Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark

The cloth ran down Ice’s sharp blade, House Stark’s ancestral sword that had been passed down for generations. Cleaning the blade was almost a ritual for him at this point, a way for him to clear his mind and escape from his duties as Warden on the North.

The North was large and sparsely populated, full of a proud people that were hard to please. There were so many different Lords sworn to him, each of them harder to appease and negotiate with than the last. But it was his burden to bear, and negotiating with each Northern Lord was almost second nature to him at this age.

There was Lord Manderly, a kind and loyal man, who always wanted more recognition and respect. He held the largest and only city in the North, something the man didn’t want anyone to forget, but his loyalty could be guaranteed through appeasement. After him came Lord Bolton, a slippery man who Ned was more inclined to use a heavy hand when it came to securing his loyalty, and his blade if necessary.

There were others, of course. Lord Karstark was troublesome and quick to emotion, similar to Lord Umber, but reason would always win in the end with both of them. Then there were the most loyal Houses, such as House Reed and Mormont, both of whom having Lords that held unquestionable loyalty to his own family.

He could heard the rustling of leaves in the distance as he continued to clean his blade, knowing he was no longer alone in Winterfell’s Godswood. A few moments later and he could tell that his wife was approaching him before she even came within sight, recognizing the sound of her light footfalls, as only the guards would let her in to this part of the castle without notifying him first.

She soon appeared before him, clad in fine winter robes as she made her way over to the rock he rested on. After so many years of marriage it was easy for him to tell there was something bothering his wife.

“I was wondering if you were going to spend all day out here.” Catelyn said as she approached. “You might catch a cold, staying out here for so long.”

Ned held back an amused snort, knowing the chances of him getting a cold were slim to none. Starks were made for the cold, and even if the North was getting colder as winter approached, it wasn’t worth worrying about. “I needed some time with my thoughts.”

“There aren’t any problems with the Lords, are there?” His wife sat down next to him.

“Nothing worth mentioning.” Ned shook his head. “I am their Lord, and at the end of the day it is my responsibility to deal with them.”

His wife fell silent next to him, and he could tell she was readying herself for speak. He wondered if one of his children had done something to earn her ire, or if it was something more serious.

“I am so sorry, my love.” Catelyn said at last. “There was a raven, from King’s Landing. Jon Arryn is dead, a fever took him.”

His cloth stopped where it was on his blade, shock filling him as he processed the news. It had been the last thing he expected to hear, especially since Jon Arryn was considered the pinnacle of health. Ned had to wonder if something more nefarious was going on, as the Jon Arryn he knew would never die to simple disease.

“What of your sister?” He asked, knowing Jon as married to Lysa. “What of their son?”

“They have their health.” She replied.

He nodded gratefully, doing his best to calm himself amongst the peaceful nature of the Godswood in the most secluded part of Winterfell. Jon Arryn had been like a father to him, and even if he was a hardened man and a veteran of war, the man’s death still hurt.

“There is more news.” His wife said after a while. “The King rides for Winterfell, with the Queen and their entire court. Strangely it said they would get here within a fortnight.”

The first thought he had wasn’t why Robert would come all the way to Winterfell, instead sheer incredulity filled him at the news of how soon the King would arrive with his retinue.

It would take time for the King to make his way this far North, especially if he was accompanied by so many, as his wife seemed to suggest. That was not to mention the preparation time alone that would be needed before a party of that size even began to move. Roads would have to be cleared and secured, men-at-arms prepared, along with the logistics that came with travelling for such a long period of time.

For him to just now learn that the King was practically on his doorstep, leaving him with little preparation whatsoever, hinted at something more insidious. It meant that Ned was more ignorant of events happening in the south than he thought possible. Such a thing could only happen through either sheer negligence or purposeful sabotage, and Ned Stark was not known for the former.

He put aside those thoughts for the moment, deciding to settle that matter for later. “If Robert’s coming this far North, then there’s only one thing he’s after.”

The Hand of the King. Ned realized what motivated Robert to traverse such a great distance, meaning the man wanted to personally appoint him to such a prestigious position. It was the only reasonable explanation for why the King would travel all the way to Winterfell.

His first thoughts then weren’t of the power that came with such a title, nor of the intricacies of managing all seven Kingdoms, but of his children.

Robb was growing by the day, untested but eager to prove himself as the next Lord of the North. Ned knew he still had much to teach his heir, especially if his son was to be left alone in the North while he was away in the capital. As much as he desired to bring his oldest son to King’s Landing, he knew that it would be unwise to do so. Brandon had run off to King’s Landing and paid the price for such folly, and he didn’t want Robb to suffer a similar fate. It was dangerous for Starks to travel south, after all.

Sansa was far too naive for his liking, dreaming of southern knights and far-flung tales as she remained blind to the true cruelty of the world. Arya and Bran were still young, and he knew that a heavier hand was needed when it came to disciplining the both of them.

And that wasn’t mentioning Jon, his nephew who masqueraded as his own bastard son. Ned had a special place in his heart for the boy, a child who was eager to prove himself but lost in the world. He knew of the boy’s ambitions to join the Night’s Watch, something that made him both proud and sorrowful.

And then there was his nephew, Hadrian Snow.

It was the last member of his family that truly made his thoughts come to a sudden halt. Hadrian, or Harry, as he liked to be called, was the bastard and only son of his brother, Brandon Stark. His nephew had always been enigmatic and evasive, something that only seemed to gain himself more attention from the castle’s residents.

Harry had always held a certain darkness in his gaze that made Ned wary, almost as if he was born cursed with the knowledge of his father’s murder at the hands of the Mad King. While not the superstitious sort, even Ned wondered if his nephew was cursed by the Gods, born with an instinct not of this world.

Ned had watched him quietly over the years, filled with unease as he watched the boy best men twice his age and size in the yard. Harry seemed to have a fury that ran cold in his veins, a ruthless streak that drove him to succeed yet had only been unleashed a score of times.

Ned had initially been worried about his nephew, something that wasn’t helped by Cat’s incessant whisperings about bastards being born of lust and betrayal. As he grew older, Ned had expected the boy to debase himself in the pleasures of flesh, something a boy of his strong stature would easily acquire. Yet the opposite occurred, as Harry seemed more akin to a Maester when it came to promiscuity. He would often go green when the subject of whores and brothels was brought up, much to Theon and Robb’s amusement.

And that wasn’t to mention the boy’s expeditions he undertook outside Winterfell’s walls, traveling throughout the North and returning from each journey with tales and stories for his cousins to enjoy. His nephew never said it, but Ned knew he was searching for purpose with each trip, traversing all parts of the North in search of meaning.

That didn’t make him any less loved by his own children, who always asked after their cousin while he was away. Arya was especially tiresome about such things, with Robb and Jon both eagerly waiting for Hadrian to return so they could best him in the training yard.

And that led him to the next problem, being Robert was soon to arrive at Winterfell, and he had no idea where his nephew was.

Val

It truly was warmer on the south side of the Wall. At least, that was what Val thought as she trudged through the dense forest, still trying to adjust to not seeing a single speck of snow on the ground.

Hunting had been more difficult, as no longer did she have the ability to simply follow the tracks left behind in the snow by an animal. It felt like all of her skills when it came to foraging were useless now, and it hurt her ego to have to spend three times longer hunting for a simple rabbit. It also made her respect rise for the kneelers who had to hunt in such conditions, something she would never admit.

She cursed her team when she returned to their campsite and found it abandoned. Even more so when her tracking skills failed her once again. It had been by pure luck she happened to see smoke on the horizon, and made the decision to investigate.

It was in a small grassy opening in the forest that she found the rest of her team. What remained of a southron hut had been burned to the ground, the dead bodies of its inhabitants sprawled out not far from it. The men she travelled with sat around a small fire, enjoying the food they had no doubt taken from the former dwelling.

They had all climbed the Wall together to come south as a group of six originally, only to lose one on the way down reducing their number to five. There was Varamyr, a powerful skinchanger who she considered one of the worst men she had ever met. Next to him was Jarl, a fierce raider and the only member of their group she somewhat got along with. And then there were the two Thenns, a reclusive pair who rarely spoke.

“The bitch decided to show up.” Varamyr said once she arrived, his disgusting gaze roaming over her form as she exited the treeline. Clearly he had seen her approach in one of the animals he possessed.

“It’s hard to miss the smoke.”

“We thought you were dead.” Jarl said to her.

“I thought you moved on and the smoke was a signal.” Val replied, sitting down and beginning the process of skinning one of the rabbits she had killed. “I guess that I thought too much of you.”

“We grew tired of waiting, and decided to find some food for ourselves.” Varamyr said, taking a large bite out of some meat. “A few raided huts and we could have more food on our backs than we could scavenge in a year.”

“That’s not what we’re here to do.” Val gestured with her knife at the burned home. “You might’ve drawn unneeded attention with your stunt already.”

“These southerners are weak, they’ll die in droves if they attack us.” Varamyr gloated. “The crows won’t even smell us till we’re gone.”

“It’s not the crows I’m worried about.” She replied darkly, recalling what she knew of the people south of the Wall. Her mother had told her and her sister tales of what the world was like further south, and the powerful armies that kneeler Lords could bring to bear. “It’s their allies, the different Houses in the south that worry me. We raid too many homes and they’ll send knights clad head-to-toe in steel after us if we’re not careful.”

Varamyr sneered, and opened his mouth to reply, only for a new voice to interrupt.

“Or they’ll send me.”

The new voice sent shivers down her spine, and Val was instantly on her feet with her spear in hand. She wasn’t the only one, as the others dropped what there were also doing and donned weapons.

A dark-haired man exited the treeline to openly approach their campsite, his unnerving green eyes sweeping over each of them. He wore a cloak made of heavy wool, with a steel plate partially covering his chest and one of his arms moderately armored.

Varamyr let out a growl at the sight of him, and the other members of their group weren’t much better in their own reactions. She noticed Jarl’s knuckles whiten around the sword he held, no doubt a weapon he had taken off a dead Crow, and the two Thenns each glared at the southerner.

She always hated southerners, especially the way they looked at those north of the Wall as nothing more than a bunch of savages. She hated their clothes, their strong steel armor and mail that made them nearly invulnerable to their weapons, and the way some of them had so much food that they became fat.

The man standing in front of them was almost a mockery of what they pictured southerners as. Tall and strong, his body corded with muscle under those clothes in a way that would make any maiden blush, with a rugged look to his face and a dark glint in his eye. Val had seen nearly everything that men had to offer, but she could comfortably say she had never seen a man like him before.

He had a strange aura around him, something mystical and strange, a promise that to face him was to face death itself. Her feet unconsciously backpedaled, shifting defensively in case of attack, and the others did the same.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jarl spat the words.

“Hadrian Snow, son of Brandon Stark.”

Stark. Everyone knew that name, whether it be south or north of the wall. It was a name that lived on in infamy among certain tribes, as everyone knew of the famed Builder. Children were raised on stories of the Starks, whether it be how they built the wall, or defeated the Others. She herself knew of Benjen Stark, one of the best Crows there was, and a man who had slayed raiders by the hundreds.

And that was without mentioning his brother, the infamous Eddard Stark, the man who was said to have overthrown the three-hundred year long reign of the Targaryen dynasty and bested them on the field of battle. She heard that he commanded thousands in battle, an unthinkable number in her mind, and yet was able to achieve victory nonetheless.

“You’ve got stones coming here alone, southron fool.” Varamyr said, his eyes blank and distant. She knew he was warging, no doubt having whatever animal he possessed search the woods around them. “Take him!”

The two Thenns were the first to charge, roaring as they did so with their axes raised high. The southerner was fast like the wind, wasting no movement as he moved to swing his large sword. He smacked one of the axes away and backpedaled, his body slowing in a singular motion into his next swing.

His sword swung straight through one of the Thenns, not even slowing as he bisected the man at the waist. The other Thenn cried out in a mix of rage and horror, losing all sense as he attacked the man.

Val cursed and charged in with her spear, Jarl doing the same as he slashed at the man with his sword. She could hear the clang of steel and Jarl’s grunt of exertion as he was thrown back. Her own spear launched out like a viper at the man, and he easily slapped it aside with his sword.

She suddenly heard the howling of wolves, and two of the beasts leapt out from behind the forest and launched themselves at Hadrian Snow. Almost as if he had eyes in the back of his head, he spun around in an instant, his greatsword carrying its momentum as it cut the neck of one of the wolves.

Jarl saw an opening and attacked, but the southerner was quicker, carelessly sidestepping his attack without even looking. The man turned and almost casually ran his blade through Jarl’s ribs then. Jarl fell down in an instant, coughing up blood and dying with a choked gasp.

Jarl had been the only one she found tolerable in the group, but that was being generous. Val had never really liked anyone, and their relationship wasn’t ever going to go beyond working together on their mission.

The next wolf attacked then, and the man carelessly killed it with a quick swipe of his sword to its side. The pain must have hurt Varamyr, their resident warg suddenly screaming out in unimaginable agony. Hadrian Snow didn’t let him recover, and beheaded him before turning to her.

Val’s breath caught in her throat as she met his gaze, her spear held defensively in her grasp. She had seen many men fight -and killed plenty of them- but she had yet to see anything like this. The way he moved, flowing in and out of attacks as he refused to make a move out of showmanship or anger. It was terrifying.

But that didn’t stop her from lunging forward with her spear anyways, a pivoting and striking once again when he dodged her strikes. In the moments before everything went to black he managed to maneuver behind her, and then something heavy struck her in the head.

Hadrian Snow

The clearing was painted with blood and snow. Wildling men laid dead and dismembered after they attacked him, with the bodies of the smallfolk they had pillaged and raided laying not too far away. The silence was heavy, broken only by the crackling of flames and the moan of the faint wind.

Hadrian, or as he preferred to be called, Harry, stood at the center of it all, sword still clutched in his hand, blood dripping slowly from its edge. The fight hadn’t even winded him, as killing seemed to come effortless to him in this life, something that wasn’t normal before.

Before, when he had been named Harry Potter, killing had shaken him to the core. It had weighed heavily on his conscience when he killed Professor Quirrell at the age of eleven, and then the chaos that came after as he fought Voldemort and the Death Eaters for years on end.

But in this life killing was expected of him. He had seen how his uncle killed men for dishonoring their oaths and beheaded those who refused the Watch. That was without mentioning the countless wars and skirmishes that took place, making killing a necessity if his new family was to live. And yet he refused to kill the woman in front of him, sparing her when he already slayed the rest.

He watched her as she slowly awakened from being unconscious, all the while he took in her beautiful features and braided blonde hair. She had been the strongest Wildling he fought, expertly wielding her spear and lashing out with it like a viper.

He had come across her and followed her back to her group of fellow Wildlings, and seen how the others had already raided the home for food while she had been left to fend for herself. Maybe that had been why he spared her, knowing she played no part in the violence the others committed. If anything, she seemed disgusted by their revelry.

There was also the question of why she even bothered to fight after he killed her allies. The woman could have simply surrendered, but she fought on anyways. He had seen the defiance in her eyes, something that reminded him of his old life, and couldn’t help but respect her for it.

“Why did you keep fighting?” He couldn’t help but ask as she finally awakened. “You knew you would die if you faced me, so why not surrender, or even run away?”

She glared back at him with that same defiance, as if the very question disgusted her.

She answered without hesitation. “Because I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I doesn’t matter now, seeing as you bested me.” She said, as if that explained everything. “You killed the others, the Thenns, Varamyr, and Jarl, but you spared me. In our culture, when someone bests someone in combat, that makes them theirs to do as they want. So kill me or take me, I care not.”

It took him a moment to realize exactly what she was trying to convey, and he felt dread settle in his stomach. He had seen so much over the years since arriving here that had destroyed his morality and crushed his sense of righteousness when it came to the world. But it was what the wildling had told him just now that seemed to activate something inside him.

He could feel the urge to join in the debauchery that was so common around him, to throw away those last remaining pieces of morality from his old life and just give in. But he held it back, clinging to the remnants of his old life as Harry Potter.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, turning up her nose as she goaded him. “Am I not to your liking?”

He tightened his jaw as his gaze roamed over her body, feeling the urge to simply claim her as his own. She was beautiful, with long braided blonde hair and a strong body under the fur clothing she wore. Her face was the most striking of all, a gentleness to it along with a ferocity that made even himself hesitate. Even now, bound and defeated, he could tell she carried a power within that scared him more than he cared to admit.

“If I am to spare you, then why would I trust you in the first place?” He asked, clinging to anything that would stop him from outright claiming her as his own. “What’s to stop you from pulling out a knife and stabbing me in the back first chance you get?”

That was the wrong thing to ask. Her gaze narrowed in outrage, likely viewing his words as a perceived insult to her Wildling traditions. He knew then and there that she wouldn’t murder him in the night as he suggested, as she would never give him the satisfaction of being right about such a thing.

With a careless movement, her coat came undone, falling down to expose her breasts to the open air. Harry felt his eyes involuntarily drift downwards to her chest, seeing two large, perfect breasts capped with pink that no man would be able to resist. It was rare to see breasts of such size, being teardrop shaped and perky, and he could only imagine how soft they would feel in his hands.

“If I was so untrustworthy, would I really show you this?” She tried to taunt him, but he could hear the vulnerability in her voice.

He couldn’t help but feel his trousers tighten, his cock enlarging in size as blood filled it. Lust filled him as he observed the blonde goddess on her knees before him, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. “Are you sure you want this?”

She took a shaky breath then, her eyes meeting his own as she nodded. “Yes.”

In the next instant he was on top of her, both of them falling onto the soft grass below as their clothes swiftly came undone. Her fur robes fell underneath them, creating a soft bed as Harry’s eyes roamed over her form.

Her body was at the peak of perfection, shaped by a lifetime of hunting and fighting in the brutal conditions north of the Wall. He could see the muscles in her arms and abdomen, intermixed with small amounts of womanly fat that gave her body the perfect amount of curves. Her big tits led down south to her sculpted abs and then the flair of her thick hips and muscular thighs.

Between her legs was what he wanted, and he spun her body around effortlessly. Doing so revealed her muscular back, and on top of it sat her hair in a braid, pointing down like an arrow to her thick ass. It was a booty made up of muscle and womanly fat, two hemispheres of flesh that Harry wanted to pound and spank till it was red.

“Ugh! Just like that!” She grunted as he forcefully moved her body around. It was in that moment he realized that he didn’t even get her name.

“I’m Hadrian Snow, but my friends call me Harry.” He told her.

“Val.” She said back. “I think you can tell me your backstory later. For now just fuck me!”

“With pleasure.” He grinned.

His own robes and armor came off then, using wandless magic subtly to make the process more easy. It revealed his towering muscular frame that had been absent in his last life, yet he still retained the agility that made him such a good Quidditch player from before. His own body was sculpted from years in the yard, along with his own adventures throughout the North. That, and supposedly good genes from his father.

He lowered his trousers next, and his massive cock came springing upwards before it came crashing down. It slammed down onto Val’s bum, landing parallel to her spine with its large head oozing precum onto her back.

Val looked over her shoulder and gaped. “By the Gods, you’re fucking massive.”

Harry pulled back then, far enough away that the head of his cock lined up with her cunt lips, and then he entered. Val gasped loudly as just the head of his shaft entered, his large girth stretching her obscenely. But Harry didn’t slow down, tightly grasping her thick bum as he pushed more in.

“Fuck! It feels like I’m fucking a giant!” She panted like a bitch in heat. “I didn’t know kneeler cocks were so big!”

“They’re not.” He arrogantly told her. “I’m just bigger than the rest.”

He reached the point that he could no longer push anymore of himself in, and started taking matters into his own hands as he became more forceful. He started thrusting into her, pulling back a small amount of his shaft at first and then slamming it back in. When that wasn’t enough he picked up his thrusts, only leaving his cockhead inside her snatch before he slammed the rest of his length in with force.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! Fuck you and your big kneeler cock!” The blonde wildling screamed as he pounded her. “If you didn’t steal me, then I’d steal you myself if it meant getting fucked by this big cock!”

Harry snorted and grasped her hips harshly, fucking her hard and fast as his hips began colliding with her thick ass. It was a brutal pounding that was more reserved for whores than proper women, but Val’s wild screams demonstrated how much she enjoyed it.

SMACK

His hand suddenly collided with her jiggling bum, causing the strong cheeks to bounce and ripple.

“Ugh! ” Val moaned loudly.

SMACK PLAP SMACK

“S-So good!” She managed to get out, and he felt her walls squeeze and convulse around his cock as her own release approached.

He fucked her straight through her orgasm, hard and fast as he gave her no reprieve whatsoever. But Harry could feel his own release coming, and set a blistering pace as his hips slammed even harder against her ass.

He could feel his balls give way, the warm seed as it sped through his urethra and erupted into her. He didn’t slow down, fucking her straight through as he filled the blonde wildling with with his seed.

His shaft pistoned in and out of her, gaining a squelching noise with each thrust as his own seed intermixed with the wetness of her core. With a final, brutal thrust, he stopped thrusting and came to a stop, letting the woman rest.

“Y-You’re a beast.” She panted, caked in sweat as her arms struggled to hold her up. She looked over her shoulder at him, a smile on her lips and a beautiful blush on her cheeks. “That was the best rutting I’ve ever had!”

Harry couldn’t help but smile as well, feeling a sense of deep satisfaction as he looked over the haggard woman. It was more than just the sex that filled him with fulfillment, but the deep sense that he had found what he had been looking for after so long. Maybe keeping her alive wasn’t such a bad decision after all.

A/N:

I’ve got to admit that writing Game of Thrones is an enjoyable change of pace. I’ll never proclaim to be an expert on the subject, but I’ll do my best to get the verbiage right, so please be nice about any mistakes I make! (M’lord or My Lord or Milord?)

WARNING: Potential Spoilers Ahead

The plan I have down for this story so far is for Harry to travel South with Ned and act as his spy or shadowy enforcer in King’s Landing. I’m going to make Ned a lot more competent this time around, with Harry willing to do a lot of the dirty work for him.

As for Harry’s love life, so far I plan to have Val, Cersei Lannister, Ashara Dayne, Margaery Tyrell, and Arianne Martell. This will obviously be expanded, as the story is still being planned out, and for those wondering I do not plan on having Sansa or Catelyn included as I have too much respect for Ned.

Thanks!

You can read upcoming chapters early, view beautiful character artwork, and cast your vote in story polls. Check out the details:

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Bran Stark

Winterfell was more busy than ever before. At least, it was more busy than Bran had ever seen it. Guards and men-at-arms seemed to be everywhere, with constant patrols around the castle and grounds that made it even more difficult for him to climb parts of the castle unnoticed.

His mother had ordered the guards to pull him down if they saw him climbing, taking away his fun, but Bran still managed to find a way around it. He began climbing in the older sections of Winterfell, the parts that were abandoned and in disrepair. Those sections saw few visitors, and fewer guards were stationed there, making it the best place to climb unnoticed.

It also came with more risks. The castle wasn’t as sturdy in the older sections, with loose stones and entire walls and towers ready to give way. It made his climbing more of a challenge, but it was one Bran was willing to take on.

He braced his left foot against part of the wall that was uneven, his right hand grasping a nearby hole in the wall. Bran moved his left hand upwards to grasp an older stone that stuck out of the wall, and held it tightly as he heaved his body upwards.

But that was when disaster struck, and Bran gasped as the stone he was holding came loose. It came tumbling out of the wall before he could react, and his body fell with it down towards the ground below.

He could do nothing but stare at the cloudy sky above him as he fell, knowing he was too high up to shrug a fall like this off. His hand reached up towards the sky, desperately hoping he could grasp on to something to slow his fall, but it was already too late. He could see birds flying high above, soaring through the air just like him, and for a moment he wished he could fly through the air like a bird.

Strangely, his fall didn’t end, and he didn’t slam against the ground like he expected to. Instead he landed softly in a strong pair of arms that easily caught him. Other than feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him, Bran was feeling alright.

“You know, you really need to be more careful.” A familiar voice said. “Otherwise I’ll have to convince Uncle to have you locked in your room for a fortnight.”

Bran recognized that voice, and turned his head to see the green-eyed gaze of his cousin. “Harry!”

“Hey Bran.” His bastard cousin smiled, moving to put him on his feet. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, but even better now that you’re back!” He grinned. “Did you just arrive? We haven’t heard anything in moons!”

“I did.” Harry nodded. “And I’ll be sure to tell you and the rest of the family about it. I’d hate to have to retell tales of my recent adventure multiple times over.”

Bran knew that Harry would have to do that anyways. Arya was the worst when it came to her incessant questioning of his adventures outside Winterfell, and even Sansa and Jon questioned Harry rigorously about his journeys throughout the North. Bran would even admit that he was somewhat guilty of bothering his cousin.

“Arya has been asking about you, but that’s nothing new.” Bran said. “You were gone for a while this time, and even Sansa of all people asked Father when you would get back.”

“Is that right?”

“Mmhm.” He nodded. “Theon’s favorite whore even asked about you, its made him quite mad actually.”

Harry grimaced, never liking the subject of whores for some reason. His cousin always did have strange quirks and preferences, especially when it came to topics Theon liked to discuss. He had seen Harry get angry or even close to getting sick when certain things like whores were brought up, and Bran could never figure out why.

“You’re too young to hear about such things. I’ll have to speak to Theon.” Harry said, and Bran could imagine how that conversation would go.

“You know, I never expected you to act so virtuous.” A new voice spoke to his cousin before focusing on Bran. “What is your name, boy?”

A woman wearing a cloak made of white fur approached and stood at his brother’s side. She was very pretty, and Bran felt himself get flustered as he took in her clear skin, blue eyes, and braided blonde hair. Her eyes looked over his form, and Bran couldn’t help but look down. “B-Bran Stark, my Lady.”

“He’s my cousin, and also Lord Stark’s second son. You will be more respectful when speaking to him from now on.” Harry said forcefully to the woman.

Bran expected the beautiful woman to angrily respond to his cousin, and for a moment it looked like she would do just that. But she backed down, nodding her head as if properly chastised. It was bewildering to say the least, but he didn’t get a chance to ask about it before Harry turned back to him.

“Why were you in this section of Winterfell, Bran?” Harry asked. “You should know it is more dangerous to climb here.”

“Father’s doubled the guard since the news came in about the King.” He complained, stomping his foot irritably. “There’s more patrols in the other parts of the castle, and they’ll tell Mother if they see me.”

“I see.” His cousin replied. “And what is this news about the King?”

“King Robert is coming to Winterfell!” He exclaimed excitedly, remembering what had everyone so spirited as of late. “Father has been busy ever since he received news, and the castle is more lively than ever!”

Robb Stark

The frost lingered in the air, curling in thin wisps where the men breathed. The yard was alive with the sound of steel, the ring of sword on sword, the heavy thud of boots on packed earth. Normally Robb would join them, laughing and having a good old time as he sparred against different men-at-arms. Even now he could see Theon training with them, laughing as he sent one of the guards tumbling.

His body ached for movement, for the clash of arms, for something other than the long hours spent hunched over books and ledgers. But Lord Stark left him with no time to amuse himself in the yard, and instead acted like a ruthless taskmaster.

The King was coming.

