even congratulate him, you know how Robert is with martial prowess. He cawed like a rooster for several turns after the Greyjoy rebellion, about how Harian killed those three men while a mere boy of six.”

Cersei’s heart missed a beat and she once again laid a hand defensively over her stomach.

“We mustn’t fail again.” She whispered desperately.

“We will if you use such a weak method of killing the boy. Snakes, Cersei, truly?”

Cersei said nothing but continued to stroke the babe inside of her body.

“I told you to wait, that we needed to open his throat and ensure that the boy is dead the next time. Now everyone is back on guard and he has a member of the Kingsguard posted on his door at night. These measures will not be laxed for years to come, if they ever are after the boy was taken from the holdfast by the servants.”

“I had no part in that.” Cersei said yet again.

“After witnessing the torture of those men found, I believe you. It was poor timing for us if truth be told. They were never going to kill him, they just wanted gold. The security around Harian has now tightened. The servants are all terrified to put a foot out of line in case they get undue suspicion cast upon them and end up under Ser Ilyn’s blade, so they cannot be used or bribed to help us and those who took him were never going to answer our prayers and dump his body in a river.”

“I just want him gone. With our new babe on the way…he puts them in danger, Jaime. With his black hair, looking like Robert, acting like Robert…they even laugh the same way.”

“People see what they want to see, Cersei. No one is going to suspect that Joff and this new babe aren’t Robert’s, not even with Harian next to them. You are fretting for no reason. You are risking yourself for no reason.”

“It is as clear as day to look at them!”

“Only to you.” Jaime insisted. “You who knows the truth. You sit there and can’t understand how no one else can see it, but you are the only one thinking as such, Cersei. No one else is looking at those two boys and thinking that either of them are not Robert’s. Not even Robert is thinking it. He might not like Joffrey, but he believes that he is his son.”

“I will not try again. Not so soon.”

“Be sure that you don’t. We now have to wait longer to be rid of the boy. You need to be patient, Cersei. Harian knows now and at any moment he could implicate you. He’s linked together the attempt tonight with the attempt when he was three. He knows that you were behind both. He only needs to convince one person of that and the rumour will spread and eventually reach Robert. Who do you think he would side with? You, the woman he didn’t want or love, the wife he was forced to take to secure father’s army, or his beloved son, the boy he lamed three horses for, just to reach Casterly Rock that little bit faster when he had Redspots? The boy he would have swum the ocean for to reach him on Pyke while he was a hostage? Harian has you in a dangerous place, sweet sister, he can tighten the rope about your neck any time he pleases and watch you squirm. Robert will not hold him accountable for anything that he does.”

“I will not be at the mercy of that monster I bore in my womb.” She hissed.

“You must endure it for now.” Jaime cautioned. “Give him no reason to spread any rumours that you were behind the attack. Leave him alone, keep Joffrey close, the new babe too. He is still just a boy, he will forget and move on if you give him no cause to remember.”

“I can’t stand him being here. I can’t stand looking at him. You promised me that he would be dead.”

“And so he will be, Cersei, but not yet. Now, I must leave, old Selmy will start fretting about where I am and questions will be raised. Just go to sleep, Cersei, be well and look after the babe you carry. Tomorrow the entire of King’s Landing will be torn apart to look for the would-be assassin of the two princes. You had better hope that the one implicated does not implicate you in return.”

Jaime left the queen’s bedchamber and went back to standing guard on the bridge to Maegor’s Holdfast. He wished that he had known about the snake plot so that he might have stayed Cersei’s hand and coached patience. Now it was too late and once again the guards had swarmed around Harian, making him that much harder to reach.

He didn’t understand why his twin had not come to him with this plot, as she had with all of the others. Perhaps she had known that he would prevent her from acting out the foolish deed. Snakes in the boy’s bed…it was doomed to fail from the start and if it had actually succeeded it would have been by mere chance. A stroke of pure luck and nothing more.

He needed to keep a closer eye on his sister, and on Joffrey and the new babe too, especially as it had been revealed that Harian knew the source of his assassination attempts. His mind wandered back to his idea all those years ago, when Harian had been newly born. A weak, shrivelled, helpless babe trapped in his own swaddling. He should have thrown the boy down those stairs and ignored Cersei’s fretting. None of this would have happened, Cersei wouldn’t be so desperate and fearful, and Joffrey would be the crown prince if only he had acted upon his own suggestion. Well, it was too late for such things now and if Cersei carried on implementing such weak attempts, which only served to tighten the guards around the boy, then they would fail in their ultimate goal, and the boy would one day be their king. The thought was unpalatable, it could not be allowed to happen, even if he ended up having to do the deed himself. He was already called the Kingslayer, adding a prince to that couldn’t harm his already tattered reputation any more than his slaying of the Mad King had done.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Robert had gone hunting in the Kingswood the moment he heard the news that the queen was in labour and his grandfather had ridden for Casterly Rock for a visit, taking Harry with him. It was Gryffindor’s first proper journey and Harry was so excited to be riding him back to his most favourite place.

It was still the year two-ninety AC and Harry was so happy to be back at Casterly Rock despite that the last time he’d been here it was because he’d had to walk himself to the Rock from the mountains after his abduction from the Red Keep. He was looking forward to seeing his uncles again and sleeping in his bedroom too which reminded him so much of the Gryffindor common room that it had become a great comfort to him.  

He stayed close to his grandfather and tried to ignore Ser Meryn Trant, his Kingsguard protector. He spoke excitedly to Balon, ever his best friend, and made sure to say how much he’d liked his father, Lord Gulian Swann, and his older brother, Donnel, when they had come to visit just before they had left for Casterly Rock. Truthfully though he believed Balon to be the best of the three Swanns. Donnel was hot-headed and too boastful of minor deeds that didn’t deserve such acclaim and Gulian was overly fawning and rather meek, he was easy to back down and tried to placate both of his sons at the same time, even if it meant contradicting himself, but he wasn’t about to tell Balon that. He was secretly glad that he had gotten Balon though, and not Donnel, as a sworn shield, he would not have liked Donnel as much as he did Balon, he already knew.

Harry had lost another of his teeth only a few days before, while they were riding, and even now his tongue found the hole left behind and played with it. It was the fourth baby tooth he’d lost and he already had two adult teeth, both upper incisors. He looked very goofy now, but all children had to go through this stage of life, so he didn’t let it bother him and he didn’t let it stop him from smiling widely. He was no self-conscious teenager, though he had made sure to play the part of a child by going around and showing every member of the entourage travelling to Casterly Rock his tooth and the gap it had left in his mouth.

Finally arriving back at Casterly Rock was like coming home after a long time away. He just wanted to go to his own bedroom and rest for a while, but he was also so excited to see all of his uncles again, if not his stupid cousins, particularly not Lancel.

They were all waiting for their arrival just inside the Lion’s Mouth gate and Harry slipped his horse by himself and went running to greet them, reaching his uncle Tygett first. He ignored the eight year old Lancel, the five year old twins Martyn and Willem, and the almost four year old Tyrek. He was interested in the two year old babe his uncle Gerion was holding, however, he’d found that he really liked Joy despite how young she was.

“Uncle, how is my cousin?” He asked Gerion excitedly.

“Joy is growing well, she’s perfectly fine. She is excited to meet her royal cousin. Or she was before she suddenly became shy.” Gerion teased, poking his daughter who had buried her face into his neck.

“I haven’t been gone that long, Joy!” He teased. “I was here two turns ago, for your second name day!” He reminded her, smiling at her sweet little face peering at him from Gerion’s neck. “My uncle Stannis has had a babe, Shireen, and I haven’t gotten to see her yet! I’ve only just met my bastard brother, Edric, and he’s three now.”

Tygett laughed and held him tighter. “You will catch up with things soon enough. Now, why don’t you go and settle back into your room, we have reports and finances to talk over with your grandfather. It’s very boring.”

Harry doubted that very much. More likely they were going to talk about the snakes appearing in his bed, and the subsequent torture and beheading of a newly appointed servant, who had screamed under torture that the queen had made him do it.

Harry smirked as he remembered what he’d told his grandfather. About how she would use the confession to construct a lie. Of course, Robert Baratheon had swallowed the lie perfectly. He had never been a man for intellect. He didn’t think to question the timing of the ‘truth’ coming out, or why his wife had not mentioned this man to anyone before now. He took it as truth and the man was executed, his head now decorating Traitor’s Walk.

As a result of this newest plot to kill the ‘princes’ by another servant of the Red Keep, his father was apoplectic with rage over the threat to his sons. All of the servants had been taken and interviewed by Robert and the Kingsguard personally. Before Harry had left the Red Keep for Casterly Rock one poor serving girl had taken one look at him and had started sobbing, so paramount was her fear.

“I don’t find finances boring.” Harry pointed out, just to carry on the ploy at being his childish self.

“You are an odd one, I’ll grant you.” Tygett chuckled. “But go and rest, you can start your lessons again when you are not fresh from the road.”

Harry nodded agreeably to being sent to his room, he just took Balon’s hand and allowed Ser Meryn to follow him, as he went back up to his room, glittering gold and bright in the sunlight streaming through his windows, and he settled back in by leaping onto his bed and rolling over it, inhaling the comforting smell that was so familiar to him. His sheets had been freshly washed and the windows were wide open, letting in a gentle breeze that carried the salt smell of the Sunset Sea.

He got back up and went to his bookshelf, perusing the titles of the new books that had appeared there for him, and he selected one before going to the open window and sitting on the window seat to read. Balon sat in the chair close by and watched him, even as he took out a whetstone to tend to his sword, and the two of them settled into the peace of Casterly Rock.

But back down in the private solar, Tywin Lannister was furiously pacing in front of his three brothers, worried for the small boy upstairs.

“What has she done this time?” Kevan asked, knowing that his brother would not have come for this flighty visit if something hadn’t happened that was too dangerous to put in a message. He had never seen the usually logical and stone-faced Tywin so anxious.

“She put two venomous snakes in his bed.” Tywin said, sitting down at last, looking at his three younger brothers seriously.

“Snakes?” Gerion demanded. “Is she so desperate to be rid of him? All he needed to do was flip the cover from the bed to see them and then go and tell someone.”

“Harian…for all his smarts and intelligence, he is still his father’s son, ruled by anger and emotion. The Baratheon blood runs thick in him, despite all of our teachings.” Tywin sighed. “I had hoped he might have reacted better, but I fear he is now so fed up of his mother’s plots to kill him, that the situation is now becoming more dangerous.”

“What did he do?” Tygett asked, worried by Tywin’s reaction. He was usually showing off his grandson, pointing out all his positive traits and how brilliant a king he would be. It was not often at all that Tywin expressed disappointment in him.

“He caught the snakes easily by himself. They were already injured, likely to rile them up so that they would attack easier, but he thought he would take his own revenge, a warning to his mother. He put one of the snakes in Joffrey’s room.”

“He tried to kill his brother?” Gerion asked in shock, trying to imagine the kind, sweet boy he knew attempting to murder his own brother.

“No. He meant the boy no harm. He put the snake on the floor, away from his brother’s bed. He came to the solar brandishing the one snake, and of course, Robert went mad and demanded that Harian’s bedchamber be searched for any more snakes. Harian was the one to suggest that Joffrey’s room was also searched.”

“It is a good warning, but premature.” Tygett said. “Before this Cersei would have had no idea that he knew that she was behind the attempts on his life. Now she does know.”

Tywin nodded. “My thoughts exactly. He is now in more danger than ever. Cersei will know that he could let slip about it at any moment and she will panic.”

“That could also be considered a good thing. If she is panicked and doesn’t think her plots through, she is more likely to make a mistake.” Kevan insisted.

“A more risky attempt might also see Harian injured or dead.” Gerion put in.

“I have the need now to keep Harian closer than ever, but as he is growing and ageing, it is more difficult than ever before. He wishes to run about, climb everything, do everything, see everything. It is harder to keep him safe, even when he is right under my nose.”

“Have you had a chance to weed out the traitor Kingsguard knight?” Tygett demanded.