It was the only thing Winterfell spoke of these past few weeks, and everyone from the poorest smallfolk to the trusted men-at-arms had been preparing for his arrival. Every man in the castle had been put to task, from the stewards counting stores to the blacksmiths working late into the night, forging gifts fit for royalty. Robb had been set to his own tasks, harder than any swordplay.

“You will be Lord of Winterfell one day.” His father had told him upon hearing news of the King’s visit, looking more serious than ever before. “Not a boy playing at swords, but a man who must rule. Before King Robert arrives, I will personally make sure you are prepared.”

Robb had nodded, determined. He had never wanted anything more.

His days belonged to his father now. Robb now rose before the sun to sit in his father’s solar, listening as Maester Luwin read out lists of provisions, of horses and grain and barrels of mead. His father made him answer first. Always. He had to think, to weigh his words, to justify his choices before Lord Stark gave his own judgment. To answer wrong was to disappoint his Father, and that thought alone motivated him to try harder.

From there, him and father would walk the walls with Ser Rodrik, listening as the master-at-arms spoke of defenses, of patrol routes and watch rotations. All of which had been increased substantially under his father’s orders, making Winterfell feel like it was preparing for war. He supposed that it was for the King’s safety, but Robb couldn’t help but feel that there was more to it than that.

They even rode out with the steward to the winter town, speaking with farmers, and then viewing the storehouses to make sure they were stocked full. He heard that the King was brining a large retinue with him, and his father was being careful that not too much of their stocks were wasted on feasts.

After that Robb would be tasked with helping his father or Maester Luwin with writing ledgers, almost taking the place of a court scribe. Letters were leaving and being delivered to Winterfell in unseen quantities these days, and poor Maester Luwin would be overwhelmed without his help.

In the late evening he managed to crawl his way back to his quarters, more tired and exhausted than ever, but his day wasn’t quite over then. He would be up late reading into the hour of the owl, going through different books whether they focused on law or history. It was all in the name of not disappointing father, even if it meant losing a few hours of sleep.

Robb read of the kings before Aegon, of the wars the Starks had fought, and the way they had all ruled and died. He could hear his father’s voice in his head, testing him. What would he do if a bannerman refused a call to arms? If the river froze and supply lines were cut? If the wildlings came raiding? The answers never came easy, and that was the point.

He was beginning to feel just like Harry. His bastard cousin had spent obscene amounts of time in the library, something himself and Theon had teased him about many times over the years. Now Robb was beginning to regret that, and he was starting to think his cousin had the right of it.

He vanished those thoughts as he arrived at his father’s solar, the most secure section of the castle with more guards than normal. Robb fixed his appearance before entering, opening the door to see his father speaking with the last person he expected.

“Harry?” Robb blurted out in surprise, seeing his cousin sitting across the desk from his father.

“Robb.” His bastard cousin smiled, standing up and giving him a hug. “It’s good to see you. I only just arrived.”

“Arya will be glad to have you back.” Robb replied with a grin, before glancing at father. “What were you discussing?”

“Uncle was just telling me of the King’s upcoming visit.” Harry said, as they both took a seat at father’s desk. “It seems that Winterfell will have more visitors than its had in years.”

“The King comes with his entire court, if what I have heard is accurate.” Father said with mild irritation. “Meaning he brings half the South to our doorstep.”

“We should be honored, should we not?” Robb asked, feeling confused. “It is a sign of friendship that the King would visit us here in Winterfell.”

“Friendship? Perhaps. But it is the men around the King that worry me. Word has reached me that the King has surrounded himself with less than savory individuals, those willing to do anything to gain power.”

“These men are oath bound to the King, are they not? They can’t possibly be as bad as you make them out to be.” Robb said disbelievingly.

“Oaths are worth less than wind to some men.” Harry spoke up from his side. “There are men who use words as weapons, who scheme behind the backs of their friends and family until they find the opportune moment to strike.”

Ned nodded solemnly, looking at Robb’s cousin with approval. For some reason Harry’s words were spoken with absolute certainty, as if he knew exactly what Lord Stark was speaking of. All it did was make Robb worried, wondering how exactly they could even fight against such dishonor.

“Surely it can’t be that bad?” Robb couldn’t help but ask, almost pleading. “Southerners are weak, at least, compared to us in the North. We should be able to handle any plots and schemes they have for us, right?”

“You should never underestimate the greed and ambition of Southron Lords.” His father replied darkly. “If what I have heard is true, King Robert’s court is filled with flatterers and mummers, men who deal only with lies and deceit. They are the worst kind of men, willing to backstab and betray anyone if it means gaining the slightest amount of power. It can be Lords or Kings, servants or squires, none of which are to be trusted.”

“Why tell us this?” Robb swallowed thickly in worry.

“It is so that the both of you can be on guard during Robert’s visit.” His father said. “I have a hunch that someone in the court is plotting against Winterfell. Whether this is a lone actor, or multiple, has yet to be determined. It is my hope to thwart any plots before they can take form, otherwise our relationship with the King could be damaged beyond repair.”

“C-Can’t we just deny the court access to Winterfell? That way we could avoid all this?” He asked foolishly, gaining a disappointed look from his father.

“I am afraid that Robert’s visit simply cannot be avoided, and declining his Court access to the castle would be a grave insult.” His father said. “I have taken what precautions I can to ensure our safety, but it will be the job of the three of us in this room to ensure nothing goes wrong.”

“That’s why there are so many more guards.” Harry spoke up from his side. “The castle looks as if it’s preparing for war.”

“I guess you can say that it is.” Lord Stark shrugged. “We are going to war against the depravity that is Southron politics.”

Val

The days that followed here introduction to Hadrian Snow were unlike any Val had known. She had expected cruelty, maybe even kindness, or at least indifference from him. Instead, she found something far more dangerous to control.

He was not like the men of the North, with their rigid honor, nor was he like the wildlings, who took what they could by strength and left the rest to fate. Hadrian took what he wanted, yes, but he did it with purpose. With patience. With a quiet, unsettling confidence that made him impossible to predict.

He didn’t speak more than necessary, but he listened. When she tried to needle him, to find the edges of his temper, he met her with amusement rather than anger. She didn’t even bother trying to get away from him, knowing it would be pointless to even try and escape.

There was his use of magic, the likes of which she had never witnessed before. She had never seen a man command the world around him like he did, bending it to his will with a flick of his fingers. The fire he built at night never needed kindling. The water and instruments needed for camping simply appeared. And his own clothes seemingly changed and refreshed themselves at will.

Even the way he saved that boy earlier in the day was proof enough of his power. That fall should have killed Bran Stark, and yet Harry caught him like it was nothing. All of it came to him as casually as breathing, yet it all left her scrambling to keep up.

And then there were his eyes. Green as summer leaves, bright as wildfire. Eyes that saw too much, knew too much.

She had met powerful men before. Mance was one, the King-Beyond-the-Wall, a man who bent the clans to his cause with nothing but a song and a promise. Hadrian Snow was different. He didn’t inspire loyalty. He didn’t beg or bargain. He simply made men believe that he was inevitable.

She had expected to hate him. She had expected to feel nothing but contempt for the man who had taken her. Instead, she felt something else, something unfamiliar.

She felt drawn to him.

Not just for his strength, though that was part of it. Strength was a language she understood. But it was more than that. It was the way he looked at her, not as a prize or a plaything, but with a certain deep interest she had never seen before, all of it being directed at her. It felt strange to have the full attention of such a powerful being, but also rewarding in a way.

He didn’t treat her as a captive, but he didn’t let her forget that her place was beneath him either. He allowed her to move freely, but never far. He spoke to her as an equal, even if she knew a man with his powers could rule the world if he wanted to.

It was maddening. Yet also so terribly arousing.

She wanted to know just how a man like him was able to even exist. He was someone who could dominate the world if he put his mind to it, the kind of warrior that was spoken of in stories and cemented in history for generations.

Yet for some reason he restrained himself, being careful not to reveal too much, or to let the darker, more ruthless side of his character show. Val expected a man as powerful as him to use her body to his heart’s content as he did when they first met, yet instead he seemingly restrained himself. They had fucked since then, of course, but it only happened when Harry gained a certain boldness. It was like he held the dark side of himself back, only to let it out in certain moments of passion when he decided to ravage her.

She could only imagine what he would do if he didn’t stop with just fucking her, and began trying to plunder the world like the Free folk did. She was sure Harry Snow could have all the women he wanted, along with the riches and plunder that came with it. And yet he continues to hold himself back.

Those thoughts continued to swirl in her mind as she followed Harry through the various halls underneath the castle. It was late at night, with most of the castle’s residents asleep other than the few guards that had to keep watch. He had left her to explore and familiarize herself with Winterfell’s layout along with the nearby town earlier in the day, a task that she quite enjoyed. Even beyond the Wall the Free folk knew of the famed seat of House Stark, Winterfell, being the giant castle constructed by Bran the Builder himself.

Even after seeing the Wall, Val was still surprised by the sprawling castle. It added a sense of grandeur to House Stark, a monument that had stood for millennia which symbolized their power and hold over the North. It also made her wonder what Mance Rayder was thinking. For him to believe he could defeat the Night’s Watch was one thing, but the power of House Stark was not to be underestimated.

Harry suddenly opened a door that led to a stairwell, one he walked down and into a large cave filled with all sorts of steaming pools. The room was hot, and Val could feel herself starting to sweat under her furs.

“These are the hot springs that warm Winterfell.” He said as she admired the place. “Winterfell was built on top of them, and they are what keep the castle warm during the winter.”

She nodded in awe, having seen hot springs before, but none of them having been underground nor as expansive as this. Harry began to stride into one of the pools then.

His own clothes simply ceased to exist as he entered the pool, revealing his muscular frame underneath. She could see his big cock thud against his muscular thighs as he waded into the water, and Val had to wonder if he planned to fuck her in this place.

He made a strange gesture towards her, and she jumped slightly as her clothing dissapeared as well. She was naked for but a mere moment, and suddenly a frilly blue garment appeared on her. The tiny pieces of cloth did little more than cover her tits and core, a lewd mockery of the undergarments women usually wore.

For what felt like the millionth time, Val stood still and shocked by his audacity. She would have killed a man for doing what he just did, to undress her and make her look so weak, and yet those thoughts dissapeared as quick as they came. Harry had stolen her after all, making her his to do what he wants with. She belonged to Hadrian Snow, and he knew it.

She narrowed her gaze in faux anger, pretending like she didn’t like his dominance. If it affected him he didn’t show it, as he found a comfortable spot in the pool and rested against the wall. Val made her way over to him, enjoying the sensation of the warm water flowing over her body. She sat against his side, letting her head rest comfortably as she enjoyed the room’s warmth.

“The King is coming to Winterfell.” Harry finally said.

“I’ve heard.” She replied, remembering how every person she talked to seemed to bring that topic up. “It’s all these southerners seem to talk about.”

He nodded. “You’ll need to learn to be more polite for when he’s here. Such disrespect could get you killed, especially if a member of the King’s court happens to be nearby.”

She remembered earlier when he had corrected her, after Harry had saved the life of his cousin. Val was tempted to refuse, but knew that fighting over such a small thing wasn’t worth it. “Fine.”

She felt something touch her thigh under the water, and could feel Harry’s finger nearing her core. His coarse hand moved under the small patch of clothing he had conjured earlier, and with a swift movement he buried his finger up to the knuckle in her core.

Val felt her vision waver in pleasure, breathing heavily as he took liberties with her body. Her large breasts heaved with each intake of air, struggling to get her arousal under control as he fingered her.

“Things are going to be dangerous with the King being here.” Harry said casually, even as Val struggled to maintain coherent. “My uncle seems to think that something will go amiss, and that there is some sort of plot in motion against House Stark.”

“W-What does that had to do with me?” She breathlessly asked, doing her best to stay coherent. Southron plots and courtly intrigues weren’t exactly her specialty, but Val would still do her best to help Harry.

“You’re going to act as my eyes and ears. No one knows about your relationship with me, and so I want you to keep a lookout for anything suspicious. I assume that you’re up to the task?”

It was the way he ordered her around, the degrading way he took control of her body and simply dominated her that aroused Val so much. She nodded in agreement at his words, and from there the two enjoyed having the hot springs to themselves. And if anyone was to enter the large room later on, all that could be heard were the splashing of waves and the wet slapping of skin.

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Cersei Lannister

Cersei watched the sprawling lands of the North pass by her carriage as Winterfell came ever closer in the distance. Despite still being summer, the outside cold warranted her pulling her coat tighter, doing her best to not let her irritation show. It wouldn’t do to show weakness now, especially when they were due to arrive at the seat of House Stark soon.

As much as she wanted to turn her nose up at everything, to call the northmen savages and disparage the land they called home, Cersei found herself unable to truthfully voice such thoughts. There was a reason that her husband, despite being the moronic oaf that he was, had decided to head North in search of a Hand. It was a choice that both earned her ire and respect, and Cersei conceited that travelling North might be the best decision that Robert Baratheon had ever made. Or the worst.

The South was filled with fools, and Cersei had dealt with enough of them in the capital to last a lifetime. But one would not find such filth in the North, where men could not afford to be weak else they starve when winter comes. It was a land filled with rugged and competent men, the kind that could make any maiden blush.

The North was known for producing the strongest fighters in the Kingdoms for a reason, and it was those harsh winters that forged them. Even if Northern knights and Lords never participated in tourneys, few experienced knights from the south would dare try and test their might again a standard northern soldier.

And it was for good reason, as it had been Ned Stark himself who had killed Ser Arthur Dwayne after all. The latter said to be invincible, the strongest knight to ever serve on the Kingsguard. That tale alone had spread through the kingdom like wildfire after the rebellion, being told second only to Robert and Rhaegar’s infamous duel on the Trident.

And it also seemed fitting that Ned Stark would also be rumored to be involved with Arthur Dayne’s sister as well. Ashara Dayne was truly one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms, something even Cersei would admit, and a Dornish beauty like her being matched with Ned Stark was certainly interesting.

As with many rumors however, they only contained part of the truth, with the rest being fabricated by court mummers. Last she had heard, the Lady Ashara Dayne was still in mourning at Starfall, heartbroken after her lover killed her brother. But that could also be conjecture, as most of the tale stemmed from Ned Stark dancing with her at Harrenhall.

Cersei pushed those thoughts away, eyeing the two handmaidens seated across from her. Dorcas was a large woman, and it almost looked obscene for her to be sitting next to the smaller Senelle. That said, Cersei knew that Senelle had the most backbone of the two, and Cersei depended on her the most when she needed various favors done in the capital.

Her gaze briefly shifted to Jocelyn Swyft at her side, the only one allowed to sit so close to Cersei, having been born into one of the Noble Houses in the Westerlands. The woman was a craven in Cersei’s mind, timid and slow but eager to please, something Cersei had exploited to its fullest. She needed allies, after all, and sometimes that meant taking advantage of those too weak to fend for themselves.

A source of her frustration was her lack of influence in King’s Landing as of late, something that had only grown more apparent since Jaime left the Kingsguard. It happened after the Greyjoy Rebellion, during the large tourney at Lannisport, as her father finally managed to convince Robert to let Jaime go. After so many years, Tywin finally got his wish, something Cersei only knew to be unavoidable. After all, everyone knew it was impossible to deny Tywin Lannister.

It left her without someone to turn to, a man to keep her warm and fuck her hard in bed. For a terrible moment she was tempted to turn to Robert, but Cersei discarded that idea almost immediately. But as she sat in that freezing carriage as it rolled along, a new idea dawned on her.

There was an opportunity presented to her by traveling to the North, the chance to make new allies amongst those unfamiliar with the games played in the South. Cersei already knew that Ned Stark wasn’t going to bend, the Lord of House Stark was too used to the rigid ways of the North to be used in her plans. But there might be others she could use, those who were less rigid in their ways.

An image of a strong, rugged Northman appeared in her mind. His muscular form appearing as if chiseled from stone, scarred from years of hard living. It would be the perfect companion to have while in King’s Landing, someone who could fuck her hard behind Robert’s back, all the while being used as her new ally in the capital. It would suite her needs perfectly.

The noise of crowds and trumpets broke Cersei out of her thoughts, and another look out the carriage window revealed they were finally entering the castle. She could make out some of the ancient walls and towers that made up Winterfell, each of them standing tall and fierce. The castle itself had an age to it, a sense of enormity that Casterly Rock never had, something that almost seemed fitting in northern Westeros.

Her carriage soon came to a stop and the door opened, allowing Cersei to gracefully make her way down. All eyes were on her, as was normal, including the Stark family along with the multitude of knights and fellow Northern Lords that had gathered in the large courtyard. Behind the Starks she briefly noted one man, tall and muscular with a rugged look and piercing emerald eyes.

Cersei let her lips twist into a slight grin. After all, the Game of Thrones could use some new faces in it, and Cersei was only too happy to comply.

Jon Snow

The King was fat. That thought alone would have gotten him killed or sent to the wall, but Jon couldn’t help but think it. King Robert was nothing like his Father described, being a strong warrior standing taller than any man bar the Mountain. It seemed that the life of royalty had softened him, or rather, enlarged him.

He grimaced at that last thought.

The Queen soon arrived, exiting from an ornate carriage that he doubted even House Stark could even afford. But it wasn’t the fancy carriage he was looking at, but the buxom blonde woman that was Cersei Lannister. She really is the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

Jon heard Theon curse in disbelief at the sight of her, and a glance at his side revealed Harry to be completely indifferent. Typical.

King Robert and Father talked more, as the Queen soon made her way over. His siblings went through all of the necessary pleasantries, all the while he and the rest of the men went completely ignored behind them.

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.” King Robert finally said to father, as it seemed the arrival ceremony was finishing up.

“We’ve been riding for almost a moon, surely the dead can wait.” The queen objected, sounding almost bitter.

The courtyard became awkwardly quiet then, as men-at-arms glanced uneasily at one another. Jon felt himself grimace, and could see Lord Stark gain an uneasy expression. The King ignored her, insisting his Father go, soon the two left to visit the crypts.

“Where’s the Imp?” Arya suddenly chimed in, breaking the tension in the air.

And that was how he ended up searching for Tyrion Lannister, as Robb volunteered they go in front of Lady Stark and the Queen. Jon wasn’t alone, as Harry and Theon tagged along with Robb as well, sent on the strange task of seeking out Tyrion Lannister.

The group of them descended upon the winter down, led by Harry and Robb with himself and Theon taking up the rear. The arrival of the royal party had filled the taverns and alehouses with all sorts travelers, traders, and smallfolk eager to glimpse the King and his court. Fires crackled in hearths, and the scent of wine and roasting meat drifted through the air.

“If I were a drunk dwarf,” Theon said as they walked, his tone light. “where would I be?”

Robb rolled his eyes. “You’re halfway to being one yourself. You tell us.”

Jon chuckled as Theon fumed, as Harry led them through the winter town and to a brothel of all places. It seemed that Harry already knew where Tyrion was, if that was even possible, but Jon had no time to question it.

“My Lords!” A scantily-clad woman at the front greeted them when they walked in. “Do you require our services?”

Theon grinned lecherously, eyeing the woman, before a different whore entered then. She approached Harry first, but his cousin sent the woman a glare before she shifted her gaze to Theon.

“Do you require my service, my Lord?” She asked Theon, sauntering up to him and placing her hand on his chest.

Theon laughed. “Who am I to resist?”

The woman led Theon away, much to their ire, meanwhile Robb continued trying to speak to the other woman. “We’re looking for Tyrion Lannister.”

“Ah, he just came in an hour ago.” The sexy woman replied before telling them which room Tyrion occupied.

Robb didn’t wait and made his way through the establishment before bursting into Tyrion’s room, with himself and Harry following. The squeals of whores greeted them inside, and Jon briefly glimpsed three of them naked before he finally found Tyrion. The Lannister dwarf looked drunk, but not at all surprised to see them.

“I was wondering when someone would come looking for me.” Tyrion Lannister mused, looking their direction with boredom. “Was it the Queen who sent you to drag me back?”

“We volunteered to come find you, Lord Tyrion.” Robb answered.

“I’m not the Lord of anything.” Tyrion scoffed. “Who are you anyway?”

The three whores seemed to have recovered from their sudden entry, and one of them even got out of bed and made their way over to them. Harry gave her a particularly nasty look, with Robb also looking unamused. Jon was glad that his brother and cousin were fine with handling the situation, as he had never been good at handling women.

“Robb Stark.”

“And these must be Ned Stark’s bastards.” Tyrion said, eyeing himself and Harry.

“How did you know that?” Jon asked, suddenly feeling irritated at being called out for his base born status.

“You have the look of someone who doesn’t belong, my friend.” Tyrion replied, before looking at Harry. “And I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“You have?” Harry looked mildly surprised.

“You must be the infamous Shadow of Winterfell.” Tyrion said to Harry, taking a sip of wine. “At least, that’s what the whores around here call you. For some reason they swooned over the rugged nephew of Ned Stark, someone who’s never around, elusive, and the kind of person who could do good work for me in King’s Landing.”

“You’re offering me a job because of what you heard from some whores?” Harry sounded amused, almost in disbelief.

“You’re right that I am. I’ve always found whores to be a good source of information, and what they’ve said about you has me interested. I could use a man with your talents in the capital, even if you are Brandon Stark’s bastard.”

Bastard. Jon’s hand turned into a fist. He had always hated that word, especially when the likes of Greyjoy used it in the yard to diminish his base born status. And yet Harry didn’t so much as blink when called a bastard. His cousin had never cared for his lowly status, something Jon was somewhat jealous of.

He chalked it up to him being the only living offspring of Brandon Stark, the older brother of Jon’s father, who should have been the Lord of Winterfell if he hadn’t been murdered by the Mad King. It gave Harry a certain amount of renown in the North, as Jon had witnessed the respect different Lords gave his cousin over the years.

“Don’t call him that.” Jon said before anyone could speak, his anger flairing. Harry was still his cousin after all, and Jon didn’t like the way this dwarf was talking down to him.

“Ah, and that must make you Ned Stark’s bastard then.” The Lannister grinned him, seemingly not intimidated at all. “And why shouldn’t I call you and your cousin what you are? You’re both bastards, are you not?”

“You don’t know what it’s like.” Jon fumed, Tyrion’s words making him rage internally. “What we’ve had to endure…”

“All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes.” Tyrion replied. “Here’s some advice, bastard, embrace what you are, and see where it will get you.”

“I believe that’s enough of that.” Jon opened his mouth to retort, but Harry spoke before he could. His cousin gave him a bashful look, before turning back to Tyrion. “As for your offer, I’ll think about it. That said, it’s best we get back to the castle in order to prepare for tonight’s feast.”

Val

Even from the other side of the castle, Val could hear the sounds of feasting that went on inside the great hall of Winterfell. She stuck to the shadows as she snuck around the castle, keeping herself cloaked and hidden as different servants and patrols of guards made their way around.

It was dark out, late in the evening as Winterfell’s residents celebrated the King’s arrival. The royal party of southerners had settled in fully, and she was sure all of them would be partying and fucking well into the night. That left her to roam the castle’s grounds freely, keeping her eyes open for anything suspicious that might be going on. It was Harry’s request that she do so, as she would be his eyes and ears while the King remained in Winterfell.

It was only once she crept behind a parked wagon that she saw something that gained her attention, as she noticed a group of cloaked men that crept through one of Winterfell’s courtyards, each of them carrying weapons. She could see the weapons they held, being various clubs and axes, and could tell the group wasn’t looking to get in any sort of armed confrontation. They instead looked like some sort of local gang, as if they were out to vandalize property and terrorize the local population rather than take on armed knights and men-at-arms.

Well then, it seemed Harry was right about someone being up to no good.

They snuck through the different recesses and alleyways outside the castle, avoiding guards and moving silently, until the group finally reached their destination. It was the crypts of the castle, one of the places Val had yet to explore, as the group charged and knocked out the guard by the entrance before making their way inside.

Val soon followed them into the crypt, past the beaten and unconscious guard at the entrance, and then down the stairs and into the depths below Winterfell. She dashed behind a stone memorial of some sort once fully inside, watching the group as they focused on one statue in particular.

It was a newer statue, Val could tell that much, as it had no cracks like the others nor was it worn with age. The statue was of a beautiful woman, her face the picture of youth and pure innocence. And yet the men descended upon her with hammer blows and force, uncaring for the ruckus they made as they began breaking the woman’s statue into chunks before they began vacating the crypt hastily.

She watched as the last member of their group was more clumsy than the others, and he accidentally tripped over a chunk of stone as he made his way towards the stairs. The others didn’t seem to notice, nor would they likely help him, as they all knew that guards would come soon to investigate the noise created by their destruction. It left Val with an opportunity to find out what they were up to, and she took it.

As the cloaked man moved to get up, Val crept up behind him before restraining and gagging him. The man tried to resist, but Val was more skilled than him, as she quickly slammed him to the ground before thrusting a dagger deep into his thigh.

The cloaked man screamed, but the gag in his mouth stopped the noise from getting out. She looked down at him as he slowly realized what was happening, his gaze fearfully meeting her own.

“If you don’t tell me what I want to know, then the pain is going to get worse.” She said coldly, holding a knife to his eye. “First, tell me why you did this.”

She ripped the cloth gag out, and the man breathed shakily. “W-We were paid to do it.”

“Good.” She replied. “Who paid you?”

“A w-woman, named Senelle.” He answered quickly. “She said the queen wanted it done. That’s all I know, I swear it!”

“That’s all I needed to know.” Val replied, before slitting his throat.

The man fell to the stone floor with blood pouring from the wound, and Val moved to flee the crypt before she heard the alarmed shouts of men by the entryway. Instead of hurrying up the stairwell to the entrance, she instead turned and fled deep into the Winterfell catacombs.

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Robb Stark

It only took a day for everything to go to hell.

One of their men-at-arms was killed, and another seriously wounded. All four of the men who desecrated aunt Lyanna’s tomb were dead, and the entire castle was on edge. That was without mentioning the royal party’s reaction, along with the king’s. King Robert had gone into a blind rage when he received the news of what happened, and Robb’s father had been only slightly less wrathful in his own fury.

Whispers about the perpetrators were spreading all over the castle like wildfire, with most originally pointing blame at the Dornish and the Targaryen loyalists. At first, Robb couldn’t help but agree, until a new wave of rumors began to spread, ones that made him rethink things. Fellow lords and smallfolk alike began to suspect the Queen, and Robb couldn’t help but agree.

He had seen Queen Cersei’s open distaste for King Robert’s love of Lyanna when they first arrived, as the King immediately went down to the crypts to visit her grave. Rumors of the Queen’s supposed dislike of Lyanna were being spread all over Winterfell, speaking of how Cersei Lannister was envious of Robert Baratheon’s deceased betrothed. It came with talk of how Queen Cersei was supposedly a petty and vengeful woman, someone who would have servants whipped for even the slightest misstep.

There was even talk of the betrothal between Sansa and Prince Joffrey being cancelled, even if neither the King nor his father had committed to it. That particular rumor made Robb think the Queen might have set this whole affair up just to end the betrothal negotiations. As for why she didn’t want Joffrey to marry Sansa, who could say? Robb certainly didn’t want Sansa marrying that ponce.

Is this what father warned of? He couldn’t help but wonder then, thinking back to the conversation they had in Lord Stark’s solar before King Robert arrived. His father had warned of treacherous plots and schemes that the southerners liked to play, but he didn’t think it would be anything like this.

He sighed and put those worrying thoughts out of his mind for now, instead focusing on his surrounding as he and the other men marched through the wolfswood. King Robert had orchestrated a hunt for them all to go on, and Lord Stark had agreed. It would be a way for them all to get their mind off what happened, and improve everyone’s mood.

“I take it you visit these woods often, Stark?” Tyrion Lannister asked from his side as they walked with the royal party through the woods.

“Aye.” Robb replied.

“And would you say these woods are dangerous?” Tyrion continued. “I’d hate for anything bad to happen after last night’s mishaps.”

Robb’s brows furrowed in thought. “There are some wildlings that hide in the wolfswood, although I doubt any of them would dare attack a party of this size.”

Indeed, most of the Kingsguard had accompanied them on their hunt, along with scores of men-at-arms for additional protection. How they would manage to sneak up on some game and kill it, Robb didn’t know, but this whole outing felt more like a social affair than an actual hunt.

King Robert was drinking heavily, all while talking to Robb’s father about old war stories and tales. How the man was able to hold so much wine after the previous nights celebrations, Robb did not know.

“My sister always said the King would go out drunk on one of his hunts and never return.” Tyrion said suddenly, sounding oddly serious. Robb looked oddly at him, and followed his gaze to the unruly King Robert. “Hopefully it’s not this one.”

Hadrian Snow

Val was starting to become invaluable to him, and with her information he was able to get a lead on the perpetrator. The desecration of Aunt Lyanna’s grave had left everyone else scrambling to find a suspect, but not Harry, as he already had the woman responsible in his sights.

Senelle was one of Queen Cersei’s handmaidens, a prestigious position to hold for any woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and just why she would risk her position by committing such a crime was unknown to him. The simple solution was to believe Queen Cersei had orchestrated the entire thing, but Harry wanted to make sure first.

He could lose his head for making such an accusation against the Queen. And even though he could easily escape using his magic and run off, House Stark would surely pay the consequences of such foolishness.

After he learned from Val that Senelle was the one responsible, he snuck into her room and raided it while she was asleep. The royal party never detected his presence all the while, and Harry made sure to use a stunning spell on the woman so she didn’t wake up and see him.

He didn’t find anything incriminating, with the only suspicious items being an unusually large amount of gold along with an anonymous letter describing a rendezvous at the edge of the winter town. And it was that letter which led him to where he was now, invisible and hidden in a dark corner of an old abandoned storehouse.

The door to the old building opened, and an ugly man entered first. He looked no better than a wildling, unkempt and dirty, with the face of someone who had discarded their humanity. Harry had killed scum like him before, the worst kind of men, those who would kill and enslave anyone for meager coin.

A woman entered behind him then, who he recognized as Senelle, and she divested the hood of her cloak to reveal a snotty woman with lots of makeup and quite a bit of jewelry. Harry was able to learn her background with a bit of work, finding her to have the resume of a high-class courtesan in King’s Landing before she somehow ended up as a handmaiden to the Queen.

He could only assume she had grown up in a brothel with no family to speak of, learning to use her body to get ahead in life. It was a common tale for whores, those women who were truly desperate and eager for coin. And it would only make sense that some secret benefactor was orchestrating all of this madness through her, and that was who Harry was looking for.

A noise suddenly got his attention, and he looked to the back of the old storehouse to see a small hatch open. A cloaked intruder slipped through the small hole, being careful not to make a sound, and hid behind a stack of crates before watching the scene with interest. For a brief moment, Harry saw beneath her hood, and glimpsed red hair along with aristocratic womanly features.

Sansa? He wondered if that was who the intruder was for a brief moment, before dismissing that thought. The only girl he could see doing something like this was Arya, and she didn’t match her height nor hair. He turned his gaze back to Senelle and what was clearly a hired thug of sort.

“You have the payment I was offered?” The thug demanded.

Senelle sniffed with disdain and sat a large stack of gold down on the crate. It was more gold than most smallfolk would ever come across in a lifetime, and it would certainly make sense if Cersei Lannister was her backer if she was throwing gold around like that.

The lowlife across from Senelle eyed his payment greedily, and Harry had a feeling he would just take the gold and run. “And what’s to stop me from just killing you and running off with it?”

Just like I predicted. He mentally grumbled, grasping his own blade and readying himself to intervene. But for some reason Senelle looked perfectly calm, and reached for something in her cloak.

She pulled out a dagger, and it had a certain glint to its blade that Harry couldn’t recognize. The redhead slammed it into the wooden crate, and it was easily buried to the hilt. His eyebrows raised in astonishment, acknowledging either the woman must be insanely strong or that the dagger must be astonishingly sharp.

“You can take the dagger, as well as the gold.” Senelle said calmly. “After completing the job you’ll receive twice as much gold as is in front of you.”

The thug looked down at the dagger and gold before he grinned. “It seems that the Mockingbird pays well, I’ll make sure Lord Stark gets the message.”

The meeting was done then, but right as the two were about to leave, fate seemed to intervene. A loud crash sounded from across the room, and Harry turned to see the other intruder had fallen, knocking over a crate in the process.

The two were on her in an instant, and Harry watched as the thug pulled back her hood to expose her face as Senelle watched.

“Jocelyn? Just what are you doing here?” Senelle asked the new woman, seeming to recognize the intruder. “Does Cersei know about this?”

“N-No… It’s just me.” The intruder, named Jocelyn, stuttered.

“Good.” Senelle suddenly smirked. “Kill her.”

The thug grinned and pulled out the dagger from earlier to slit her throat, and that was when Harry moved. He was on them in an instant, his invisibility disappearing as he pulled out his own blade. The man noticed him at the last moment, but by then it was too late. Harry struck, running his blade through the man’s abdomen.

The man dropped the dagger in shock, and Jocelyn picked it up. The girl turned to Senelle, and proceeded to stab her in the chest. By the time Harry dislodged his blade, there was nothing left for him to do.

“T-They almost killed me.” The woman, Jocelyn, stuttered in shock, looking down at Senelle’s dead body and then at Harry. “Y-You saved me.”

He opened his mouth to speak, only for the woman’s eyes to roll back in her head as she fell unconscious. He caught her before she hit the ground, realizing she was clearly some sort of highborn woman who was out of her depth in a dangerous situation like this.

Harry couldn’t help but sigh, looking over the bodies of Senelle and the hired thug and looting anything important. He took the strange dagger, which he noticed was made of Valyrian steel, along with a letter carrying the Arryn seal that the thug carried.

This letter must be important. He broke the seal, despite knowing that reading the mail of a Great House could get him hanged. I doubt it’s legitimate anyways, as no high lord would trust a thug with something so important.

The last thing he expected was for the letter to be addressed to Catelyn Stark, from her sister, Lysa Arryn. It was a letter that alluded to backstabbing and treachery in the case of Jon Arryn’s death, all the while eagerly pointing the finger at House Lannister. And it just so happened that the same people delivering such a letter had done their utmost best to undermine Cersei Lannister, likely to drive a wedge between House Stark and House Lannister.

‘It seems that the Mockingbird pays well’ Harry remembered the thug’s words from earlier. Someone called the Mockingbird must have set this all up. Just who is he?

He looked down at Jocelyn’s unconscious form. Hopefully she will know.

Val

Her time as Harry’s eyes and ears around Winterfell was less eventful after the previous night’s events. Most of it was spent eavesdropping on smallfolk gossip and watching confrontations take place between Stark and Lannister men-at-arms as tensions rose.

Already the Stark guardsmen were trying to make their southron counterparts lives as hard as possible. Barely anyone was being allowed in and out of Winterfell, with every piece of baggage being searched for anything suspicious. She was lucky that her stealth skills were up to par, and combined with Harry’s own knowledge of Winterfell, she was able to get around the castle without incident.

She made her way down one of the castle’s hallways before stopping in front of an old stone statue of Theon Stark holding an axe. A quick glance around showed no one nearby, and Val reached out and grasped the statue’s axe. She pulled, and the statue magically sunk into the wall, revealing a hidden staircase leading upwards.

It was one of the handful of secret passageways around the castle Harry had either created or discovered, and they had been extremely useful in escaping the Winterfell crypts the night before.

Val eventually reached the top of the stairs and walked out from behind a bookshelf, arriving in Harry’s quarters. It was warm and toasty, complete with a roaring fire along with floating candles.

Harry’s room was full of all sorts of complicated contraptions, no doubt powered by his strange magic, and Val had yet to figure out how any of it all worked. Books lined the walls in multiple shoves, complete with several workstations, and even a kitchen taking up part of the space. As well as all that, there was even a shitter, along with a room that cleaned all of his clothes.

But that wasn’t what got Val’s attention as she entered. Instead it was the redhead comfortably sitting on Harry’s bed, all the while he examined a letter at his desk. Harry might have stolen her, but that didn’t Val wasn’t at least somewhat territorial about her man.

“Who the fuck is she?” Val gestured dismissively at the redhead, trying to convey her annoyance through her tone.

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but Harry did so first. “Jocelyn Swyft.”

“You fucking her too?”

“No.” Val got a strange pleasure from seeing the flustered look on the woman’s face. “I ran into her on my outing earlier.”

“And how did that go?” Val asked, taking off her cloak and putting it on a nearby hanger as she did so.

“Senelle is dead, and I managed to find out she was working for someone called the Mockingbird. The problem is, well…”

“We don’t know who the Mockingbird is.” Jocelyn Swyft finished for him, acting timid. “But I can start asking around and see if anyone knows anything, my Lord.”

Val looked at Harry with a raised brow at that, wondering just what the deal was with the woman. Did he steal her?

She was well aware that stealing women wasn’t a thing in the south, and yet it was almost like the girl was subservient to Harry for some reason. The very fact he had brought her here, to his personal magical quarters, meant he clearly trusted her.

“She owes me a debt for saving her life.” Harry caught her strange look, and answered her question. “Besides, I figured that it would help to have more allies in this situation.”

Val snorted in amusement. “You say that like she isn’t going to be sucking your cock anytime soon.”

Jocelyn’s face went red in embarrassment once again, and Val had to try and not laugh at how weak the southerner was.

Bran Stark

The guards were even more numerous after what happened to aunt Lyanna’s tomb, making his climbing that much harder to get away with.

It left only the most dilapidated parts of the castle available for him to climb, which was why he was climbing the broken tower. Guards never thought to look up, and wouldn’t notice him at such a tall height, and from the top of the very tower he could see far and wide across Winterfell. He was even able to see the King’s hunting party leave from his spot, and after they all disappeared into the wolfswood, Bran decided it was time to climb down.

He carefully began the long process of descending then, feeling out for strong stones with his feet before placing his weight on them. His hands would then carefully feel for grooves to hold onto, as he lowered himself slowly.

It was as he was only part of the way down that a stone he grasped with his right hand came loose. The old rock he grasped in his hand violently ejected from the wall, and Bran didn’t let go in time. It flew from the tower and Bran came with it, leaving him once again staring up at the open sky as he fell.

Only this time, Harry wouldn’t be there to catch him.

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark

There were in the innermost part of the keep, safe within the depths of Winterfell. A hundred of his finest men-at-arms stood outside those doors, with another hundred of Robert’s own to compliment them.

The room they were in used to be an old storage room, but had been converted to suite their needs with a table and some chairs. It wasn’t a place fit for the King to meet with the Lord of the North, but dire circumstances required caution and discretion.

Robert sat at the head of the makeshift table, seething in his own fury, with Ser Barristan standing to his side wearing a tight expression. Ned’s own grim face was not much different than that of the aging knight. Robb sat to his side, looking lost yet vengeful, with Harry joining them as well.

At last, Tyrion Lannister joined them, not acting like his usual drunken self as the Dwarf entered the most secure room in the castle and sat without much fanfare. Not that Ned could blame Tyrion, as all of them were on edge, and the Imp might as well believe he was being put on trial.

“My King, ser Barristan, Lord Stark, may I ask why you have called me here?” Tyrion asked tentatively.

“Treachery, Lannister.” Robert growled. “We know you have a good mind, and hoped that you shed some light on what is going on.”

In truth, both Robb and Harry had recommended Tyrion join them when they met with the King, and Ned had taken their advice. Not only could the Imp serve as a representative for House Lannister in the meeting, but could also give his perspective on the events of the past few days.

With that said, Ned still did not know what to think of the Imp. Tyrion Lannister was a notorious whoremonger and drinker from what he could learn, yet was also said to have a sharp mind. That didn’t mean Ned trusted him, as no southerner could be trusted these days, but he could at least listen to what the man had to say.

“Ah.” Tyrion seemed stumped. “Well, obviously I never orchestrated any of this madness. But clearly someone in the Royal party has something to do with it. Unless Winterfell is always this chaotic?”

“Of course not.” Ned denied the obvious. “For the record, we do not believe you had anything to do with this. My men have already done an investigation into the mess involving my sister’s tomb, and we are currently searching for the one who orchestrated it.”

He glanced at his bastard nephew, knowing that Harry was the one who did such an investigation. Ned remembered earlier in his solar when Harry revealed his findings to himself and Robb.

Flashback

He entered his solar, finding Robb and Harry already waiting for him. They went to stand, and he stopped them with a hand. Ned Stark was too tired for formalities after dealing with the devastating news about his son’s fall, and having to comfort Cat had further exhausted him.

Ned sighed deeply as he sat down across from the two, taking in their own weary expressions.

“What new of Bran?” Robb spoke first.

“He rests.” Ned answered grimly. “The boy does not wake. Even if he does wake up, I doubt he will walk again.”

Robb cursed quietly, and Harry took a deep breath before clenching his eyes shut.

“I believe you both know why we are here.” Ned continued. “My sister’s tomb vandalized, several men dead, rampant talk of southern deceit and betrayal, and now my son falls while climbing. Please tell me you have found something.”

Robb’s fist clenched against his armrest at the reminder of why they were summoned, while Harry merely nodded. “As a matter of fact, I have found something. I’ve uncovered a massive scheme plotting against House Stark, as well as an effort to undermine House Lannister.”

Robb looked at his cousin sharply, and even Ned sat up straighter. “Speak.”

“The men that broke into the crypts and vandalized Aunt Lyanna’s tomb were paid handsomely to do so. I got a lead on them, and it led me to the edge of winter town where I found another sellsword who was part of their scheme. It’s there that this whole ordeal becomes more complicated.”

“How so?”

“The sellsword in question was paid to get a letter to you, uncle.”

“A letter?” Robb asked with a frown. “Why would the men who attacked us give Father a letter? Are they trying to taunt our misfortune?”

“That’s where this becomes complicated.” Harry pulled out the letter in question and sat it on his desk, and Ned took it. “It is my belief that this whole situation is an attempt to pin us against House Lannister. Already, the men-at-arms talk and smallfolk whisper of Lannister deceit, so it’s obviously working.”

Ned read the letter, then read it again and again. It read of Lannister treachery and betrayal in the capital, desperately trying to pin the blame for Jon Arryn’s demise on the Lannisters. With his Nephew’s added context, it made sense that this all was one big ploy to pin them against House Lannister. The strangest part was that the letter was addressed to Cat of all people.

“I’ll admit that the only lead I had was that the Queen might be involved.” Robb grimaced, looking embarrassed. “Still, why try to pin us against the Lannisters in the first place?”

“Who knows?” His nephew shrugged. “Other than the usual twisted Southern politics, it could be an effort to end the talk of a betrothal between Prince Joffrey and Sansa.”

Robb’s fist clenched once again at that, and Ned felt himself frown. His eldest son clearly wasn’t angry this time about the deceit, but more about the topic of his sister being betrothed to the Prince. Maybe I should look into the matter?

“There is one thing I forgot to mention.” Harry suddenly said, straightening up. “The sellsword I mentioned before, he said that he worked for a man called the Mockingbird. Have you heard of him, uncle?”

“No.” Ned frowned.

End Flashback

“So far the one responsible for this mess goes by the name of the Mockingbird.” Ned continued, after revealing their findings to the others present.

Ser Barristan had a severe frown on his features, while Robert still looked quite infuriated. Tyrion Lannister meanwhile looked deeply intrigued by his findings.

“May I ask if any of you know of this Mockingbird?” Ned asked.

Disappointingly, no one seemed to know the man, and Robert growled irritably. “When I get my hands on this bastard…”

“On behalf of the Kingsguard, I can have my men begin looking for such a person, your Grace.” Ser Barristan offered.

“There is one man on the small council with a familiar name.” Tyrion Lannister seemed to be searching his thoughts, and they watched him in anticipation. “I forget his actual name, but I believe he is in charge of spying.”

“Lord Varys also goes by the Spider, Lord Tyrion.” Ser Barristan corrected him.

“Ah, nevermind then.” Tyrion shrugged. “Either way, it is likely this individual is part of the court. Meaning he is either here in Winterfell, or back in King’s Landing.”

“Aye.” Ned agreed with the unsettling thought. Clearly the man in question was associated with the royal court in some fashion, meaning he was present in Winterfell, or simply had many allies amongst the court.

“Are you sure, Ned?” Robert frowned deeply. “Perhaps this is one of those Targaryen bastards. Maybe even the Dornish are behind all this?”

“Dorne is more known for poisons and subtlety, your Grace. I doubt they would vandalize a poor woman’s tomb.” Tyrion said.

Robert still seemed to have his old hatred of the Targaryens and the Dornish, something Ned carefully took note of. The King only looked moments away from going into a fit of rage about the subject.

“What of your son, Ned?” Robert suddenly questioned.

“Bran still sleeps after his fall, and it is likely he won’t walk again after he wakes.” He replied.

“Do you think his fall is related to all this?” Barristan Selmy asked.

The implication was clear, and he could see Robert watching him closely. The possibility of one of the old Targaryen loyalists being blamed for this whole mess was just one breath away, and Ned knew he had to speak carefully else scandal or even war might start up again.

“No.” Ned said forcefully. “My son has been told not to climb many times, and I even ordered the guards to stop him should they catch him. It is likely this is just a terrible coincidence, an accident that occurred at the worst of times.”

“Indeed.” Tyrion nodded grimly at his words. “Unfortunate to say the least.”

His opinion of Lord Tyrion had been rising throughout the meeting, and Ned decided that the Imp would make a good ally in the capital. That said, the fact that all of this was occurring in the first place was a wake-up call to the dangers involved in Southern politics.

He had heard of the dangers of King’s Landing, and especially the Red Keep, but didn’t think it would be this bad. Those tales of Lords taking a wrong turn and being knifed, or even of falling down steps and breaking their neck in the Red Keep seemed more real than he imagined. He would admit that it frightened him, and Ned prepared himself for the next issue he wished to address.

It simply did not feel right to send Sansa so far South with so many enemies out for their blood. This talk of the Mockingbird, along with hostilities between Dorne and leftover Targaryen loyalists put him on edge. That, and Robb’s own concerns about Joffrey had him worried. Ned had seen the way his eldest reacted to the Crown Prince, and he opted to act on the side of caution than to send Sansa into danger.

“There is a matter I wish to discuss.” Ned suddenly said before the meeting could come to an end. “I want to cancel the betrothal between my daughter and the Prince.”

The whole room seemed to go silent, and nearly every occupant was looking at him in shock. That included Robb and Harry, as neither of which he had confided this matter in earlier.

Robert spoke first. “What?! Why Ned?”

“I do not believe my daughter is ready for the responsibilities that come with being queen.” He answered, knowing it was safer to not openly air his concerns about Joffrey. “Instead, I would like to propose a betrothal between my eldest son, and the Princess.”

Robb suddenly looked like a doe caught in the sights of a bear, and Ned felt quite bad about not bringing this matter up earlier. The room’s attention went to Robb, who stood stiff in shock, and then back to himself.

I really should have discussed this matter earlier. He mentally berated himself for making the decision so suddenly, but his deeper instincts had encouraged him. Hopefully Cat isn’t too upset.

“Alright, Ned.” Robert sighed. “Honestly, I don’t think there will be a better match for my daughter than your son. But this leaves the matter of my own son’s future wife in question. Are you sure you don’t want your daughter to be queen?”

Ned thought of his own marriage, done in the name of necessity and not love. A Lord would be lucky to marry for love and not for convenience, and the same could be said for royalty. Robert had married Cersei to appease Tywin, and it was clear there was no love to be found between the two.

“Robert, I am soon to be your Hand, and I can only ask that you take the matter of Prince Joffrey’s wife seriously. My own House is bound to House Tully, and House Lannister is interlinked to your own. Perhaps consider a betrothal for your son further south? One of the Greater Houses unaligned and closer to your lands?”

The talk of traitors in the South furthered his argument, as it would be better for the King to have allies further South than all the way in the North. And as Robert’s Hand, it would be Ned’s job to cement the position of House Baratheon as King. Even if it meant appeasing and negotiating with former Targaryen loyalists.

It took a moment for Robert to figure out what he was talking about, and the King’s teeth clenched upon realization. “You would have my son wed the Tyrells? Or worse, one of the Martells? Have you gone mad?”

Surprisingly, it was Tyrion Lannister who spoke first. “It’s actually not a bad idea.”

Robert turned to him. “What?”

“Think about it, your Grace.” The Imp said. “Right now, Dorne and the Reach are no friends of the crown. But if a Lady of House Tyrell is wed to Prince Joffrey, then their loyalty is ensured for generations.”

“Still…” Robert scratched his beard in thought, clearly uncomfortable while not having a counterargument. Not doubt Ned’s old friend was still weary of those he fought in the rebellion.

Ned held up his hand. “It is a matter worth considering for the future, at the very least. For now, I believe we can call this meeting over.”

Hadrian Snow

He slipped through the different hallways and secret passageways as he navigated his way through Winterfell, carefully avoiding guards and going unnoticed as he entered the temporary residence of their guests from the south. The woman he was looking for was staying in a room close to the queen’s own quarters, and he soon found her room and entered.

Jocelyn Swyft looked up from her spot on the bed as he entered, and a smile lit up her face. “My Lord!”

The woman quickly stood and bowed low, as Harry studied her. She was noblewoman from a large House in the Westerlands, one allied closely with House Lannister. That didn’t mean she was all that important, not being part of the main line and having many sisters and cousins who ranked higher in their standing.

That said, she was still a beautiful woman. Tall with bright red hair, a thin frame that most noblewomen desired, with breasts no bigger than a handful. As a bastard, Harry or even Jon would be extremely lucky if they ever laid with such a woman. But to Harry, Jocelyn Swyft wasn’t all that special.

“Do you require my services, my Lord?” She asked him.

“In fact, I do.”

With a smooth movement of his hand, his trousers fell, and the mighty shaft he kept hidden between his legs came forth. The noblewoman’s eyes went wide, and Harry was on her in an instant as he divested her of her clothes.

Just because Jocelyn Swyft wasn’t as pretty as Val or Cersei Lannister, didn’t mean Harry would ignore her as she lusted after him. The girl was rather obvious in her infatuation with him ever since he saved her life, and it came time for him to take her before she escaped his grasp. Who refers to a bastard as their Lord anyways?

Maybe in his past life as Harry Potter he would have ignored her, viewing her as just another admirer or fangirl. But this world’s Harry was different than the one in his previous life, as he simply couldn’t let a useful noblewoman like her slip away. This was a world where the strong dominated the weak after all, and Harry was no exception.

He listened to her howl and moan as his cockhead split her cunt lips open, satiating the noise and the pleasure of taking her. She was wet and ready for him, and he groaned as he shoved more and more of his cock into her.

“So big, my Lord!” She exclaimed between moans. “Your cock feels so big!”

A particular harsh thrust made he moan that much louder, and he grasped her hips harshly. “Do you like that, Jocelyn? Do you want me to keep fucking you?”

“YES! Please keep fucking me!” She screamed out. “Please. I’ll even stay in Winterfell if you keep fucking me!”

His cock jerked in arousal at her words, knowing he had taken he so successfully. The noblewoman was already so devoted to him that she would practically give up everything to be his whore.

He smirked at his success, knowing the girl would be a useful tool in the future. “There’s no need for that, my dear. It turns out I’ll be going to the capital with you.”

Cersei Lannister

She had to wonder how everything had gone so wrong.

It began the first night of their arrival, with the Stark wench’s tomb being vandalized. Cersei had paid little mind to the event, having nothing to do with it. If anything, she felt a certain cruel gratification to hear of Robert’s dead lover being disgraced.

Lyanna Stark was the bane of her existence. The woman who Rhaegar stole away, and the girl who Robert mourned and was supposed to marry. Cersei would never forget how Robert said her name on their wedding night, and especially how her husband picked his whores based on which one looked the most like that northern wench.

And now Lyanna Stark was ruining her life once again. Everyone was blaming Cersei for vandalizing the wench’s tomb, as rumors spread of the Queen’s supposed jealousy of the dead girl who stole Robert’s heart. Infuriating!

The fact that all of this was taking place in Winterfell and not King’s Landing made it that much more difficult, with too many Stark loyalists and smallfolk willing to spread baseless rumors and lies about her. All of the rabble were only too happy to badmouth the evil Lannister Queen, especially when it involved propping up the innocent Lyanna Stark.

She needed to retake control of the situation, and it needed to happen sooner than later. If she was back in King’s Landing, her spies and allies in the capital could have helped. But she was in the desolate North, surrounded by enemies on all sides.

Where is Senelle? Cersei wondered, having not seen her handmaiden in some time. The woman was skilled when it came to things like this, and yet she was nowhere to be seen. The same could be said for her other handmaiden, Jocelyn Swyft.

She made he way through the royal section of the aging castle to check the girl’s quarters, and didn’t bother knocking as she made her way inside. The girl’s room was nothing special with only a bed, nightstand, and window.

But it wasn’t any of those things that got the Queen’s attention, as Cersei’s green eyes immediately went to the two forms fornicating upon the bed. One of them was a muscular Northman, the kind most noblewoman could only dream of, and the other one was her handmaiden on all fours.

Cersei licked her lips at the sight, eyes his muscular frame from the side. He was built ruggedly in a way Jaime never achieved, having thick bulging muscles and the scars to prove his meddle. Cersei had been looking for a northern brute, and it seemed that Jocelyn had found exactly what she was searching for.

He hammered into the redhead, each impact of his hips against her ass creating a loud deafening smack. She eyed the way his massive shaft slammed into her over and over, along with how his large sack dangled beneath his legs.

“H-Harry I-I…” The redhead girl wasn’t going to last much longer. “P-Please, too much!”

The brute didn’t slow down, and if anything he seemed to speed up his brutal thrusts. Her handmaiden only moaned and screamed louder, succumbing to the man’s power as he destroyed her with his mammoth-sized cock.

“C-Cum… I’m C-Cumming!” Jocelyn squeaked, almost as if she had lost her mind from orgasmic pleasure, and suddenly her eyes rolled back in her head. The brute didn’t stop even after she passed out, fucking her through his own release before he let her body fall down to the bed.

Now was the perfect time to take advantage of the situation.

“I must say, you sure did quite the number on my handmaiden.” Cersei said in her most sultry tone.