“I have narrowed it down to Boros Blount, or Meryn Trant.”

“Trant is here with Harian now.” Gerion said in alarm, moving to stand on reflex.

“He cannot act in the open. If Harian ends up dead now, questions will be asked of him. But while we have Harian here, we will protect him.” Tywin said firmly.

“Is Jaime still involved in the scheming?”

“Almost certainly.” Tywin said, for he felt absolutely no doubt that his twin children were in this together.

His mind was pulled back to Joffrey and how he looked like Jaime’s double. To the new babe who would have been born into the world while he had been travelling and how much Cersei had loved the unborn babe in a way that she had never loved Harian, Robert’s trueborn son. The new babe was undoubtedly Jaime’s child as well and even thinking it to himself made him feel ill.

“This is the first attempt in five years.” Kevan spoke up, breaking the silence.

“That we know of.” Gerion pointed out darkly, easing himself back into his seat. “How many more plots and schemes have there been, hidden in the woodwork, that were either discarded or didn’t come to fruition? I don’t believe for a moment that they would have given up this vile endeavour for any amount of time.”

“She is getting desperate to kill him.” Tygett said. “He is eight name days old, he will be a man soon, perhaps even king. She wants to kill him before that can happen. She doesn’t want Harian to become the king and she needs to kill him while he’s still a vulnerable child. He has more of a chance at fighting off an assassin at six-and-ten than he would have now, at eight.”

“We need to protect him now more than ever.” Gerion insisted. “If she is trying to make these attempts look like accidents, there will be cut girth straps on his saddle, his fishing boat might happen to spring a leak while he is on it, or he might be pushed down some stairs or even from a balcony and have it claimed to be a fall. He needs someone with him at all times.”

“He does have someone with him at all times. Harian never goes anywhere without his sworn shield. They are very close friends.” Tywin spoke up. “Anyone who wishes to get to our prince must first go through Balon Swann.”

“I saw him when you arrived and I could scarcely believe he was the same boy. He has grown well.”

“He is seven-and-ten on the next turn, he is a man grown and well able to protect his young ward.” Tywin nodded. “He trains with the Kingsguard and might one day join them when a space is made available. He is a shadow always beside Harian, and now a man, he is in a much better position to protect him.”

“He is assuredly loyal?”

“Without question.” Tywin nodded. “He will lay his life down for his prince, I am certain of it. He cannot be bought or bribed, he values his friendship with Harian. He can be trusted.”

“That is one relief among all of this.” Gerion sighed.

“I will keep Harian here now until Robert sends word to bring him back to the capital. He has progressed to leaving Harian alone for a short time, usually while he hunts, but it never lasts for long and after this most recent attempt on his life, on top of the abduction from the holdfast, he has gone back to clutching Harian close to him. We’ll have a week here, perhaps, before the raven arrives. We must teach Harian to bursting in that time.”

“No time like right now.” Gerion said, standing. “At least if one of us is always with Harian also, if Trant does try anything, we have a greater chance of thwarting it.” 

“I do not expect him to try, but if he does do something so foolish, then Balon will be rising to the Kingsguard sooner than expected.” Tywin answered, also standing. “When you are done with Harian, send him to me.”

Gerion nodded that he’d heard his brother’s instruction and he left the solar, and Tywin went to his office to oversee some of the reports that Kevan had been handling in his absence. Harian knew to join him there when told to come for a lesson.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry’s lessons were unrelenting during his stay at the Rock, and he got the feeling that he was being kept busy for some reason, but he heard no whispers about why that might be. His days were completely structured from the moment he was woken up by Balon just before dawn to do his physical exercises until he had his evening lesson with his grandfather before he was allowed to fall into his bed, where he stayed awake for a further two hours to practice his magic and drain himself a little to control any bouts of accidental magic he might have. 

He still loved his time at Casterly Rock though and he never complained about his very full routine, he just fell into it, grateful that he had people around him to teach him and he greedily absorbed everything that he could. He just rolled with every decision made, as he took his lessons with Tywin, as he had was instructed in swordsmanship by Tygett, as Kevan took him out on patrols around Casterly Rock and Lannisport while performing his duties as Captain, and he still had lessons with Gerion, which was more fun as he was mostly learning to cartwheel, juggle, and tumble. He was still allowed to play with his instruments, just now he was usually playing for Dorna and Darlessa, who clapped and praised him and his improvement. He had learnt to play more complicated songs on his fiddle and he was getting better at using a high harp too. He had started to gain a real interest in learning languages too, and as was fitting for a royal, he was being taught High Valyrian and some of the languages of the Free Cities, mostly bastard Valyrian, and he was getting much, much better at both now with two years instruction under his belt.

The Lannister fleet had been rebuilt since the Greyjoy rebellion a year and a half previous, and Harry finally got to go out on the sea, on the newly rebuilt Prince Harian’s Hammer. Balon was with him this time, as was Meryn Trant and his uncle Tygett. His grandfather was taking absolutely no chances, though the Greyjoys had been very thoroughly chastened with their defeat.

Balon Greyjoy had lost all three of his sons in his doomed rebellion, Rodrik and Maron were both dead, and Theon had been forcibly fostered at Winterfell, leaving him with just his daughter, Asha. By all accounts, Balon Greyjoy was a broken man, and no longer sought to claim himself as king of the Iron Islands. At least he didn’t yet, Harry would be sure to keep an ear on him, and his movements, just in case he recovered from this blow and set his sights to revenge.

Some of Harry’s favourite lessons, however, were with his sworn shield, as Balon taught him proper archery. He was now tall enough to use a real bow and he no longer needed a box to stand on. He was finally using the bow gifted to him for his seventh name day and he was very good at it now, and he had an almost unparalleled aim, only Balon was a better shot than he was. It was unheard of for such a young boy to show such talent with any weapon, but far from stopping him or holding him back his family only encouraged him to cultivate his talent further. Harry had always had such good reflexes though, and he smiled to himself to think once more about playing Quidditch. There were zero comparisons with any experience here in Westeros and Harry had had to resign himself to that. Never again would he feel what it was like to fly, to soar through the air, the thrill of the chase, the gut lurching dives, or his hand closing around the tiny, walnut sized snitch. He had memories of it all, of course, but he would never again feel those sensations of flying and that was a little depressing.

“Harian. Come with me.”

Harry blinked from his musing and the book he had been reading came back into focus. He looked up at his grandfather, who had called out for him, and the words filtered into his mind and he leapt up to do as his grandfather had asked, leaving his book open on the table.

“Is anything the matter, Grandfather?” He asked, falling into step beside Tywin.

“Nothing, I am merely conducting a meeting and I would like for you to join in on this one.”

“Like I did when I was younger?” Harry asked, remembering when he’d first come to Casterly Rock, when he’d been all but plastered to his grandfather’s side from morning until night unless otherwise told not to, so that he could learn.

“Of a sort.” His grandfather answered. “I would, however, like for you to be an active member of this meeting, instead of just sitting and listening. I want to hear your thoughts, your opinions, on the things discussed at the table today.”

Harry tried not to be nervous about that. It was getting more difficult for him to judge his own mental levels. It would only be too easy for him to say the wrong thing here, when asked of his opinion on something that he could potentially answer better than the adults around him.

“Are you looking forward to it?” Tywin prompted him.

“Oh yes, Grandfather.” He answered, in a show of his normal enthusiastic curiosity, but inside he was worried.

Unlike back when he’d first sat in on meetings with his grandfather, Harry did not sit on his lap this time. He was getting older now and he was being treated accordingly, so he had his own chair set up, right next to his grandfather at the head of the table. Everyone was already waiting for them. Uncle Kevan, uncle Tygett, and uncle Gerion, the Lannister Captain of the Guards Ser Owen, the master-at-arms Ser Benedict Broom, and Maester Creylen. Also present was his grandfather’s page, little Merlon Crakehall, who was the third, and youngest, son of Lord Roland, who had become the lord after his older brother, Sumner, had died without children before Harry had been born…or perhaps just after, he couldn’t recall.

The boy was the same age as Harry, and it had been hoped, no doubt, that he and Harry might become friends. Harry was only pretending at being a child, however, and thus he preferred his own company, or that of adults, so Merlon, and his father Lord Roland, were left disappointed by a rather uninterested prince of the Seven Kingdoms, who really did not want any little friends his own age. Harry had found that he had little patience for any actual children after being forced to play with, and interact with, his own cousins.

The meeting started off normally enough, just the men reporting to his grandfather as Merlon Crakehall filled wine goblets from a gold jug, but Harry watched closely, he listened closer to all that was being said, he had been brought to this meeting for a reason and he refused to disappoint Tywin.

The real reason for the meeting was left until last. There was some unrest in the mountains to the northeast of Casterly Rock, as Lord Leo Lefford of the Golden Tooth was squaring himself up against the Lord of Sarsfield, Mollo. This issue, he knew, was why Tywin had wanted him to join this meeting. This was the issue that Tywin wanted to hear his thoughts on. It was a test, one which Harry was determined to pass.

“Lord Lefford is claiming that Lord Sarsfield encroached upon his land and took precious stones from his mine and he is demanding them back.” Maester Creylen read out from the scrap of paper held close to his face.

“Lord Sarsfield goes too far.” Kevan said, shaking his head.

“Lord Sarsfield is claiming that Lord Lefford took gold from his mine a turn past, thus he was merely taking the sum of what was taken from him from the Golden Tooth mine.” Creylen said, finding and reading another piece of paper, before putting it down again.

“Why wasn’t this incident reported to us before now, if that was truly what happened?” Gerion asked.

“Lord Lefford claims that Lord Sarsfield struck him first and he has not retaliated, but Lord Sarsfield claims that Lord Lefford took from him and he was retaliating. Who do we make an example of?” Tygett spoke up.

“Lord Sarsfield did not write to us to inform us of the theft of the gold from his mine before the accusation from Lord Lefford. Mayhaps he is lying?” Ser Benedict pointed out.

“Punish the both of them and be done with it.” Ser Owen waved off. “They are both at fault, one took from the other, and the other took back.”

“They should both be punished.” Harry spoke up, his high, childish voice cutting through the muttering men and they all looked at him. “But not for the reasons you stipulated, Ser Owen. By rights the gold found, and the stones, are property of Casterly Rock. They had no right to it in the first place. They have not robbed from each other, they have robbed from Casterly Rock, yet instead of writing to their liege lord about the thefts, they have taken it into their own hands and are threatening a battle, which weakens the mountain pass into the Westerlands via the east. Not that I think the Riverlands will rise up in arms, but if they did, and the defensive keeps of the east passage are fighting among themselves, it puts the entire Westerlands at risk.”

“Harian, we only ask for a portion of the gold and stones found in the mines of those sworn to House Lannister.” Tygett told him gently, kindly, but Harry was not put off track.

“How can they accurately declare their findings if they are stealing from one another, Uncle?” Harry asked. “Just because my lord grandfather allows them to keep a percentage of all that is mined on their land, does not mean that it does not initially belong to him. They are his bannermen, not the other way around. Everything mined in the Westerlands belongs to Casterly Rock, and to Lord Lannister, until he decides what percentage everyone else keeps.”

“I had not thought of it that way.” Gerion mused.

“How would you punish them, Harian?” His grandfather spoke up for the first time. He preferred to listen during these meetings, to listen to all counsel of his trusted men, until he could see from all sides and then make a decision on what he would do.

Harry thought hard about the situation, but his answer was a little ‘adult’ for his age. He mentally sighed, there was nothing else for it. There was only one way he could think of to ease tensions, to keep Lords Lefford and Sarsfield as bannermen, without tearing the Westerlands apart.

“They are squabbling over undeclared gold and stones.” He said softly, after a pregnant pause. “If they cannot be trusted to declare all they mine to Casterly Rock, and not to steal from each other, and their liege lord, remove their miners and send in your own, Grandfather. Your miners, your overseers, and your stewards, until they can be trusted again. That way they do not have control over those mines and they do not get a percentage of the takings.”

“Those mines are on their land, Harian.” Kevan told him.

“Their land only by the grace of their liege lord, Lord of Casterly Rock.” Harry pointed out. “If they take issue with it they can have that land, and their keeps, stripped from them and given to someone more trustworthy, though it shouldn’t come to that.”

“A harsh answer to such a trifle matter.” Creylen said.

Harry shook his head. “A harsh answer to a matter that may well escalate, Maester. They are threatening arms against one another over this trifle matter. They are threatening to weaken the eastern defences and they are squabbling over stolen goods that belong to neither of them, not until Lord Lannister graciously grants it to them. Perhaps they have been allowed too much freedom or too high a percentage of all that is mined on their land. They have gotten greedy and they have forgotten where their allegiance lies and to whom those precious resources belong. Perhaps reminding them of that, with the method I have set out, would do well to chastise them and force them to think the next time they try to steal from other mines not on their lands, or indeed from their liege lord.”

“Except Lord Lefford insists that he was the one attacked, and it is only now that Lord Sarsfield says that Lord Lefford stole gold from his mines.” Maester Creylen pointed out. “What if Lord Lefford is the innocent party in all of this?”

“Neither of them are innocent.” Harry said. “They have still taken up arms against one another, they still have undeclared goods that are subject to taxation. We may not find out if Lord Sarsfield had gold stolen from him, or if he made it up to justify his theft of the Golden Tooth, but it can be used nonetheless as an example of undeclared mined goods and punish the both of them for that instead. Lord Sarsfield can hardly go back on his story, even if it is not true and there was no gold stolen.”

Gerion laughed then. “You are going to be formidable when you are full grown.”

Harry shrugged a narrow shoulder. “Theft is a capital offence, punishable by the King’s Justice with the loss of a hand. Lord Leo and Lord Mollo have admitted to having undeclared goods, which in my eyes is theft, but as they are lords bannermen it would be foolish to take a hand, or even a head, despite that we are talking of precious resources like gold and gemstones, so it seems more prudent to take away the object of their squabbling, which is control of the mines on their lands. If they cannot be trusted, they should not be trusted.”

“Creylen.” Tywin spoke up. “See that Harian’s punishment is implemented immediately. I will have Casterly Rock overseers and stewards sent to the mines and all mined goods will be returned to Casterly Rock for half a year. I want a full inventory taken of all goods found in both Sarsfield and the Golden Tooth, and their vaults and treasuries counted. I want to know if this instance is the first for undeclared goods or if it is merely the tip of the problem.”

Creylen looked unhappy, but he inclined his head and made a note. Harry wanted to flip him off, the Maester didn’t like the ‘punishment’ only because it was Harry who had suggested it. If it had been anyone else he would have fawned over the idea and praised the one to think of it.

Harry controlled himself and tempered his smile too. It would do him no favours to look smug for any reason.

“What if it isn’t the first time, Grandfather?” Harry asked instead.

“Then I will do as you have suggested and strip them of their lands and raise other houses, those more trustworthy. It wouldn’t be wise to keep thieving, untrustworthy men as bannermen, or put them in charge of precious resource mines.”

Harry nodded his understanding, but he’d had an idea that that is what might happen, but he had a part to play still, and a part of that was to ask such questions in a ploy at ‘learning’.

Everyone was dismissed from the meeting, but Tywin kept a hand on Harry’s leg. A silent gesture for Harry to stay where he was.

“You thought deeply about the issue and you came to the same conclusion that I had.” Tywin told him once the room had cleared, and he looked so proud that it momentarily froze Harry’s brain…was this what parental pride actually felt like?

“It was the best solution I could think of, Grandfather.” He said softly, trying not to show how affected he was with those words, or rather the pride that was being aimed at him. He’d never had this…people to look at him, speak to him, and treat him like their own child. Tywin Lannister truly was more like a father to him than anyone else he’d ever had before in his life, and that included Sirius too.

“It was the best solution to the issue, and you were the one to think of it, as I had, but with no prompting or any hints of what others might have had in mind. I have never been more proud of you, Harian.”

Harry felt himself colouring up, but he was pleased too. He had never gotten this sort of interaction, or praise, before and he found that he liked it very much.

Tywin gave his blushed cheek a soft touch.

“You shouldn’t be so modest, Harian. You are already extraordinary and at such a young age too. Your intelligence is unmatched. If I am honest I do not believe that even I was up to your level at your age.”

“It is because I had you to teach me, Grandfather.” Harry insisted. “I would not be where I am now without you.”

“Be that as it may, you came to me intelligent, Harian. I have merely directed and moulded you, as that is all you needed. You had no hint or help to reach the same decision that I did, yet you got there still, all by yourself.”

“I’ve been taught by you, Grandfather, for nearly all of my life. I’ve come to think like you too.” 

Tywin squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “Good. My brothers and I have been building you up since you were a mere three year old babe, and now that you are eight, we can already see the man you will become.”

Harry doubted that. No one could possibly know what he would become when he was an adult, because he was already an adult inside this tiny eight year old body. Given more time to learn, and to stretch, he would be better than anyone could possibly imagine.

It was a strange sensation, to become an adult all over again when he considered that he was already an adult, but the amount of knowledge it gave him was incredible. It wouldn’t be long now. Very soon he would be sixteen and considered a man grown here in Westeros. Then he could really shine and show people exactly who he was and what he could do. There would be no more holding himself back, or guarding his thoughts, or his tongue.

Harry calmed himself. Not yet. He couldn’t let on just yet. He was still too little, he couldn’t control his magic adequately enough to protect himself if anything went wrong, he still tired easily in this tiny body, he needed to be patient. He needed to wait.

“I believe that it is time for your afternoon exercises. Will you be doing swordsmanship or archery?” His grandfather asked him, taking an interest in him, as always. It made Harry smile.

“Archery today, Grandfather. Balon has already promised me, and uncle Tygett wishes to see how much I have improved.”

“Off you go then.” His grandfather chided. “You must not be late. I have these reports to sift through.”

“Good luck to you, Grandfather.” He said cheekily, before running off.

Ser Meryn had been on the door, waiting for him, and he lengthened his stride to catch up to the running eight year old, who was heading straight for the yard and the archery targets that were being set up ready for him by Balon and Tygett. He was improving vastly now that he could hold the bow by himself, though he still struggled to pull a real bowstring back fully, but his arm and back muscles were getting stronger every day because he was making sure of it. It wouldn’t be long before he was able to shoot a bow perfectly, without any strain or struggle.

“Harian, there you are.” Balon called out. He was already holding Harry’s bow, a name day gift last year when he’d turned seven, and Harry rushed to him and took the bow into his own hands.

“I’m ready!” He declared. “How far are we standing?”

“You’re going to start at the forty pace mark.” Tygett told him.

Harry groaned. “That’s too easy, Uncle!” He complained.

Tygett strode to him on long legs and ruffled his hair.

“Do not forget, Harian, accuracy is key in archery. It is not enough to be able to hit the mark at forty paces, you have to do it every single time. Accuracy and consistency, rather than hitting just barely from a hundred paces.”

Harry nodded determinedly. He would get his body toned in the right way to be able to draw a bow himself, he would build the necessary muscle, and he would become the best he possibly could be. He was an adult in this tiny body and he knew exactly how important it was to cultivate both his body and his mind.

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Harry had gotten to enjoy just eight days at Casterly Rock before the raven had come. His father wanted him back within his sight at the capital. It wasn’t fair when he enjoyed it so much at the Rock, but he understood that his father was worried and scared that he would be killed and ever since he’d taken an interest in him, that was now Robert’s greatest fear.

So they had ridden the next day, saying goodbye to Casterly Rock and heading back to King’s Landing, back to where his evil mother was plotting his murder. At least he’d get to meet his new sibling, a girl if the footnote at the end of his father’s message could be believed. He hadn’t mentioned the health or wellbeing of his wife at all.

It had taken two weeks of riding down the Goldroad to get them back to King’s Landing and his father was waiting for him at the gate to the Red Keep, his six Kingsguard knights around him, as Harry had the seventh.

Harry proudly sat on Gryffindor, the destrier was already showing that he would be tall when fully grown, which wouldn’t be until he was around seven years, but he stood out already between the other horses around him because of his deep, reddish coloured coat and jet black mane and tail. His trappings were all Baratheon colours and Harry sat with a straight back, smiling widely, waving to people as they called out to him.

Ever impatient, his father all but dragged him from the horse the moment they were in the courtyard and hugged him tightly. Harry laughed.

“Father!” He complained with no heat.

“I’ve missed you, boy!” Robert declared.

“Did you catch anything on your hunt? Was it big?”

Robert threw his head back and laughed. “Of course I caught something, a huge stag that will be our supper for tonight.”

Harry laughed happily. “How big was he? Did you use an arrow or a spear? How many thrusts did it take to bring down?”

“You will be hunting yourself at this rate!” His father laughed joyfully. “I got the beast in the chest with a spear after it led us on a chase through the wood for six days! Twice we thought we’d lost it, but that new hunting dog of yours, what did you name it? He found the scent again and the chase was back on.”

“Fluffy.” Harry answered with a huge grin.

His father snorted. “A dog like that deserves a better name than Fluffy. Biter would be a good alternative or Ironjaw. He would not let that stag go once his teeth had clamped on.”

Harry chuckled at his own private joke. He liked naming things he loved after the things he had known or loved in his past life. It helped him to remember them, and to create new memories of them, less painful memories, and Fluffy reminded him of the best of Hagrid, the huge, caring half-giant who saw the best in everything, and believed that every creature, great or small, deserved to be loved and cared for.

He was led to the larger royal solar, the one outside of the holdfast just off of the Great Hall, and his mother was there, and so was Joffrey, playing at her feet. The new baby was dressed in a beautiful gown and bonnet, so definitely a girl then.

“Cersei, how are you?” His grandfather asked. “Is this my granddaughter?”

“Myrcella.” Cersei replied tiredly, handing the baby over.

His grandfather studied the baby, holding her gently.

“I want to see her.” Harry demanded.

He saw the immediate panic on his mother’s face, which worsened when Tywin immediately crouched down and passed Harry the newborn baby.

“He’ll drop her!” She insisted.

“No, I won’t.” Harry scoffed, moving to sit down, holding his sister tightly. “Hello, Myrcella.” He cooed softly, watching her face scrunch up. “She’s so heavy.” He said in childish wonder.

“Watch her neck, Harian.” His grandfather encouraged.

“I know. Babes as small as she is can’t hold their heads up and their little necks are floppy and brittle. One false move and it could break. Oh, she’s awake.”

Harry looked at the blue eyes of the baby squinting up at him and he grinned down at her.

“Her eyes are blue.” He pointed out with a frown at the adults around him.

“All babes have blue eyes when they are newly born.” His grandfather said in his teacher voice. “Your eyes were a blue very similar to Myrcella’s when you were born. In fact, they are almost identical to yours.”

“Does that mean Myrcella’s eyes will go emerald like mine?” Harry asked excitedly.

“It may, yes.” Tywin told him.

Myrcella squirmed in his arms and reached up a little hand to touch his bottom lip. Harry chuckled and bent to kiss her little head.

“She’s beautiful.” He declared.

“Girls are stupid!” Joffrey spat.

“No, they’re not, Joffrey.” Harry sighed in exasperation. “Girls can be just as clever as boys, some of them are smarter.” He said, with a wistful thought to Hermione.

“She’s stupid.” Joffrey said, sneering at Myrcella.

“She’s newly born and already smarter than you.” Harry told his brother. “The contents of her soiled smallclothes are smarter than you are.”

Their father laughed at that and it only made Joffrey angrier, but Harry didn’t care. Joff was four and Harry was twice his age. He didn’t fear his little, dumb brother. That was why when Joffrey rushed at him, Harry stood with Myrcella tucked safely in one arm and used the other hand to shove the brat away from him, back onto his arse.

“Don’t you dare hurt her.” Harry said furiously. “I’ll knock out your teeth if you hurt her!”

“Harian, keep a calm head.” His grandfather encouraged, even as Robert laughed harder.