His gaze snapped over to her, his surprise evident. Cersei had to wonder how the man was able to get into Jocelyn’s room, and if the girl was skilled enough to sneak him past the guards and into her room through her own means.

“Y-Your Grace.” The brute’s eyes went wide as he moved back, unknowingly revealing his entire shaft to her.

Before he could move to cover himself, or say anything more, she struck. Cersei moved in and grasped his hard cock, feeling its heat and thickness in her grasp. It was thicker than a bicep and long enough to easily cover her face, a manhood she assumed most men would be envious of.

“Look at this beast.” Cersei eyed his cock eagerly. “The things I would do such a cock…”

The Northman chuckled awkwardly, and she subtly smirked at seeing his easy change in demeanor. “My cock is yours, your Grace.”

“Indeed.” Cersei smiled, still holding his shaft as she moved closer to him. “Why don’t you and this… big thing, come down south to King’s Landing? I’d be sure to make it worth your while.”

His eyes went wide, and it was in that moment Cersei knew she had him. Men always thought with their cocks.

It was a lesson she learned long ago, and one of the methods she used to maintain power in the capital. She would string the Northman in front of her along and drag him to the capital with promises of sex, and from there use him like she used so many others. Maybe if he’s lucky, I’ll actually let him fuck me.

Over time he would become her servant and spy, a man secretly sworn to her that could carry out her bidding. He would act as her spy in the Stark Household, being close to the next Hand of the King, and when he wasn’t busy doing that, she would make use of his body.

She let go of his shaft suddenly, and walked away. The message she imparted to him was clear, being that the only way he would get his hands on her was to come South.

Cersei left the room feeling victorious, but sadly she didn’t notice the knowing smirk on the bastard’s face.

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Hadrian Snow

They met at one of the tallest parts of the castle, standing behind battlements that overlooked nearly all of Winterfell. It was late, and the only sounds that could be heard was the gust of cold winds along with the crackle of nearby torches. 

His uncle didn’t speak for some time, taking in the view and likely getting his thoughts in order. When Lord Stark finally did speak, his voice was soft as a whisper, yet Harry heard it all the same. “I want you to come south with me to King’s Landing.”

That wasn’t what he expected his uncle to say. “May I ask why?”

Ned Stark nodded. “You’ve done good work, Harry, and your help proved invaluable today. Truthfully, I am not good at playing these southron games of deception and betrayal, and I realize now that I will need help dealing with them in the future. I know it is a lot to ask, maybe too much, but I ask for your aid in the capital.”

Truthfully, Harry wasn’t overly surprised by what his uncle was asking of him. He already knew quite a bit about the South from his travels, but even for him, the King’s visit had been a wake-up call. The betrayal and dishonor that their southron guests showed was surprising even to him, and it reminded Harry eerily of the Death Eaters’ frequent deception in his previous life.

It was something he always hated dealing with, but that didn’t mean he wanted his uncle to walk into the rats nest that was King’s Landing alone. At the same time however, part of Harry wanted to be selfish and refuse, to continue his travels alone and go his own way. But even if he was more selfish in this life than his previous one, he was still willing to put the wellbeing of his new family before himself.

He swallowed down his own greed and ambition in that moment, deciding to put his family first. “I’ll do it.”

Ned’s shoulders slumped in relief, and Harry already felt better about his decision. His uncle gave him a quick hug, before speaking once again. “There are things I need you to take care of first. I will need good men in King’s Landing, and a lot of them, but not enough to arouse suspicion.”

It would make sense for the Hand of the King to bring his own men-at-arms to King’s Landing, but bringing a lot of them could be suspect. That was not to mention that the men needed to be loyal, specifically to the Lord of Winterfell. It ruled out hiring sellswords and trusting whatever southron knights that offered their swords, and Harry knew he would have to get creative. 

He figured the best way was to begin reaching out to the minor Houses of the North, and have some of them send their own men. If a thousand guardsmen from Winterfell showed up at the capital, it would be sure to cause a scandal. But if fifty men from a dozen different northern Houses showed up randomly, no one would even notice.

“I’ll see to it.” Harry nodded.

“And there is something else.” Lord Stark’s tone turned grave. “I’ve thought of that bastard boy you told me of before, and I want you to take care of him. Robb should not have to get involved with the Boltons and their ilk while I am in the South.”

The very mention of who Ned was speaking of made Harry’s stomach turn. The only reason he hadn’t killed the man in question at the time was because of who the bastard’s father was.

Looking back, Harry wished he had just killed him and been done with it.

“I’ll have to leave soon and miss Robb’s wedding to do it.” His uncle and King Robert agreed not to hold off on having Robb and Myrcella wed, meaning that Harry would have to miss his cousin’s wedding in order to get to King’s Landing in a timely manner. 

“Indeed.” Ned grimaced. “Still, this needs to be done.”

Margaery Tyrell

“Why did you ask us to come here, mother?” Her father asked, sounding a bit annoyed. “I was just getting ready to go on a hunt.”

They stood in the private chambers of Margaery’s grandmother, being a solar that the woman often used for writing and receiving letters. Both Margaery and her father, Mace Tyrell, had been called here many times before, and it was usually only for serious matters.

“You can go on a hunt another time, boy.” Her grandmother scolded. “I’ve just recieved the most interesting bit of news from Winterfell, and it seems that our House has been given a grand opportunity to take advantage of.”

Her father looked irritated, and likely about to get angry over his hunt being delayed by whatever news came from the North. Quickly, Margaery intervened before another argument could break out. “Please enlighten us, grandmother.”

“We finally have the chance to get all we’ve ever wanted.” Margaery stared at her grandmother, wondering just why the woman was so excited. “Robert Baratheon has married his daughter to Robb Stark.”

She, of course, knew about King Robert’s trip to Winterfell with most of his court. Most suspected it was to make Lord Stark his new Hand after the death of Jon Arryn, so to hear of a marriage also being arranged wasn’t all that surprising.

There was also the part of Margaery that noted it was Robb Stark marrying Princess Myrcella, and not Sansa Stark marrying Prince Joffrey. That was probably the most intriguing part of the news, as having a daughter of one’s House marry into the line of succession was valued higher than marrying a simple princess.

Part of Margaery considered Princess Myrcella lucky, in that she was being wed to a rugged and honorable man liked Robb Stark. Even if the North was cold, House Stark was still considered a wealthy and ancient House that respected women more than the rest of the realm.

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing, mother? It means that Princess Myrcella will never marry one of my sons.” Her father grumbled like a petulant child, completely missing Olenna Tyrell’s point.

“Foolish boy! Don’t you know what this means?” Her grandmother chastised him. “It means that Joffrey won’t be marrying Ned Stark’s daughter, giving us the perfect opportunity to make our move.”

It took Margaery a moment to understand what her grandmother was getting at. “You want me to marry Joffrey?”

Olenna Tyrell smirked. “Exactly.”

Oberyn Martell

“Do you always have to ask for me at the worst times, brother? Ellaria was just taking me to visit that new brothel which opened.”

“I have received news, from Winterfell.” Doran said, completely ignoring his brother’s complaining. “Ned Stark has accepted the position of Hand of the King, and his son is to marry Myrcella Baratheon.”

Oberyn digested that bit of news, and could only guess what his brother was about to ask of him. “Don’t tell me you want me to ride north for their wedding, brother.”

“Their wedding already took place, as the King opted not to wait before marrying his daughter to Robb Stark.” Doran said. “But this brings a new opening, one I had not thought possible before.”

“Which is?”

“There are rumors that the King would like to marry his son to one of the Great Houses in the South, specifically one that sided with the Targaryens in the last war.”

Oberyn pieced together his brother’s words quickly. “You mean to wed Joffrey to one of our own? Hah! That boy wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if there was a maester to guide him in bed!”

“Don’t be so crass.” 

“You can’t seriously be considering a marriage between Arianne and the Usurper’s boy!”

“Of course not.” Doran sniffed. “But this news gives you an excuse to travel to the capital and get a feel for the current regime. Something has shifted with Ned Stark becoming Hand, and I can’t help but feel that everything is about to change.”

Oberyn quietly agreed with his brother’s sentiment. Ned Stark was practically known for being the most honorable man in the realm, with his only sin being siring a bastard with Ashara Dayne of all people. Not that Oberyn could blame him, as any man would fall for a beauty like Ashara Dayne.

And for as much as Oberyn wanted to hate Lord Stark, he simply couldn’t conjure up the emotion to do so. He could see why the man had rebelled against the Targaryens, and as much as Oberyn hated to admit it, the man was just in doing so. It also helped that the Stark Lord had permanently stained the Lannister’s reputation, infamously giving Jaime Lannister the moniker of ‘Kingslayer’.

“So you want me to take Arianne with me to the capital?” He guessed. “Parade her around and see if Joffrey falls for her, all while gathering intelligence?”

“That is part of it.” His brother agreed. “I want to see what happens with Lord Stark becoming Hand. You remember what happened the last time a Lord Stark rose to such a position, do you not?”

Oberyn couldn’t help feel a shiver run down his spine. For as much as he pretended otherwise, he was very well-read, and knew all about the infamous Hour of the Wolf. Cregan Stark had decimated King’s Landing in the aftermath of the Dance of Dragons, and it was probably what cemented Targaryen rule for decades after the war.

He could only pray that Ned Stark wouldn’t be like his ancestor, and if he was, then Oberyn hoped House Martell wouldn’t be caught in the whirlwind that was to come.

Ramsey Snow

He stared down at his brother’s restrained form, watching as Domeric slowly woke. His body was tied to a wooden chair, with ropes binding his ankles and wrists. Ever so slowly, his brother’s head moved as his eyes opened.

Ramsey Snow knew that this would be the moment where he would finally have his revenge, and take his rightful place in the world. His father would be forced to accept him then, and eventually he would go on to be the future Lord Bolton without his brother in the way.

“W-What…” Domeric seemed to finally be awake. “What is this place?”

“Welcome, brother.” Ramsey grinned. “My hut might not be as grand as your castle, but surely it’s not that bad?”

“Ramsey? W-What are you doing?”

He frowned, and then grinned as he held up his favorite knife. It was a wicked thing, curved, jagged, and perfect for killing screaming girls slowly after chasing them down with his hounds. Domeric’s eyes went wide with terror, and Ramsey savored his reaction.

“What are you doing? Have you gone mad?!”

“Brother, don’t be so harsh.” Ramsey said casually. “I’m only going to flay your body, just like our ancestors used to do.”

His face paled. “Father will know about this treachery!”

“Father has gone off to visit the Starks, and enjoy Robb Stark’s wedding to Princess Myrcella.” Ramsey enjoyed watching the realization on Domeric’s face. “By the time he gets back, it will already be too late.”

He moved to stand, and his brother began panicking, jerking in his restraints as he tried to get free. “Y-You can’t do this!”

“Oh, but brother, I’ve been practicing for this moment.” He moved across the room and opened a wooden crate, opening it and reaching inside to pull out one of his trophies. It was a flayed arm of one of the girls he killed, perfectly skinless, and he made sure to hold it up for Domeric to see.

“No! Help! HELP ME!” Domeric screamed in absolute horror, and Ramsey frowned before dropping the limb. That’s not the reaction I wanted.

He approached his wailing brother before moving behind him, restraining his head so he couldn’t scream anymore. He held the wicked knife in front of Domeric’s face, and listened as he began to sob.

“I would’ve loved to flay you alive, brother.” Domeric eyed the wicked, curved knife with horror in his eyes. “But alas, Father will need to see your body unscathed.”

Just like that, Domeric slumped in relief, but it didn’t last long. “Instead, I’ll just have to use poison to kill you.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the jar of poison he had concocted. Ramsey had only used it once, on one of his hounds, and the mutt had barfed and shit himself to death. It would guarantee a painful death for his lordly brother, and Ramsey couldn’t wait. 

“Open wide, brother!” He pulled Domeric’s head back and forced his mouth open before pouring the entire bottle of poison down his throat. Ramsey laughed with savage glee as Domeric spat and tried to cough the substance out, knowing it would only be a matter of time till his dream was realized and his brother was dead.

Suddenly, the door to his hut was blown open, and Ramsey found himself flung against the wall. The impact made him see stars, and he nearly fell unconscious, and by the time he managed to get back up, he saw a dark-haired man standing over Domeric with a strange item shoved in his brother’s mouth.

“He’s lucky I was able to get him a bezoar in time.” The stranger said, turning to face Ramsey and eyeing him with familiar green eyes. I’ve seen him before.

“You!”

“I made a mistake sparing you last time we met.” Hadrian Snow muttered, and Ramsey hissed in rage. 

It was the same man who had ruined one of his hunts all that time ago. He had killed his dogs, and would’ve killed Ramsey too if it wasn’t for him begging for his life and revealing that Roose Bolton was his father. I HATE HIM!

The man had revealed he was the bastard of Brandon Stark of all people, and Ramsey had been utterly humiliated by the defeat. Since then, he had carefully nurtured his rage for the bastard, hoping to one day be able to torture him to insanity. I’ll kill him and the rest of the Starks.

“You didn’t kill me before, and I know you don’t have the stones to do it now!” Ramsey sneered.

“You’re wrong.” The Shadow of Winterfell said darkly. “Wrong to the point of insanity. I’m going to do more than kill you. I’m going to destroy you, bastard.”

Bastard. 

The word made him froth at the mouth in rage, and he grasped his knife before lunging at the bastard. 

The Stark bastard swatted the blade aside as if it was an annoyance, and Ramsey got an elbow to the nose for his efforts. He went to punch the man and cut his throat, only for the bastard’s knee to plant itself into his stomach. 

Next thing Ramsey knew, he was spun around and slammed onto the floor of his hut. He barely managed to roll out of the way of a kick, as the Stark bastard casually defeated him once again.

I need to get out of here. He thought, running to the door of his shack and hastily fleeing.

He ran a few steps out of his hut, only to freeze in horror at what he saw outside. His men, his bastard’s boys, were all dead. They were more than dead, beheaded with their heads planted on spikes. Dozens of them were dead all around him, some even hung on trees, while others were scorched black with burns.

“Your men are dead too, those rapists, bandits, and murderers you gathered. They won’t hurt anyone ever again.” 

Ramsey turned around to see the bastard leaving his hut, walking towards him casually without a care in the world. Something in Ramsey’s mind broke then, and he let out a cry of rage at the man who did all this. 

Hadrian Snow didn’t seem fazed. “Kill him, Val.”

“Wha-” Ramsey spun around, only to see a blonde woman ram a spear straight through his head. 

Eddard Stark

The stench of the city was the first thing Ned smelled. The hundreds of thousands of smallfolk crammed together while living in piss and shit created a smell more foul than anything he could have imagined. 

He had visited King’s Landing only once before, after it had been sacked during the rebellion, and it didn’t seem to be any better off even years after the fact. All it did was emphasize how much more difficult his job would be as Hand. Maybe I can fix the smell while serving as Hand?

Ned pushed that thought away, figuring there would be more important things to do. He looked to his side to see Harry riding with their group, having caught up to them only a few days ago. He hadn’t expected his bastard nephew to arrive till after their group got to the capital, but the King’s party simply moved that slow.

They would have normally made the trip to the King’s Landing in a fortnight with hard riding, but the Queen’s carriage had slowed them down tremendously. That was not to mention Robert’s own habits of drinking and whoring, which certainly didn’t help the matter.

He wasn’t even in the keep, yet Ned already wondered if he was cut-out for such a position. His family’s life had changed for the worse with Robert coming North, with Bran’s condition and then Sansa being despondent after receiving the news of her betrothal to Joffrey being cancelled. 

One of the few blessings he had was that he’d come to the capital alone, with only Harry joining him. It left the rest of his family in the north, where they belonged. 

Before they left, Jon went and joined the Watch, right after Robb and Myrcella’s wedding. It comforted Ned that at least Jon and Harry wouldn’t be alone in Winterfell with his wife, as Ned could only imagine what Cat might do to them. That said, he hoped that the Princess was settling into Winterfell nicely, and that Cat was busy with her and not missing his presence.

The group turned a corner in the road to see the walls of King’s Landing come into view, and Ned mentally readied himself. He knew that once he entered that accursed city, there would be dangers lurking around every corner, and a leagues of enemies ready to manipulate and betray him.

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark

He arrived at the Red Keep only to immediately be summoned to attend a meeting of the small council. This was after he had been on the road for over a moon, and had yet to bathe nor change into appropriate garments. It was an obvious ploy, a lackluster attempt to take him off guard and see if he could be pushed around. And Ned Stark would appease them… for now.

He strode into the council chambers, a richly furnished room that put most of Winterfell to shame. Inside sat five members of the small council, when there should have been eight. Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws, Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Varys, being the Master of Whispers, as well as Janos Slynt, a stout man that was the Commander of the City Watch. Missing from their number was Ser Barristan Selmy, Stannis Baratheon, as well as the King himself.

“Lord Stark, it pleases me to see you’ve finally arrived.” The eunuch, Varys, said once he entered. “And my deepest sympathies for what happened to your son, nasty buisiness, my Lord.”

He tried not to get distracted by thoughts of Bran’s condition, merely nodding. Ned didn’t know if Varys was a flatterer or a fool, as Robert would put it.

“I see you’ve arrived safely, Lord Stark.” Renly Baratheon commented. “I am looking forward to having you as our Hand.”

“Indeed.” Littlefinger said with a sly smirk. “It will be fun to have another player in this little game of ours, Lord Stark. No doubt you’ve heard of me from your wife?”

His eye twitched at the sly arrogance of the man, bordering on insolence. “Indeed she has. Or rather, she mentioned you as that little boy from Riverrun.”

Petyr Baelish’s expression briefly flipped for but a moment, before he grinned as if he was told some sort of joke. “Those were fond times, my Lord, when we used to enjoy the experiences that came with youth.”

Pycelle coughed then. “Perhaps we should begin the meeting, my Lords?”

Ned looked around with a frown. “What of Ser Barristan and the King? And Lord Stannis for that matter?”

“Ser Barristan is typically busy with his duties of guarding the King. And his Grace rarely attends our meetings.” Varys answered. “As for Lord Stannis, he left for Dragonstone some time ago.”

“I want you to run my kingdom!” A voice that sounded like Robert shouted in the back of his mind. Ned understood that Robert cared very little for matters of governance, but it seemed wrong for the man to not be present. “Still, it is wrong for us to make decisions without Robert present.”

Renly let out a laugh. “The King cares little for matters of the realm, especially when it comes to coin counting and crop harvesting. All of it bores my royal brother to tears, and the only thing he gets pleasure out of is ordering tourneys and hunts to be organized… which doesn’t exactly help the crown’s finances.”

The end of Renly’s statement got Ned’s attention. “You mean to say the crown is in financial trouble?”

“The crown is in debt, my Lord, several million dragons in fact.” Littlefinger said those words as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

“Debt?” His eyes went wide in shock. “To whom? And how much?”

“Six million gold dragons.” Baelish answered mildly. “Half of which we owe to Tywin Lannister, and the other half to the Iron Bank, Mace Tyrell, various merchants, and even some to the High Septon.”

“Aerys Targaryen left the treasury overflowing with gold, and now you mean to tell me the Crown is in debt? You are the master of coin, are you not?” He vented his fury on the man. “Perhaps someone new should take your place, if you are not up to the task.”

“Ah, but the Master of Coin does not spend the money, my Lord, he only manages it. It is the King and the Royal family that do such things.”

“You would blame Robert for your own failure?” He felt his irritation growing, not believing Robert could spend the Crown into ruin. The only other explanation was that the treasury was being looted and stolen from, and Ned knew he would have to look into the matter closely. 

“My brother does like to spend gold, my Lord Hand.” Renly intervened. “In fact, he’s already mentioned an upcoming tourney in your name.”

Ned paused, his next words coming out as a whisper. “…what tourney?”

“The Hand’s tourney, I believe they’re calling it.” Varys said, taking out a slip of parchment and handing it to him.

Ned read it, seeing the King’s demands for the tourney, along with the exorbitant prize amounts for each victor. “Can the crown bear such an expense?”

“We will need to borrow gold to pay for it all, that’s for sure.” Baelish said. “Most likely from the Iron Bank or Tywin Lannister. I don’t think I can go another round haggling with the High Septon, the man is worse than a Dornish fishmonger.”

Ned resisted the urge to groan, and nearly made to cancel plans for the tourney completely when Varys spoke. “Such an event will be a great way to bring the realm together, my Lord Hand. Already, whispers have reached my ear of Houses Martell and Tyrell travelling to the city, and they will likely participate in the tourney.”

The meeting soon came to a close, and Ned vowed to speak to Robert regarding details of the tourney another time. He was bone-tired after his journey south, and wanted nothing more than to take a warm bath and sleep in a feather bed.

But he still had things to do, and it was later, when he was sitting in his solar in the tower of the Hand that Harry appeared. Just by the look on his nephew’s face, Ned knew the boy had every bit the bad day as he did. 

His bastard nephew spoke first. “I would ask if you had a good day, uncle, but based on the look on your face I would guess otherwise.”

Ned snorted, still in disbelief at the day’s revelations. “The crown is several million gold dragons in debt, namely to the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister.”

His nephew paused. “That certainly doesn’t sound good, is there any chance that any of it was stolen?”

“For all the good things my wife says about Petyr Baelish, our resident Master of Coin, the man doesn’t strike me as the honorable type.” Ned said gravely, remembering Littlefinger’s insolent behavior.

“I’ll look into him.” Harry vowed. “Any other news?”

“Robert has ordered a tourney to be held in my honor.” He sighed. “The prize for the winner is… beyond exorbitant. It is also likely that members from House Tyrell and House Martell will join us for it.”

Harry seemed to think on the subject before he eventually replied. “Such a tourney will also give us good reason to have more northmen join us here in the city. I’m sure many of our fellow northmen would be eager to partake in such a tourney in your name, especially if they’ll get paid well.”

“Good idea, such an event will allow us to get more loyal men in the city, something we desperately need.” Ned figured that would be about the only good thing that came out of today. At least there’s one thing going well. “Tell me what you’ve managed to gather so far.”

Now it was his nephew who looked tired as he spoke. “The city is functions more like on giant slum instead of an actual capital. Thieves and lowlifes run rampant, and I wouldn’t recommend any Lord wander through the city without a large escort.”

“What of the City Watch?” Ned frowned. It was the gold cloaks job to eliminate such criminals.

Harry snorted in amusement. “We’ve been here a scant few hours, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that they are corrupt. I happened to pass by the mud gate, and found that anyone passing through has to bribe the guards there for passage into the city. If they don’t, they’re likely to get frisked and their goods looted before being turned away.” 

Ned closed his eyes and sighed deeply, resisting the sudden urge to curse. He’d been in King’s Landing for not even a day, and already he wanted to burn the city down. Maybe the Lannisters were right to sack this city.

But beyond his base emotions, Ned knew that he would have to take a heavier hand in doing his job as Hand of the King if he wanted things to change. It seemed that Lords would have to be dismissed and replaced, and he knew that half the small Council would soon be gone if he had his way. 

“I want you to learn what you can about the City Watch.” Ned finally decided. “From what you’ve told me so far, I have enough reason to remove Janos Slynt from his post.”

“And what of the Master of Coin?”

“Securing the city will be our top priority for now.” He decided. “I cannot be a successful Hand of the King if King’s Landing is more than less a giant privy. If I act quickly, Janos Slynt can be replaced by the end of the week, and someone more competent can be appointed to the position so that we can start making actual progress. And with the City Watch on our side, we can begin investigating the treasury and making arrests if need be.”

Hadrian Snow

His grip tightened on Val’s body as he shoved her against a wall, slamming into her that much harder as he filled her with his cock. One of his hands gripped her arm, while another tightly grasped her hip as his muscular thighs collided with her thick ass.

“You’re… a… bastard!” The blonde wildling gasped out as he plundered her depths. “A big… cocked… northern… kneeling… bastard!”

He reached up and grasped her by the hair then, letting his knuckle tighten around her braid. He could feel her pussy tighten around his shaft, and felt her juices leak out of her cunt before running down her legs.

Harry was silent the entire time as he fucked her, giving the blonde wildling the hard pounding she enjoyed as his massive cock slammed in and out of her core. The woman loved to be dominated, even if she would never admit it, and Harry was only too happy to take his frustrations out on her after the terrible day he had.

They were fucking in a back alley of all places, doing so during the hour of the owl. Having public sex wasn’t something Harry intended to do with Val, but it worked out as part of his plan. 

His cock twitched violently inside the blonde wildling, and he gave one last brutal thrust before burying himself to the hilt with a growl. The woman screamed out as she came in tandem with his own release, as he pumped copious amount of cum into her.

It was then that Harry sensed the nearby wards he had put up alert him to intruders, and he grinned. Three gold cloaks headed their way, having likely heard the noise of them having sex and came to investigate. As the three men of the City Watch came upon them, Harry turned to face them.

“Good evening, lads.” Harry grinned, putting on the act of a slimy criminal. He gave them the impression of being up to no good, pulling out of Val before shoving away his cock. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Just what do you think you’re doing with that lass?” One of the gold cloaks demanded.

“Oh, her?” He reached down and grasped Val’s braid, pulling her up to show off her naked form. The men’s eyes went wide at the sight, as few males would be lucky enough to ever see a woman was beautiful and buxom as Val in their lives. 

“She just came in from the North.” Harry said casually, as the Gold Cloaks eyed Val’s naked form with growing lust. “The man I bought her from even mentioned she was part wildling, being from north of the Wall and all.”

If the men of the City Watch had one shred of integrity, they would have arrested Harry in that moment for either slavery, rape, or even just for having plain sex in public. He could tell that they knew this deep down, but the three Gold Cloaks in front of him were steeped in too much corruption to change their ways.

Even as they stood there, he knew they were probably plotting a way to blackmail him and get a hold of Val in the process. It was likely they planned to arrest him and take Val for themselves, or even just kill him before taking her then and there. Most in his position would have simply handed Val over before running off, or gotten out of his current predicament by bribing the gold cloaks with a hefty sum of gold.

“Tell you what, my good lads.” Harry continued. “How about I let you take her off my hands for the night? Take her back to your barrracks and pass her around, a wildling like her could use a good time.”

Val glared at him now, and one of the men moved forward as if to accept his offer and take Val for himself. It was only once the man was within arms length that Harry stunned them, finally putting an end to the act.

“Was all that really necessary?” Val asked with annoyance. “You could have gotten their attention another way, and not needed to fuck me.”

He snorted in amusement, as if the blonde hadn’t been cumming on his cock over and over again for the past ten minutes. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy it.”

He didn’t wait for her response, instead levitating the three unconscious gold cloaks into a nearly house he had purchased in the city. It would serve as his safe house in the city, as well as a base of operations when he wasn’t staying in the Tower of the Hand. 

By the next morning, Harry would have all the information he could ever need about how the City Watch operated.

Eddard Stark

Flatterers and fools. Ned had to wonder if Robert was too kind when he used those words to describe the men in his court. No wonder he came all the way north to ask me to be his Hand.

His nephew came to him with more information regarding the City Watch, and what he revealed nearly made Ned explode in rage. The sheer incompetence, the disregard for the smallfolk’s lives, and corruption that his nephew found was enough reason to execute every member of the City Watch.