Harry took a breath and sat back down, snuggling Myrcella back in his arms. He pulled his knees up to better protect her and he went back to staring at her. She stared back and Harry felt love swell in his heart as he looked at her, his forty-four year old mind confusing this little baby as his own child, not his newborn sister.

All too soon Myrcella started to nuzzle at his chest and Harry stood back up and approached his mother.

“She’s hungry.” He said shortly, passing the baby over gently before turning away. “Father, I want to see the stag you hunted!” He forced himself to whine.

Robert smiled at him and eased himself to his feet, coming to lay a hand on his shoulder to lead the way to the kitchens to see the stag slowly roasting on a spit over an open fire.

“Come on then, Harian.” Robert said excitedly.

“Tell me how you killed it again!” Harry begged.

Robert was only too happy to tell his young son exactly how he’d killed the stag again, inexplicitly pleased that Harian was so interested and excited. He led Harian by the shoulder through the holdfast and to the kitchens, stopping only so that Harian could gently pet the rapidly growing kitchen kittens. He enjoyed this time spent with Harian and he didn’t want his son so far from him. He panicked if he lost sight of Harian and now that someone else had tried to murder his son, the fear that it caused him, thinking that anyone could get to his beloved son, even in Maegor’s Holdfast, it was nearly overwhelming. He just wanted to keep Harian safe, and as he looked down to the tiny, brittle seeming boy trotting beside him, he never wanted anything to happen to him, he never wanted to see Harian upset or hurt. He needed to keep him safe, always. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Chapter Text

There was a deep, entrenched fear within the Red Keep. An epidemic had broken out in the city. A bloody flux was spreading through the pot shops and winesinks of Flea Bottom, killing people indiscriminately.

Harry was not allowed to leave the Red Keep and no one was allowed to enter the fortress from the city. It was rather boring, being shut up in the Red Keep, but at least Tywin was stuck here with him as well.

There was little else for him to do other than take lesson after lesson, or if Tywin needed to write a letter, or do some paperwork for Casterly Rock, Harry either did some physical training, some archery or swordsmanship, or he went to the library within the Red Keep. He was steadily reading his way through every book and scroll it contained. He was determined to finish the entire library before he reached adulthood, as he knew that when he did reach his coming of age that he would be inundated with responsibilities that he’d have to undertake and he wouldn’t have as much time for recreational reading.

Cersei had fallen pregnant again almost as soon as she had given birth to Myrcella. Just a bare month after his little sister had been born Cersei must have fallen pregnant again, as she was due to birth the new baby in the sixth month of the year, a month before Harry’s birthday, and just two months before Myrcella’s first birthday.

Robert wasn’t pleased, as the bloody flux would prevent him from going hunting in the Kingswood, his usual ritual when the labour announcement was made. He was getting increasingly frustrated, and angry, as the epidemic carried on, as Cersei grew heavier with child and no one could fix it despite his yells and threats.

The smallfolk were dying in droves and they had started begging at the gates of the Red Keep for help, but they went ignored. They were just left to die, left to the mercy of the lawlessness that had taken over the city with no assistance or repercussions from the nobles, or the royal family, who were cowering in the Red Keep like cowardly rats.

Harry had been confined to the middle and lower bailey only. He was no longer allowed into the outer yard of the Red Keep because of the bloody flux and because of the smallfolk raging at the gates. He didn’t like being limited in where he could go, especially as it was unlikely that Harry would catch the flux due to his magic, but he was doing it to protect Balon, his sworn shield who followed him everywhere, who could, and likely would catch the flux if he came into contact with someone infected, so Harry wasn’t taking any chances with his best friend.

The Kingsguard were all worried and stressed and a lot more bad-tempered these days, because they were charged with protecting the royal family, but there was nothing they could do about a flux. It couldn’t be beaten with a sword or kept at bay by a shield and they knew it. Things were made much worse when, shortly after the flux began, the gold cloaks announced that they would no longer be patrolling in the city because they didn’t want to catch the disease themselves, and the lawlessness increased infinitely with their noticeable absence.

Harry had heard a lot of rumours, a lot of stories of people being murdered in their own homes if they were suspected of having the flux, of children being thrown into Blackwater Bay, of animals being burnt alive on pyres made from doors and roof beams, of people being burnt alive for the fear that they were infected.

“Harian, look over these maps.” Tywin encouraged him, spreading out more than a dozen old papers in front of him, breaking him from his horror filled thoughts, likely on purpose. Harry was still trying to prevent his thoughts from showing on his face, but such strong emotions, under such stress, and Tywin could read him like a well-thumbed book.

For all of their lessons together they took over the small council chambers and made use of the large table. A good thing today as he realised the sheer number of papers he was presented with. Harry frowned as he picked up the pieces of old paper, that seemed as if they were older than the Red Keep itself, and looked them over critically. They all seemed to be records of various mines depicted on maps by regions.

“What have you noticed?” Tywin asked him expectantly after Harry had looked at every single page.

“They’re mines.” Harry said, looking up to see if he was correct.

Tywin nodded. “It is time that you learned of the valuable resources at your disposal.”

“The Westerlands is gold, silver and gemstones. I know that much.” Harry said, looking over the maps and finding the one that contained the most. He squinted at the age faded heading. The Westerlands.

“Do you know anything else?”

Harry chewed his lip. “Amber comes from the Stormlands, along with lumber. The North also has a lot of lumber. The Crownlands are mostly for grain, along with the Reach and the Vale. Oh! Marble. The Vale is known for marble quarries.”

“Very good, you’ve taken in more than I had thought. Now is the time for you to know where these mines are, and what they provide, for when you are king.”

“Are they really mine though?”

“Do you remember the meeting I invited you to join at Casterly Rock, not quite a year ago? Lords Lefford and Sarsfield were feuding over undeclared goods. Do you remember?”

“Oh, is this a similar situation? These mines are on other lands, in different regions, but because I will be the king, I have some sort of control over them?”

“The crown taxes the mines and takes a percentage of everything mined, whether it’s gold, gemstones, grain or lumber.” Tywin informed him. “When you become king, it’ll be your job to set the taxes and to ferry resources where you feel they are needed. Though most regions use their own alliances to fix any dip in their own resources, if the Vale is in desperate need of lumber, for example, and has tried to get the provisions they need and no one is willing to help them, they can then write to the crown for help and it’s for the crown to fix this need.”

Harry looked at the maps and he saw that the mines were actually more numerous, and more profitable, than he had first believed. He knew a lot of resources from tales and stories, like the famous Arbor wines, the hot peppers and spices from Dorne, which was also known for lemons and oranges and olives.

“What seems to be the most scarce on these maps, Harian?”

Harry frowned as he considered it deeply. “Honey and salt.” He said after a pause of a few minutes, while he studied all the old pages and actually considered what he was being asked.

Tywin nodded at him. “There is a reason that honey is so expensive in Westeros. The bees that make it only favour a few places and most of them are in the Reach. As for salt, Westeros has one salt mine. Just the one, in saltpans.”

“That could be a problem.” Harry said, frowning. “How much gold is in the Westerlands, Grandfather?”

Tywin smirked. “More than we could mine in a thousand lifetimes, Harian. In gold, silver, copper. We mine quartz, azurite and malachite, all of which are very valuable in the Free Cities of Essos. We find turquoise, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, garnets and amethysts in the mines which are famed across Westeros and Essos. The Westerlands are incredibly rich and valuable and it is why I will not have any other than a Lannister of my blood ruling over Casterly Rock as they will also have control over all of these mines and resources.”

Harry frowned at that, as Tywin only had two sons, Tyrion whom he hated, and Jaime, who was not only a Kingsguard knight but also hated Harry and wanted him dead. He considered that perhaps Tywin had also included his nephews in that list, as they were technically still of his blood being the sons of his brothers. Joffrey was definitely struck off though, despite being a grandson. There was no way that Tywin would leave Casterly Rock to him.

“Look closer at these mines, look at what they offer their regions and what they’ll offer to you when you are king. Memorise where the gold and silver mines are, where the grain comes from, where your food comes from. See where the cattle ranches are, where horses are bred and reared and remember them well, Harian, once you are king.”

Harry did as he had been asked. Noticing that there were silver mines in the North that he hadn’t known about, along with coal mines and stone quarries. He noticed immediately that most of the fruit and grain was grown in the Reach…he’d known of that, but not to this extent.

“Which region do you deem to be the poorest?”

“In what terms, Grandfather?” Harry asked. “Wealth or resources?”

Tywin smirked at him again. “We are speaking of resources here today, Harian.”

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the Iron Islands, which only mined tin, iron and lead and sometimes traded in fish. It seemed too obvious to name that region and he looked at the old maps again, closer this time, considering what he’d been told, what he could see for himself, and what the purpose of this lesson might actually be.

Tywin remained silent, watching him closely, but saying nothing, just giving him the time he needed to work everything out for himself without rushing him or merely giving him the answer.

“The Stormlands.” He said softly, after several minutes of silent perusal, looking at them on the faded page he was holding. “Wood, a bit of game that isn’t in father’s private hunting grounds, which won’t be much. Fish from the coasts, if anyone could actually fish such violent waters, and amber from the Red Mountains.”

“I am surprised that you didn’t immediately name the Iron Islands.” Tywin told him, but he looked pleased.

Harry looked back to the page depicting the Iron Islands. “They don’t trade like the rest of Westeros, Grandfather. They pay the iron price for everything and rarely trade. They’re all backwards.”

“Now, Harian, what have I taught you about offering offence?”

Harry sighed at the chastisement. “I wouldn’t say as such to their faces.” Harry said yet again, as they had had this argument before.

“No, I am at least glad to hear that. But you are correct that the Stormlands are the poorest region in terms of resources. The soil is thin, poor and rocky, there are few harbours on their coasts, the waters are wild and the storms they are named for ferocious.”

Harry frowned harder. “They would need to trade with the other regions.”

“Being your father’s ancestral seat, they trade predominantly with the Crownlands.” Tywin informed him, before handing Harry another map. “These are the main trade routes of Westeros. Memorise them.”

Harry did as he was told, noticing that most of the main trade routes followed the main roads of Westeros. He’d already memorised those, so the additional trade routes wouldn’t be too taxing for him to learn.

“What are the current tax rates?” Harry asked curiously.

“Sixty per cent of everything mined goes to the crown.”

Harry gasped at how high that was. “Why is it set so high?!”

“Because your father has emptied the treasury, Harian, and the crown needs to generate some form of income because of it. It does so through taxes on the other regions and the other great houses.”

Harry realised then that this was also a lesson in responsibility. The crown would bugger the other regions by taking more than half of everything mined just to generate revenue for the treasury. It was a double edged sword…on the one hand, the crown needed those resources, or the equivalent gold they were worth, but on the other, taxing the other regions so highly was not going to be a popular move, nor was it sustainable. As soon as the other regions started struggling, or merely got fed up with paying such a high, potentially crippling tax, they would stop meeting the sixty per cent tariffs, and that could easily cause a civil war.

“Can you see the issue with this move, Harian?”

Harry broke from his thoughts and looked up at Tywin. He nodded. “It’s not sustainable. How long have the tariffs been set at sixty per cent, Grandfather? Do you know?”

“The Westerlands have to pay this tax as well.” Tywin told him. “I believe we were given a short reprieve of the sixty per cent tax because my daughter is the queen, but it has been three years, Harian.”

“So the other regions have been paying this tax for longer.” He mused, almost to himself. He shook his head. “It’s too long. It’ll cause a civil war if a region can’t pay that tax, or just doesn’t want to keep paying it, and the crown still demands it.”

“Thus the reason for this lesson.” Tywin told him.

Harry sighed and wondered how much longer the individual regions would carry on paying such a high tax on their resources…resources that they needed for themselves.

“The Stormlands wouldn’t turn against their liege lord, for all that it is Renly who is named lord of Storm’s End, I believe that it is my father whom they still follow. The North would never turn against the crown, not with father and Lord Stark being foster brothers. The Vale as well, I feel they would never turn against father with Lord Jon still being the hand of the king. I believe that, if anyone were to turn, it would be the Reach that would be the issue.”