He didn’t hesitate to immediately call another session of the small council, turning the tables on the other members who summoned him just the day before. Ned didn’t bother playing any of their games nor indulging their subtle taunts as the meeting began, instead standing before the men of the small council with his face carved from stone.

“I have been in this city for only a day, and what I have seen has made me appalled at the sheer incompetence of this council.” His words struck like a hammer blow, and the table’s occupants reeled, but Ned continued before they could properly respond. “Corruption on an unseen scale, blatant disregard for the realm’s basic integrity, and pure contempt for the lives of the smallfolk. No longer will I let this fester, and I will personally root it out!”

His eyes narrowed at one person in particular. The rat bastard wasn’t even a Lord, yet sat on the small council regardless. “I will begin to do so now, and have decided to start with you… Janos Slynt.”

The commander of the City Watch stiffened. “W-What? My Lord, you can’t be serious!”

Ned had yet to speak with the man, as the Commander of the City Watch had neither approached him nor did he speak in the previous day’s meeting. That didn’t mean Ned would wait, as he needed Janos Slynt dealt with if the city was to improve.

“This city is a privy full of debauchery and crime, and your actions as Commander of the City Watch has done northing but make it worse.” He said coldly.

The weasel of a man reddened in indignation. “Lies! I won’t stand for such blasphemy! I am loyal to the King!”

“You wish to discuss loyalty?” Ned’s voice was sharp as Ice’s blade. “Your men terrorize the smallfolk, bribery and extortion is almost ubiquitous with being a member of the gold cloaks. For every man of the City Watch, ten percent of his pay must go to his superior, and from them, ten percent more to their own commander. You’ve turned your post into nothing more than a pyramid scheme designed to enrich and empower no one but yourself.”

His nephew had personally discovered that piece of information, and Ned didn’t dare ask how he came of it. He had asked Harry to come south with him after all, and promised to turn a blind eye to his actions, no matter how dishonorable they may be.

“T-These are grand accusations, my Lord.” Grandmaester Pycelle stammered out, his brow covered in sweat. Clearly the aging Maester hadn’t anticipated this sudden meeting to be so serious. “P-Perhaps a thorough investigation can be done first?”

“I agree.” Petyr Baelish chimed in, only slightly looking caught off balance. “The Crown should have a trial before they come to any conclusions.”

Ned’s eyes narrowed at the two who protested Slynt’s removal. Baelish at least had good reasoning in postponing Slynt’s fate, wanting the man to be publically tried. But Pycelle on the other hand, the Grandmaester’s act of being a dottering old fool was grating on Ned’s nerves, and he was beginning to grow suspicious. As much as he wanted there to be a proper investigation and trial for Slynt, Ned knew that he couldn’t afford such luxuries when time was against him. He needed Slynt gone.

He snapped his fingers, and the doors to the small council chambers opened to allow two of his men-at-arms inside. They headed straight for Slynt, hoisting the man from his chair as he spilled his wine. The swine protested and clambered, trying and failing to get free. 

“I am afraid that we cannot indulge such fantasies at a time like this. A tourney in my name is about to take place, and we need this city to be secure.” Ned said, watching as his one of his men-at-arms hit Slynt in the stomach with the pommel of his sword. “Janos Slynt, I hereby remove you from your post as Commander of the City Watch-”

“You northern son of a whore, I’ll see you dead for this! I have friends in high places, the Queen-”

His brow twitched in annoyance at being interrupted, and his men began to ruthlessly beat Slynt to a bloody pulp for his words. Never threaten the Lord of a Great House, much less the Hand of the King.

“Perhaps you were right to be so adamant about his removal, my Lord Hand.” Renly commented, watching as the bruised and beaten Slynt was only held upwards by the strength of his guards.

“I agree, to threaten the Hand of the King is a serious crime.” Littlefinger seemed to change his tune rather quickly. 

Ned stared at the former Commander coldly. “Put him on the next ship headed to eastwatch.”

The man began trying to get free once again, still conscious enough to understand he was being sent to the Watch. Sadly, Janos Slynt could do nothing as his men dragged him out of their chamber and down to the harbor.

“If I may ask, my Lord Hand, who will take his place as the next Commander of the City Watch?” Varys asked. 

“I have chosen Wendel Manderly to hold such a position.” Ned answered. “I know the man well, and his family has presided over peace in White Harbor for generations.”

“A-And until he arrives, my Lord?” Pycelle asked with a disapproving frown.

“My nephew, Hadrian Snow, will oversee the City Watch for now.”

Chapter Text

Varys

The clanking of chains and the noise of steel being piled up could be heard as the remainder of the City Watch was stripped of their armor and marched down to the Mud gate. The Master of Whispers and Master of Coin respectively observed the spectacle from their position on the Red Keep’s battlements, watching as Stark men herded the old gold cloaks like prisoners.

The west barracks was already cleared out by the time they learned what was happening, with the east barracks receiving little warning before being pounced upon by Northmen loyal only to Lord Stark. Most of the men surrendered and threw down their arms willingly, refusing to go against the Hand’s orders.

Quite a few of them resisted in the east barracks, refusing go give up their prestigious positions in the city watch so easily. They were the ones who were corrupt, with most of them being loyal both to himself and Littlefinger. They barricaded themselves inside to buy time, and Littlefinger hastily rode out from the Red Keep to relieve them.

It was then that Varys began to realize what a monster Ned Stark was, or more accurately, the type of man his bastard nephew was.

Hadrian Snow, the new temporary Commander of the City Watch, ordered the barracks to be burned down with the holdouts still inside, all while having the building surrounded by crossbowmen. He didn’t just stop there, instead arming those gold cloaks who surrendered to him with clubs. He ordered those men to either kill or subdue anyone who tried to escape, forcing them to choose between either their corrupt comrades or loyalty to the crown.

It was an ingenious and ruthless ploy, one designed to root out any disloyalty that remained in the City Watch. Varys would almost commend Ned Stark and his nephew for such a move, if it didn’t hurt his influence over the City so much. He had informants and loyal men in the gold cloaks, after all, and now all of them were either dead or on their way to the Wall.

And that led to where he was now, standing beside one of his biggest rivals as they both watched the Red Keep’s own gold cloaks being cleared out. It was rare that moments like these took place, when two of the biggest players in the Game of Thrones reminisced in their own misfortune.

“I wonder if this is what it was like after the Dance.” Varys wondered out loud. “If Cregan Stark also took control of King’s Landing with such ease.”

They had never expected such an upending of the board. Sure, Lord Stark becoming the new Hand was going to ruffle some feathers, but no one imagined anything like this.

“Damn that man.” Baelish drank heavily beside him, reminding Varys more of their current King than their resident Master of Coin. “He can’t keep getting away with this!”

“I assume you had much of your resources invested in the City Watch?” Varys asked, already knowing the answer.

“That and more.” Baelish groused. “Now Stark has turned it into his own personal army, and given his bastard a free hand to do as he pleased.”

The Northern Lord had managed to sneak hundreds of men-at-arms into the city right under their nose. Most of which came from various smaller northern Houses no one had ever heard of, entering the city by the dozen every day before anyone realized what was happening.

Now the Hand had an army in the city that was loyal only to him, and Varys would be genuinely nervous about a coup taking place if Ned Stark wasn’t so closely tied to Robert Baratheon.

“A pity.” He sniffed. “Hopefully your brothels aren’t affected as well.”

“Don’t act as if you’re not affected by this either.” Baelish glared.

“Of course I am.” Vary grinned. “Just not as much as you.”

Margaery Tyrell

“I’m telling you, my dear, you’ll have that boy Joffrey wrapped around your finger in no time.” Her Grandmother said as they sat in the carriage together. “The Starks have given us a great boon by having Robb Stark marry Princess Myrcella.”

“But why would they do that?” She asked. “Surely marrying the next King would be more advantageous?”

“Bah! Who knows what goes through the mind of those northern savages!” Olenna Tyrell dismissed her words. “I’m more concerned about what they’re scheming. The Starks aren’t known to play the Game of Thrones, and yet Ned Stark acts like a seasoned veteran if what we’ve heard is true.”

Their group learned more and more the closer they traveled to the capital. Merchants, knights, and other Lords they ran into from King’s Landing spoke of the current state of the city, their words unsettling to say the least.

‘The Second Hour of the Wolf’ as they were calling it now. Ned Stark had practically taken over King’s Landing, if the rumors were to be believed, ransacking the City Watch and even holding the Small Council hostage. King Robert, a man known to be lax when it came to governing, had seemingly given Lord Stark a free hand to do as he wished.

Her Grandmother always frowned heavily when such news was brought up, clearly perturbed about having her schemes interrupted by such developments. Margaery also felt off about the newfound developments, too used to the normal players in the game and not used to such radical upheavals.

Their carriage hadn’t moved for some time now, and a look out the window revealed the walls of King’s Landing in sight. She was starting to get tired of waiting, wondering just when they would enter the city, and Olenna was also becoming irritated.

“What is taking so long?” Her grandmother grumbled, opening a window to speak to the knights outside. “Why are we stopped?”

“There is a large queue to get into the city, my Lady.” Came the response.

“Then brush those commoners aside.” Olenna Tyrell demanded. “Even bribe the Gold Cloaks if you have to!”

“We tried that, my Lady.” Came the timid response. “Problem is, there’s several hundred northern men-at-arms in front of us, also waiting to get into the city. And not only that, but the city watch is being less than… forthcoming.”

That seemed to give her grandmother pause. “Northern men-at-arms you say? From which Houses?”

The men outside their carriage seemed to talk to one another before they came back with an answer. “Looks like House Umber, my Lady. We asked some of them, and they said they had to use this gate since soldiers from House Karstark already crowded another one.”

“There’s that many northern entering the city?” Margaery asked with a frown. From what she knew, most men from the North rarely traveled down past the Neck. But even then, to see so many northern soldiers entering the capital was unsettling to say the least.

“They must be here for the tourney.” Olenna said, yet frowned quizzically as if missing something.

Margaery pondered the subject before she thought of something. “If what I’ve heard is true, many of the Gold Cloaks have been removed, have they not?”

Along their journey to King’s Landing, many of the travelers they ran into coming from the city claimed that the City Watch had been reorganized. One of the merchants they met even claimed the gold cloaks’ barracks had been torched with the men still inside it, with the rest either executed or sent to The Wall.

Her grandmother’s eyes widened, recognizing her line of thought. “You mean to say that our new Lord Hand is replacing the entire City Watch with his own soldiers? A crude method to be sure, but one that will ensure his control over the city.”

Margaery felt her stomach stir in worry, and decided to change the subject. “How exactly are you planning to negotiate with the King for Joffrey to take my hand in marriage?”

“It will hardly be a negotiation, King Robert Baratheon has little other option but to have his boy wed you.” Olenna scoffed, waving her hand dismissively.

“You misunderstand, Grandmother, I ask how you even plan to speak with the crown in the first place.” She clarified. “From what we’ve seen so far, it seems that Lord Stark is drastically increasing his influence, and he might not even permit us to meet with the Royal family in the first place.”

Olenna paused, seeming to consider her words before answering. “You are right, my dear, it seems this won’t be as cut and dry as we thought. In fact, it might mean we have to get close to Lord Stark before we can negotiate with the crown.”

“How would we do that?”

“I’ll likely have to speak with Ned Stark, and get a measure of the man. If need be, a few marriages between the Reach and the North can be arranged soften him up.” She said easily. “Either way, it is inevitable that you will wed the Prince, especially with such lackluster competition.”

Margaery wasn’t convinced. “You have too much confidence, Grandmother. Ladies from all over the realm are vying for the Prince’s hand in marriage. That’s not to mention we fought for the Targaryens in the last war, and even laid siege to King Robert’s ancestral home. Even if we’re not barred from the Red Keep because of our past loyalties, there will be the Dornish delegates to consider.”

“Hah! The Dornish! You really think the King would allow his heir to take a whore for a wife?” Olenna Tyrell scoffed. “If wasn’t already for Robert Baratheon’s hatred for Dorne, then it will be Cersei Lannister’s own resentment that prevents such a thing from happening!”

Even if what her Grandmother said was true, Margaery couldn’t help but feel otherwise. While she might be considered a beautiful maiden with a pretty face, a glance down at her body left much to be desired. Margaery Tyrell wasn’t exactly busty nor buxom like girls from Dorne were known to be, instead possessing a delicate figure that was considered more beautiful than seductive.

She knew she was attractive, certainly, but at a certain point men wanted big tits and a fat ass to enjoy in bed. Her only hope was that some Dornish bimbo didn’t come stumbling along to ruin her chances with Prince Joffrey.

Arianne Martell

They travelled to King’s Landing at a blistering pace, and Arianne couldn’t help but feel the aches in her body that came from such harsh traveling. Even if she had spent the trip in the comfort of her carriage with her cousins, the incessant wobbling and jitters caused by the road annoyed her to no end.

That said, she knew a good fuck would see that taken care of. Already, she could spot some of her House’s men-at-arms eyeing her, and she did a good job of swaying her hips and arching her back to entice them further. Seducing men required little effort with a body like hers, after all, as every man wanted to feel her big tits and spank her fat ass.

The hard part would not be seducing a man to take her to bed, nor even finding one to meet her needs. Rather, it would be sneaking such a man past her uncle and into the comfort of her tent that would be the hard part.

This whole trip was another scheme of her father’s, Arianne knew that much. It was prompted by news of Lord Stark becoming the new Hand of the Usurper, along with the announcement of his heir marrying Princess Myrcella.

Her uncle explained that they were traveling to King’s Landing to get a read on the realm’s current situation, especially with Lord Stark now in power. Uncle Oberyn was planning to participate in the Hand’s tourney as well, but that still didn’t explain why they were making the trip north.

Arianne ponded all this as she relaxed at the edge of their campsite, trying to think through the twisted web of machinations her father had arranged. It was a fairly normal occurrence for her to try and figure out her father’s plans, seeing as they often included her in some fashion. But more often that not, it ended with her getting frustrated and having a headache.

It was as she stood there that she noticed something in the distance, being several knights riding their way carrying banners of purple. They led an exquisite carriage themed in purple and embellished with silver decorations, an item of immense expense that few outside the Great Houses could afford. But House Dayne was no ordinary House, being one of House Martell’s strongest bannermen, and it was their sigil marking the carriage along with the knights surrounding it.

Soon, Arianne stood beside her uncle in their camp as the carriage arrived, and then watched as one of the knights opened the door to it. The woman that exited it made even Arianne feel self conscious, and she immediately recognized the woman from descriptions she had heard over the years.

She was lithe yet sensual in a way the Princess of Dorne was not, with flowing curves and long dark hair that would make most women jealous. Her eyes were violet, similar to how she imagined the Targaryens in the stories, with noble facial features that were somehow seductive. Even at her older age, the woman in front of her possessed a beauty that none could match.

There was a reason Ashara Dayne was regarded as the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. Arianne thought with some irritation. Still, better her than Cersei Lannister hold that title.

The woman in front of her was known to be very reclusive since the end of the Rebellion, prompting many a gossip and rumor over the years. Most believed that she was heartbroken from the loss of her brother, while others thought is was because she was scorned by Eddard Stark after bearing his bastard.

But even then she was regarded highly, a woman whose tales inspired little girls throughout Dorne. The sister of Arthur Dayne, the strongest member of the Kingsguard in history, as well as the personal Handmaiden of Elia Martell. There were even the infamous tales of her and Eddard Stark dancing at Harrenhal, and the tragic story of him going on to marry Catelyn Tully in her stead.

But what is she doing here? Arianne couldn’t help but wonder as the woman descended the steps of her carriage. Her eyes suddenly widened, realizing just what could prompt Ashara Dayne to leave her isolation after all these years. Is she traveling to King’s Landing as well?

Hadrian Snow

The fake moaning of women and slapping of flesh could be heard as they made their way through the street of silk. More brothels than he could count passed them as they walked, each more depraved than the last, with a clientele that was better off behind bars than purchasing whores.

He was sure that the old members of the City Watch traversed this part of the city often, but not as protectors but rather as customers. A pity that most of those men would never touch a woman again in their lives, with them either being dead or rotting at the Wall.

And that brought him to why he was in this part of King’s Landing, being Petyr Baelish. The man used to be the poorest Lord in the Vale, and then miraculously rose high through the ranks of the King’s court to be the realm’s Master of Coin. It was a miracle and an inspirational tale to most, but to Harry it was suspicious.

It was a tale of greed and treachery, a lust for coin and power naked as day. And yet even when he rose to be on the small council, Petyr Baelish didn’t stop, instead quickly becoming the wealthiest businessman in King’s Landing with dozens of brothels in his possession. Harry wasn’t entirely why the man wanted to purchase so many whore houses, but he had a good idea just how he was able to do so.

The Crown couldn’t go several million gold dragons in debt from simple tourneys, and Harry vowed to find the answer. And he decided to start with Petyr Baelish first.

On his command, the new members of the City Watch kicked down doors as they broke into the various brothels, coincidentally interrupting the lewd actions of their inhabitants. Barely-dressed women and men were thrown onto the street, and in some cases carted off to cells when they resisted.

Men could lose their minds in lust, that much Harry knew, but that was no excuse to attack one of his gold cloaks.

From there came the investigation, with each brothel being stripped and searched of its belongings one by one. Furniture was thrown from windows and out onto the street, with walls and cupboards ripped open in the search for anything remotely incriminating.

“What is the meaning of this?!” A man demanded, running through the scene with a look of fury on his features. “Stop! I bid all of you, stop what you are doing!”

A burly Northman from the mountains hit him in the man in the stomach with his fist, before another restrained him. The thin man fell easily, clearly soft as grass, as just a minor strike rendered him nearly unconscious.

“That’s enough.” Harry ordered calmly, approaching the scene.

He expected the man to be a minor Lord of some kind, the type which visited brothels like these and probably got caught up in their raid. It was a surprise then that the exact man Harry was investigating happened to be right in front of him. Littlefinger.

“B-Brandon?” The thin man looked up at him with a dazed expression, as if not believing just who he was looking at. Petyr Baelish wore a fancy outfit that only those of the King’s court could get away with, along with a pin resembling some sort of strange bird on his turtleneck. Harry didn’t bother examining it, figuring it was some sort of fetish jewelry that southron Lords liked to wear.

“It’s Hadrian, actually.” He corrected. “Hadrian Snow, son of Brandon Stark, and temporary commander of the City Watch.”

“W-What is the meaning of this?” Petyr Baelish’s face was suddenly red with anger, as if his very identity enraged him.

“You’re under investigation, my Lord.” He let an irritating smirk grace his lips, pulling out the parchment that verified his orders. “As ordered by the Crown, your properties are to be searched and temporarily seized while we validate your assets. It turns out that some gold has been stolen from the crown, and a thorough investigation is being done as ordered by our Lord Hand. But do not worry, my Lord, I’m sure your brothels will be returned when we find the treasury’s missing gold.”

Harry savored the realization on Littlefinger’s face.

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Jocelyn Swyft

“Harder.” Her queen demanded.

Long, delicate fingers dug into her red hair and pulled harder, urging her onwards. Her licking intensified, her tongue moving so fast it was beginning to hurt as her face remained buried between the Queen’s thighs.

“Tell me you’re not this useless.” Cersei Lannister sneered at her. “My other whores are much more skilled than you!”

Tears crept into the corners of her eyes, as she pulled away in shame. “I-I’m sorry your Grace!”

“Now, now,” A brown hand petted her hair. “Not every maiden can be as skilled as one such as I.”

Jocelyn looked over to see a mature woman standing over her, her skin brown and seductive in color, with a body of a high-class whore. Large breasts that were huge in size, a fat ass that jiggled with each step, all fitting on a curvy figure of a mature noblewoman. It was the type of woman every man wanted in bed, especially when the woman was of noble birth and not a whore.

“Taena.” The queen said tightly. “Your boasting does you a disservice.”

“Perhaps.” The buxom woman grinned. “But the fact remains true, that no man nor woman is as proficient as me in bed.”

Taena’s boast made her think of that rugged Northman she had met in Winterfell, and wetness began to pool between her thighs. Jocelyn thought of his mighty cock pounding away at her core, his rough, coarse hands spanking her ass and grasping her tits as she screamed in pleasure.

There’s no way that Taena can match him. Jocelyn had been nearly split in half by Hadrian Snow’s harsh fucking, and she knew that not even Taena Merryweather could outlast him in bed. Even when they finished it seemed that Harry could go another round, or ten, and not even put in the slightest effort.

It was almost too much for her to handle thinking of, and she bit her lip to maintain focus. A glance over at the Queen revealed a strange sight, as even Cersei seemed to be somewhat out of it by the barest mention of Hadrian Snow.

“I can think of one who could challenge your claim.”

“Oh?” Lady Merryweather’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And who would this person be?”

“The same man who’s been causing such an uproar as of late.” The Queen said. “Ned Stark’s bastard.”

Jocelyn coughed. “His bastard nephew, actually. Harry Snow is his name.”

“Interesting.” Taena replied. “I didn’t know you were so familiar with him, Jocelyn.”

She blushed brightly, her reaction giving her thoughts away as the busty woman from Dorne laughed.

“The bastard in question has become quite troublesome.” Cersei voiced. “I may rely on the Lannister men-at-arms for protection here in the Red Keep, but Janos Slynt was loyal to me. His services could have benefited me immensely had the appropriate time come.”

“Was his loyalty to you? Or was he loyal to Lannister coin?”

Cersei gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Either way, Ned Stark has taken control of the City Watch with the help of his bastard. Robert’s letting the Stark Lord do as he pleases, and it’s time I reign him in.”

Jocelyn felt worry stir in her gut. “You wish for me to get closer to him, your Grace?”

“I do. But it’s clear that a useless girl like you won’t be enough to fully satisfy a brute like him.” The Lannister Queen smirked. “Give yourself to him, and then promise him more, whether it be whores, gold, or power. When he accepts, bring him before me.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

A knock sounded on the door to the Queen’s chambers then, and a maid briefly entered before handing over a letter. Cersei took the letter in hand, broke the Tyrell seal on it, before reading over its contents with an irritated expression.

“The Tyrells want a private meeting with me, it seems.” The Queen scowled. “Those upstarts should know their place, contacting me directly.”

“Lady Olenna and Lady Margaery were seen in court just yesterday.” Jocelyn noted. “It’s said they traveled here to attend the Hand’s tourney.”

“That’s just their excuse, their true purpose here is to claim my son’s hand in marriage.”

“Highgarden seems to be reaching quite high then. I had heard that the Lady Olenna was ambitious, but not to this extent.” Taena looked surprised. “I’ve also heard that House Martell is traveling here as well, with the intention of making Princess Arianne the next Queen.”

“Hah!” Cersei gave a loud, condescending laugh. “As if I’d ever let some Dornish whore near my son!”

Margaery Tyrell

“The Queen has declined our meeting request.” Her grandmother said quite frostily.

Margaery sat at the table in their apartment within the Red Keep, feeling as if her worries had all come true. So far they had no luck with the King’s court, nor with getting ingratiated with King Robert’s good side.

The plan to meet with the Queen seemed to be an outright failure on her Grandmother’s part, leaving them aimless and adrift in their quest to make her queen.

“We’ll do your plan.” Olenna finally sighed. “You were right before, the boy Ned Stark dragged down from the North is not just his bastard, but his shadow. That makes him valuable.”

Margaery tilted her head slightly. “You’d have me seduce him?”

“I’d have you befriend him.” Olenna said, though her eyes glittered, conveying her true meaning. “And if you do that well enough, then let him fall for you. He’s a Northern bastard boy, raised in the cold with ice in the veins. Melt him, let him take in your kindness, your cleverness, your beauty. Let him whisper Stark’s secrets to you as you drink wine together.”

“And then what?” Margaery asked, with a frustration beneath her voice. “What use is a bastard when we aim for the crown?”

Olenna smiled, sipped her tea, before carefully placing the cup down. “Because the crown already has a prince. A wretched one, yes, but a prince still. Once the bastard serves his purpose, we’ll pivot. The people will love you, the court will praise you, and the bastard… well, he’ll be left behind, but still useful to our cause.”

“And Joffrey?”

Olenna’s smile flattened. “He needs a leash. And you, my dear, will be the silk ribbon tied around the lion’s throat.”

She imagined the rugged Northman that was Hadrian Snow, the man who so many ladies were whispering of as of late. He was Ned Stark’s right hand man, his nephew, and the Shadow of Winterfell.

“I’ll speak to him.” She said finally, rising from her chair.

Olenna nodded once. “Good, just make sure you start small. A smile, a question, let him think he’s being seen.”

“And if he doesn’t bite?”

“Then you make him.” Olenna leaned back in her chair, intertwining her fingers. “Every man bites eventually. Especially the desperate ones raised in the cold.”

Hadrian Snow

“I would say it is a lovely day, but it’s far too hot for my liking.” Wendel Manderly was sweating profusely. “Is there something you needed, my Lord?”

Even with clothing Harry enchanted to be cool, the heat of King’s Landing still made him sweat like never before. He supposed it came with being a northerner, along with all the time he spent in the cold, Scottish weather as he attended Hogwarts in his previous life.

And if he was having a hard time, then it was even worse for Val, who spent her entire life in the freezing weather north of the Wall. The woman looked close to exhaustion from the heat when he last saw her, caked in sweat that somehow made her look that much more attractive.

And yet, despite the heat, rather than meet in the cool Tower of the Hand, his uncle requested both himself and Wendel Manderly meet in the Red Keep’s Godswood, out in the open beneath the blazing sun.

“I once again would like to thank you for traveling so far south.” Ned said to Wendel. “It was a tall order for you to take command of the Gold Cloaks, but a necessary one.”

“I was proud to do it, my Lord.” Wendel Manderly replied, seeming proud to get such praise from the Stark Lord. “If anything, I should be thanking you for your foreknowledge about the problems within the City Watch. Even in White Harbor we have problems with our own guards, but nothing like this!”

“What problems have you faced so far?” Harry asked.

While he hadn’t met Wendel Manderly personally before, he had seen the man from afar. Harry had visited White Harbor several times on his travels, and as such was familiar with the identities of the Manderly family members. They were typically round and fat, with thick mustaches resting above several chins.

That said, Wendel Manderly seemed quite competent, and took over Harry’s temporary position as Commander of the City Watch with ease. Just like himself and Ned, Wendel seemed just as concerned as them as to the corruption within the city, and vowed to get to the bottom of it.

“Corruption and crime seem to be rampant in the city, and somehow it even seems to infect the watch itself.” He said solemnly. “Already I’ve had to dismiss ten of my men for taking bribes. The rest of the officers are being tested, but the men-at-arms you called for from the north arriving by the day to fill in.”

“I should’ve done a better job rooting out all the corruption.” Harry said. “It runs rampant in this city like a plague, making even the finest men turn into cravens and backstabbers.”

“Aye.” Ned nodded tightly. “Even I did not imagine the lengths to which the City Watch was corrupted, filled with men that belonged in cells rather than keeping the smallfolk safe.”

“Speaking of cells.” Wendel Manderly said gruffly. “Should we arrest our resident Master of Coin soon, my Lord? Just the findings from his brothels alone would be enough.”

Harry’s face tightened at that question, knowing exactly what the man was referring to. Petyr Baelish’s brothels had all been shutdown and searched thoroughly, revealing a vastly complicated criminal enterprise that had levels to it. Everything from laundering money, human trafficking, widespread abuse of smallfolk, along with a spy network had all been uncovered.

It was enough to send a man to prison and throw away the key in Harry’s previous life, yet here things were different. Littlefinger was a Lord, a member of the small council, and someone supposedly trusted by Jon Arryn. And yet his special status wasn’t enough to protect him in Harry’s opinion, but for some reason Ned still refused to remove him.

“No.” Ned declined. “Continue your investigation, but do not detain him until I give my approval.”

“Why do you hesitate, uncle?” Harry asked, reaching the end of his patience. “Littlefinger is clearly guilty, why not take action?”

For a moment, the Hand of the King looked ready to change his decision. That was until Ned Stark gave a deep sigh, looking to have suddenly aged a decade. “I… still need some time to process everything. Petyr Baelish was fostered at Riverrun with my wife and her family, and Cat continues to hold him in high regard. To ruin such a man, and maybe even execute him… it is a tragedy.”

“I understand your hesitation, my Lord.” Wendel Manderly nodded solemnly. “Just know that the longer he remains free, the more harm Littlefinger is going to bring to our cause.”

“I am aware.” Ned stated. “The both of you are dismissed.”

Harry found himself leaving the Godswood and wandering the halls of the Red Keep then, feeling more despondent than usual. As much as he wanted to fight his uncle’s decision, he knew how Ned Stark felt. It reminded him too much of the tragedy of Tom Riddle’s story, and the way he had misused his abilities and fooled everyone around him for nefarious purposes. Similar could be said for Petyr Baelish, someone Ned believed he could initially trust because of his wife, only to find out the dark truth.

He sighed to himself, knowing that he would likely have to make a move to correct his uncle’s mistake sooner than later, only to suddenly come to an abrupt halt when he heard a nearby conversation. It was in one of the Red Keep’s many courtyards that a group of ladies were speaking to each other, yet the contents of their gossip caught his attention.

“Did you hear the news?” A noblewoman asked. “I heard that Lord Stark is using powerful sorcery to control the king.”

“I did too!” A younger one said. “Although one maid I spoke too said it was blood magic.”

“Maybe that’s how he managed to convince King Robert to make him Hand. Why else would the King give a northern barbarian such a prestigious position!”

Harry’s eye twitched in irritation, and he ignored the ridiculous gossip as he continued onwards. It was his mistake to enter the part of the Keep that so much of the court resided in, and he was ready to leave at that point, only for a gorgeous brunette to make her way in front of him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before.” She held out her hand. “Margaery Tyrell, at your service.”

“Hadrian Snow.” He replied slowly, recognizing the noblewoman’s House. “But most call me Harry.”

“Oh?” The girl’s eyes gleamed. “You must be Ned Stark’s nephew, I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

What does she want? Clearly the girl had sought him out, yet Harry didn’t know what her angle was. Just play along.

“Only good things, I hope?”

Margaery giggled. “I’ve heard you’re quite capable, getting so much done in so little time. It’s no wonder that Lord Stark relies on you. It’s certainly something that women like myself look up to.”

She’s very direct… if a bit clingy for my tastes. If he was a smudge less intelligent, Harry would have believed the girl in front of him wanted to sleep with him. But it’s not sex she’s after.

Harry could see the plots and schemes laid bare in the woman’s eyes. Those same eyes she was staring deeply at him with, as if she was trying to fuck him with her gaze alone. He was split between either using legilimency or simply continuing their fake conversation further, only for another person to intrude.

“The Tyrells are the same as usual, it seems, still trying to climb their way to the top.” A woman with a Dornish accent suddenly interject.

Harry turned to find himself facing a woman that was tall and seductive, not overly buxom but still curvy enough to make most men drool. She wore a purple dress that showed very little of her form, as if wanting to not draw attention to a body most women would kill to possess. She wore a silver jeweled mask to hide her identity, with two holes that revealed purple eyes underneath.

“P-Pardon?” Margaery asked. “What is the reason for this intrusion?”

“To save the Hand’s nephew from House Tyrell’s machinations.” The Dornishwoman answered easily. “Everyone knows you failed to get an audience with the Queen, so it’s not overly surprising you Tyrells would try to ingratiate yourselves with the Hand next.”

Margaery’s face froze, clearly caught, and Harry couldn’t help but snort. The two women turned to him then, and he spoke. “My uncle isn’t exactly one for courtly games, so simply asking for a meeting with him or even sending a letter would have worked. You didn’t have to go through the trouble of speak to me, Lady Margaery.”

The girl looked caught barehanded, and she took a moment to recollect herself before she finally spoke. “Still, taking the time to meet Lord Stark’s nephew never hurt anyone. I’ll be sure to pass your words on to my Grandmother. But it was still worthwhile to meet you, Harry, and my door will always be open to you.”

The Dornishwoman snorted, and Margaery Tyrell ignored her before walking away. “Be careful with that one.”

“Oh?” Harry turned to her.

“I spent several years of my life as Elia Martell’s handmaiden.” She said. “This place is filled with the worst sort of people. And even with the Mad King gone, the corruption and depravity in this place knows no bounds.”

“Lady Tyrell didn’t strike me as the bad sort.”

“You’re right, but she’s still one who wishes to advance her own interests. I doubt she would fully backstab and ruin you if she had the chance, nor would she cry if someone else did so. Which I guess is the best one can hope for in this world.”

“Not everyone can be fully altruistic.” He turned to face the woman. “I wonder who you are then?”

The Dornishwoman smiled, before reaching up and removing her jeweled mask. Underneath was a beautiful thin and tall mature face with purple eyes. “Ashara Dayne, at your service.”

Petyr Baelish

This was the third bar he visited that evening, full of smallfolk looking for purpose in life or even something to complain about. As with the other establishments he visited, loudly proclaiming he’d pay for a round of drinks along with a tale for everyone to hear made them all go quiet. 

He let himself gain a smug grin as the smallfolk enjoyed the wine and ale he payed for, as they all quieted down and listened to his tales. 

“You’ve seen our city since the new Hand arrived from the North, and what has he brought with him? Chaos! The City Watch murdered and killed in the streets! Brothels ransacked and pillaged, while the poor souls who worked there flogged! One could almost ask why the King lets Lord Stark get away with all this?!”

“Aye! Why would King Robert let this happen?!” A drunk man called out.

“Because Lord Stark has King Robert under his spell. Northern Sorcery has taken over the Red Keep! Blood magic that the North is so infamous for has seeped into our city, as the Stark Lord simply controls who he pleases! All while Ned Stark and his bastard nephew pillage and rape our city!”

“S-Sorcery?!”

“What? Is this even true?”

“I knew it! My cousin once traveled through the Neck and grew a sixth toe!”

“Now that you mention it…”

Littlefinger let his grin deepen as his tale took hold. He didn’t need a full uprising to occur, just a simple wave of rumors to spread and take hold throughout the city. It was all part of the plan, after all, and soon Ned Stark and his bastard would be dead.

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Hadrian Snow

So this is Jon Snow’s Mother? Harry couldn’t help but think that as he studied Lady Dayne. He had grown up hearing whispers about Jon Snow’s Mother being Ashara Dayne, yet had never looked deeper into the matter. Of course, there was also the incentive not to look deeper into it, especially when Ned was so tight lipped and Lady Stark was so sensitive about the subject.

That said, Harry could see why Catelyn Stark would worry so much about Jon’s parentage, especially when the Dornishwoman in front of him would put her own beauty to shame. The woman’s irrational fear about some husky Dornish bimbo coming North to steal her husband was totally real in his mind, even if he didn’t approve of how she treated Jon growing up.

The three of them stood within the confines of the Hands tower, himself, Ashara, and Ned meeting in Hand’s private office high up within the tower. His uncle sat behind his desk, looking pained for some odd reason, while Ashara Dayne sat stiffly across from him.

The Lady of Starfall had asked him to grant an audience with his uncle, to which Harry had acquiesced. While not any average noblewoman could get a personal audience with the Hand of the King, he was sure that his uncle would make an exception for the Lady of House Dayne. And there was the other matter of the woman being astonishingly beautiful, to the point even Harry struggled to deny her.

And that led to where they were now, as Harry didn’t dare speak a word as Ashara Dayne and Ned Stark stared at one another. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, reminiscent of sorrow and loss than of anything else. It didn’t take a scholar to figure out why, as Ned had slayed the woman’s brother during the Rebellion after all.

His uncle finally shifted uncomfortably before he spoke. “I can’t say I expected to see you when I travelled south.”

“Well, it’s not like I can visit Winterfell with that Tully wife of yours hanging around.” The woman said those words more as a statement of fact, rather than out of pettiness. “So when I heard news of your journey south, I decided a visit was in order.”

“Why exactly did you come here, Ashara?” Ned sounded exhausted as he voiced those words.

“Would you believe me if I said it was on a whim?”

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to form your own conclusions, whatever those may be.”

“I’m a married man, Ashara, and one with multiple children.” Ned said tightly. “If you came here seeking something…”

Lady Dayne nearly grimaced in turn. “I am aware that our relationship ended a long time ago, and reminiscing only makes me think about far-fetched it all was. I didn’t journey here to seek infidelity, but rather to help you.”

“To help me?” Ned repeated.

“This city likes to take everything you love and trample it, leaving only monsters in its wake.” She spoke bitterly. “I figured that you of all people deserved help, and it also coincided with my decision to leave Starfall after so many years of isolation.”

“And what help can you possibly provide me, my Lady?”

She raised a challenging brow. “I can probably do something about the various court Ladies and spies trying to get to you, and even put an end to that odd sorcerer rumor which is spreading.”

“Rumors about sorcery?” Ned looked bewildered.

Harry coughed. “There are rumors spreading about you being a Sorcerer, my Lord. The rumors say you’ve used sorcery to achieve everything you’ve accomplished so far, even going as far as to put King Robert under your spell.”

“By the Old Gods and the new.” Ned sighed. “What else have I missed?”

“As I was saying, you will need my help.” Ashara smirked. “And not just you, as moments ago I saved your nephew from the Tyrells. That flower of theirs nearly got her claws in him.”

Ned turned to him, looking deeply unimpressed, but Harry quickly dashed his concerns. “I knew exactly what Margaery Tyrell was up to when she approached me, Uncle. I assure you, I’m not one to think with my cock like Theon does.”

“You looked ready to fuck her rotten.” Ashara said crassly, earning his ire. “And that was exactly what that whore wanted. Hells, most of the Ladies in this keep do exactly that to get ahead. Why, there was one girl Elia ran into years ago who could take three-”

“As much as I would enjoy discussing court intrigue.” Ned interrupted, looking equal parts miffed and amused. “I do not need your help with my duties, Ashara. I am already aware of what exactly this city is, and especially what it does to those in it. Did you forget that my father and brother were murdered in this very keep?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and yet she kept her composure.

“Oh no, you won’t be getting rid of me that easy, Ned.” She stated harshly. “Push me away now, and I’ll make sure everyone knows who Jon Snow’s real mother is.”

Harry’s brows rose in surprise, suddenly having more questions than answers, but that didn’t compare to Ned’s own reaction. His uncle froze and went deathly pale, and Harry worried the man might have a medical emergency in that very moment. Luckily, he recovered, going from deathly pale to sweating profusely.

His uncle tried to growl, but he sounded more like a wounded animal. “You wouldn’t dare-”

“Would I?! I’ve had to pretend to be some estranged lover of yours for years at this point! And not just that, I’ve even had to allow rumors of bearing a bastard and having my maidenhood sullied by you. Trust me, I’d be more than happy to deny all of it.”

Each word seemed like a heavy blow to Lord Stark, and Harry was considering intervening at that point. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and a guard entered before bowing. “Apologies, Lord Stark, but Lady Olenna Tyrell, as well as Lady Margaery Tyrell, are urgently asking to meet with you.”

“It seems the Tyrells didn’t waste any time.” Ashara quietly grumbled something similar to what Harry was thinking.

“This isn’t over.” Ned said, standing up suddenly. “I have to see what the Tyrells want, but we will continue this conversation later.”

Margaery Tyrell

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Grandmother?”

“Good? Gods no. But this way we’ll be sure to speak with Ned Stark before Dorne can intervene. So quit your worrying, dear. Stark’s brat said to contact him directly, and so that’s what we’re here to do.”

Margaery had informed her Grandmother about her interaction with Harry Snow and Ashara Dayne, only for the woman to immediately set course for the Hand’s tower without wasting a moment. Olenna seemed believe that Ashara Dayne was likely trying to influence Ned Stark into favoring Arianne Martell as the next Queen, something that both her Grandmother and Margaery desperately didn’t want to see happen.

They soon arrived at the entrance to the Hand’s residence, where dozens of Stark guardsmen greeted them. A request to meet with the Hand of the King from Olenna Tyrell, which sounded more like a nasty demand, and soon enough Eddard Stark descended the tower’s stairs to greet them.

“Lady Olenna.” Lord Stark finally greeted them, looking worn as he headed their way.

Ned Stark looked different from what Margaery expected. He wasn’t exceptionally tall, nor did he have the rugged northern look to him, but rather a more calm, competent demeanor. It went against what she was expecting, being the strong, northern brute who ruled the North with an iron fist.

But she guessed it was to be expected of the Rebellion’s strategist, the same man who dealt devastating defeats to the Targaryens at Stoney Sept and the Trident with his brilliant mind for strategy. Eddard Stark had cemented himself in Westerosi history for those feats alone, along with being Robert Baratheon’s most trusted man in the quest to end the Targaryen Dynasty.

He did defeat Arthur Dayne, after all. Margaery recalled, feeling her eyes widen slightly at that particular fact. It went to show just how dangerous Lord Stark would be as an enemy, having accomplished so many impressive feats that all of them could nearly fill an entire book.

It just shows how important it is to gain the Starks as an ally. She reminded herself, as Lord Stark led them through the Hand’s tower and to a large dining hall for them to feast in. Soon Harry joined them, and Margaery felt herself unintentionally smile at his entrance.

Ned Stark’s nephew happened to sit next to her with the seating arrangements as they were, and Olenna shot her an imploring glance. I won’t fail, Grandmother.

“I had received word of your presence in the city, and did not expect to see you so soon, Lady Olenna.” Ned Stark said as they sat.

“With the way things move these days, I figured contacting you earlier would be better.” Olenna Tyrell nursed a cup of wine. “Especially with so many southern Ladies from Dorne and beyond scrambling over each other to meet with the esteemed Lord Stark.”

Ned Stark’s eyes narrowed, and yet he ignored the probe about Dorne. “I’ll admit that things have been moving quickly since I became Hand.”

“And I’ve heard quite a few choice words about your decisions upon becoming Hand of the King. I must say I underestimated the impact you Starks would have on this city.” Olenna didn’t restrain her tongue whatsoever. “Ransacking the City Watch? Raiding the brothels owned by your fellow Master of Coin? Your so-called Second Hour of the Wolf has frightened quite a few people.”

“I’m surprised someone from the Reach would be so direct.” Stark seemed mildly taken back, and yet he smiled at her Grandmother’s crassness. “Perhaps I should answer with a question of my own? What exactly do you want with me, Lady Olenna?”

Her Grandmother smiled back. “Northern honesty, how refreshing. And here I was worried about having to dance around the issue. Simply put, I would like for you to negotiate with King Robert for my granddaughter to be the next Queen.”

Margaery felt like sighing, while even Lord Stark looked quite astonished by the woman’s audacity. “That is quite a steep ask, Lady Olenna. Have you not considered meeting with the royal family directly?”

“Bah! The Queen already laughed off our offer, no doubt wanting her son to take some malleable Lannister bride. And everyone knows the King is too busy fucking whores to deal with such things!”

Lord Stark grimaced, but didn’t argue like Margaery expected. “Still, you ask too much of me.”

“Oh? You think I would ask for such a favor without giving anything in turn?” Olenna sat back in her chair and folded her hands comfortably. “You name it, gold, wheat, maidens to marry up North, and House Tyrell will provide.”

Lord Stark’s fingers drummed against the table, and Margaery could only wonder what the man would eventually demand in return. But that was not her problem, as from then on her Grandmother would handle the Stark Lord while she set her sights on his nephew.

Hadrian Snow

A casual touch here and there, suggestive smirks, and that seductive stare she was so good at pulling off. Harry knew exactly what Margaery Tyrell was trying to accomplish, especially after Ashara called her out earlier, but he still found himself falling for it.

The brunette Tyrell was unimaginably sexy, despite having a moderately above-average body, yet her beautiful facial features and sexual eloquence made up for it. The woman seemed to have been trained her entire life for what she was doing now, and Harry knew he would lose if things kept on as they were.

“You know,” Harry finally said, breaking the rhythm of their game of teasing. “I’ll admit you’re very good at this, but you still haven’t completely fooled me with this act.”

“Who said it was an act?” One of her eyebrows rose challengingly as she purred. “Maybe I’m just captivated by such a strong, handsome, powerful northerner like you?”

His uncle and Olenna Tyrell had left to negotiate further in Ned’s office, leaving Harry and Margaery alone to do as they wished. Of course, the Reach maiden had metaphorically pounced on him once they were truly alone, and he was soon on the back foot as she teased him relentlessly.

He snorted. “I’d say you were a fool.”

“Oh? Then perhaps you can help this poor, foolish girl, Harry?” She fluttered her eyelashes, her hand landing on his chest. “Helping poor maidens is something that strong, northern men like you are for, no?”

“Perhaps.” He indulged her. “But why choose me when there’s others?”

“And yet none of them are as accomplished as you.” Her smirk widened. “You’ve proven yourself since you arrived, all while doing your work from the shadows. You’re the one piece on the board no one is watching, making sure your Uncle succeeds without anyone even noticing.”

Her words stroked his ego, and Harry could tell her compliments were genuine. That said, he knew that she was trying to butter him up. “I fail to see why any of that matters to you.”

“I need competent men like you to help me, Harry.” Margaery said huskily. “Just think of what we can accomplish if we work together.”

“You mean what you can accomplish.” He corrected. “You just want to be Queen.”

“And is that so bad an aspiration?” She asked in turn. “Just think of the power I’ll grant you when I’m Queen… unless it’s more than power you want?”

Her hand moved down from his chest to his thigh, and then slowly upwards to palm his growing bulge. Margaery massaged his pulsating cock through his trousers, and the Tyrell maiden stared at the sight for a long moment before looking up at him with growing lust.

Harry just stared back, and the beautiful brunette moved slowly onto the floor, getting on her knees in the process. His trousers were soon undone and his hardening shaft was exposed to the open air. It sprung up, hard and huge, lined with powerful veins and having an unrivaled thickness and length.

Margaery openly gaped at his cock as if enraptured, before she reached up to grasp his shaft with her small, delicate hands. The woman almost looked like she regretted taking on such a heavy task, having to handle his massive northern cock, but soon her face shifted to look determined.

She lined the brutish head of his shaft up with her lips, being sure to look up at him, before descending the first couple inches. Harry just watched on, his uncaring eyes offering the Tyrell maiden no respite as more and more of his cock entered her mouth, all while stretching her lips as wide as they could go.

Soon the head of his cock brushed against the back of her throat, and Margaery briefly gagged, but she didn’t pull away. Instead her eyes teared up as she continued sucking him, bobbing her head up and down while both her hands stroked his remaining exposed length.

Harry might have been a wizard, a bastard, or simply the man who did Lord Stark’s dirty work, but even he was a red-blooded male at the end of the day. The sight of the high-and-mighty Margaery Tyrell sucking his cock was incredibly stimulating, and he could feel his balls readying to release the longer it went on.

His cock twitched in her mouth as she continued sucking, all while she looked at him with that same flirtatious gaze, one that was equal parts smug as it was arrogant. The fact she was doing such a number on him was infuriating, and Harry partly fantasized about the things he wanted to do to her in that moment.

He wanted to strip her bare and spank her ass red, before gripping her majestic hair and lining up his shaft with her tiny pussy. He would ruin her with his massive cock, slamming into her over and over as he pulled her hair to fuck her even harder. If Margaery wanted to be Queen, then the King would have to live with the stretched, ruined pussy Harry had given her.

His massive shaft gave a great lurch, and Margaery probably would’ve smirked had her mouth not been stretched so wide by his cock. Harry groaned through grit teeth as his load finally came, and he made the impulsive decision to grasp the back of her head as he came.

As much as he wanted to be rough with her, Margaery was from a powerful Great House, and she was actively in the running to be Queen. Combined with the fact he didn’t know her all that well, he didn’t want to leave any marks nor do anything cause a scandal. If they grew closer, then maybe down the line Harry would consider being rougher, but otherwise he aired on the side of caution.

That said, he still took some petty satisfaction in seeing her struggle to swallow his large load. His hand stayed rooted on the back of her head, ensuring she couldn’t pull away, forcing each load of thick cum to be pumped down her throat as she desperately swallowed. Cum leaked from the corners of her lips which were stretched around his girth, and he grinned as her eyes narrowed in worry.

Eventually his shaft left her mouth, messy and covered in saliva, while Margaery desperately tried to regain her breath. She didn’t look angry with him, instead staring at his messy cock all the while as if captivated by it.

“I’ve met and studied Joffrey Baratheon several times over the years.” Margaery said suddenly, her tone oddly serious compared to before. “I’m well-aware of what I’d be getting into with that whelp. A moronic boy who’s green as grass, and as idiotic as he is cruel. Surely you wouldn’t mind staying here in King’s Landing? Making sure to… satiate my needs while I deal with that boy.”

So that’s her angle. For a long moment, Harry genuinely believed that Margaery would keep him around and continue to fuck him even after she married the Prince. Her words were so convincing that even he began to believe her, and he felt genuinely tempted to become her fuckbuddy behind the King’s back. But then calm logic began to set in.

She just wanted to use him, to get him in her corner. The best outcome of her plan was that he gained some paltry Lordship while continuing to fuck her on the side, while the worst would see him executed for fornicating with the Queen behind the future King’s back.

String her along for now, make her believe you’re on her side. He pushed his shaft back into his trousers, forcing down the irritation he felt. Harry came south to help his family, and if that meant fucking Margaery Tyrell, then so be it.

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark

Lords and knights from all over the realm were pouring into the city as the Hand’s Tourney neared, making King’s Landing that much more crowded by the day.

“Two separate riots broke out last night in Flea Bottom, my Lord.” The new City Watch commander, Wendel Manderly, reported. “As well as a particularly nasty fight on the Street of Silk… it seems that some of the Lords are upset over the closure of so many brothels, especially in a time like this.”

“Perhaps you should allow Littlefinger to reopen his brothels, my Lord Hand?” Renly asked. “Baelish did mention to me the other day something about paying more taxes to the crown if he were allowed to reopen them.”

He was sitting with the members of the small council once again, this time noting that the small council seemed smaller than before. Other than Robert and Barristan Selmy, who very rarely attended meetings, Petyr Baelish was notably and suspiciously absent.

“The people of this city will just have to reign in their urges for the time being.” Ned replied dismissively. “Men should know better than to fight over something as silly as a lack of whores.”

“There is some information regarding Lord Baelish I would like to discuss.” Wendel Manderly suddenly stated.

“Now that you mention it, where is our resident Master of Coin?” Ned inquired with a frown. “Lord Varys, where exactly is Lord Baelish?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea, my Lord.” The eunuch loftily. “My job is to keep an eye on kingdoms, and not mere men who sit beside us at this table.”

“Maybe he got scared off by the rumors surrounding our new Lord Hand?” Renly japed.

Ned fought back the urge to either groan or growl in frustration. The rumors of him being some sort of northern sorcerer were spreading faster than he thought possible, becoming a mainstream point of conversation throughout the Red Keep.

Whatever assurances he had from his nephew and Ashara that they would put an end to the rumors had clearly not worked out in the end. Ned couldn’t go anywhere within the Red Keep without the topic of him being a user of witchcraft popping up. And as ridiculous as the lie was, he knew that bad things were going to happen unless he took action to put an end to the rumors.

Those south of the Neck were extremely susceptible to such talk, and if it was allowed to fester long enough, then it might genuinely stain his reputation. From then on, he knew that it would only be a matter of time till some over ambitious knight or Lord took matters into their own hands and tried to cut him down. It meant he needed to meet with Harry sooner rather than later to resolve the matter.

Just where was his nephew anyways? He wondered for a brief moment, before turning his attention back to the meeting at hand. “What are these concerns of yours, Wendel?”

The second son of Lord Manderly cleared his throat. “Some trusted men of mine have been investigating this upcoming tourney, my Lord, and have found something most peculiar… and quite certainly unlawful.”

Pycelle frowned. “What could be unlawful about an upcoming tourney?”

“My men have discovered whoever is managing this tourney is vastly overpaying for every part of it.” Wendel Manderly said. “The most extreme example they brought to me was that the crown was paying twelve gold dragons per bottle of Dornish red.”

Ned nearly reeled back in horror, while some of the other council members almost fell off their own chairs. “T-Twelve?! A good set of armor can be purchased for a third of that!”

“Indeed.” The Master of the City Watch nodded gravely. “Which is why I bring the matter up now.”

Ned frowned. “Lord Renly, you were in charge of the upcoming tourney in my name, were you not?”

“My brother only asked me to schedule the tourney, as the finer details were relegated to Lord Baelish to oversee.” Renly quickly pushed the blame away from himself.

It seems Baelish has overstepped yet again. Ned’s hand clenched into a fist, as he tried to control his rage. He was almost grateful the Master of Coin wasn’t present in the council chambers, else he probably wouldn’t have been able to control his anger so well.

“I will have words with Lord Baelish.” Ned stated, yet he stared at Wendel while trying to convey the true meaning of his words through his gaze. “Continue investigating the matter, and put a pause on all purchases you judge to be more than twice the normal market price.”

Hadrian Snow

She was on her knees, the messy bedsheets pooling beneath the both of their naked forms as his hips collided with her tight bum. The Reach maiden was like putty in his hands, her skin soft as cotton and her body light as a feather as he used her for his own pleasure.

Compared to his own form, a body hardened by the harsh north along with years of adventuring and fighting, Margaery Tyrell was as delicate as a twig. He loomed over her body, dominating her like some sort of barbaric wildling. His own rough and coarse hands dug into her porcelain skin, gripping her hips tightly and often reaching around to squeeze her breasts.

The woman came undone in his arms, screaming in pain but also delight as he thrusted his massive cock into her. All the while he focused on only his own pleasure, uncaring for whether she could handle his power as he slammed into her over and over.

Surprisingly, Margaery Tyrell managed to hold on and not slip into unconsciousness like he thought she would. If anything, the Tyrell maiden only screamed and begged more for him to fuck her harder. She was hardly a pushover in bed, and if he was any lesser a man then Harry would have found himself taken by surprise.

But at the end of the day, there was only so much a skilled woman like her could do against his stamina. For all her yells demanding that he ruin her and stretch out her tight pussy, Margaery Tyrell eventually succumbed to his brutal lovemaking.

“Yes! YES! Just like that!” Margaery moaned loudly as his hips rhythmically collided with her bum. “There’s no way Joffrey will compare to this!”