“Do you not think the Tyrells are loyal?”

“I think, at the last estimate, that the Reach had some twelve million inhabitants, Grandfather.” Harry said. “The Tyrells might be loyal, but if they have to suffer a sixty per cent tax on their goods for years at a time, for a region that only has a population of one and a half million people, their own people are going to start suffering and that could add to pressures. I don’t believe it would be a light decision made, but I feel that it would be out of necessity for their own people to survive.”

“So you understand why this high tax must only be used for emergencies and for short periods of time?”

Harry nodded and sighed, wondering if he was going to see a civil war in his lifetime. He hoped not. Yet the Seven Kingdoms were going to have to endure this sixty per cent tax until he took the throne and that could be decades away. He didn’t think it would be, he was expecting his father to perhaps abdicate the throne in his favour, maybe when he was twenty years old, which wasn’t for another eleven years. The regions of Westeros had already suffered through several years of this tax, they wouldn’t put up with it for another eleven years. They wouldn’t be able to.

Harry would need to maybe broach this issue with his father, if he could just coax him to lower it to fifty per cent, or maybe down to forty, it would help. The issue was, however, that Robert Baratheon liked tourneys and he liked offering extravagant purses as a prize. With the treasury always empty, and what little going in always going out again just as quick, lowering that tax would put additional pressures on the Crownlands, and on the capital in particular. Harry knew that that would be an unpopular choice to Robert. He was a man who didn’t like thinking about the long term and he would likely immediately brush Harry and his worries aside and tell him not to worry about ‘counting coppers’ as he put it. Robert didn’t care about the finances of the realm, that was all left to his beleaguered small council, but it would mean that Harry faced an uphill struggle when he took the throne himself and inherited the empty treasury.

Perhaps it was time that he looked into financial avenues of his own, in preparation for his coronation. He was definitely going to need his own source of gold, and perhaps some money saving tips and little tricks to help him in those first few years when he knew that the treasury would be very poor and his rule would be a constant struggle.

Harry inhaled, pushed all of those thoughts aside for now and he went back to studying the mines and the resources of the realm, but he kept half a mind on how to broach this with his father in a way that wouldn’t immediately be waved off. He had to try and lower that tax before he took the throne himself…before a civil war broke out. As soon as one region rose up first, and it would only need the one, the others would collapse and join in. It would be an all-out war and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

He did wonder who had coached his father to set the taxes that high in the first place, though…oily, smarmy Petyr Baelish or the cunning actor that was Varys. He would find out who it had been and he would watch them even more closely. Whoever had set the taxes that high was no true friend to the crown.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

The epidemic got worse over the coming weeks and news had arrived, via raven, that the flux had spread further into the Crownlands. The epidemic was turning into a pandemic.

The Great Sept had been broken into, as the smallfolk rushed to the altar of the Mother for healing and protection, but there were those who had taken advantage and several valuable relics had gone missing. Stolen to be melted down no doubt.

The gold cloaks refused to go out into the city to patrol. Even under threat of dismissal they still refused to do their jobs and they huddled in their city barracks, or within the Red Keep, and they did nothing as the city was almost destroyed outside the safety of the Red Keep.

As June was almost at an end, and July approached, as Harry was getting ready for his ninth birthday, the labour announcement came via a servant. Cersei was giving birth to her fourth child, her third by Jaime, Harry suspected.

Robert had blustered and seemed to be at a loss for what to do. He didn’t want to be in the Red Keep when that baby, what he thought was his fourth child, was born. So he called a small hunting group together and they snuck out of the Red Keep via a postern door like thieves. Anything to get out of being there when his next child was born into the world. He would even risk getting a flux if it meant that he wasn’t here when that babe was born.

Harry was left in the safety of the Red Keep. Balon was with him at all times, and so was Ser Preston, who seemed rather relieved to have been given such a duty in the safety of the Red Keep. Jaime had also opted to remain behind…likely to see his new child being born. Tywin was here still, so Harry didn’t feel quite so threatened, even as he managed to spend some time with a tiny Myrcella. She was only ten months old, her first birthday not until the last week of August.

Harry had ignored the nursemaid who had tried to keep Myrcella away from him, likely on his mother’s orders as she took to her birthing bed, but Ser Preston had threatened the poor girl with a backhand if she didn’t do as Prince Harian asked. So he had carried his little sister off to the godswood. No one would look for him there. No one ever thought to check the godswood, even though it was his favourite place to go for peace and quiet.

“Come on, Myrcella. You can do it!” Harry encouraged as he held those tiny hands in his own and helped her to stay on her feet.

She was dressed beautifully, like a little doll, in white trimmed with gold. It was rather a ‘pure’ outfit and Harry was ruining it as he encouraged her to walk and crawl over the grass of the godswood. Her soft, fabric slippers were already grass-stained and filthy, as was the hem of the dress, which was longer than her chubby legs.

She was giggling happily, reaching out for his face, as Joy had done back at Casterly Rock, and Harry’s heart swelled with love for her. He would protect her, always.

He helped Myrcella to toddle around the open space by the heart tree, listening to her laugh and babble. Her golden hair was coming in curly, just as Joffrey’s had, but it currently didn’t even reach her shoulders. It was being kept out of the way by ornate, jewelled clips to either side of her head while it grew in.

“My Prince, it is time for the noon meal.” Ser Preston told him, after a look at the position of the sun. “Princess Myrcella might have need of her wet nurse.”

Harry nodded his understanding. “Have the wet nurse come to the kitchens, Ser. I would eat there today.”

Harry picked up Myrcella and carried her from the godswood and to the kitchens. He wasn’t supposed to go into the outer yard, and Ser Preston looked nervous, and even Balon was more alert beside him.

“Remember not to go near the gates, Harry.” His sworn shield warned him seriously.

Harry inhaled. “Something needs to be done about the flux. It’s spreading and lawlessness has descended upon the city. The gold cloaks should do their job.”

“They are afraid of catching the flux as well, my Prince.” Ser Preston explained as if Harry just didn’t understand the situation, but he did.

“They are paid to keep the peace, Ser, regardless of the situation outside the gates, they are supposed to keep order. We need them to end this epidemic, but they refuse to help.”

“You would force them out into the city?” Balon asked.

“No.” Harry said firmly. “I would give them the option of it, but make it so the option of remaining and doing nothing is unavailable to them.”

“What do you mean?” Balon asked curiously.

“I wouldn’t pay them.” Harry said simply. “They’re paid to keep the peace, if they refuse to do their jobs, I wouldn’t pay them. It would be their choice then if they chose to stay in safety and do nothing.”

“That isn’t really a choice though.” Ser Preston pointed out.

“Exactly my point, Ser. They still have the choice, and it’ll be on their own backs, but I would make it impossible for them to choose anything other than going out into the city to do their jobs. I’d have had this epidemic over and dealt with within the first moon turn.” He boasted as they made it to the outer yard, where the screaming and shouting was most terrible, and loud. Enough so that Myrcella started whimpering as her emerald green eyes, a perfect replica to Harry’s own, started filling with tears.

“Everything is well, sweet Myrcella. I have you.” He promised her. “I will protect you and keep you safe.”

The kitchen was bustling, and loud enough that the shouting couldn’t be heard, and Myrcella calmed. The kitchen staff gasped to see them and rushed to provide him with something to eat, even as they cooed over Myrcella.

His sister’s wet nurse came to the kitchens and fed the baby as Harry watched curiously, even as he ate himself.

“Should I keep her, my Prince?” The wet nurse asked nervously.

Harry shook his head and he held his arms out for his baby sister and reluctantly the woman handed her over under the stern gaze of Ser Preston. Harry finished eating one handed, as his sister was tucked into the other arm, and when he was done he then took Myrcella to a quiet solar, the one in the Red Keep, not the one in the holdfast. He didn’t want to be that close to Cersei or Jaime.

He sat Myrcella on the floor and sat behind her, playing with some of her soft dolls.

Harry couldn’t wait to see his mother’s face when she realised that he had Myrcella while she was stuck in her birthing bed and didn’t have the energy to come and ‘save’ her precious daughter.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Jaime watched the door to Cersei’s bedchamber nervously. He was very aware of how dangerous childbirth was. Cersei had had four children now, for as much as they hated including Harian in anything, Cersei had still birthed him.

The screeches and the pained grunts had trailed off to eerie silence and he was worried for his sister. His heart was pounding, even as he tried to pace the corridor to work off some of the nervous tension he felt. Gods, he just wanted some word that his twin had survived the birth and was well. Was that so much to ask for?

What seemed like an eternity later the door finally opened and a bloodied woman emerged from Cersei’s bedchamber.

“Her Grace has been delivered of a son.” The woman announced.

Jaime just barely restrained himself from throttling the woman. “How are they both?” He asked as calmly as he could manage while so full of worry and tension.

“Mother and babe are perfectly well, Ser.” The woman told him, before moving off down the corridor, likely to announce the birth to the small council stewards, who would make sure that everyone knew of the birth.

Jaime went to the door and anxiously pushed it open and entered the room.

“Jaime.” Cersei greeted him tiredly, tucked up in her bed with fresh sheets. It could have been any normal day, but she was much too pale, her beautiful golden hair in disarray, sweat still beading on her forehead, her cheeks still flushed a cherry-red, like a fever, and she had a tiny wrapped bundle laying on her bare breast.

Grand Maester Pycelle, and Maester Mellciter, both bowed and left the room, having done their duty by delivering the babe.

“Hold him.” Cersei encouraged as they were left alone for a moment.

Jaime carefully picked up his son and cradled the babe. Cersei would only ever allow him to touch his own children when they were alone and in private, for fear that someone would notice how much the babes looked like him.

“What have you named him?” He asked, looking at the squashed, swollen, red face of the tiny babe who was his own son.

“Tommen.” Cersei told him, sounding so tired and drained, and completely unlike herself. “He will need a wet nurse soon.”

“I will call her.”

“Have her bring Myrcella to me as well.”

Jaime nodded, and he passed the babe back to Cersei a moment, while he went to find a servant to find the royal wet nurse.

The woman, when she came, came alone.

“Where is Princess Myrcella?” Jaime demanded of her.

“Apologies, Ser, but the Princess is with Prince Harian and he refuses to hand her over to me.” The woman explained.

Cersei jerked upright in the bed, smothering a pained noise. “He’s going to hurt her! Jaime, he’ll kill her!”

Jaime took one look at his sister’s panicked face and thought that perhaps this was the revenge the boy had planned all along. They had been distracted, their minds on the birth of the newest babe, and they had thought Myrcella safe with her nursemaid and the wet nurse. It was probably already too late and Harian had likely already had an ‘accident’ with Myrcella.

“I’ll go and find them.” He said wearily.

He wondered if Robert would even care. Harian could do nothing wrong in Robert’s eyes and he would brush this off as an accident, but they knew better. They knew that this would be revenge for the attempts on his life.

He hunted all over the Red Keep, looking in the usual haunts that Harian kept to, before finding him in the outside solar.

“What do you want?” Harian demanded, holding Myrcella in his lap. Jaime was at least relieved to see that she was unharmed. She was sleeping peacefully in his arms, though she was filthy. Cersei wouldn’t be pleased.

“Your mother has had the babe.”

“A boy. Tommen.” The boy nodded. “A steward told us.”

“Your mother wishes for Myrcella to be with her. The wet nurse is waiting.”

“She’s sleeping.” The boy said, speaking as if he thought that Jaime was stupid. “How can she feed if she is sleeping? Go away.”

“Hand her to me!” Jaime demanded angrily, taking a step forward, looming threateningly over the accursed boy who was sitting on the floor.

“She’s my sister and she’s staying here with me. Are you going to wrestle me for her?”

“Ser Jaime.” Preston spoke up. “I have been charged with Prince Harian’s protection. I won’t allow you to take the Princess Myrcella from him and risk harming him.”

“And what of Princess Myrcella, Ser?!” Jaime asked. “Who will protect her?”