Harry growled, feeling satisfaction that the girl decided to loosen her tongue a bit. If there was one way to find the truth of the matter when it came to women, then Harry believed a good fucking was the best way to start. “You really think I’d stay in this stinking city for decades just for you? All so I can be your side bitch while you play Queen?”

Her body writhed and she moaned in pleasure on his cock, as he continually pummeled her core. “P-Please! I need to get fucked like this for the rest of my life! I’ll give you anything as long as you keep fucking me!”

“You really think I’d fall for that.” He leaned forward, moving one hand to grasp her breasts while the other gripped her shoulder. It made his thrusts that much more powerful, blurring Margaery back and forth on his dong. “You just want to use me!”

“No! I just… don’t want to be stranded with Joffrey.” She panted hard. “I need someone as smart as myself by my side. And that person is you! You’ve proven yourself since you got here, saw through all my words. Gah! Please just… trust me for a little longer and I’ll help you! That’s all I ask, just a chance to prove myself.”

Harry didn’t say anything, instead continuing at the brutal pace he had set until Margaery gave a loud cry of pleasure and fell onto the bed as her legs and arms lost their strength. He continued to fuck her exhausted and limp form until his release finally came, and vindictively slammed himself into her before blowing his heavy load.

A knock on the door got his attention then, and Val entered, dressed as a mere servant who worked in the Red Keep, rather than a former wildling. Her gaze roaming over Margaery’s well-fucked form, and he noted a woman standing behind her. “Lady Swyft is here to see you, my Lord.”

The redhead handmaiden to Cersei Lannister entered his room warily, her gaze shaky as she eyed his and Margaery’s conjoined forms. No doubt Val made her wait and listen to their brutal fucking before bringing her inside.

“Hello, Jocelyn.” He pulled his shaft out of Margaery’s well-fucked tunnel, and it popped out with a bucketload of male and feminine juices that splattered all over the bed.

“L-Lady Tyrell… my Lord.” The redhead bowed after a moment, clearly shocked by the scene.

He remembered that saying from his old life, the one stating how everything was about sex. It seemed that the same was doubly true in Westeros. Knights fought in tourneys to impress and attract maidens, all while Lords sought out beautiful wives and hired whores to work in their keep. Even King Robert spent his days surrounded by prostitutes and whores, while the Queen went behind his back to seduce men like Harry to her cause.

Harry already knew that the Queen was trying to get her claws into him, just as he knew the woman had sent Jocelyn to seduce him. And as far as he was concerned, he was happy to play along and see where it went.

He acted nonchalant, grabbing some of the sheets and using the linens to wipe his cock clean of Margaery’s juices. He then stood and crossed the room, his thick shaft dangling between his legs as he moved to sit down in an adjacent chair. Jocelyn eyed him all the while, as if he was some ravenous beat who would suddenly choose to have his way with her.

“Do you plan to participate in the tourney, my Lord?” She asked meekly. “I know that the Queen will be present, and would be delighted to see you perform.”

He knew that Hand’s tourney would begin soon, as Lords and knights from all over the realm were pouring in to King’s Landing to attend it. Harry was sure than many ambitious knights and blushing maidens were waiting anxiously for the the tournament to start, and yet Harry wasn’t all too excited for it.

For him, it eerily reminded him of the Triwizard tournament from his previous life. The promises and riches and glory simply put a bad taste in his mouth, especially when the stakes riding on it were so high. It didn’t help that every time he even considered participating in it his stomach did a nasty flip.

“No, I don’t think I’ll be participating.” He said. “But you didn’t come here to talk about that, did you? Tell me, what is it the Queen wants?”

She swallowed thickly. “Her Grace is willing to reward you with anything you desire should you decide to join her cause. All she asks is that I bring you to meet with her, my Lord.”

“Anything?” Harry snorted, trying not to roll his eyes. What’s with all these women and their promises?

Arianne Martell

They maneuvered through the hordes of traitors and backstabbers that made up Robert Baratheon’s court, each member worst than the last in her mind. Every other word out of their mouth was some jab about Dorne losing the war, or some jape about Dornish fucking goats. And if they weren’t doing that, then they likely eyeing her large breasts or even going as far as to offer marriage proposals.

By the time she got a break and was able to speak to her uncle privately, Arianne was nearly frothing at the mouth with frustration.

“I don’t think I could last a day as Queen if I had to be surrounded by these people.” She stated.

“Hah! You’ll learn how to deal with courtiers in time.” Her uncle laughed at her misfortune. “To tell you the truth, your father was always better at these things than me.”

She could see why her uncle would quit trying to advance Dorne politically if it meant dealing with people like this, leaving the job for her father to take on. As much as she hated to admit it, realizing her father had to deal with people like this on a daily basis made her respect for the man rise substantially.

A somewhat rugged man walked into the great hall then, entering from beside the Iron Throne as he drew quite a bit of attention to himself. Arianne immediately recognized him as Ned Stark, the new Hand of the King, but it wasn’t just the Stark Lord who got her attention.

A rugged Northman with bright green eyes followed the Stark Lord, tall and muscular with clothes that spoke of his high stature. The man looked downright dangerous, yet highly delectable for a woman like her to take to bed, and Arianne found herself licking her lips. He must be Lord Stark’s bastard, the man who supposedly rules from the shadows.

She only knew about him from rumors, speaking of the dangerous bastard nephew of Lord Stark, supposedly acting as the new Hand’s dagger in the dark. Some of the Red Keep’s residents and maids even told her that it was him who used sorcery and not Lord Stark, manipulating everything from the shadow of his uncle.

And yet, when she actually used her brain and thought through it all, Arianne concluded that the rumors were utter nonsense. They vastly underestimated Ned Stark’s own abilities and political power, instead coming up with an excuse as dumb as magic to explain how he achieved so much in such a short span of time.

The man was the linchpin of Robert Baratheon’s rebellion, as well as the man who the Usurper trusted most throughout the entire kingdom. In retrospect, it shouldn’t surprise her in the least that Ned Stark was so capable, nor that his own nephew was just as capable as him.

“It seems that Lord Stark is here, perhaps we should speak with him?” She inquired of her uncle, all while she eyed the Stark Lord as well as the handsome green-eyed Northman beside him.

“Patience, my niece. Lord Stark is quite busy, and that boy of his isn’t going anywhere.”

Arianne felt heat rise in her cheeks. Was she obvious? “Still, better we speak with him sooner than later. Lady Ashara said that the Tyrells have already approached Lord Stark, and things might sour if we wait any longer. My father did send us here to make me the next queen, after all.”

“You and I both know you don’t want to be Queen, my dear.” Oberyn smirked as her face twitched in annoyance. “Do not worry about approaching Ned Stark, as I was already planning to do so after the tourney.”

She frowned. “After?”

Oberyn’s gaze gained a dangerous edge to it. “Let’s just say there’s a man participating in it that I’m looking forward to cutting down. If things go in our favor afterwards… then I’m sure Lord Stark will be happy to speak with us.”

Arianne couldn’t understand what her uncle was getting at, other than he had some unfinished vendetta against someone participating in the Hand’s Tourney. As for who the person in question was… she didn’t particularly care.

“Your niece is right, Prince Oberyn.” A familiar woman’s voice butted in. “In fact, it would be even better if you approached Ned sooner than later, especially if you want to cover up your true purpose in traveling to the capital.”

It was Ashara Dayne who joined their conversation, sauntering up to them casually from behind a nearby pillar. Arianne hadn’t even noticed the woman, and yet she seemingly listened in on their entire conversation.

Oberyn grimaced at her words, recognizing she knew something he was trying to keep secret. “Very well.”

A horde of smaller Lords and flatterers were already surrounding the Stark Lord, but her uncle maneuvered through them with ease. Arianne followed behind him, twisting and bending her way through as she tried not to hit anyone with her large assets.

“Lord Stark!”

Eddard Stark looked up at their approach, as the King’s court moved away to give them space. To see the Hand of the King meeting with Prince Oberyn Martell was a spectacle to them all. “Price Oberyn, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Herself and her uncle finally faced Lord Stark then, and Arianne couldn’t help but notice the presence of Stark’s bastard nephew behind him. She gave him a sultry grin and leaned forward to emphasize her chest, and took a great deal of satisfaction when his gaze subtly dropped.

“I would like you to meet my niece, Princess Arianne Martell.” Her uncle introduced her.

Arianne curtsied. “Congratulations on becoming Hand, my Lord.”

Ned Stark nodded, before gesturing his bastard forward. “Thank you, Princess. This is my nephew, Harry Snow.”

“A strong lad.” Oberyn noted with a smirk, and Arianne couldn’t help but agree. “Are you participating in the tourney? I certainly plan to, and would like to cross blades with you.”

“I-”

“Perhaps we can expect to see sorcery in the tourney as well? ” A voice suddenly interrupted their conversation, the words projecting through the throne room. A thin man exited the crowd of courtiers and approached them then, successfully creating a spectacle. “Both the Lords of the Realm and the smallfolk alike whisper of your sorcery, Lord Stark. And not just yours, but also the witchcraft utilized by your nephew!”

“Littlefinger.” Lord Stark said with some disdain, yet he looked somewhat taken off guard. “I see you finally decided to show your face. And to spread such baseless rumors as well?”

The man grinned. “Baseless you say? That is not what everyone seems to believe! Word is that you’re using your powers to manipulate King Robert-”

“Lies!” Stark barked, trying to cut the man off, but it was already too late.

The crowd began to become anxious and whisper to one another, with most of the nearby Lords looking at Lord Stark with suspicion. The accusation seemed to have already made its mark, and she doubted that the new Hand would forever be stained by the lie unless he did something drastic.

Yet, it seemed that Littlefinger was offering him a way out. “I say we try and find the truth of such rumors! And what better a place to do so than in a tourney? We can let the gods decide the truth then!”

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark

“You are a fool if you thought I would let your words stand, Lord Baelish.” Ned could already hear the footfalls of armored gold cloaks rushing into the Throne Room, all while the crowd became increasingly restless all around them.

Slandering not only him, but even going as far as to drag his nephew and even Robert into his taunts… Baelish had gone too far, and Ned had let enough slide.

The city watch that guarded the Red Keep arrived then, barreling through the crown and nearly knocking Lords over in their haste, and Ned was only too happy to notice they were strong northmen who replaced the previous gold cloaks. A quick nod, along with some guidance from his nephew, and suddenly the guardsmen were at Littlefinger’s sides.

They grabbed the man’s arms, restraining him, while another guardsman walked over and placed a gag in his mouth. The thoughtfulness of such an action impressed even him, and Ned was only too happy to see Littlefinger’s eyes widen in realization. Clearly his nephew ordered the man to be gagged.

He was grateful that Harry thought of such an action, as Ned did not want the Master of Coin to spout any more nonsense that would provoke the surrounding crowds. Already, the guards around him were palming the hilts of their swords in preparation, all while eyeing the shouting and jeering Lords who were clearly Baelish’s supporters.

The only problem was that the situation would become more intense, and he could only hope things wouldn’t spiral out of control further with his next proclamation.

Ned inhaled deeply, preparing to use that same authoritative voice he hadn’t used since the Greyjoy Rebellion. It was the same tone he used to shout marching orders and command men at the Trident, the kind that no one would expect to hear the Red Keep’s throne room of all places.

“Lord Baelish, for your slander against the Crown, and mismanagement of the treasury, I, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King, hereby strip you of all lands and titles! I revoke your position as Master of Coin, and sentence you to the Black Cells until your trial is held!”

For a long moment, the entire hall seemed to go still. The nearly gold cloaks, court ladies, servants, overweight and lecherous Lords, and even Harry stared at him in absolute awe. Everyone was slack-jawed, in shock, staring at his as if they didn’t believe their own eyes and ears. That was when Ned gestured for the city watchmen to drag Littlefinger out of the room.

He enjoyed the look of abject fury mixed with horrid realization on Baelish’s face, just before the group of gold cloaks forcefully dragged him through the angry mob of a crowd and out of the throne room.

The surrounding nobles certainly didn’t seem happy, but Ned didn’t care. His leniency and mercy had reached its limit for that man, and not even some good words from his Tully wife would persuade him otherwise.

“M-My Lord, p-please reconsider!” A fat courtier cried from nearby. “Lord Baelish is a good man! Surely he meant no harm!”

Harry snorted at his side in amusement, while Ned just gave the man a dismissive glance. But that didn’t prevent the rest of the Lords in the hall from shouting themselves hoarse in outrage.

“That northern barbarian dare!”

“He’s too scared to face Lord Baelish’s words head-on!”

“Will Stark not participate in the tourney?”

“Craven!”

Lords and courtiers shouted over one another, each one increasingly red in the face as they yelled at him. Insults and accusations against House Stark sailed through the air, and for a moment Ned was tempted to have them all arrested for their slander.

He came to a horrid realization then, being that they were all bribed by Baelish in some way. One man mismanaging the treasury could not bankrupt the crown after all, as it wasn’t possible for one man to hide all that gold away in his own accounts. Instead, Littlefinger had likely distributed the gold out to his allies in court as a way to gain favor, or even to control them.

It meant that most of the court was in Littlefinger’s pocket, likely having received generous sums from him over the years as a way to ensure their allegiance. And as such, they were most likely to side with him no matter what misdeeds he committed, meaning the man would always win in the court of public opinion.

Baelish’s trial would be a fiasco. Ned resisted the urge to sigh, knowing that it would be nearly impossible to have a fair trial with so many influential Lords biased in his favor. Maybe I’ll just have Harry take care of him then.

Now that he turned to look at him, he saw that his bastard nephew looked tense. Brandon’s baseborn son looked the closest Ned had ever seen him to being outright visibly angry.

“Are you alright, Harry?” He asked.

The boy grimaced, nodding his head tightly. “I think I’m going to compete in the tourney.”

Ned blinked, and realized just what his nephew was planning. Baelish wanted us Starks to participate in the tourney, and it just so happens to be the only expedient way to increase our reputation after such a mess.

“It’s likely a trap.” He concluded rather easily. Baelish’s overall scheme was still unknown to him, but the least he could deduce was that Littlefinger wanted them participating in the tourney. “You understand what you would be getting into?”

Harry nodded tersely. “It would be the quickest way to regain support in court. The way I see it, that man’s goal was to turn everyone here against House Stark, and something drastic needs to be done to turn things around.”

And winning the upcoming tourney would be quite drastic. The winners of large tournaments were always showered with gold and praise, receiving quite a lot of ass-kissing from court. And if Harry won in the tournament, Baelish’s lies would be overshadowed by his victory.

The only question is if Harry can win. He doubted his nephew would participate in the archery or jousting, meaning the melee was the likely option. That said, the last time he witnessed Harry in the yard, both Jon and Robb had been throughly trounced by his skill.

If Ned thought that the day’s drama would end in the throne room, then he was sorely mistaken. Even Robert was upset over Littlefinger’s imprisonment. Or rather… his newfound lack of whores.

“Surely you can be more lenient with Littlefinger?” Robert asked him. “He’s the one who gives me such fine whores, and it’s not as if anyone can find women like he does.”

Ned pinched his brow, doing his best not to let his exasperation with the King show. “The man is a thief, a liar, and the worst sort of conman. He slandered not only my name, but also yours, your Grace.”

Robert had finally decided to attend a meeting of the small council, and it just so happened to be after Baelish was arrested publicly in front of the court. It signaled just how much of a ruckus Ned had caused with his actions, as not only was Robert present for the first time, yet Ser Barristan was present as well.

“B-Baelish may have overstepped, your Grace, b-but I am sure the man is apologetic for his words.” Pycelle stuttered. “I’m sure that all of us have lost our tempers a few times in the heat of the moment?”

“I’d hardly call Baelish’s looting of the treasury something that happened in the heat of the moment.” Wendel Manderly frowned. “I, for one, will be happy to see the tourney begin and have all of this behind us!”

“Ah, I had almost forgotten about Ned’s tourney!” Robert laughed boisterously, while Ned’s eye twitched at the suggestion the tourney was something he wanted. “What do you say, Ned, how about you and I put on some armor and join?”

Ser Barristan’s eyes widened in alarm. “You wish to join the tourney, your Grace?”

“Of course!” Robert said easily, not at all jesting. “I’m looking forward to swinging my war hammer around after all these years!”

The next two hours were spent trying to convince the overweight Robert Baratheon that it wasn’t a good idea to have the King participating in a tourney.

Petyr Baelish

He made his way to the outskirts of the city, donning a cloak and avoiding main roads in favor of seedy and unknown back alleys. His destination was one of the few buildings he owned that the gold cloaks hadn’t raided, one of the few properties he still had in his name.

It used to be a safe house, but now acted as his secret brothel in order to serve the kind of men that were the worst of the worst. Killers, rapers, and looters disguised as knights didn’t hold back as they fucked women he had hired and kept on for years in his other brothels.

Littlefinger simply ignored it all, even though he knew those women would never work for him again after this. Instead he made his way through the makeshift whore house and entered the Lord’s bedroom, finding the doors wide open and the person he was looking for waiting for him.

The sight of Gregor Clegane with such a smaller girl made even his gut twist in discomfort. The huge, 8 foot tall man made even the bed he knelt on look tiny, and that was without saying what the whore beneath him looked like in comparison.

“Baelish!” The Mountain boomed with a gruesome smile, dismounting the tiny whore between his large form.

“Ser Gregor.” He nodded. “I have an offer for you.”

“I predicted as much.” The man said, not sounding at all surprised. “No one would give me and my men a whore house all to ourselves without wanting anything in return.”

“Indeed.” Littlefinger couldn’t help but note that Gregor Clegane had some brains to go with his brawn. “I want you and your men to participate in the upcoming melee during the Hand’s Tourney. And while there, I want you to kill Ned Stark’s bastard.”

“Heh, you’re not the only one who has asked me to kill someone during a tourney.” Ser Gregor replied. “The only question is what I get out of it?”

A sly, arrogant smirk found its way onto Petyr’s face. This was the part of his plan that would ensure Stark’s bastard would die. “A hundred-thousand gold dragons.”

The Mountain froze, the sight looking quite comical on the giant, as he looked at Baelish with wide eyes. Suddenly, he gained a ruthless grin, and let out another laugh. “I’ll spread the word. That bastard’s as good as dead.”

His eyes snapped open then, and he shook his head to ward away the strange memory from the other night. Petyr Baelish instead focused on his current location, deep within the dungeons under the Red Keep.

His cell was narrow and dark, the smell of it more akin to blood and rusted steel mixed with vomit. The doors in this part of the keep would groan when opened, like some wounded beast being roused from slumber.

His wrists were chained and suspended just enough to make his feet strain for purchase on the dirt floor. The manacles dug into his skin enough to cause bruises, and he knew that soon blood would flow from them.

Even now, with his hair was messy, his beard unshaven, his silk tunic matted with dirt and grime, Baelish let himself smile as he looked at the man before him. It was just the person he wanted to talk to.

“I saw this pin before.” Stark’s bastard noted, grasping his collar to get a better look at the silver pin which represented his revitalized House. “A shame that I disregarded it and didn’t look further. Otherwise I would have killed you earlier, Mockingbird.”

The bastard had come to pay him a visit, and Petyr didn’t know whether it was to kill him, interrogate him, or just to try and frighten him. Either way, he was glad to have a visitor, especially when it was the son of the man he hated most.

“Sometimes, the things we are searching for are right in front of us the whole time.” Petyr smirked at his own jest.

“Indeed. I spent a lot of time looking for you, and you just so happened to be right in front of me the entire time. Either way, it will be much easier to get you convicted since you were the one who had Lyanna Stark’s grave desecrated.”

He laughed, a rasping thing that scratched at the walls. “And who will sit in judgment, I wonder? The King, who gets all his wine and whores from me? Varys, a eunuch who deals only in lies? Pycelle, who can’t piss without asking which way the wind is blowing? The court is mine, Snow. They’ll sing me clean before the first raven leaves the rookery.”

Suddenly a dagger was at his throat. “I’ll just kill you then.”

Baelish acted as if he could care less. “Kill me without trial, and they’ll say the wolf has welcomed treachery. All the Lords will say Ned Stark has grown hungry and is feasting on the Lords of the realm. They’ll whisper of Jon Arryn, and then Petyr Baelish, and then ask who will come after them? The Starks will be suspected first should I die, and they will be forever tarnished should you kill me.”

He felt quite good about his argument, but that was when the Stark bastard glared at him. Those terrifying green eyes that stared into his very soul, almost glowing in the dim dungeon that held the black cells. Even Petyr Baelish couldn’t help but shutter, feeling as if he had widely overstepped in his actions.

Suddenly, the bastard’s hands were on his face, and he wondered if Hadrian Snow really would kill him.

“Legilimens.”

Images, memories, flashed through his mind’s eye like before. He could see his plans, the upcoming tourney, the Mountain, and those men of the city watch he had bribed and freed from Stark’s grasp.

He could see them coming for him, preparing to leave the city as the tourney neared. It was all part of the plan, his grand scheme to sow chaos throughout the realm. And that chaos would be a ladder-

Suddenly, he was ripped away, and Baelish was back in his dusty dark cell as he panted desperately for breath. And yet, the Stark bastard was nowhere to be found.

Hadrian Snow

Organized rows of steel armor laid before him as he sat in his bedroom within the Hand’s tower. He looked over the armor with an inquisitive frown, all while holding a makeshift piece of wood that he used in place of a wand. Behind Harry, his bed was a mess of sheets and pillows on which a familiar blonde wildling was resting from their rough nightly rutting.

He was preparing for the upcoming melee in the Hand’s tourney, getting all of his arms and armor set so that he would be ready for anything. He had partaken in many small skirmishes and fights over the years, and that was without counting those from his previous life. The heft of a heavy blade was hardly new to him, nor was the chaotic nature of fighting with medieval weaponry at that point in his life.

But to be placed in a pen with dozens, even hundreds, of other knights was something he hadn’t experienced before. He knew it would be like fighting in a cage, no way out other than to yield and choose dishonor. Even then, Harry knew that many would die from accidents in the melee, despite the order for everyone to use blunted weapons.

People could still be trampled and killed by horses after all, and that was without counting how easy it was to kill a human with a simple blow to the head or neck. It meant that he needed new armor, as Harry could hardly count on his old lightweight traveling armor for protection in such a situation. Instead, he went down to the street of steel and purchased the strongest, yet still maneuverable, set of plate he could find.

After that came the tedious process of preparing it, and that didn’t only include fitting it to his person. Instead, he was currently going through the extra step of enchanting all of it, using featherlight and unbreakable charms to give him that much more of an advantage.

Charms, runes, and enchantments was never his strong suit, being something that was more Hermione’s specialty, yet Harry made do nonetheless.

In the end, he wore enough steel to take blows head-on with ease, and yet he wasn’t made immobile by it all. In fact, he couple do sprints with his armor if he wanted to, and he would no doubt be the quickest knight on the tourney field.

He reached down to pick up his greatsword, being the item he had spent the most time enchanting. It was the same weapon he had used throughout the years, having slain and killed hundreds of bandits and wildlings all over the North. It was heavy and made made to wield with two hands, and yet in his strong grasp it felt as light as a feather.

It was time for the Hand’s Tourney to begin.

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Hadrian Snow

The crowds cheered as the Hand’s Tourney melee finally began, as hundreds of Lords and other influential figures from all over Westeros watched the contestants fill the tourney grounds. Knights and Lords from all over the Seven Kingdoms filled the arena, with the space being a smidge larger than a Quidditch Pitch from his previous life.

Surrounding it were large wooden stands made to fit thousands of spectators, with an especially large grandstand built for the King and Queen to watch from.

“What shall we do now, Snow?” One of the Northern participants asked from his side.

Within the arena itself, Harry found himself grouped in with the other participating Northmen, as each participant in the melee was grouped with whatever Kingdom they hailed from. Sadly, there weren’t many Northern participants, as tourneys weren’t a thing in the North. As well as this, there were no actual Northern Lords in King’s Landing who wished to participate, as instead the closest being descendants and sons trying to make a name for themselves.

That left Harry as their de-facto leader, despite his status as a bastard and not a Lord, as his closeness to Lord Stark permitted him authority over the group.

“We’ll do our best to avoid battle for now, remaining at the outskirts.” Harry finally answered, having long decided on their strategy.

A few grumbled in irritation, but sense won out as no one protested. They had the fewest knights of any Kingdom present, with the Reach contingent being the largest by far. Next to them came the Stormlands, alongside the Knights of the Vale who were all eagerly eyeing waiting for the competition to begin.

The Knights of Dorne completely ignored all the other Kingdoms, instead forming an arrow formation pointed directly at the Lannister contingent. Leading then all was Oberyn Martell, the man’s eyes locked directly onto where the Mountain was located among the horde of men from the Westerlands.

Harry’s plan was simple, being to have their small group of Northerners ride along the outskirts of the arena and avoid confrontation with any potential enemies for as long as possible. There were only five competitors fighting for the North after all, being himself, Torrhen Karstark, Eddard Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, and Benfred Tallhart, and they could hardly commit to a major engagement like the other Kingdoms present.

Of course, right as the melee officially kicked off and they began riding along the outskirts, with Harry positioning them as far away as from the Mountain as possible, a group of knights noticed them and headed their way.

“Crownlander knights! They’re heading right towards us!” Benfred Tallhart called out.

He had hoped they could avoid battle for a bit longer, yet it seemed that wasn’t the case. Indeed, a group of men from the group of Crownlander contingent managed to break away from the rest of the battle in order to intercept them.

His fellow Northmen readied their weapons for battle, right as the group charged straight at them.

“Crush the Northern scum!” One of the Crownlanders roared, being a lowly Lord by the look of things. He was towards the front of the charging group, pointing his sword their way to motivate his allies forward.

Harry let himself smirk, finding his first target for the melee. A small kick, and his horse charged forward, straight at the incoming Crownlanders. Or to be more specific, Harry aimed straight for the Lord who was leading them.

The same Lord who yelled earlier barely managed turn his head in time to see that Harry was upon him. But it was too late then, as Harry swung his sword, reeling it back before bringing it forward. He hit the man with the blade’s flag edge, aiming at his midsection in order to try and throw the idiot Lord off his horse and onto the ground.

As expected, the man went flying, soaring off his steed before he crashed against two of his knightly allies before landing violently the ground. The Crownlander charge stopped dead in its tracks at that, as horses neighed and bucked violently, all while the nearby men looked at him in awe.

“What strength!”

“Lord Byrch! Are you alright, my Lord?”

“H-How did he even…”

The Crownlanders were split between either checking on their fellow Lord or taking defensive stances against him then. But it wasn’t Harry that they needed to worry about, as the group of Northmen behind him finally made their move.

Torrhen and Eddard Karstark were the first to charge forward, barreling into the frozen Crownlander knights as they roared with laughter. Meanwhile Daryn Hornwood and Benfred Tallhart moved to the back of the group of Crownlanders, cutting them off from escaping and beating down those who fought back into surrendering.

That was easy. Harry let his greatsword rest on his shoulder as the group of defeated Crownlander knights either left the arena in disgrace, or had to be hauled off by their squires. He then surveyed the rest of the arena, seeing the melee was still going strong. Let the games begin.

Arianne Martell

She unconsciously licked her lips while her plump thighs rubbed together, all while her gaze was directed down onto the raging melee below.

Hadrian Snow, her newest fascination, was trouncing the other competitors in such a way that it made her core so very warm. From the look of it, the Stark bastard seemed to be fighting children, as simple blows from his weapon sent men flying, and even crushed their armor on several occasions.

She could feel her pussy gushing with each swing of his sword, all the while she imagined the muscles he had under his armor to achieve such strength. A strong, virile, powerful man from the North wasn’t a fantasy she often dreamt of, but she could certainly see the appeal now.

“Intriguing, isn’t he?”

A voice came from behind her, and Arianne turned her head to see Margaery Tyrell standing close to her in the stands. The Tyrell maiden also had her eyes locked onto Hadrian Snow, and as hard as she tried not to show it, Arianne could tell she was also captivated by his might.

“That’s for sure.” Arianne replied with a smirk. “Although I never thought someone from the Reach would compliment a bastard.”

“Perhaps.” Margaery conceded the point. “Though I suppose some people can’t help but stand out, no matter their birth.”

“Mm.” Arianne hummed, eyes never leaving Hadrian Snow. “There’s something… primal about him, isn’t there? Like a wolf that’s lived its life out in the wild.”

Indeed, the Stark bastard was even more primal than Arianne originally thought. He certainly seemed to have a rugged handsomeness to him, with a strong and silent type of personality that went with his broody charm. And yet that had only been what he wanted her to see, as when let loose he seemed to become a wild animal.

I wonder what he’s like in bed… She could only imagine what it would be like to lay with such a brutish beast of a man, one who could pick her up with ease and pound her erotic form to his heart’s content. Arianne imagined he would be relentless, not at all gentle as he took what he wanted and left her lost for breath.

Margaery tilted her head, the very image of innocence. “And yet he often carries himself with such discipline. Perhaps the wolf trained himself? Not every man needs to be tamed, after all.”

Arianne laughed softly. “Tamed? No, I’d never wish to break something so wild. Instead I’d ride him till I fell off… If he’d let me.”

Margaery’s smile didn’t waver, the girl not at all disgusted by her debauch remarks. “You sound quite taken. Dornish heat does burn quickly, I suppose. Although, I do wonder how you would fare in the cold up North?”

Arianne’s lips curved. “We don’t freeze the way some flowers do in winter.”

Oberyn Martell

The Lannister knight managed to get through their formation, only to get beaten down by his spear before the surrounding men took care of him.

The knight wasn’t the only one however, as one rider wearing the colors of House Marbrand followed not long after, pushing through three of his trusted knights before heading straight for Oberyn.

He licked his lips in anticipation, allowing the man to get close as he brought up his sword before slashing it down. That was when Oberyn struck, ducking and moving past the blade as he butted it aside with his spear as he moving in. He equipped his dagger, and stabbed it upwards, aiming right under the man’s plate and directly into his intestines.

“Gah! L-Live steel?!” The Marbrand Lord jerked in horror, looking down at where his dagger was impaled is stomach. “Y-You can’t…”

Oberyn let a bloodthirsty grin overtake his features. “Who’s going to know?”

The man gave one last weak cry before the knife slid out, with Oberyn letting him fall to the arena floor to bleed out. He then turned to survey the chaos that was the melee between the Dornish participants and those loyal to House Lannister, seeing that it had becoming more violent than was appropriate for most tourneys.

It was rare for those loyal to House Martell and Lannister to ever end up in a tourney since Robert’s Rebellion, and in the few cases it did happen… accidents seemed to follow.

And Oberyn planned for many of those so-called accidents to take place during the Hand’s tourney. And he had a specific man in mind that he wanted to ‘accidentally’ kill during the melee. In fact, he had traveled all the way to King’s Landing just to kill one such man, and yet he had fled at the mere sight of him.

The Mountain fought their group initially, as their charge blindsided the Lannister participants before becoming bogged down in the usual wrestle of steel. The murderer of his sister had defeated two of his knights before retreating to hide behind the group of Lannisters, and Oberyn was left with no choice to to cut through every Lannister knight to get to him.

It made his goal that much more difficult, and raised the question of whether he would even be able to face the Mountain in combat at all. The very thought of not being able to get to Gregor Clegane made him fume in rage, as his mind seemed to loose all rationality the longer the melee went on.

“Kill every Lannister knight and Lord you come across!” Oberyn yelled out to his men as they fought. “If Gregor Clegane wants to hide behind his men, then we’ll kill them all!”

Eddard Stark

“This is bad, Robert. We need to stop the tourney now before this gets out of hand.”

It was only a few minutes ago that the screaming started. And it wasn’t the cheers of the crowds nor the battle cries of the tourney’s participants, but rather the screaming of men about to lose their lives. Ned had heard the same screaming many times in war after all, and could tell something terrible was occurring on the melee grounds.

It was hard to pick out from their position what was happening in the chaotic mess of a melee, but a couple gold cloaks had reported that several Lannister Lords and knights were already dead. As for the culprit, it was blatantly obvious that the Martell bannermen were to blame.

“Bah! A few men dead in a tourney isn’t unheard of.” Robert dismissed his concerns.

The Queen certainly seemed to share his concerns at the very least. But that was more due to the men in question being from the Westerlands. “Those are Lannister men who have died, husband.”

Robert didn’t even glance her way, instead waving a dismissive hand which made Cersei Lannister scoff.

“My Lord!” A courier came running then, sweating profusely as he knelt before himself and the king. “Terrible news! The Red Keep has been attacked! And Lord Baelish is missing from the Black cells!”

“What?!” Ned demanded, standing up in shock. “Assemble the city watch! No… instead I’ll fetch my guard and find him-”

“I think you have bigger problems, Ned.” Robert suddenly said, pointing out towards the melee.

He followed Robert’s line of sight, only to see the Mountain charging towards his nephew.

Hadrian Snow

The Mountain had arrived.

“Bastard!” The giant of a man roared at him as he approached, looking worse for wear.

“So you finally decided to show your face, huh?” Harry let out a chuckle, knowing he made the giant man go on a rabid chase in his pursuit of him.

Harry knew from the beginning that Gregor Clegane would come after him during the melee, having taken Baelish’s offer to claim his head. And so Harry had tried to temporarily avoid him, having his men position themselves far away from the Lannister competitors in order to waste time.

It meant that the Mountain had to fight through a horde of enemies, all while avoiding Oberyn Martell, in order to reach him.

“Wasn’t he fighting with Dorne? Is Oberyn Martell defeated already?” One of the Northmen who was still standing asked from nearby.

A glance across the arena showed the Dornish were still going strong from the looks of things. If anything, the remaining Lannister knights were practically running for their lives to get away from them. It meant that the Mountain ignored the rest of his opponents and went straight for Harry.

“I’m going to take your head, bastard!” The Mountain spat at Harry. “I’m going to win this fucking tourney, and at the end of the day I’ll be pissing in your fuckin skull!”

“You’re more chatty than I thought. It’s obvious which one of us is the real deal.” Harry taunted, readying his sword as the giant man reddened in rage.

The brute gave a roar in response, raising his greatsword high in one hand as if it was a toy. He gripped the reigns of his horse in preparation to charge, but that was when the last thing he expected occurred.

Oberyn Martell appeared, charging out of the chaotic mess of the nearby melee with his spear held high. He was covered in blood, his armor loose while his face was red with fury. “MURDERER!”

All sense seemed to escape the Red Viper, filled with only bloodlust in that moment. He charged directly at the Mountain without thinking, without finesse, and was rewarded by a harsh flat blow from the man’s greatsword which sent him flying off his steed.

Harry’s eyes widened for but a moment, before he too launched forward and charged directly at Gregor Clegane. He could hear the crowd yelling with noise in the background, but tuned them out as he focused only on the giant man.

The Mountain noticed him, and reared back his greatsword before bringing it down on him as he charged, and Harry then swung his own sword to intercept the blow.

CLANG

The two blades met, and Harry’s own sword reverberated in his grip. A harsh metal rattling noise filled the air, as his very bones shook from the strength of the collision. He had stopped the Mountain’s blow head-on, a feat most thought to be impossible.

The Mountain gaped at the sight, looking like a fish out of water in that moment, before his face darkened with rage. He let out a monstrous roar, pulling his blade back before slamming it down on Harry over and over.

Despite the enchantments to his blade and armor, along with his own incredible strength, Harry still felt himself tire with each blow. Sparks erupted from where their blades crashed, and so great was the force that Harry’s horse was pushed backward under the intensity of each blow.

And yet the sight of him standing tall after each terrible strike only made Gregor Clegane that much angrier. The man fumed and raged the further their battle of strength went on, to the point Harry could see each individual vein popping out of the man’s skull.

Eventually, the Mountain grasped his greatsword with both hands before swinging it like a baseball bat, and Harry barely managed to get his blade up in time to intercept it. Yet he wasn’t able to block the blow fully, and it sent both him and his horse spiraling backwards.

His body was sore at that point, his muscles strained, all while the part of his body which took the blow throbbed in pain. Harry tried not to let it show, but he still winced in pain when he raised his sword to face the Mountain, something the giant man clearly noticed.

“Listen here, Bastard!” The Mountain boomed, pointing at him with his sword with a manic look on his face. “I AM THE STRONGEST MAN IN WESTEROS!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, as he cautiously moved his horse around to circle his opponent. The smart thing to do at this point would be to surrender and leave the melee grounds, but Harry refused to do that for several reasons. The first of which was his own ego, the desire to prove himself was overwhelming in that very moment, especially if that meant cutting down someone as infamous as Gregor Clegane.

The other reason he refused to quit was that he doubted the Mountain would simply let him leave. Clegane looked as if he belonged in a mental asylum in that moment, probably next to the other bloodthirsty psychopaths like Bellatrix Lestrange. The man was out for Harry’s blood, that much was obvious, and he doubted that simple tourney rules would stop him from cutting Harry down as he tried to exit the arena.

The only chance I have is to fight. Like so many other situations he found himself in, in both this life and his previous one, Harry would be forced to fight in order to survive. And so with a sigh, he charged forwards atop his horse, charging directly at the Mountain.

The man also charged forward, holding his blade high as if to swing it down and bisect Harry in two. He knew that if he could dodge the blow, then he could get inside the Mountain’s guard, and from there he would just have to get through the man’s thick armor to kill him.

He raised his sword as if making to meet his blow head-on once again, all while planning to evade it. Their horses soon neared each other, and both warriors winding their swords back in preparation to attack, but that was when Gregor Clegane did the last thing Harry expected.

He swung his sword down far too early, missing Harry by several feet, but that was when he realized the Mountain wasn’t aiming for him. Instead the man aimed for Harry’s horse, his blade swinging down and cutting his horse’s head clean off with his impressive strength. He went for my horse!

Harry already knew what was about to happen, in that in the next few moments he would be sprawled on the ground as his dead horse fell on top of him. But the Mountain then subverted his explanations once again, and swung his sword upwards right as Harry was falling.

The blade slammed into his helmet, the force amplified by Harry being propelled into it, and Harry’s vision then turned to black.

He awoke in a sunless realm.

Harry’s eyes opened slowly, and he saw that he was laying down on some sort of dark, rocky landscape. It felt like he was on the dark side of the moon, with everything in his surroundings being the color of midnight.

He grabbed his head then, with his skull still faintly ringing from the harsh blow. Am I dead?

“Lord Peverell.”

A voice boomed those words, coming from everywhere around him. He spun in a circle, looking all around for anyone nearby, before light appeared on the horizon.

It was in that sunless realm, that the sun rose at last. A woman with red hair could be seen then, her body so bright that Harry almost had to look away. She came closer to him, her eyes a burning gold that spoke of divinity, wearing a red dress that almost seemed to be made of flame.

She floated across the landscape with a storm of fire following at her heels, until arriving to land in front of him. Up close, she appeared like a beautiful woman, and Harry would be embarrassed to admit she looked similar to his mother from his previous life.

“I am R’hllor. The Lord of Light.” She spoke, looking at him. “And you are the Master of Death.”

Harry blinked, his mind pausing for but a moment before memories of his past life flooded in. He remembered everything about the Deathly Hallows, being the Wand, the Stone, and his old Cloak, as well as the tale about Death creating them all. Everything seemed to fit into place from there, with him becoming the Master of Death explaining how he was able to reincarnate into this new life.

“What do you want with me?” He finally asked.

“You are not the prince that was promised, but you are still one of great importance.” She spoke. “I would send you back, and see you work to tirelessly to defeat the darkness that strikes at this world. In exchange, you will spread my name far and wide, praising the Lord of Light for each of your great accomplishments.”

“No.” Harry declined immediately, not even hesitating with his response. He hated prophecies, especially since his previous life ended over one, and didn’t want deal with anything remotely similar again.

Even if it meant being revived and coming back to see the people important to him, Harry simply didn’t want to deal with whatever nonsense that R’hllor was selling. Gods, divinity, and prophecies, were all things he wanted to avoid with a ten-foot wand.

“Oh?” The beautiful redhead raised a brow. “You are a bold one. To deny the chance to return upon your death? Is your life so unimportant to you?”

“Of course it isn’t.” He replied. “Yet I would never debase myself as to sell my soul in order to have another go at things.”

He had witnessed the lengths Voldemort had gone to in order to extend his life, along with a atrocities he committed along the way. Harry had seen him drink unicorn blood in his first year, and had to spend the last couple years of his life hunting down the Dark Lord’s horcruxes. All of it caused Harry to be extremely cautious about anything remotely smiling. And maybe a bit paranoid too.

“Interesting.” The woman looked at him intently. “So many others are tempted by the promises of immortality, but not you. I can see that you battled darkness before, and that you fought the one who fled from death in your previous world. Has he marked you so much that you reject my offer even now?”

“I’m not him.” Harry said adamantly, trying not to feel rattled by the woman’s knowledge of his past life. “I’m not Voldemort. I don’t want to make pacts with gods. I won’t give up pieces of myself for power.”

“You crave no throne. You reject prophecy. You would burn for others, yet never for yourself.” She smiled in a way that looked both terrifying and beautiful. “You only embrace death, and it has led you to where you are now. Do I not satisfy you, Harry Potter?”

Harry froze. “What?”

“You need not say yes.” Her warm hand brushed against his cheek. “You need only burn.”

Before he could speak, a cyclone of fire erupted then, engulfing him completely and whisking him away from the place between life and death.

His eyes opened. He could hear the distant cheers of the crowd, the yells of contestants battling it out in the melee.

That was when his body throbbed and shook with power, his wounds and bruises healing with whatever power the Lord of Light granted him. His hand unconsciously wrapped around his sword, gripping it so hard the metal nearly warped from his newfound strength.

I’m back.

Links: Linktree

Chapter Text

Arianne Martell

“H-He’s dead?” Arianne felt her body freeze up as she stared down at the ongoing chaos taking place down below in the arena, specifically focusing on the unmoving body of Hadrian Snow.

At her side, Margaery seemed to react even worse than her, the girl’s form literally shaking as she tried to repress her sobs. Arianne doubted she would ever see such a visceral and genuine show of emotion from the Tyrell maiden ever again, as Margaery was the type to hide behind several carefully constructed facades and would never show true emotion unless in a truly traumatic situation.

It meant that she was deeply connected in some way with the Stark bastard, likely being in some sort of romantic relationship that was kept hidden from the public.

She focused back on the tourney grounds, only to this time focus in on the Mountain that Rides. The giant knight had moved on from Hadrian Snow, and instead steered his steed back towards where the other Lannister participants resided. Such a move just so happened to lead him directly to her uncle, Oberyn Martell, who had managed recover from their earlier bout.

Arianne’s heart dropped at the thought of potentially seeing another member of her family laid low by the Mountain, especially after the man she was interested in was killed by him. She had grown up hearing the tale of what happened to Aunt Elia in hushed whispers murmured by maids within the Tower of the Sun, and she knew that her uncle had come to King’s Landing in pursuit of revenge for his sister.

Nothing would dissuade Oberyn Martell from his revenge now, and Arianne knew he would either succeed in killing Gregor Clegane, or die trying.

The monstrous form of the Mountain charged her uncle, doing so while atop his horse while Oberyn was left without one. His huge greatsword swept out as if to bisect him in two, while Oberyn sprinted toward the swing as if he wanted to meet the blow with his face. The crowd was silent, enraptured by the scene to the point they all seemed to be holding their breath, as all Arianne could do was watch.

Oberyn slid down and glided under the Mountain’s swing at the very last moment, nearly going flat to the ground while doing so, only to stand and spin around as the giant passed him before stabbing his spear into the horse’s rear.

It had the intended outcome of fatally wounding the animal, especially when she knew the spear’s tip was coated in lethal poison, causing the Mountain’s horse to go into a frenzy. Gregor Clegane yelled and tried to get his steed under control, but ultimately failed as the animal soon foamed at the mouth and fell over on its side dead.

It had the effect of landing Gregor Clegane on the ground as fell, as the giant man stumbled to his feet in a daze while Oberyn looked on.

“I have been waiting for this day, the day I will have revenge on the murderer of my sister.” Even if he whispered those words, nothing would have stopped the crowd from hearing them.

Oberyn then struck, and a dozen spear thrusts smashed against the Mountain’s defense, each one too fast for Arianne to track. And yet none of them fully penetrated his thick armor, either bouncing ineffectively against or being parried by the Mountain’s blade.

“You killed her. You raped her!” Oberyn yelled, before launching another attack at the Mountain as the man tried to bat each blow away with his sword. “Confess!”

Suddenly the Mountain lunged forward, and her uncle barely managed to sidestep a blow that would’ve cleaved him in two. The crowd gasped, the courtiers all eating the drama up, all while Arianne’s heart thundered in her ears.

“Elia Martell.” Oberyn said again. “You raped her. You killed her. You killed her children! Confess!”

He launched himself at the giant man again, as they traded blows with Oberyn’s spear glancing of the Mountain’s armor more and more. Gregor Clegane was lucky to be wearing such heavy plate, otherwise Arianne was sure he would be dead ten times over.

“Aye.” The Mountain growled as Oberyn finally pulled back from his relentless assault, opting to circle the giant and wait for an opening instead. “I fucked the stupid bitch, and then I split her in half! Just like I’ll do to you!”

“RAAGH!” Oberyn screamed in rage as he launched himself at the giant, but that was exactly what the Mountain wanted. He was goading the Dornish prince, and his giant blade swept down at the perfect angle to strike a killing blow.

“Oberyn!” Arianne was on her feet with a shout, all while she watched in horror.

Luckily, whether it being Oberyn’s instincts, or her own intervention, her uncle managed to jump to the side at the last moment to disengage. He didn’t get out unscathed however, as the tip of the Mountain’s blade cut part of his left arm.

Oberyn is going to die if he doesn’t do something different. As many times as his spear had made contact with the Mountain, it had yet to fully pierce his armor and wound him. In turn, the Mountain was able to slowly whittle down Oberyn to the point he could win by scoring small wounds. He needs to find a way to get around that ridiculous armor.

“N-No, that can’t be…” A murmur came from next to her then, and Arianne turned to see Margaery’s teary gaze locked onto something in the arena.

She followed the girl’s gaze, only to freeze upon the sight that greeted her. Hadrian Snow was slowly getting up, his sword in hand as he discarded his helm. His face was smeared in blood from the Mountain’s attack, but that wasn’t what got her attention, as it was his glowing green eyes and steaming skin that drew her in.

He stood up on on sturdy legs, and turned to face the giant man who was battling her uncle. He opened his mouth, and out of it came a roar that shook Arianne to her very core, making her nearly orgasm then and there from the sheer amount of power contained within.

Hadrian Snow

His skin burned. It was so hot that he burned through part of his clothes and began melting his armor to his skin. Steam drifted off the steel plate, its color turning from silver to slightly red from the heat. He had R’hllor to thank for bringing him back, and Harry could only guess that his fiery revival was typical for anyone touched by the Lord of Light.

The moment he could move, he threw off his helmet before reaching over to pick up his sword. The steel blade literally sizzled at his touch, with heat being transferred from the handle where he gripped it.

He could hear the sounds of fighting in the distance, the clash of steel and intermittent screams from both the crowds and competitors.

The Mountain still lived. He needed to die. He summoned his rage then, filling his lungs with air before releasing it in a roar. The melee seemed to come to a complete stop at the noise, and Harry was able to finally locate the Mountain among the mess of competitors who stopped and looked his way.

He took a step forward, heading straight toward where Gregor Clegane stood, only for a Lannister knight to intercept him. He was bald and looked more like a bandit than an actual knight, and Harry couldn’t help but notice the sigil of House Clegane sitting conspicuously on his tabard.

“Still alive, huh?” The bald man licked his lips. “I’m gonna-”

Harry’s blade swung faster than ever before, slamming in from the side with its flat edge and crushing half of the knight’s chest in before he could react. He let him fall to the ground in a heap before swiftly moving on.

He could see the giant of a man fighting Oberyn Martell, with the Red Viper of Dorne looking worse for wear even compared to his haggard appearance earlier. The Dornishman’s left arm was bloody and nearly limp, as he breathed heavily to keep up the fast pace of battle he had set for himself.

It was the embodiment of strength versus speed, of skill and finesse fighting against pure brute force. The crowd was enraptured by the display, with all of the tourney’s remaining participants giving them a wide berth. It was too bad then, that Harry would be the one to disrupt their duel.

“MOUNTAIN!” Harry roared, damn near blowing people off their feet with how loud his voice was then. The shout seemed to get Clegane’s attention, as both him and Oberyn Martell stopped and looked his way. “I’m not finished with you!”

Clegane’s face contorted in rage, but it was underlined by a small amount of fear that Harry could sense. “You would dare challenge me again, bastard?!”

“You might’ve gotten a cheap shot earlier, but that was the only strike you’ll be lucky enough to land on me.” Harry stated as an indisputable fact while he gripped his blade with two hands. “My next blow is going to cleave you in two!”

The giant man reddened even more, as he left the area he and Oberyn were dueling in and instead began circling Harry.

Luckily, Oberyn Martell didn’t object to his intervention, instead taking the time to recover from his wounds off to the side. That left Harry and Clegane to size each other up, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Eventually, it was the Mountain who struck first, raising his greatsword high and giving a roar as he charged toward him. Clearly the man expected another battle of strength, and Harry held his ground as if planning to meet the blow head-on.

He held his own sword in the ready position, all while the Mountain got closer, and as he was within striking distance, Harry watched as the giant brought his blade down. That was when Harry moved, not moving backwards as if to retreat, but instead forwards as he advanced inside the Mountain’s guard.

He moved inside an area that was scarily close to the giant, and that was when he swung his blade from the side and upwards with all his might. The momentum behind it, along with his own strength, propelled the blade with a force that was unthinkable. It slammed against Clegane’s thick and heavy chest armor, and didn’t come to a stop, continuing through it like a knife cutting butter, before coming out the other side.

It was a swift and clean cut, one that happened in only a moment, as the Mountain gave a gurgle before falling to the arena floor in two pieces, his midsection bisected in two.

For a while, the world seemed to exist in silence, before noise from all sides barraged Harry’s ears. The attending Lords, merchants, and smallfolk alike roared with applause as they watched the spectacle from their places in the stands. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught the sight of Arianne and Margaery standing and cheering, with both Ladies having broad smiles on their faces.

A glance over at Oberyn Martell showed the man panting as an irritable frown sat on his face. Clearly he was upset that Harry killed the man who murdered his sister, yet Harry could still spot the satisfaction on his face upon seeing the Mountain laid low.

He turned to face him then, his next action surprising both the audience, as well as Oberyn Martell.

“I yield.”

The Dornish Prince’s jaw dropped in shock, but Harry ignored his reaction, instead focusing on his next move. Now it’s finally time to take care of Littlefinger for good.

Petyr Baelish

He left the gates of King’s Landing with a smirk playing on his lips, the sweet taste of victory filling the air.

His cost to escape imprisonment was minimal to say the least, as it was as simple as rescuing some old gold cloaks from being executed before making them his personal guards. Lord Stark had made quite a few enemies in his persecution of the old City Watch, and Baelish had managed to draw quite a few of the former city watchmen into his service as a result.

From there it was as simple as disguising them and then having them sneak into the Black cells while everyone was distracted by the tourney. Sadly, not everything went off without a hitch, as the new Northmen guarding the Red Keep noticed something was amiss, and Petyr had to break off from a large chunk of his guard as they got into a skirmish.

That said, a little bit of chaos during his escape was nothing to complain about, and if anything, Ned Stark’s reputation would take an even bigger blow from it all. That is, after his bastard nephew died to the Mountain in his own tourney.

Petyr had hired the Mountain to do just that after all, making sure to pay Gregor Clegane handsomely to take Hadrian Snow’s head during the melee. He dearly wished he could be there in person to see it, but sadly his own plans didn’t give him such a luxury. What I would give to see Ned Stark’s face when his favorite bastard dies…

Soon Stark would be chased back up north, thrown out of the Red Keep either by Robert’s stupidity, or from the loss of his semi-competent nephew. After that, Petyr could easily sneak back in if he wanted to, using some of that gold he looted from the treasury to make some bribes in order to clear his name. And without Ned Stark to oppose him… he had as good as won.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a wineskin full of Dornish red, before taking a deep gulp of it to celebrate his victory.

That was when the arrows started flying.

Those remaining former gold cloaks who were still with him—being four in total—were struck by arrows one after the other, with their assailant revealed to be a blonde woman hiding in the trees. She held a bow aloft as she ruthlessly targeted his men, not allowing them a moment to act as her hands moved with supreme skill and efficiency.

“W-Wait!” Petyr stuttered as she drew back her final arrow and aimed it his way. “I have gold, I’ll-”

She didn’t let him finish, instead letting the arrow loose. He saw it heading his way, his life flashing before his eyes all the while, yet the arrow didn’t hit him. Instead it hit his horse, killing the animal instantly and making it fall on its side with him still in its saddle.

Petyr Baelish’s vision went dark for a long moment, his head hurting as it slammed into the ground. Yet when he opened his eyes, the worst possible view greeted him.

“B-Brandon?” He managed to get out in his stupor.

“No, it’s Harry.” The Stark bastard walked up to him casually, looking slightly worse for wear with blood covering his face and armor. “Your plan failed, Baelish.”

The Mountain had failed then. He immediately deduced, and judging by the blood on the bastard’s armor, he could guess that Clegane might actually be dead.

He opened his mouth to speak, and he didn’t know whether it was to taunt and ridicule, or to even try and bribe the bastard. Yet he didn’t have the chance too, as a blade pierced straight through his neck.

Hadrian Snow

Littlefinger was dead.

Not a minute after the bastard died, Harry was on top of Val as he carelessly divested her of her cloak to get access to her body.

He was tired of all the court plotting, the attempts on his life, the spectacle that was the Hand’s tourney, along with that whole mess with R’hllor. He wanted to let off steam, to forget about his problems and revert to his most base desires.

His trousers fell then and there, and he proceeded to take Val like a bitch in heat.

His cock burned with heat, and he didn’t know if it was because of the Lord of Light’s intervention, or just his own lust after the day’s events. Either way, Harry felt more lustful and hotheaded than ever, and nothing would stop him from taking the wildling in that forest right outside King’s Landing.

Links: Linktree