“Protect her from what?” The boy asked silkily, those green eyes bright with knowledge, that small mouth smirking up at him. Jaime longed to smack it off but he knew if he started hitting Harian now then he would never stop. He would beat the boy to death for all the worry and pain he had caused Cersei over the years.

“I have charge of Prince Harian, our crown prince.” Preston said firmly, stressing the last as if Jaime had somehow been able to forget it. “He is the only one who matters.”

Jaime’s teeth clenched together in anger and disgust before he could prevent the telling action.

“I am not leaving the princess here with him. It would be easier if you handed her over.” He growled.

“I’ve already told you I’m not handing her to you. She is staying with me. There is much more I want to do with her today.”

That challenging smirk was back and Jaime stepped forward again, only to be immediately blocked by his sworn brother.

“Do not obstruct me, Preston.” He warned seriously. “I will be taking Myrcella.”

“I will not allow you to approach Prince Harian.” Preston said back, just as warningly.

“What is going on here?”

Jaime took a breath and eased down as his father entered the solar.

“Jaime. I asked a question.”

“Cersei wishes for Myrcella so that the wet nurse can feed both her and the new babe, Tommen. The boy refuses to hand her over.”

“She’s sleeping.” Harian said stubbornly. “I’m keeping her.”

“Go back to Cersei, Jaime.” His father told him. “Harian will keep Myrcella.”

“He can’t look after, nor feed, an infant!” Jaime argued, unduly angry that his own father had allowed Harian, a mere eight year old boy, to keep Myrcella as if she were a pet and not a babe.

“This isn’t up for discussion.”

Jaime trembled with rage and he wished that he could kill the boy. One sword thrust is all it would take. The boy was too young to fight back or stop him, he could just end him right here and now so that he couldn’t plague them in future. Plague…his mind ticked over and he wondered if he could somehow get the boy out of the Red Keep and into the city. That would surely be his end if he caught the bloody flux. He was not quite nine and the flux was taking indiscriminately. Old crones, young boys, pregnant women, babes at the breast, and healthy working men. It would surely mean his end if he caught it.

“Leave Harian and Myrcella be, Jaime.”

Jaime said nothing more and he refused to show how betrayed he felt at being passed over for that boy by his own father.

He instead turned on his heel sharply and he went back to Maegor’s Holdfast, to Cersei, and he saw her panic as he came back empty-handed.

“Myrcella is perfectly well, Cersei.” He assured her before her worry could ease her into an early grave. “The boy refused to hand her to me.”

“Why didn’t you just take her from him?!” Cersei demanded of him in a low hiss.

“Preston Greenfield wouldn’t allow me to even approach them. Then father showed up and threw me out. I couldn’t wrest her from his arms under father’s watching eyes, Cersei.”

“He’ll hurt her, Jaime! You have to get her back, please!”

Jaime took a breath. “I don’t believe that our father would allow him to harm her, Cersei. He’d brought a stack of books with him, so he was planning to stay. Harian can’t harm her under his nose.”

“He will. I know he will!”

“Rest now, Cersei.” Jaime soothed. “I will keep a watch out and when Myrcella needs her wet nurse I will be nearby to take her again. The boy won’t hurt her under our father’s gaze.”

Cersei still looked troubled. Jaime didn’t blame her for that, as he was worried himself. The look in those eyes all but promised that he was going to try to hurt her in some way.

He breathed deeply and tried to ignore his hammering heart. Surely their father wouldn’t allow Harian to kill his own granddaughter in front of him. He was too strict, even with Harian he was strict, and he had given the boy the lash of the whip before now as, curiously, Harian refused to have a whipping boy and instead chose to take the lashes himself.

He calmed. No, there was no way that their father would watch as Harian harmed Myrcella in any way. The danger would be if the boy carried her off, away from that stern gaze. He would be ready. He would intercept them and take Myrcella himself, and then he would find a way to give the boy the bloody flux and see an end to him once and for all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Robert came back from his hunting trip a week later, in much better spirits, to meet his new son, Tommen. He’d brought two deer and a boar with him and that night they’d eaten well.

Harry’s ninth birthday was approaching, just a few weeks away now, not that he could do anything, or have a tourney as he usually would, not with the flux plaguing the city and preventing anyone from leaving or entering the Red Keep.

He was just coming out of the library, where he usually stayed alone as Balon was having his arms lesson in the courtyard with the Kingsguard, when he was picked up and thrown over a shoulder.

He didn’t wait this time, as he started shouting and screaming for help, kicking out at the person carrying him at a rather fast run through the Red Keep. From the speed, Harry assumed that his attacker had known that he would immediately shout for help and wanted to get him as far away as possible before anyone came.

The man was hooded and cloaked, unarmoured and seemingly without a weapon. He didn’t speak a word, which meant that Harry would likely recognise the voice…so this was someone that he knew. He wished he knew how to perform legilimency, that he was good enough to perform it. His life would be so much easier if he knew what the people around him were thinking before they acted like this so that he could work to prevent it from happening.

He was taken through a postern door and Harry struggled harder as he realised where he was and where they were going. Out into the city.

The door to the city was already unlocked, a planned route then, and in very quick succession the door was opened and then Harry was thrown unceremoniously through it. The door was slammed shut and Harry heard the thick, heavy bolt slide into place as he landed on the stone floor, scraping his one elbow and the forearm of his other arm. Harry rolled his eyes. This was for nought as his magic wouldn’t allow him to catch this illness if he didn’t want it to…not that anyone knew that but him, of course. The danger would be if he ran into any lawless vagrants or someone with a grievance against his family, or just rich people in general.

He wondered if he could sort this flux out himself, though, as he stood and dusted himself off before he moved out further into the city to see what it was like out here for himself.

It was a hellscape. That was all Harry could describe it as. The mess was unbelievable, there was broken pottery everywhere, doors had been kicked in, unknown stains on the floors and walls, and everywhere…everywhere there were bodies in various stages of decay and decomposition. The smell was horrendous.

Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes as he saw babies and children mixed in with the dead. It looked like the flux had calmed, but Harry considered that perhaps there just weren’t any people left for it to claim. The city was certainly quieter and they had had less and less screaming at the gates recently.

He put a protective ‘bubble’ around himself, mostly so that he didn’t have to smell anything, and he took a walk down to Flea Bottom, where the bloody flux had started by all accounts.

“Please help. Please. Please help us!” A weak voice begged. “The Seven save us. Water. Just a drop of water, please.”

He turned and he saw through a broken door a poor woman, clearly sick, laying in the room beyond.

He went to her and he knelt on the floor by her head, he held her hand, passing some magic into her body. She was fevered and weak from dehydration. The bloody flux, as it was called here, seemed very much like dysentery.

“Wait here a moment, my lady.” He told her softly and he went to search her home for some water and a cup.

He helped her to drink the stale cup of water, as his magic routed the bacteria from her body. He was dismayed to find that it had ‘eaten’ through the intestinal wall and had infected other major organs. He couldn’t save this woman, but he could make sure that the disease ended with her and didn’t pass to anyone else.

He stayed with her, holding her hand as she died, and he turned to head to the next person who called out to him. He was safe in his bubble and he was trying to break the spread of the disease by putting up blocks, like a breaker wall for fires. He helped two more women, a man, and several children. He was in tears himself as he watched the light go out of a three year old’s eyes as they breathed their last breath, the heaving chest stilling under his very touch.

He wiped his face on his sleeve and stood, moving on to the next house, to the next person.

“Prince Harian! You should not be out here!”

It was a man this time, looking to be rather healthy. He was a baker that Harry knew quite well.

“I could not ignore the plight of the city any longer. How are you?”

“I have been well, my Prince. I’ve kept my family inside and barricaded the doors so no lawless men could get in. I only venture out for food and water, and only when we are desperate. Do you not have a guard with you?” The baker asked, looking around as if he could see anyone else.

Harry shook his head. “Someone picked me up and threw me from the Red Keep. I decided to explore the city a little.”

“The flux takes the young the most, my Prince. I urge you to head back to the keep and find whoever threw you out here like this!”

Harry shook his head and accompanied the man to a well. It was being guarded by men armed with kitchen and butcher knives, and cudgels.

“Prince Harian!” One man exclaimed in shock. “Forgive me for saying but you should not be out here!”

“Lom, you shouldn’t speak to him like that!” Another man said nervously.

“It’s fine.” Harry waved away. “Are you preventing people from using this well?” He asked curiously.

“No!” Several men all denied immediately.

“We’re trying to keep it clean, my Prince.” The baker explained cautiously, patiently. “It is the only well in the city that hasn’t been fouled.”

Another man nodded. “The others are choked full of bodies. Those that had the flux and others tried to get rid of them.”

Harry was horrified, even as he watched as a bucket was lowered down, then pulled back up so that the baker could have clean water for himself and his family.

“Has the flux slowed at all?”

“Aye.” The men told him. “It has slowed in the last few days, e’er since the statue of the Mother was put back in the Great Sept.”

“It was taken?” Harry asked.

“Aye.” Another told him. “The Sept was broken into early on in the flux, most just wanted to pray, others had other ideas and I spit on them! We found the statue in a wagon, under empty sacks. We put the Mother back in her rightful place and the sickness has eased off. Our gracious Mother has seen fit to lift the curse on the city at last.”

Harry nodded and looked around. “How many people are left?”

“More than you’d think to look at it.” The baker insisted. “They all hide in their homes, those of us that hid from the start haven’t been touched.”

“We should burn the dead.” Harry said seriously. “The bodies need to be removed from the wells and those who were sick need to be burnt.”

“The gold cloaks don’t help us!” The man, Lom, told him. “They hide in their barracks, behind barricaded doors. They have their own food supplies, their own wells, they don’t need ta come out here with us simple folk!”

“This has gone on for too long now.” Harry said. “The gold cloaks need to be doing this work, burning the dead, protecting the wells. They are paid to do so.”

Harry, who had some coins in the pocket of his breeches, took out several silver coins and handed them to the men.

“You have my gratitude for doing all you could to protect the city. I will head back to the Red Keep now and I promise you that the gold cloaks will take over from now.”

“My Prince, do you need an escort?” The baker asked him.

Harry shook his head. “No, thank you, I will be safe.”

Harry waved goodbye and he made his way back up Aegon’s Hill and to the Red Keep, where the gold cloaks were suspiciously back on duty after being absent when he’d been thrown out here.

“Let me in.” He ordered them furiously. They looked horrified at the very suggestion and they refused to open the gates for him.

“His Grace, the king, has said that no one is to come into the Red Keep from the city.”

“Are you just going to leave me out here?” Harry demanded, looking at them challengingly.

The gold cloaks didn’t know what to do and they argued between themselves about letting him in or leaving him in the city, and in the end, they went and found anyone they could to tell them what to do.

“Harian, I was looking for you. How did you get out into the city?” Tywin Lannister demanded angrily, those green-gold eyes scanned him from head to toe and Harry saw them lingering on his scraped elbow and blooded forearm.

Tywin had four members of the Kingsguard at his back, Ser Barristan, Ser Arys, Ser Mandon, and Ser Meryn. Balon was there too, looking exceptionally worried and panicked.

“Someone picked me up and threw me out of the postern door.” Harry said.

“When was this?”

Harry shrugged a bony shoulder. “An hour ago maybe. No one was on the gate, so I went looking through the city.”

“You know there is a flux out there, why did you go looking through the city?!” Balon demanded worriedly.

“The flux is over. The city is almost a ruin. It needs to be put back to rights. There is only one well that hasn’t been fouled and that is only because there are men guarding it day and night.”

“Did they harm you, my Prince?” Ser Arys fretted.

“No.” Harry said, offended on behalf of the citizens.

“Why is this gate not open yet?” Tywin demanded of the motionless gold cloaks.

“His Grace ordered us not to open the gate, Lord Tywin.”

“The crown prince is out in the city, alone and undefended, which do you think His Grace will care about more?” Tywin said cuttingly.

The gold cloaks grumbled a little, but they rushed to open the gates and Harry was let back into the Red Keep.

Tywin hurried him away and got him into a bath straight away and the clothes he’d been wearing were taken away to be burnt.

“Tell me what happened.” Tywin asked him once they were alone in the bathing chamber, just them two and Balon.

“I’ve said, Grandfather. I was coming out of the library and someone grabbed me and threw me over their shoulder. They threw me out of the postern door and then locked it behind me.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No. He was wearing a cloak and a hood, he refused to speak as well, which makes me think it would be someone I recognised by voice.” Harry said pointedly.

“You were heard shouting for help and it triggered a search for you.”

Harry said nothing as he languorously washed himself.

“Was it Jaime?” Tywin asked after watching him for a minute.

Harry nodded. “I can’t prove it, but I’m sure it was him. Why else would he conceal himself and not speak to me? He threw me out in the city hoping I would catch the flux and die. Or maybe that I would meet my end by one of the lawless men roaming the city.”

“Is the flux really passed?” Balon asked him.

Harry nodded. “Now is the time to send out the gold cloaks. The dead need to be burnt, the wells and the river need to be unclogged, and the damage fixed. There might be those still sick in the city, but the danger of the flux has passed. A lot of people are dead and they are just strewn through the streets.”

“Did you touch any of them?” Tywin asked.

Harry nodded. “You can’t get through the city without climbing bodies, Grandfather. They’re everywhere, especially in the smaller alleyways. I held a woman’s hand as she breathed her last, I…I held a babe as he breathed his last, and I found a group of men guarding the last unfouled well.”  

“If you are right in this assessment, then I will force the gold cloaks to go and regain the city.” Tywin told him. “Now, your father is looking for you after being told of your disappearance. Have you scrubbed yourself properly?”

Harry nodded, even as he had a last dip in the water, and then climbed out, where Balon was waiting with clean linen so that he could dry himself.

He was taken straight to his father, who was in a solar, holding Tommen. His mother bleached pale to see him and she clutched Myrcella tighter. Jaime made a grab for Joffrey to pick him up out of the way, but Harry got there first and he hugged Joffrey, for perhaps the first time in their lives, and he squeezed the spoilt five year old, and then coughed in his face when his brother turned to look at him in confusion.

“Get off!” Joffrey demanded immediately upon seeing who it was who had clutched at him, squirming away from him and Harry let him go with a grin and went straight to his father and kissed him, then the new baby. His mother looked like she might draw a sword and kill him dead.

“Harian, where were you?” His father asked. “The entire keep has been looking for you and I have heard that you were calling for help.”

“Someone threw me out into the city.” He said, even as he indicated to his father that he wanted to hold the baby.

“He’s not clean!” Cersei screeched.

“He’s had a bath.” Tywin declared as he moved to lay a hand on Harry’s damp head.

“What do you mean someone threw you out into the city?” His father demanded even as he thrust the babe, none too gently, at him.

Harry looked up from the newborn in his arms. “Just that, Father. Someone picked me up as I left the library and threw me out of a postern door. I went to look around a little and I think the flux is slowing down.”

“Did anyone touch you?”

“No.” Harry insisted and he watched with sadistic pleasure as Jaime and Cersei relaxed a little. “I held a dying woman’s hand though as she breathed her last breath. I helped a man and several children too, as they suffered or died in my arms.”

He watched the tension bleed right back into them both and he all but saw the twitch as Cersei wanted to rip the newborn baby from him.

“Father, you need to get the gold cloaks to do their jobs. You’re paying them to do nothing. The city is choked with bodies and there is only one well that isn’t fouled by bodies. The wells and river need to be unblocked and the dead need to be burnt and the city set back to rights.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” His father told him.

“If they refuse, tell them they aren’t getting paid.” Harry told him. “Tell them to do their jobs because they aren’t getting paid to sit on their arses and do nothing while the city is turned into a ruin.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll do just that.” Robert told him, and Harry smiled.

He kissed the new baby, Tommen, and then sat down next to his father and held him. He rather enjoyed watching Cersei and Jaime all but have heart attacks as he continually kissed and breathed on the baby.

Tommen woke up with a cry and Jaime immediately stepped forward to snatch him away and hand him to a wet nurse for a feed. Harry was amused because he knew that he didn’t have the flux and he couldn’t pass it on, but they didn’t know that, and it amused him knowing that they had tried to kill him by throwing him out into the city, hoping that he would catch it, and now here he was kissing and coughing all over Joffrey and Tommen. He would get Myrcella too before he went to bed. The worry they would feel for the next few days, as they watched for symptoms of the flux in the three babes, was the punishment they deserved for trying to kill him in this manner.

He got the chance to get Myrcella when Tywin sent him to his room to read for a while before bed and he nodded and kissed his father and grandfather, then went right to his mother and Myrcella. She tried to keep the baby away from him, but Harry caught her arm in a grip that was deceptively strong for his size and he kissed the baby, then coughed straight into Cersei’s face.

“Night!” He called out happily and allowed Balon to take him to bed.

“Are you truly unharmed?” Balon asked him.

Harry nodded as they moved to his room. “I am, Balon. No one hurt me, they only ever asked if I wanted help, or an escort back to the keep. They’re good people in the city.”

“Do you feel sick? You have coughed a few times.”

Harry chuckled. “No. I was forcing the coughs because I believe it was Jaime who threw me into the city. Let them worry over my brothers and sister for a few days as punishment for trying to give me the flux. I am perfectly healthy. The flux in the city has passed. It has left devastation in its wake, but it won’t kill any more people. Not if the bodies are burnt and the city cleaned up.”

As long as his breakers held in the city, that was, and considering he was still alive, his magic would hold. Those breakers would prevent anyone else from getting the flux, even if they did come into contact with infected people, or even infected bodies.

“I was so worried. I was training with the Kingsguard when we heard a faint shout for help…I knew straight away that it was you. We ran as fast as we could to the middle bailey, but you were gone. We searched everywhere, but we couldn’t find you. Why didn’t you stay by the gate? We could have let you right back in.”

Harry smiled then. “You know me and my curiosity, I wanted to see the state of the city and the citizens.”

“You and your curiosity is going to get you killed!” Balon said sternly.

Harry giggled and got a fond smile for it.

“Do as your grandfather has suggested and read for a while, Harian.” Balon suggested. “I need a rest to calm my heart, and my worry.”

Harry nodded and got the book he was currently reading off of his bedside table. He sat in his chair, by the window, and he started reading, even as Balon took out his sword and started practising his form. It was his way of relieving stress, Harry knew.

It was peaceful, normal, and Harry read his current book, absorbing the knowledge. A few more years and people wouldn’t be able to pick him up so easily or hold him so easily while he fought back. He would be able to fight his way free of such things. He took a breath and settled himself…a few more years is all he needed. A few more years and he would be better positioned to protect himself. To fight back. If Cersei and Jaime actually did have a modicum of intelligence between them then they wouldn’t allow him to reach that stage. Harry would remain on guard, always, they wouldn’t get to take him out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

His ninth name day was quiet and rather reserved, as Harry had wanted it. It didn’t feel right to celebrate anything, to have feasts and games when the countless dead had been burnt on pyres outside of the city for eight days in a row. Harry could still smell the sickly, irritating scent of burning fat and hair on the air. How could he celebrate when the skies were still thick and black with pungent smoke? When he could see the pyres and the flames from the window in his bedchamber and from the courtyard? This was no time to be celebrating, his birthday or not.

A week ago, after being ordered to regain peace and put the city to rights, the gold cloaks had tried to put up a fight, terrified to go out into the city, at least they had at first. Once they had heard that their pay would be stopped if they didn’t go out into the city, they had tried to riot, but that had gotten them nothing but derision and the bellows of their displeased king. A week of no pay, of not having wine, food, or any other comforts besides their barrack beds, the gold cloaks had changed their minds and had begrudgingly gone out into the city to do as they were ordered to do.

It was the gold cloaks who took the bodies from the streets, from the wells, from the river and built pyres for them to be burnt. It was the gold cloaks who were washing the blood from the stone and patrolling the streets to regain order from those who had taken advantage of the sickness to kill and steal what they wanted. It was the gold cloaks who fixed up the Great Sept and them who had taken over guarding the one clean well, but the people praised their king for coming to their aid. They praised their king for getting rid of the foul sickness and sparing those who were left.

It was too late in Harry’s opinion. Too many people had died from something that he could have controlled in a week. It had been months. Thousands of people had died. Harry’s heart ached for the loss and the destruction.

That was why he didn’t want to celebrate his name day, he’d said as much to the adults around him, but his father had ignored his wishes and there was a mini tourney put on for him within the Red Keep. It was the Kingsguard against one another in the joust, a small archery contest which he had won even though his heart hadn’t been in it and a feast to end it. Harry hadn’t laughed much, he hadn’t had much fun and he hadn’t eaten much. He was all too aware that the people of the city were suffering horrendous losses and were trying to scrabble together all they could just to survive. Entire families had been wiped out. Children had lost siblings, or both of their parents and had been orphaned and tossed out onto the streets. Adults had lost children, spouses, siblings, parents. Not a single person in King’s Landing had escaped the flux without some sort of loss and Harry felt that all too keenly.

“You are thinking of your duty too much.” Tywin told him and Harry looked up with desolate eyes. “You are not the king yet, Harian.”

“I keep thinking of all of those people who are dead.”

“It isn’t your duty to think of them. Not yet.”

Harry looked down and chewed on his lip. Tywin sighed and laid a hand on his shoulder, sitting next to him on the stone stair that Harry had sunk onto, away from his own birthday festivities. He’d needed a break from it all. He had said that he wasn’t in the mood to celebrate, yet it had been forced on him regardless.

“You love too fiercely, Harry. It is not a fault, merely an observation. The smallfolk are not under your care until you are the king.”

“Father doesn’t care about them. No one cares about them. No one but me. How can I celebrate when I can still see the fires and the smoke of the pyres, Grandfather? When I can still smell the burning bodies on the air? I just can’t put it from my mind. The city is suffering, I cannot force myself to enjoy any feasts or celebrations until the city is healing.”

Tywin let out a soft sounding laugh and pulled Harry to rest against his body. The hand on his shoulder went up into his hair and ruffled it gently.

“You will be one of the greatest kings that this world has ever known, Harian.” Tywin told him confidently.

“I don’t think so.”

Tywin tipped his head down to look at him intently.

“You will.” He said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Harry frowned and shrugged off the uncomfortable feelings that caused him. Instead, he focused on something that would make him feel better. “Can we have a lesson?”

Tywin blinked down at him. “It is your name day. You are allowed to have a day off of learning on your name day.”

“I don’t much feel like celebrating, Grandfather. I never wanted any of this, it doesn’t seem right that I’m celebrating anything while the city is enduring such hardship and devastation. I would rather learn.”

Tywin sighed and nodded. “Come on then, let us find somewhere more quiet.”

Harry smiled and he stood. Together the two of them went to their usual spot, the small council chambers. Harry patted the Valyrian sphinxes that were inside the doors and he went to sit in his usual seat.

Tywin always sat next to him and today was no exception.

“You have always put duty before yourself.”

“I always will.” Harry said softly, almost to himself.

“That is why you will make the greatest king. Now, let us recap what you have learnt about the mines and resources of the lands that you will one day have rule over.”

Harry nodded and he eased into the lesson, recounting everything that he had learned about the mines and other resources available in Westeros…and how to use and exploit them for his own benefit for the good of the realm.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

The city was still scarred from the bloody flux, there were those who were in mourning and businesses were still shut up, but the people were trying to carry on as much as they could.

Market days came back, farmers were once again travelling to the city from their farms beyond and children once again ran the streets, giggling and playing through the twisting alleys.

Harry’s heart still hurt from the loss. The city reminded him of Hogwarts. Hogwarts after the final battle, that was. People dead, bodies strewn where they’d fallen, but at least the city was still standing for the most part. Doors had been kicked in, stone had been blood-stained, but the houses all still stood.

Harry did not get sick, much to Cersei and Jaime’s disappointment, though that would likely be bittersweet considering Harry had kissed and coughed over both of his brothers and his sister, who likewise did not get sick.

Harry had spoken to Robert about the high rate of the taxes and his father had done exactly as Harry knew he would…he waved him away and laughed off his concern. But Harry had found out from the interaction that it had been Baelish to suggest the sixty per cent tariff. Harry would keep a close eye on Baelish from now on and he would take any other chance he could to convince Robert to lower it, even if it was just slightly. He swore that lowering that tariff would be the first thing he did when he became king.

Visitors were once again coming to the capital after the ravens had flown to inform everyone that the flux in the city was over. The raven that came from Casterly Rock was as large as it possibly could be and Tywin had looked angry and resigned as he read it.

“Harian, come with me a moment.”

“Surely I should know of any news from Casterly Rock before he does?” Cersei had demanded angrily.

Tywin stood from the solar table waiting for Harry to do the same and he turned to look at his daughter, who had clenched her jaw at the disrespect she was being shown.

“No, Cersei, I don’t think you should.” He said firmly.

“They are my family!”

“Even Tyrion?” Tywin challenged and Harry watched as Cersei’s face calmed a little, before she rallied.

“He is my brother.” She said, but she was no longer interested in the missive, now that she believed that it didn’t contain any news that she cared about.

“Come, Harian.”

Harry was fretful, and by the looks of him so was Jaime, who did actually love his younger brother.

“Is Tyrion sick?” Harry asked worriedly, the moment they were out of the solar.

“No, he is fine, Harian.” Tywin said.

Harry was led to a room not too far away and Tywin shut the door.

“I need you to remain calm and composed.”

“Who has died?” Harry asked, his heart hammering in his chest and his fingers locked together, knotting tight with fear and anxiety.

“No one has died, but Gerion has decided to sail to Essos.”

Harry blinked and his heart calmed itself. He wondered why this was considered news. A lot of nobles travelled to Essos for many reasons. Adventure, trade, pleasure, he didn’t understand why this was supposed to upset him…unless…unless…

“He doesn’t plan to come back?” He asked sadly, his face crumpling.

“He does plan to come back. He…he has likely chosen to go now as I am not at Casterly Rock and I cannot stop him. He has already sailed. Kevan writes that he wishes to recover the Lannister Valyrian sword, Brightroar, and that Gerion is going to sail to Valyria.”

“But…but no one who sails to Valyria is allowed to dock in Westeros.”

Tywin blinked at him. “Says who?” He asked curiously, momentarily sidetracked.

“It’s law, Grandfather, set up by King Jaehaerys. It was because of Aerea Targaryen, who flew Balerion to Valyria and she died when she came back. I read the passage written by Septon Barth detailing the change in the laws. No one is allowed to sail to Valyria, and no ship or crew who has been to Valyria is allowed to dock in Westeros.”

Tywin almost smiled and he shook his head. “I doubt anyone in this entire land knows of that law, except you. If Gerion does go to Valyria and then comes back to Westeros, he will not be stopped.”

Harry inhaled deeply and looked at Tywin worriedly. “If he comes back.”

“I am going to write to Casterly Rock. I will send ships, and men, to find Gerion. He is my brother and I would see him unharmed.”

Harry breathed again, filling his lungs and holding onto his composure. Nothing too terrible had happened to Gerion and Harry was grateful. That could change at a moment's notice, he knew, but thus far nothing bad had happened, not that they knew about. Gerion was just off adventuring and Harry held onto that knowledge and the belief that his uncle would one day come back. 

“Please let me know if anything happens. I don’t like being in the dark about such things.”

“That is why I made the decision to tell you of Gerion’s plans.” Tywin told him. “If anything happens to Gerion, I will keep you informed, but Gerion has ever been a restless boy. He hungers for adventure. I am surprised that he took this long.”

“He is only six-and-thirty.” Harry said. “He is not so old that he’s passed his prime.”

Tywin chuckled. “I seem to recall you calling Tygett an old man at six-and-thirty before.”

“I was younger then.” Harry waved away, pretending to be bashful over his earlier claims of a man of thirty-six being ‘old’, he’d done it on purpose after all.

“A mere five years ago.”

“It seems an eternity ago!” Harry complained. “I feel so much older than I did back then. I was only four at the time.”

Tywin aimed a smirk at him. “You have done some growing in those five years.”

Harry nodded his agreement. “Another five years and I’ll be almost a man grown.”

“We shall see then what sort of man you’ll be.”

“A good one, I hope.”

A hand went to his shoulder and squeezed. “You are already a better man than most. A few more years to grow and learn. A few more years to spread yourself out and find out who you truly are. I expect great things from you, Harian. But remember that I will always be there to help you when you need it. You will always be able to come to me for any advice that you need.”

Harry smiled then. “Thank you, Grandfather.”

Tywin patted his shoulder and then they went back to the solar. Harry was only going back in there to collect Balon. He needed a distraction and a rather large one at that.

He hoped that Gerion would be alright on his excursion to Essos, despite that he was planning on going to Valyria. Harry thought it was a shit that he hadn’t come to the capital to say goodbye personally, but considering that Tywin was here, then Gerion probably hadn’t come because he’d feared that his older brother, and lord, would stop him from going. Which, given that Tywin wasn’t best pleased with Gerion for going, would have likely happened.

That could have been a disastrous falling out too if Tywin had sent Gerion back to Casterly Rock in disgrace. Harry sighed, why couldn’t anything be simple? He liked nice and simple.

“My Prince?”

Harry blinked and looked up. He smiled at Balon.

“Come, Ser. I would practice some archery today.” He announced, leaving the solar that he hadn’t realised he’d entered.

He would leave Tywin to tell Cersei, and a worried Jaime, that Tyrion was fine and that it was Gerion who was causing mischief this time. Harry hoped that his uncle came home safe and well, with or without Brightroar.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Chapter Text

Time seemed to fly past the older he got and before he knew it, he was ten years old. He had two younger brothers, the little monster Joffrey and his most recent sibling, the year old Tommen, and his almost two year old little sister, Myrcella, in between them both.

His days were now so packed full of things to do as he grew and aged. He had made it to double digits now and in just six years’ time, he would be considered a man grown. His lessons were intensifying with his age, enough that he noticed the difference, but not enough to even remotely challenge him, not now that he was mentally forty-six years old.

He was riding properly, Gryffindor, now six years old, was big and strong. Harry did need someone to help him up and down from the huge destrier, but he didn’t let that bother him at all. It was usually Balon, as he was most definitely a man now that he was almost nineteen. He was tall, broad and strong. He was a challenge for the Kingsguard knights, a brilliant archer, and a firm, loyal shadow by Harry’s side.

Harry mostly kept to his same routine, lessons with Maester Mellciter, who didn’t dare try to tell him that something right was wrong, or vice versa, anymore, not when Harry was so intelligent. He would then do some physical exercise, swimming maybe, horse riding, or even just running and climbing. He would have his noon meal and then he would play games with his father for a while and then he’d go to see the kitchen cats, and his own two, Hermione and Ginny. Hermione was currently pregnant, so he kept her in his room, though Ginny liked escaping through his window and he was sure that she would come back pregnant like Hermione had one day. He still remembered when she had gotten out for the first time and Harry had chased her over the roof, a petrified Ser Preston Greenfield following after him as Harry climbed from his bedroom window after his beloved cat.

After he was done seeing to his cats he would go to the kennels and see Fluffy, his hunting dog, who slobbered all over him and rolled onto his back for belly rubs. Then it would be time to put himself at the mercy of a member of the Kingsguard, who would see to his swordsmanship and arms training.

Thoroughly exhausted, beaten and bruised he would go for a nice long bath while he changed his clothing for the evening meal before he would spend three hours in lessons with Tywin. Only once his grandfather released him could he go and change for bed, practice his magic for an hour or so and then fall into a deep sleep.

He kept to this routine day in, day out, and rarely did it change. Name days were a special occurrence, feasts would only affect the evening part of his routine, and his grandfather usually gave him a bit of a lesson at the table anyway. Visitors rarely disturbed his routine as they usually came for his mother or father anyway, unless it was Renly who came to visit, then his routine was utterly destroyed and he and his very handsome, fifteen year old uncle would run around the castle like they were still babes, causing havoc wherever they went.

Now that Hermione’s kittens were due too, he would pop in on her more often just to check on her, to make sure that she had enough shredded chicken and water available. Only today he couldn’t find her.

“Balon, do you see her?” He asked, bending to look under his bed, very worried. “She never leaves the rug by the fire, she finds it more comfortable.” He fretted.

“She couldn’t have gotten out?” Balon asked, even as he helped look.

“No. She’s too big with the kittens to reach the windows and I always make sure to shut my door. The servants know to be careful too.”

“She isn’t here, Harian.” Balon said. “She must have gotten out.”

Harry stood and raced to his door, pulling it open and he went running through the corridors, calling for her. He had a very bad feeling in his gut and it was driving him mad. Hermione had been the first to die in his previous life too.

He was in tears as he thought this, as he searched the holdfast for her.

“Little Prince, what troubles you?” Ser Barristan asked of him, crouching quickly and catching his arms to hold him still. His blue eyes automatically gave him a once over for a sign of any visible injuries.

“His cat, Hermione, has gone missing, Ser. The pregnant one.” Balon informed the knight.

“She never leaves my room.” Harry insisted tearfully. “The servants know not to leave the door open. She couldn’t have gotten out by herself, she can’t move very well or go very far, she’s about to have the kittens.”

“Let us go and see if any new servants have been tending your room, who might have moved your cat thinking her a stray.”

Harry sniffled and took Ser Barristan’s mailed hand and allowed the old knight to pull him from the holdfast. They travelled the serpentine steps and were going to the kitchens when they heard the shouting and screaming from inside the Great Hall, where the Iron Throne was located.

Balon didn’t need to be told to take his hand as Ser Barristan took off for the hall, his hand on the pommel of his sword. It sounded to Harry like his mother and father shouting at one another again.

He rolled his eyes to Balon and went to follow Ser Barristan, Balon following beside him, holding his hand tight, just in case.

It really was his mother and father shouting at one another, the on duty Kingsguard knights standing around at a loss for what to do, as his mother cradled a screaming Joffrey to her front with both arms.

“…you’ve knocked out two of his teeth!” His mother raged, a wild, feral look to her face.

“He deserved more! He’s a monster.” Robert bellowed.

His uncle Stannis was there too, Harry noticed, and the younger man laid a hand on his brother’s arm, stilling him from his step forward with his fist raised.

Harry wondered if this was another drunken incident like when his father had broken his arm when he was two, as he watched his father’s head and neck go red with anger.

“If you ever hit him like that again I will kill you in your sleep.” His mother threatened angrily, which made the Kingsguard bristle.

Harry frowned at the threat, he didn’t truly understand what was going on, not until he stepped further forward and he saw the three newborn kittens, wet furred and unmoving on the floor.

He cried out in distress and ran to them, turning them over in his hands and feeling for a pulse, bringing them to his ear to listen for breath. They still had their umbilical cords attached. He used his thumb to press on their little chests, in a steady rhythm, but they were gone and couldn’t be brought back.

“Harian.” His father said, helpless to see his distress. “I’m sorry.”

Harry didn’t understand, not at first, and then it clicked that Hermione was pregnant and she had gone missing.

“Hermione?” He asked, afraid to hear the answer, but asking so anyway.

“He opened her with a dagger, to take out the kittens.” His father said, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe. His vision bleared with his tears and he started crying hysterically, cradling his dead kittens. Hermione’s kittens. Hermione who was now dead. His mind was blurring between Hermione the cat, and her namesake, the real Hermione, who had been broken on the grounds of Hogwarts during the last battle. His grief swallowed him whole, stealing his rationality and his ability to think. His mind was curiously blank, except for the thought of Hermione.

For long minutes the only thing to be heard in the hall was his desperate cries, but a moment later the anger came, roaring through him like a fire, and his breath hitched, his entire frame shuddered, his mind racing, before he leapt up and ran for his brother, ripping him from his mother’s startled grasp and throwing him to the floor so that he could attack him better, slipping his hands around Joffrey’s slim throat and squeezing, even as he sat on him, straddling him to get a better purchase.